Thanks, Facebook
If it wasn’t for Facebook, this picture of me—wasted in Nevada, being heckled by a cowboy—would have never resurfaced.
Do you know what I did right after I woke up at 6 a.m., ran 16 miles along the river—leg muscles screaming out in pain—and returned home with a dehydration migraine?
Nope, you’re wrong: I logged on to Facebook.
Seriously, instead of going to my refrigerator and opening a bottle of water, I ignored my body’s cries altogether, laid on my bed, sweat forming a puddle on my newly washed sheets, opened my laptop and found out that Adam Saake (former drummer of the New Humans) really wants the fall season to come back.
Ahh, refreshing!
What good will this information do me? What good is it that the girl I had a fat crush on when I was 8 years old and living in Boston is now one of my Facebook friends? I mean, she’s incredibly hot and she seems to have tons of money, but that only confirms that we have nothing at all in common.
Did you know that right now, as I write this, The Sacramento Bee’s food and wine critic is “on an Eddie Hazel kick”? Who the fuck is Eddie Hazel? Who cares? News flash: Someone’s going to San Francisco tomorrow; some dipshit’s still going on about the swine flu; and, guess what, a person looked up into the sky, saw a cloud and then wrote a comment about it.
Do you know which TV mom I am? Sharon Osbourne!
Do you know what I did right when my co-worker Nick Miller said there was tons of work to do today and that he’s pretty much fucked if I don’t get to work immediately? Actually, I took a pee. But after that I logged on to Facebook to find out that some movie called Mister Roberts made my friend Michael Grosse cry. What a puss.
So why, you ask, do I continue to log on to Facebook? Because there’s magic to be experienced. For instance, sometimes mundane people have moments of royalty, like when a friend tells me, “I have a story to tell you that involves me and a former stripper who is pregnant!” Or when jazz guitarist Ross Hammond posts a list of five people he wants to punch me in the face, which includes Sacramento Bee theater critic Marcus Crowder and Tom Hanks. Or when my little sister posts a long-lost picture of me, hammered out of my mind in Carson City, Nev., while a cowboy with Down syndrome picks on me.
See? It’s magical.
I am sure when I get married, you will be updated; when I am fired from my job, you will know; and right before I die, I will say a 200-character goodbye to all my Facebook friends. Do you know the only reason I stopped doing drugs, turned my life around and now live on the proper side of the law? Because there is no Facebook in the penitentiary.
Hey, guess what “crazy bitch” I am? Courtney Love.