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Posts tagged ‘Facebook hell’

My Facebook Hell (this is long so I hope you packed a lunch)

I joined Facebook this year for kicks and giggles.  (Never mind that I can’t kick anymore because my legs refuse to go that high.)  “You’ll love it!” said my friends. “It’s a lot of fun!” they exclaimed.  They told me such wonderful things about this phenomenon called Facebook.  It’s what they didn’t tell me that was my down fall.

It started out innocently enough.  I signed up and was sent to my new home page.  I was so flippin’ confused!  I haven’t cursed that much since the early 90s when I got my first computer, with DOS no less, and after 3 days of fighting the damn thing, had to pay some geek thirty bucks to come to my house and show me, with one click, how to get past the main menu.

Anyway, I puttered around Facebook for awhile until I could edit my profile.  Then I noticed something at the top that said “News Feed” so I clicked on “View News Feed” but nothing happened.  That’s because no one told me I actually had to type something in that little box that says “What’s on your mind?” 

I go to my profile page and see a tab that says “Wall.”  Is this like a living room wall, the Berlin Wall, another brick in the wall?  Curiosity got the best of me and I clicked and found the same little box that says “What’s on your mind?”  So I told that little box exactly what was on my mind.  It went something like this…&^%$#(*&^% 

I looked up people I knew were on Facebook and clicked on their name.  “I’m going to find friends!” I thought excitedly.  That is until I clicked on their photo and got a page that said, “(Person) only shares certain information with everyone.  If you know (Person), add her as a friend on Facebook.”  First of all the sentence doesn’t even sound right…”only shares certain information with everyone.”  It just doesn’t roll off the tongue.

Fear kicks in.  What if no one accepts me as a friend?  What if they ignore my pitiful attempts to share flairs?  What if I become the only friendless person on Facebook?  Against my better judgment I plowed ahead and made friend requests to people who “only share certain information with everyone.”

Before I knew it I found myself checking Facebook every day to see if I made any friends.  And each day I was faced with that same little box that insists on knowing what’s on my mind.  Regardless, I made friends!  Some were people I knew and that was great.

Then one day I get a friend request…wow, someone is asking me to be their friend!  There was only one problem, they didn’t speak English. 

Apparently, due to the Italian nature of my last name, someone in Italy with the same name thought we should be friends.  That person led to another person to another person in Italy that wanted to be my friends.  I can’t tell you how many times I went to the Google language translator to find out what they were saying to me.  Then Google would translate my response into Italian and I would copy and paste it on their wall.  I’m not sure about the accuracy of the translations because my Italian friends would sometimes laugh at their silly new American friend.  Finally I gave up and told them all I don’t speak Italian.  If I’d done that in the first place it would have saved me a lot of trouble.

Something happened one day that forever changed the way I viewed Facebook.  I discovered games.  I found Fish World, Happy Aquarium, Pet Society, Monk Werks and the game that sent me into the depths of Facebook addiction hell, Café World.

As I’ve previously stated, I really, really hate to cook.  But there is something about Café World that sucks me in.  I can be a chef and not have to do much of anything.  I can create such culinary masterpieces as Tikka Masala kabobs, Triple Berry Cheesecake, French onion soup, Voodoo Chicken Salad and Crackling Peking Duck with the click of a mouse.  Little people with funny hair who walk like robots come into my café to eat and then leave with a big thumbs up.  I’m a success and I never have to wash a dish.  I earn points so I can buy things for my café like tables and chairs and floor tiles.  What can I say, I’m easily amused.

I realized the depth of my addiction last week when I found myself trying to coordinate the time it would take to cook a virtual Spitfire Roasted Chicken (don’t tell my husband) on my tiny little café stove to the time when I would be online again.  The chicken takes 12 hours.  I had to make sure to start the cyber chicken exactly 12 hours before I would be back online.  I am pathetic.

Hanging my head in shame, I admit I need a support group.  Something with a 12 step program to help me wean off slowly.  (“Hello, my name is Terri and I am an online chef addict.”  How lame is that?)  If I don’t get help soon I will remain a tiny robotic chef with funny hair that hates to cook for the rest of my life.

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