Facebook Shmacebook

I hate Facebook.

I really do. I hate it when my real-life friends (aka the ones whose voices I can hear, not just read) tell me about some long-lost person who recently contacted them via Facebook. I hate hearing their turmoil over whether to friend someone. I hate what they've done to mundane terms like "The Wall," "poke," and "like."

My husband hates it more. He's a purist hater, not a hypocritical one like me. In other words, he has managed to naysay it for years and refrain from setting up a Facebook account.

Me, not so much.

I'm still trying to figure out how to naysay it and maintain an account. I'm 75% sure I'll delete the account (or try very hard...I've heard it's very difficult to do). It was a dumb decision made late at night when we were trying to find a picture of a certain someone that a certain someone else we know may be interested in. We could see a little bit on Facebook, but not enough to satisfy our (OK, my) curiosity. And then we (OK, I) started rabbit-trailing and looking up people from Homer, Alaska, in an attempt to lure my husband in and get him to stop giving me that raised eyebrow.

It sort of worked.

I've always used the excuse that if I wanted to keep a relationship going with someone, I would. I wouldn't need some social networking site to get us together so we could relive high-school  times when we wore the same dress to the Prom (err..."Extravaganza"...I went to a Christian school). And that's mostly true. I keep in contact, or know how to keep in contact, with most of my good friends.

But it's not all the way true. I mean, let's face it: I can't can barely keep track of the people in this house, let alone those outside of it. For the past two (three?) weeks, a certain 2-yr. old has been discovered wearing a size 8 blue croc and a size 9 blue croc (he's a size 6 camouflage croc) every time we get to our destination (how I consistently miss this when we leave the house, I don't know. Yes, I do. It's very low on my priority list). And if a friend (or, OK, acquaintance) has a life crisis and doesn't email all of her friends but instead hastily updates her Facebook, I can be aware of how to help. (It's a MISSION FIELD! Snort, snort, har, har, chuckle, chuckle...relax, Ethan, I jest, I jest!)

Or, more to the point (and perhaps marginally less likely), if someone wants to get ahold of me because they are burdened with financial excess (or a 15-passenger van) that they would like to unload on my family but they don't know how to track me down...well, Facebook could be a lifesaver.

Blecch. The words Facebook and lifesaver in the same sentence are sour in my mouth. And on my fingertips.

The truth is that I'm nosy. I've posted enough to satisfy any nosy long-ago friends of mine (she has EIGHT kids? She's a PASTOR'S wife? I knew she was weird! But how'd she hook that guy?) and that's enough for me. People can see I'm there (for the minute) and contact me (I love REAL MAIL...ask me for my address!) or not.

And I'll keep looking for the missing pair of size 8/size 9 crocs.

(Pssst...Ethan....I know you're right. Facebook is stupid.)