Bring it on, FaceBook

I have realized that I am often the last to find out about things in my extended family. FaceBook, it turns out, is one of them.

It was during a group Skype call with my sisters and cousins that my out-of-datedness was revealed. The gaggling conversation was almost unintelligible, even more so to me because of mombrain, when suddenly I realized I had misunderstood the context. Some photo or other was the topic of discussion, and when I asked about it someone offered to post it on my wall.

"What wall?" I had visions of a much-handled 4X6 print sticky-tacked next to my cheap Van Gogh posters above Kye's abstract Crayola artwork.

A moment of stunned silence, followed by a cacophony of cackling interrupted only by the jittery playback of my computer struggling to keep up with the DSL feed (must trade in those poor hamsters one of these days...) I signed up right after that.

But now I have to feed the beast. The albums to be posted (sorry girls, I'm backed up all the way to last Easter break), groups to join (and then promptly leave once I realize how useless they are), and personal info to fill in (then delete, then fill back in but restrict to "friends only").

I don't know why everyone says FaceBook is so addictive.

It can be hard not to overshare. The bane of my FB existence is the status updates. Mostly I just put--

Mama is... needing a cappuccino
or
Mama is... sleep deprived
or
Mama is... embarrassed because the neighbor got an eyeful.

What I'd like to put up is more like--

Mama is... going for glass #2
or
Mama is... not sure what that smell is, and right now doesn't really give a crap (pun intended)
or maybe even
Mama is... crazy horny but Husband doesn't get home for another 5 hours and by then I will be anything but.

Just for shock value, totally not because those things ever happen. Totally.

Let's go, FaceBook. I can so take you.