My Friend Facebook

It all started out so well. I was introduced to you by a friend and the attraction was instant. I found you so new and exciting; you promised to do things for me that washed up old bebo just wouldn’t do. I had high hopes for us, Facebook.

You were so complimentary. You always told me about all the people who wanted to be my friend and give me the cheeky little ego boost I needed by re-affirming who ‘likes’ what I have to say. You’re right, Facebook – I thought to myself – I am funny and cool and deserving of the approval of those 10 people who enjoyed that hilarious link I posted of the cat playing the piano.

You seemed so into me too – asking me deep questions about who I was and what I liked. No-one’s asked me for my favourite quotes before. It seemed like you weren’t just after me for the superficial reasons everyone else seems to be, but like you really wanted to get to know the real me, whispering:
“what’s on your mind, Rachel Barr? – write it here. Enjoy my cosy little blank box, I want to hear what you have to say. Tell me your thoughts, Rachel Barr. What’s on your mind?” (I love it when you second name me).

You seemed so attentive, Facebook. It was like you were always there for me – be it bringing me the morning news of my social circle or helping me break past the time difference when I yearned for information from across the globe. As I got busier, you allowed me to depend on you more – letting me spend those lonely nights in the library with you as my companion, reminding me that even though I was studying, I must still be hot and popular because 7 people liked that photo of me rock-climbing from June. We grew closer. You asked me if we could go mobile. It seemed like a big step, but I trusted you Facebook.

Things began to get pretty intense. I started to need you more than I wanted you. I put my studies on hold for you, Facebook, always needing “just five more minutes” of you instead of finishing that article before it got late and I got tired. My concentration span dropped and you took advantage. You started to get pushy – bothering me in bed, on nights out, at work. Sometimes it wasn’t even for important stuff – couldn’t that farmville request you sent me while I had an exam have waited, Facebook?

I thought what we had was exclusive but then I heard from others that your numbers were growing day by day. I saw you let other people – much less funny or cool than me – post what was on their minds too. You pretended like you cared about what they had for lunch or that they “had such a gid nite wit ma gurls lol luv usss” just as much as the hilarious chat  I gave you on a daily basis. You cheapened the effort that I made with every ‘like’ you gave them, Facebook.

And you could be so cruel. I thought that little white box was just between you and I. You let me forget that the really funny jokes I post about wanking or pooing could potentially be seen by the 500 people you indiscriminately allow to ask me for my friendship and yet you were nowhere to be seen when I had to endure the inappropriate and thinly disguised “so I hear you’re masturbating now” comments made by that middle aged family friend at that dinner party. You show what you like of my more undesirable traits to my parents or potential employers. You made me googlable, Facebook, and I didn’t even know it.

You’re bringing out the worst in me, Facebook. You make it so easy for me to send those badly spelt and inappropriate private messages to ex-boyfriends. You even parade in front of me, mockingly, that yeah they have seen it, but no they’ve not bothered to reply.
OH, and so suddenly just because every knobber in the cyber world is posting about Christmas, I have to join the back of the publicity queue because I used your buzz words? Are you trying to categorize my unique wit and humour because of what words I use?! Are you FILING me, Facebook?!

I FEEL LIKE I DONT EVEN KNOW YOU, FACEBOOK. You’ve told me NOTHING of what you really are and who you really give access to my information. Well I’ve seen “The Social Network”, Facebook, and I know you’re a twin-hating cash whore who sold out to Justin Timberlake.

You think you can spend time with those other desperate millions and still know me like you used to, Facebook? You don’t know me. No actually, I don’t want to see what great deals on car insurance for women I could get. I don’t want to play bubble safari (whatever the fuck that is) with a girl I met at summer camp 8 years ago. I DONT EVEN LIKE TGI FRIDAYS, FACEBOOK, STOP OFFERING TO SHOW ME THEIR WEEKEND GARLIC BREAD DEALS. DIdn’t you even read that article I linked about chain pubs?!

…”See friendship”, Facebook?!?

“Rachel Barr is now single – feel free to ‘like’ or comment”, Facebook?!

NO I DONT WANT TO PLAY BUBBLE SAFARI, FACEBOOK

I thought that WE were supposed to be friends.

…Dafuq, Facebook?