I like it on the . . . Facebook’s newest virus.

A year ago it was the color of our bras.  This years it’s where we put our purse when we get home.  This yearly facebook virus started by someone claiming it will raise breast cancer awareness is little more than a way to snicker about sexual acts. 

I have to wonder how this is supposed to raise awareness.  It does direct our attention to the 1 in 3 women who will have breast cancer in their lifetime.  It doesn’t share stories of losing the women we love, maiming our own bodies in order to save ourselves, or the hopeful stories of surviving. 

It doesn’t share the things that might save us, estrogen, soy, breast feeding, exercise, taking care of our bodies, and early detection.

There’s no money donated, no support for those who have it.  No pink ribbon, no getting together and raising our voices to beg for more funding for research.  There’s no protesting that big machine that painfully squashes our breasts when there much be an easier way.

Instead, we read about how women are doing it in the car, on the floor, on the kitchen counter.  Women are snickering at each other.  Men are intrigued for about a second, and then realize we are all just a bunch of giggly teenagers flaunting our new curves at them.  Every status begs for a vision of sexual acts in different places. 

We have made sexual objects of our selves once again.

I am truly disappointed in my gender.


I broke up with Abrah today. :(

Sadly, I realized that it is almost time to change my relationship on Facebook.

There aren’t enough options to describe my relationships all at the same time.  I cannot be in a relationship with Abrah and be married to Nick.  It’s one or the other.  And seeing as I’d have to explain my relationship with Abrah to every new person I meet out here at work or whatever, I should probably let that part of my life go.  We all know it’s only real if it’s posted on Facebook.  I’ll make you my sister although I know that’s not nearly enough to make up for dumping you.  I’m so sorry Abrah.

I told her today, nine days ahead of time, so that she could prepare herself for the moment when she is once again “SINGLE”.  But we can still be friends, Abrah.  It’s not you, it’s ME.  We’re just not in the right relationship status category.  Someday you’ll meet someone else and still not be able to fit them into such narrow labels.  Maybe it should just remain “complicated”. 

And Nick, I know you didn’t ask me to do this.  My relationship status is the one really important thing I can give you.  Be kind to it. 

Abrah, if you were here we could do a break-up ritual complete with Ben & Jerry’s and a bottle of wine, some kleenex and the burning of old memories.  But I’d just end up hungover and gassy and ashes would be everywhere and the kitten would have strung the kleenex from the bathroom to the downstairs.  Just know that when one Facebook status closes, another one opens.  Because you can only have one at a time.

Sob, it’s just not fair that I have to make these huge decisions!

What Color is your Bra on Facebook, and the Newest Virus

The social virus about posting your bra color that hit Facebook the past two days seemed friendly enough.   The message that women were secretly sending to other women said we should do this to raise breast cancer awareness, which of course wasn’t the point.  Some women thought we were just flirting with the boys by talking about something risque.  I personally don’t see how bra color is flirty any more than knowing whether men wear boxers or briefs.  For me the bra is a necessary evil so that I don’t wack myself in the eye while jogging, or accidentally step on my own nipples.  I think posting bra color as a status was more about identifying yourself as a woman and connecting with others over a piece of clothing that we know quite well.   But that could be just me.  Bra color says alot about who you are:

White:  I’m a mom and I don’t care.  Of if young:  I’m still innocent enough for you to let me leave the house.

Nude:  I’m a mom and I’m a little braver than the ones who wear white because this color is ugly.  Or I wear alot of see-through shirts but I don’t want you to see everything.

Black:  I have to be ready just in case someone sees me in my bra.  And I might even wear panties to match.  I never know when a gorgeous firefighter will have to cut your clothes off in order to get you out of your crumpled car.  I’m strong and I’m not afraid of anything.

Red:  I PLAN on someone seeing this today.  I might even accidentally pop a button.

Blue:  I feel CUTE and frisky.

Multicolored (flowers, paisley, whatever):  A bra is just as important as anything else I wear and I like lots of color.  I’m as crazy as I look.  And I want you to see my bra through my see-through shirt.

Pink:  I’m a princess.  Can’t touch this.

None:  Well, I obviously didn’t breastfeed three children.

I was cool with this, even though it seemed silly.  But the next message to go around was too far over the edge for me:

The color thing got the boys so riled up today, we thought we’d try this again… This will get them thinking. Let’s see how dirty their minds are.

Ok, so this is the game – It’s about how you have your hair styled.
If its up, write ON TOP
If its down and at either side of the face, write SIDE BY SIDE
If it’s long & straight, write GIVE IT TO ME STRAIGHT
If its just a complete mess, write EVERYWHERE N MESSY
You get the picture!…

Let’s see if they get this one! but ONLY SEND to GIRLS!!!!!!

I was willing to let the whole breast cancer/but not really spam through, but this one is definitely about sex and I really only want to tease one man about that and not all the teenage boys I’m friends with on Facebook, or old classmates, or my uncle, or my little brother, or puppets.

Although I have to give it some credit for being honest.

Because the other one was not about breast cancer, and coincidentally came out the same day that I was asked by my doctor if I wanted to do genetic testing at Dartmouth for the breast cancer gene.  A message to all Facebook users from me:  Don’t use breast cancer to spread spam or flirt with boys.  Some of us are not all that amused.

If you combine my hatred of weddings with my dread of Facebook’s influences on how we interact, you get the story of the groom who stopped his wedding to update his facebook status. While this does not shock me, as Facebookitis creeps through our social structure, eroding the core ways in which we think about our relationships with others, it still just gives me the creeps.

The logic these days is that if it doesn’t happen on Facebook it’s not REAL. If you don’t post that your boyfriend is cheating on you, it didn’t happen. If you forget to tell the world that you’re vomiting repeatedly and hugging the bathroom floor then it’s just all in your head. If you hate your job, your family makes you crazy, or you are dying of boredom then everyone must know or it won’t count.

But if everything on Facebook is REAL then I am a lesbian, I’m very confused and overwhelmed ALL THE TIME, and I have a canoe and an ARK. I drink alot of wine, I’m forgetful and I live with a puppet.

Okay, that doesn’t necessarily prove my point.

It’s all about Facebook

When someone tells me they aren’t ever getting on Facebook and they tilt their head back slightly, pull their eyebrows down in consternation, and give me that I’m never going to join the cesspool of the internet look, I LAUGH. It’s only a matter of time! If you’re not on Facebook you’re just not REAL anymore.
Facebook language and applications are part of real life social interactions now. We think in terms of status reports. We do quizzes to make major life decisions. We make avatars to interact with each other. If there is someone we’re not sure about, we can conclude that at least they are our friend on Facebook and that MEANS something.
Alot of this is still murky though. If there’s an exboyfriend and we friend him on Facebook are we cheating? If we just email through Facebook that doesn’t really count, does it? If my puppet friends another puppet and she wants to ask him to be in a relationship, but he’s not a very nice puppet, should she do it anyway because it doesn’t MEAN anything, or should she keep her puppet integrity and not let all her teenage friends think she would Facebook relationship someone who posts nasty things?
As a parent, Facebook is where I get most of my information. I know who is where and when and what they’re talking about with who. AHA, all you teenagers don’t think about that when you post that you have snuck out of the house to meet the boyfriend you’re not supposed to have.
Sometime in the future it’s going to be mandatory to have a Facebook account. Everyone wants to know what you’re up to. Your employer, your government, the aliens who are using us as an experiment. They’ve finally found a way to change our brain chemisty and turn us into Farmtown idiots who do what we’re told and smile all the time. Join the herd, people!!!

Kristi’s Hypothetical Facebook Obituary

Kristi will be sadly missed by her family and all her friends on Facebook, including people that she hadn’t seen in twenty years, old boyfriends, and the occasional rock star. She led a long and active life that revolved around plowing her fields and begging for harvesting workers in Farmtown, committing random acts of crime with her gang in Mafia Wars, and posting stupid pictures of squidlike thread on her profile page. She was always getting old friends together and guilting them into friending each other, as well as making everyone feel welcome by leaving sarcastic comments anywhere she could. She was a great help in the community as well. Her efforts at curbing teen angst that had been left for future employers to see and her ability to spy on the underworld of the teen population through a puppet, made the world a safer, less bitter place. We will miss her profile picture and her little green dot, which she left on almost all the time so that none of her friends would feel alone. We hope that all her quiz results and her IQ score will remain up so that the world can always compare themselves to this great Facebook icon.
Donations will be accepted in her memory at The Recovery Center For Facebook Addicts.

Will Someone Please Create Farm Mafia on Facebook?

I ONLY got on Mafia Wars because Abrah asked me to join to add another number to her mafia. I would most likely do anything she asked me to including becoming addicted to heroin, shaving my head, or giving up my first born child.

So I joined and then became addicted to doing more jobs and getting more money and owning more big guns. I fight people and rob their properties and collect useful things like blackmail photos. But I’m terrible at it.
When I rob someone I rob them only once because I don’t want them to notice and hurt their feelings. I rob so quickly it’s almost accidental (like eating a skittle as I browse through the kitchen. The calories don’t count if I’m not really eating). I run away and start whistling nervously to myself. I would never hit anyone over and over until they’re dead, like SOME PEOPLE DO. I do all the jobs I can because I’m a worker and not a fighter. I’ll never do a HIT on anyone, although I have put people on the hitlist, those mean bastards who fight me until I’m dead. I’m always like, what did you do that for? I never harmed you!
What’s really scary is that I start to see real life as a mafia war and I have this odd feeling that every hour more money should be deposited into my bank account. I don’t feel safe anymore because all I own is a softball bat and a rotting cucumber in the refrigerator. I don’t own buildings, but I do live in the ghettos.

Meanwhile, some other people wanted me to join a lovely little game called Farmtown. I was surprised to see that I’d already started this application. Sometimes I think Facebook does things without telling me.
Farmtown is all sickly sweet. I plow the fields with a smile on my face. I plant seeds like tomatoes and strawberries. Friends can give me flowers and animals as pets. The worst thing to ever happen is to lose a crop when I don’t sign in 22 times a day to check on them. I can go to the market to see other people and sell my harvest. Strange happy little people are always asking me to help with their farms when they are dry or overrun by weeds or a cow is missing and I just can’t say no and ruin their joy.
Farmtown is like Pleasantville, so carefree all the time, with my little person sitting next to a rabbit who never eats my garden, chatting with friendly neighbors. GAK. Is it just me being crabby, or is everyone on Prozac? And does everyone in Mafia Wars need a little? What Farmtown needs is the competitive edge of Mafia Wars.
You should be able to sneak in when someone is offline and steal their crops, or hold their dog for ransom. It would be nice to have a weapons toolbar with things like plant diseases, and grenades, and chainsaws. When you destroy someone’s farm you could take it over and eventually build up to owning a whole plantation. Of course the other players can’t quit. They become your serfs and have to work for years in order to afford an arid little piece of land in Nebraska to try to start over. But if you get caught stealing or setting things on fire you could be put in jail and have to wait impatiently for a friend to bail you out.
While Farmtown makes me want to vomit rainbows and Mafia Wars makes me cringe, I do believe a combination of the two would be the perfect way to spend every waking hour.
Farm Mafia!!!!