Drunken Friendster Extravaganza

I haven't been on Friendster in quite some time. But an old housemate of mine just wrote a testimonial for me (positively GLOWING, by the way! He even mentioned that I clean up after myself. Someone get me a tissue!), and once I approved it, I was compelled to surf around the site to see who was in my 2nd and 3rd degree network.

Well then, as only my closest friends and loyal blog readers know, I have extremely low tolerance to alcohol. And it just so happened that I was an ENTIRE glass of chardonnay into the evening during this Frienster surfing expedition, and feeling ever so slightly brazen. Translation: I had no filter whatsoever.

I had accepted that my tragically low tolerance got me into trouble in real life, but the discovery that "drunken internet time" is equally as dangerous is a totally new revalation! Behold my supercool french press travel mug purchased on a recent trip to Newport when my friends showed me theirs while I was 3 glasses of Merlot to the wind (yesIDrinkMerlotEvenThoughISawSidewaysDammit) and exclaimed, "I need one! Show me where I can buy it online!!" And, okay, it took me 20 minutes to get all the information on the order form right, but it worked!). Also, may I turn your attention to the blog entry entitled "First visit to a nudie beach," which was also written under the influence of a tall, cool Magic Hat #9 (maybe someday the printouts of the first version, made by those who read it between the time I published it and recovered from my hangover enough to edit it the next day, will be worth money some day!).

So allow me to spill my guts about my most recent internet faux pas, sponsored by a glass of South African (Australian? It was some "A" country) Chardonnay.

Friendster.

These are my friends, right? And I hang out with extraordinarily cool and understanding people. So it follows that the people in their networks and the people in their networks would be equally as cool, right? I sure the frick hope so.

Because let's talk about Tim. Tim is beautiful. B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L. And he's a friend of my friend, Josh. The more I read his profile (and the more I drank wine), the more I realized that we were soulmates. He's soulful AND a writer! He's a w.a.s.p, but he REJECTS his upbringing! He's clever and good with words, and did I mention gorgeous?, so I checked to see if he was single. Yep! I checked to see how old he was. 26. Cool! So I've got that cool "older woman" thing going for me. Then I realize (car sceech noise) he's gay.

Gaaaaaaaaaay, gay, gay. GAY!

So, obviously, I must write a scathing letter to my dear friend Josh, whom I have not spoken to in about a year, blaming him for his friend's homosexuality. I believe the subject of the email was "Hey -- thanks for nothing." I click send.

Then (being an extremely logical person) I think, hmmmm. Maybe Tim has some nice, fun, clever people in his network! So I check it out. My! What a big network he has! And it's filled with other beautiful gay men!

So I decide to write Josh another email, blaming him for all the beautiful people in Tim's network being gay. I believe the subject line of that email was "AND!!!!!!"

Then I realize that I have no real reason to feel any hostility or frustration whatsoever. Because, after all, I'm not really looking for a new S.O. anyway. Funny how you forget that when you're all alone, drinking wine, no light in your apartment besides the glow of your monitor, taking inventory of all your friends and your friends' friends, and their friends.....

So I get happy again and decide to surf through faces, just for curiosity's sake.

And I find Rafe.

Rafe's profile features an extremely closeup photo of his sunny-blonde self, lying down, hands behind his head without a care in the world but the tiny stain on the collar of his polo shirt, and very blue eyes and very white teeth. Hmmmmm, I think. I wonder....?

Yep. "In a relationship."

No problem! I think. I'll just write a friendly email to my new friend-of-a-friend, Rafe.

So I write:

" Dear Rafe,

So did someone photoshop that image of you on friendster, or are you really the Antichrist with an addiction to tooth-whitening products?

Love,
Cella"

Umyeah. After that I decided it was best to call it a night, confess my sins in this blog, go figure out which step of which program I was on, do some meditation and call it a night.

How I know I spend too much time on a computer

How do I know? Because I've driven by this building 100 times, and every time I look at it I think, If I click on that little box with an "x" in it, I can make the building go away.

I wish I was kidding.

All you really need to know about yourself is in your Amazon.com recommendation list

I'm pretty sure the Amazon people spent millions of dollars on market research and nerd salaries to develop the technology for their "Recommendations" page. They keep track of what you buy and which pages you visit so that they can read your mind and create a list of books/movies/music that you are most likely to purchase from them next. I've always had a love-hate relationship with that page. While it's cool to have a new book brought to my attention, sometimes I curse them for the impulse purchases that turned my $12.99 order into $80.

But today I found yet another reason to tsk tsk at the friendly folks at Amazon.com. Visiting their recommendations page is like holding up a mirror for where you are in your life. And, believe me; back in the day it was pretty cool to see that my interests supported a long and fruitful career in marketing and web design. I remember checking my recommendations circa 1999 and viewing books like "How to use Adobe Photoshop," "Write HTML by Hand," and "Marketing Strategies for Technology Firms."

I also remember a visit sometime in 2003, which included recommendations for travel guides, blockbuster Hollywood movies and books on the New York Times Bestseller List. Those were good times, good times.

Today was my first visit in about a year, and I am aghast at Amazon for so brazenly suggesting that I am a head case. Schya! Okay, you buy a couple self help books to make a few small repairs in the ol' love department, and they go and assume you've completely fallen off the deep end and would benefit from reading books called Even God is Single, Men Who Hate Women and the Women Who Love Them, and something like Women Who Love Men Who Have Hairy Knuckles, Attached Earlobes, Alcoholic Fathers and an Aversion to Cilantro.

I can't wait till this time 5 years from now, when all my married friends are reading up on the latest parenting material, to find that my list includes Women Who Love Cats Too Much, 25 Recipes for Catnip and How to Raise 57 Kittens in a Studio Apartment.