Are all of you on Facebook? I don't see why not. It is a marvelous time waster and apparently it's like rejoining high school. I am the only person on earth who loved high school–all the drama, the pep rallies, the Jordache, the tater tots in the cafeteria. So I'm fine with Facebook.
If you are thinking of going on Facebook, Tallulah Gardens has her own page, you know. And she will totally friend you if you ask. Because don't you want to hear about what she ate and when it came back out? Why not?
Come on. Join Facebook. What are ya, chicken? Chicken! Bock, bockbockBOCK! Afraid your mom will find out?
And no, Facebook is not paying me. They are ignoring me, just like FedEx.
Anyway, here's what happened to me on Facebook.
I used to be a really jealous person when I was younger. And I used to get really annoyed with myself about it and yell at myself not to be so dang insecure, and then you know what? When I met Marvin? After the first initial month or two? I stopped being ridiculously jealous.
And it occurred to me that all those years maybe there wasn't something wrong with ME, maybe I was being intuitive. Maybe everyone I didn't trust was, oh I don't know, UNTRUSTWORTHY.
So anyway, I'm on Facebook, as I am wont to do, and one of my Facebook friends was tagged in an album.
If you are SO not cool and NOT on Facebook right now–and whatEVER, come on, let's leave her here with her MySpace or whatever–I will explain what tagging in an album is.
You slap a bunch of pictures up on Facebook. If your friends are in said pictures, you can put their names on the picture, then all of the pictures you put on Facebook will also show up on your friends' pages, too.
This ends up being a marvelous way to look at the photos of complete strangers. Which is what I did the other day when I was being on Facebook as I am again wont to do.
My friend from high school, who I will call Babs Cleansefire–which is my way of cleverly disguising her name, and now I am dying because people from high school read this, and now I know they are over there breaking my code (she was a year younger than us) (she was really cute) (she went to BlueJean with Dave Newman)–was tagged in an album.
"Babs Cleansefire was tagged in an album!" my Facebook page said. The photo album was titled, "High school memories."
Well. You know I was all over that.
So there was one photograph of my friend Babs at a party, the kind of party where it looks like no one is drinking alcohol, so naturally I was not in attendance. Then the rest of the photos were of people who looked vaguely familiar, but I could not tell you their names if you stuck flamethrowers in my nethers.
I really have no idea what a flamethrower is. I imagine it's some kind of flame. Perhaps my pal Babs Cleansefire could help me get it out.
So I'm perusing these photographs which are none of my business with all the glee and delight one could possibly dredge out of pictures from 1982, when all of a sudden I was looking at a picture of some sort of notebook or something. It was covered in inside jokes, and words to stupid songs (as opposed to all those smart songs from 1982), when all of a sudden in the middle of the page it read, "Cardinal Hunter is here!"
Cardinal Hunter was my high school boyfriend.
Cardinal and me and my filling and my paisley earring. I ruined every picture of us after we broke up, but even 25 years later I kind of heart myself for turning him into Raymond Burr, here.
I was immediately in my maroon monogrammed sweater and my nice class ring. I cannot tell you how infuriated I was. Over a notebook from 1982.
"Why was Cardinal Hunter there? WHAT IS CARDINAL DOING ON THIS NOTEBOOK!?!?"
Which is a question women have asked themselves through the ages.
It didn't take me long to get over it, but there were a good three minutes there where I was livid. And storming down the halls of my high school to find Cardinal, tears streaming down my face. Because someone noted his appearance on a notebook.
If that doesn't encourage you to join Facebook…