But I do not use Foursquare because:
1. Imma get stalked! This is not me being paranoid, this is me being like
“yo, I already got crazy fools who want to hurt me
without me telling them EXACTLY WHERE I AM.”
2. It will set fire to the infrastructure of white lies my social life is built on.
3. They don’t have a “Queen” badge.

I choose not to be a part of it and all is fine and well.
THEN FACEBOOK HAS TO COME ALONG, PERRR USUAAALLL
& SNEAK SOME BULLSHIT NEW STALKING DEVICE
INTO ITS DARK CORRUPTED INNARDS OF PRIVACY EVASION
VIA PEOPLE YOU DIDN’T KNOW YOU SAT IN FRONT OF IN BIOLOGY.

Dude check this out, now if you aren’t careful,
other people can check you into places.
Like they can go somewhere, check in & if they see you,
they can check you in as well, or “tag” you
cause Facebook is fucking cute like that.

I’m not going to go into the logistics because Gawker did it for me.

So, everyone this is a formal warning!
DON’T FUCKING CHECK ME IN ANYWHERE
OR I WILL LOOK AROUND THE ROOM,
SEE YOU, WALK OVER TO YOU
& PUNCH YOU IN THE FUCKING FACE.

Or maybe, still,
look around the room, see you, walk over to you
& passive aggressively be like,
“Oh, so you DON’T really read my blog. I get it. Were you just trying to make me feel good, like I don’t have closer to 800 followers on Twitter than NOT having 800 followers on Twitter? So, you’re a liar. You’re a lying, tagging son of a bitch & I’m defriending you right now… on Dudefriend’s iPhone cause my trackball is still busted but I don’t let that kinda shit hold me back cause I’m a mad motivated young lady. GET FUCKED.”

Something to that extent…
not sure if it’d be verbatim, sometimes I forget my lines.

I mean, I disabled it already, but
I like to be incredibly precautionary
in precarious social (media) situations such as this.
Cause on the real, you just never know.
Facebook is always trying to find ways to fuck you.
So, it’s better to be safe than say, tagged at a dive bar when you’re supposed to be at your psychotic ex best friend’s birthday party that you too scared to say “FUCK YOU I DON’T LIKE YOU AND I DON’T WANT TO GO TO YOUR PARTY” to and instead said you were sick.

Cause believe you me,
that slut will leave a bitch-ass comment on your wall about it.

[Currently Listening 2 Slayer... LOL jk, it's Pageants via Rose Quartz]

I am freaking busting my butt every day, blogging like a mother fucker and trying to pay bills and using a busted ass Blackberry with a broken trackball and my freakin’ dog who does nothing to contribute to the household aside from sleeping and eating my crumbs has
A FREAKIN’ IPHONE?!!?!

Must be some fucking life, Zissou, just nesting in the clothes Dudefriend leaves around all day and fucking stomping your feet every time you need to go outside and fucking USING YOUR IPHONE FOR FACEBOOK.

[Currently Listening 2 NOTHING CAUSE I'M PEEVED]

Related: Someone Made Zissou A Facebook Account

OMG WTF IS THIS?!
ZISSOU IS NOT ALLOWED
TO BE ON THE INTERNET UNSUPERVISED
AND I DID NOT SUPERVISE THIS SHIT.

I DON’T KNOW WHO OUT THERE THINKS ITS APPROPRIATE TO BE MAKING OTHER PPL’S KIDS FACEBOOK ACCOUNTS BUT ITS SERIOUSLY INAPPROPRIATE YOU FUCKING PEDOPHILES! HE’S FIVE IN REAL LIFE! FIVE YEARS OLD! HE DOES NOT BELONG ON FACEBOOK! I BET YOU THINK THIS IS SOME STUNT I’M PULLING BUT SERIOUSLY I AM NOT BEHIND THIS. I WOULD NEVER EXPLOIT MY CHILD FOR THE SAKE OF A BLOG.

Although, Zissou wants me to add you can be his friend if you want.
I want to add that I WILL GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS.

I have a sneaking suspicion a certain filmmaker who lost all our footage in a harddrive crash and subsequently had nothing better to do with his life aside from hang out in kiddie pools in my yard is behind this…

I’ll keep you updated.

[Currently Listening 2 My Own Summer Mix LOL]

I’ve probably denied this woman about five or six times because I don’t know her IRL (& we’re not blogospherebffz) and finally this morning I was like WTF IS THIS LADY’S DEAL?! So, I text my dad and I’m like, “Dude, who is this broad that won’t leave me alone on Facebook?” and this is the text I get back:

“She was my first girlfriend and her mom and dad were your grandparents’ best friends and they died of cancer. Her mom delivered you at the hospital.”

And I was just like,

LIKE REALLY?!
PEOPLE WHO ARE RELATED TO PEOPLE
WHO BROUGHT ME INTO THIS WORLD
WANT TO ADD ME ON FACEBOOK.
PEOPLE WHO MADE OUT WITH MY DAD WHEN HE WAS LIKE 15,
FUCKIN BREEDING GUINIA PIGS AND PLAYING BASEBALL,
WANT TO ADD ME ON FACEBOOK.

WHERE IS THE LINE DRAWN?!?!!

I mean, obviously me TRYING to draw the line
by denying her and denying her is not working.
Why are middle agers so dense?
Why do they think I want them knowing
about where I work or how much weed I smoke?
Or that I want to take the time to make a list so that they specifically
can’t see where I work or how much weed I smoke?

I’m really starting to hate Facebook.
I mean, there are just too many people
who are interested in knowing what I am up to
that I wish were not interested
because honestly, I have no idea why they’re interested.

Yo, Mary Made-Out-With-My-Pops & Bro K-Through-12-I-Didn’t-Even-Know-Knew-I-Existed-And-I-Forgot-About-Until-This-”Friend”-Request,
you don’t know me.
You never knew me.
& if you saw me on an off day, stuck a suburban supermarket, you probably wouldn’t approach me. Probably wouldn’t even recognize me if “Marissa A. Ross” wasn’t spelled out in a sidebar or our mutual classmates didn’t ring some sort of bell. And even if you did, I wouldn’t know you. We’d have nothing to talk about. We’d have some awkward moment that would leave my brow furrowed & a WTF on my face, in which case you’d have to walk away until our high school reunion, where maybe I’d be drunk enough to spew five years worth of status updates in four minutes while waiting in line behind you at the tiki bar.

But since this is the age of technology, you think you can bypass that awkward social interaction with the click of a button. We can pretend we know one another and we can pretend like we give a shit about one another, get ourselves some fucking Disney El Capitan style Special Previews into the lives & times of people we didn’t even really know existed.
WELL I GOT NEWS FOR YOU!
YOU BETTER START HANGING OUT AT THE UPLAND ALBERTSON’S,
CAUSE I AIN’T ACCEPTING YOUR REQUEST!

People only seem to immediately upload horrible pictures of me.
Which is almost as annoying as waiting for good ones.
Which is not as annoying as how Facebook has become a part of our society and is probably going to be a Webster’s add-in very soon if not already, which could be kinda cool cause if my computer stopped giving me the dotted reds under “Facebook” that would relieve a lot of stress in my life. I write “Facebook” a lot & I hate spelling errors, even if they aren’t real because uh, hello, everyone rockin’ in the free world, wait, shit, even fools rockin’ in the third worlds know “Facebook” is a word.
I swear to geezuz this weekend, I heard so many more people say,
“OMG DON’T TAG ME IN THAT!”
than I heard them ask for more booze.
Which is another cause for concern.
Well, maybe not.
More booze for me!
But it’s like who the fuck carreeesss about Facebook pictures when there is a handle of whiskey dwindling?! Besides after enough whiskey, you don’t give a shit about tagged pictures. And if you’re anything like me, you’ve had enough whiskey in life to stop caring about tagged photos for forevz. There just comes a point where you gotta me like,
“HEY. THAT’S ME WHEN I’M DRUNK.
LOVE IT OR LOVE IT.
BITCHES.”

Except when you look
REEEALLLY BAD.
In which case, you just quietly untag your shit
instead of looking like an insecure drunk high school girl.

Not saying I don’t sometimes
act like an insecure drunk high school girl.
Not like I’m saying I’ve never put my foot in my own toilet.
Just sayin’ you should try not to.

S00000000 wise right?
I know.
I’ve had two glasses.
This is when I start to get smart.

If I was, like, thirteenish,
I would have laaaaaauuughed my ass off typing in “Large Seamen”,
giggling to myself in relief from behind my parents’ PC after five grueling hours of unplugging & plugging in the internet because it kept cutting out during my high octane flirtatious convos via America Online.
Yeah, holla at SurfNSandGurlie.
She’s got the mint teal with yellow text on her profile.
Her “personal quote” box is filled with Fenix TX lyrics
& the “martial status” box
probably says something sassy like
“I don’t know karate!”

FACEBOOK STATUSES DON'T LIE.

Sure, you’re kinda holding up this project for me,
but I ain’t mad at ‘cha.
Girl, I love shoes too.
But you can’t add me as a friend on Facebook & then lie to me.
Because I will find out.
Facebook knows all.
The internet knows all.
And at our company,
I AM THE INTERNET (bitches).

Little advice from me to you:
get on that list making tip.

Do you think I would have accepted your friend request if I didn’t have a way to hide all the tagged photos of me looking like a poster child for Derelicte?
No, definitely wouldn’t.
Definitely need my “bizness” list and its limited infoz.
Definitely do not need my superiors knowing I spend my nights in a drunken stupor, stealing pills and internet connections from my neighbors, looking like Charlie Day on glue while getting high off the fumes of the acetone used to clean my typewriter and caressing its smooth, cold metal surface with my blazing hot wine cheeks, rolling my tongue in succession with the beautiful hum of my cliche-ly named Selectric which I am not even going to tell you because… well, to be frank, it’s clearly none of your business.
It’d be inappropriate.
And that’s why
YOU ALWAYS MAKE A LIST.

Annyyywayyy,
Looking forward to seeing these shoes that I later read on Facebook are dazzling as well as getting my PDFs approved. See you Monday.

Sincerely,
Marissa A. Ross

But now that we’re in our mid-twenties and we all have new media jobs and are online all day pretending to be busy, when you instant message me, Dude-I-Met-Two-Weeks-Ago-That-Strategically-Commented-On-My-Kind-Of-Sexy-Default, I know my screen name wasn’t just magically on your buddy list, alright? There is no way. There is no way besides my Facebook that you could have obtained this information so you starting with, “Hey, who is this?” is like saying… well, it’s like saying a lot of things.

You could be a pussy. Yeah, a huge pussy. I don’t throw that word around lightly but when you’re sending me smegma like “Who is this?” I don’t know what else you expect me to think of you. You didn’t get my number, you opted for the safe boner-concealing route so obviously you either have a small penis or no balls, both of which leave me with little incentive to continue with the progression of exchanges that will undoubtedly be pursued (words, numbers, fluids).

Or you could have the mentality of a high schooler. Yes, I get it, you’ve been successfully smashing eighteen year old girls via Myspace for the past five years but I am a woman, not an anorexic aspiring actress with low self esteem that’s going to hop your bone because you sent me some kissy-faced emoticons after toying with me for fifteen minutes (“Noooo, who are yoooou?!!! Teehehe”).

Or you’re as socially skilled as a Michael Cera character with an insatiable appetite for World Of Warcraft in which case, I feel sorry for you and at the same time can tell you it wouldn’t work out between us anyway. I blog about porn and indie music, you talk shit on huntards while you’re PvPing after six Dr. Peppers and some PCP to make sure you really disenchant the fuck out of those weapons you’ve been acquiring all over the shire.
Are there shires in WoW?
Point & case, we really just aren’t on the same level.
You’re all about W2S and I’m W4M and yeah, it’s just not going to happen.
Good luck, I hope you meet a sweet Squishy babe that one-shots your heart. <3

Annnyway, the main point of this is I know I put my screen name on my Facebook. I did it so I could talk to people while I am at work. I am not dumb, this was a deliberate informational maneuver on my part so when you decide to use such provided information, be smart about it and just say, “Hey, this is So&So. Check this out:” and send me a funny YouTube.

And it better be funny.

Like really.

Because if it’s not funny, in three days when you IM me again,
I’m going to say,
“Who is this ?”