Dear Facebook,
This new "Live Feed" versus "News Feed" thing is complete bullshit. And confusing. And panic-attack-inducing. I couldn't figure out why my sister-in-law-that-updates-her-Facebook-status-199-times-a-day suddenly hadn't updated since last Tuesday. Did something happen?! Why wasn't she quoting funny movies or updating us on what she had to eat for dinner?!!
OH. She is.
I just can't see it.
(Sorry, EMS, I got a little panicky there. I know. I overreacted. You're right. I'll make sure to save my calls for something really important happening, like that one time my drunken neighbor told us he put a GPS in his Porsche so he could find his way home when he's drunk. And then he drove off in his Porsche, reeking of alcohol, apparently to check that newly installed feature out. At 2pm on a Sunday.)
(So in the future, I promise that I will save my calls for something really important, like my neighbor calling my chihuahua a "lesbian" before he drives off drunk. I know, right? The nerve!)
(Oh, and for little boys floating around in homemade balloons.)
Same for that little "suggestion" thing on the right side of the screen, Facebook. You know why that sucks so hard? Because late last night you "suggested" that I should "reconnect" with my cousin that was killed in a car accident last month by writing on her Facebook wall. And unlike me, I highly doubt you can blame your lack of sensitivity, poor judgment, and walking head-first into the bedroom wall on being blonde and/or having one too many drinks.
Because I don't think of you as a blonde, Facebook. I imagine you being bald headed. And, quite frankly, a bit too uptight to be a drinker.
You know? SO AWESOME. THANK YOU.
-Chloe
PS- AND BEING A COMPUTER TOTALLY DOES NOT COUNT. Because my microwave is also computerized but I definitely don't see it giving me the same bad attitude. In fact, I'm pretty sure it sings a song and whistles while it pops my popcorn with happy-little-cancer-causing waves of...um...micros.
PPS- Although I do crack up a little every time I see this:
Because that's my dad. And you're totally now looking down on my dad, aren't you Facebook! Facebook is apparently now into giving people inferiority complexes, suggesting that we re-connect with people we can't actually re-connect with and pointing out when we really don't have enough friends. Only 12! Not enough!
PPPS- Facebook pities you, dad. Pities. Facebook is a bit of a snob.
PPPPS- My dad says he is never on Facebook. My dad says he doesn't even know how he got 12 friends on Facebook. My dad says he wants to unfriend his 12 friends on Facebook. Except, my dad says, he doesn't know how to unfriend friends on Facebook because he doesn't know how he became friends with them in the first place.
My dad doesn't even want to be friends with the 12 friends he already has, Facebook. Take THAT.
Hey wait.
PPPPPS- But never mind that whenever my dad does somehow find himself (once-every-two-months-for-about-five-minutes) on Facebook, he types in very evasive, cryptic, one-word responses. It's much like an Ouija board, my dad's Facebooking skills. An Ouija board that doesn't know how to spell. And possibly didn't make it past the fourth grade. Let's not suggest we share that awesomeness with more people, okay? Let's keep it our own little entertaining secret, like this little conversation between my sister and my dad right here:
PPPS- Facebook pities you, dad. Pities. Facebook is a bit of a snob.
PPPPS- My dad says he is never on Facebook. My dad says he doesn't even know how he got 12 friends on Facebook. My dad says he wants to unfriend his 12 friends on Facebook. Except, my dad says, he doesn't know how to unfriend friends on Facebook because he doesn't know how he became friends with them in the first place.
My dad doesn't even want to be friends with the 12 friends he already has, Facebook. Take THAT.
Hey wait.
PPPPPS- But never mind that whenever my dad does somehow find himself (once-every-two-months-for-about-five-minutes) on Facebook, he types in very evasive, cryptic, one-word responses. It's much like an Ouija board, my dad's Facebooking skills. An Ouija board that doesn't know how to spell. And possibly didn't make it past the fourth grade. Let's not suggest we share that awesomeness with more people, okay? Let's keep it our own little entertaining secret, like this little conversation between my sister and my dad right here:
PPPPPPPPPPPPS - Seriously, Facebook. Ugh. Asshole.
Chloe, Colorful Colorado. 5'8" (only) when teetering in her highest 6 inch Miu Miu platform heels. Likes fashion, broccoli, ice cream, clarifying that she does not eat ice cream with her broccoli as to not cause worldwide panic, hoarding beauty products & pretty shoes, tickle fights with her husband (he would like to clarify that he does not like them back, OKAY?), anything covered in sprinkles, any alcoholic beverage made with Tang, live music, clicking the camera, sarcasm fonts, vases stuffed full of pretty flowers, and laughing hard until her belly hurts. Wants an adventurous life, lots of puppies, to never obtusely wander around with her fly down, and to be an iconic Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress with a bright, festive print when she grows up. This is where she bravely documents it all. (