I’m not sure how I feel about Facebook yet. Oh yeah, I’m a daily user and peruser but I have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, it’s been fun to reconnect with old friends. On the other, it can make me feel kinda creepy in a stalkerish sort of way. And this isn’t the 80’s anymore. It’s no longer cool – or romantic – to stalk anyone. Sorry, John Cusack, your boom-box stunt would now get you arrested and a restraining order slapped on you. Ah, the 80’s.
But back to Facebook. There’s only so much reconnecting I want to do. I’m not a reunion type of person. My twenty year class reunion was this summer and I chose to let it pass quietly without acknowledgement from me. I wasn’t strong enough to sever all ties completely so I joined the Facebook reunion group. With no intent of going to the actual reunion, I just wanted to see what everyone is up to (totally different than stalking). It’s amazing how old everyone looked in their pictures! Apparently, I’m the only one that never aged in the past 20 years (my body is begging to differ).
There were plenty of pictures posted. Mainly photos of girls with big hair and boys with, well, big hair. Then the pictures went back even further. I’ve seen a grade school class photo, I think it might be sixth grade but I really can’t remember. I do recognize the girl in the first row on the very end in her usual spot for all grade school photos. Actually, I recognize the dress because it was a birthday present. I’ve never been a dress kind of person, but I liked that one. Every picture day my mom made me wear a dress. The only day in grade school I ever wore a dress to school and if anyone teased me about it, I’d poke the teaser in the nose. I wish. I was never that tough, but I talked a good game.
I saw the picture and I chose not to tag myself. There was no need. I knew which one I was. Besides the photo was posted by a girl (gasp) I wasn’t very nice to. I had a bit of a Nelly streak. If you don’t know that reference, check out “Little House on the Prairie.” So, I wasn’t eager to tag myself and point out the fact I’m reachable for any complaints.
Last week, someone helpful, who, may I point out wasn’t even in the class, tagged me in the photo. “Oh dang me.” This is what you would call a dilemma. If I left myself tagged, I ran the risk of getting a well-deserved nasty note. If I removed the tag, I would appear antisocial in the actual context of the word – not in the actual definition of the disorder. What to do, what to do? I left the tag and took a chance. You might be thinking, “That was over 25 years ago, surely the girl has matured and moved on.” Well, possibly. But without going into too much detail, I really was a stinker to her. I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to vent a bit to me.
Since I’ve been tagged, I get updates about comments on the photo. One girl wrote, “Whatever happened to Corina? She was the best…” Whew. That could have gone either way. That’s nice, isn’t it? The only trouble is, I have no idea who she is. I don’t recognize her name – her first name. And what’s with the ellipsis? Is there a word missing that she didn’t think appropriate to fill in? The best….stinker? The best…Nelly? The best… what?
I probably don’t want to know. That’s why I don’t do reunions. And that’s why Facebook is evil in a voyeuristically enjoyable kind of way.