About six months ago, I built myself a little Facebook page. I’m not exactly sure I remember why.
Wait. Yes I do. I was stalking someone. Well, not really. But kinda. Nothing creepy or bad … let’s just say it was a distant relative.
The whole thing was against my better judgment. And now I know why.
I have totally random people coming out of the woodwork wanting to be my friend. (And in turn, gaining access to my page.) Names I don’t recognize. Friends of friends of friends. People I never really knew in ‘real’ life. Usually, they’re people who attended the same high school. Occasionally, they are people with whom I share some kind of work connection.
For instance, last week I received the following Friend Request.
I know you through [work]. I am Pooperdude.
Actually, Pooperdude, I’m not sure we’ve ever really met. I do know you’re quite the entrepreneur, with that dog poop removal service of yours. But, no, I don’t think I actually know you.
And then, once I’ve accepted someone as my friend — which I inevitably always do, because I’d feel like a ginormous, bitchy a-hole if I declined (unless they’re a total stranger, which, to me is just … weird.) — the real maintenance begins.
Here is a list of things people currently want from me.
Seriously. Who has time for this? Am I the only one who doesn’t get it?
I shouldn’t complain. It’s good to be loved. Plus, it’s a little ‘pot calling the kettle black’-ish, what with this blogging addiction of mine. I suppose instead of spending my nights writing posts, I could be sending my Facebook “friends” virtual hams or something.
Maybe I’m just anti-social. I don’t think so. Maybe I’m just … 40.