About a month ago, I exchanged messages with a friend who recently went through a very difficult break-up and as a result was trying to "keep a low facebook profile." (Yes, I envied the wordplay.)
Ah, facebook. You are my b-tch lover. I feel like one look at my profile reads like a telegram describing play-by-play my lack of a real life:
I don't take myself seriously on facebook. My name is altered, my profile picture often involves tasteless photoshopping, and I
refuse to be in a legitimate facebook relationship. There are a couple of contributing factors for this last detail, but one sure component comes with a story. If you're not in the mood for yet another trip down memory lane, I guess this is goodbye. If you're sticking around, pull up a chair.
Back when I was a freshman in college, I made my high school boyfriend break up with me on Christmas Eve. Odd phrasing? Let me break it down in an annoyingly colloquial fashion:
(cue Wayne's World time-travel music and finger motions)
I called up the soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend and was all,
"Why are you being such a b-tch?"
and he was all,
"I don't think we should have this conversation tonight. Merry Christmas, we'll talk later."
To which I said,
"F that, b-tch! We're having this conversation riiiight NOW."
And then he was like,
"[more refusing to my prodding]...I want to break up,"
prompting my,
"I can't believe you're breaking up with me on Christmas eve--of all nights!--What kind of b-tch would do such a thing?!?"
and then I imagine he rolled his eyes and I whimpered into the phone
"I'm cancelling our relationship on facebook."
...And as I clicked "cancel" and hung up the phone, I remember thinking to myself,
well, that was probably one of the lamest things I could've said to end the conversation.
But so it went, bygones, etc.
The next day I posted a picture of a nun-like latin teacher from my high school as my facebook photo and the rest, as they say, is history (well, unless you empty your cache.)
The thing is, I don't think my spiral into unbridled goofdom is confined to facebook. And that gives me mixed feelings.
On the one hand, I feel like I should be growing up and becoming more serious and professional (can you tell I had a reunion this past weekend?)
On the other hand, I don't want to fight the goof. It's who I am.
And you know what? Goofy makes me happy. It makes me laugh, as do farts, put-on nasal voices (an Angela specialty), and this memory I have from Raleigh's 13th birthday party at six flags:
While waiting for my friends to return from their roller coaster ride (whimp, I know) I noticed that I'd been hearing this repetitive thumping noise for the past couple of minutes. I located the source of the noise as soon as I turned around and faced the house of mirrors.
Thump...thump...thump.
I stood mesmerized as kid after kid ran towards (and then into) what they thought was the maze's end, but was actually just a well-cleaned window. (My apologies for that awkward sentence. I'm too lazy to clean it up.)(Yes, Dad. Like my room.) Bottom line: kids kept running into the wall because they thought it was the exit.
Oh it was magical...but mean of me.
...BUT you should've seen them charge! They thought they had it dooown...and then they went dooown. In my defense, it's not like I could've warned them; they wouldn't have been able to hear me (also, it's hard to gesture when you're buckled over and hardly breathing).
But no, not nice. Bad me. My faux-ly grown-up self acknowledges that. Shame on me for laughing.
Sorry to all those children for cackling at them as they stumbled back into the maze, their foreheads and egos both freshly bruised.
Sorry I'm laughing as I type this.
But here's the thing:
Despite their bruises, I rest on the fact that those kids probably bounced back, found their way out, and--after a little time had passed--embraced the memory and could laugh about it.
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