Facebook is the Devil

Okay. Here's the deal-i-o. I heart Facebook. Facebook totally satisfies my need for human interaction without the, um, actual interaction. Because let's face it, with my self-diagnosed social anxiety disorder and my pathological aversion to the phone, I am not the easiest person to be friends with. I mean, seriously. I've got quirks and idiosyncrasies up the ying-yang.

Anyhoodle. Facebook allows me to keep in touch and feel connected to people. I love the status updates, I spend lots of time going through photo albums, and sometimes, if I'm so inclined, I'll even comment on a status update. What can I say? I enjoy it.

Oh. But now? Now my work people have become my Facebook friends. At first, I just had my friend S, or as I like to call her, my work BFF. I tell her everything anyway, even the not so kosher stuff, so she's no problemo. And then there was B. Because she's leaving and moving upstate, I added her without a second thought.

Oh, but it never stops! I've added one other coworker and a parent (whom I love so it's not a big deal) and what's bugging me is that these people are friends with Mrs. LeDouchetard. And even though my profile is set to private, and I've changed all my photo settings to just FRIENDS, as opposed to FRIENDS & FRIENDS OF FRIENDS (eat your heart out ex-boyfriend), and FML I don't want everyone knowing my private business, and maybe (super paranoia kicking in) sharing it with that dumb bunny. It's lbeginning to feel ike that episode of Seinfeld where the gang starts hanging out with Susan, and it drives George crazy. "A Smart Cookie divided against herself CANNOT STAND!"

And then, the final straw. Being crazy, I (naturally) have an affinity for other crazies. And because like minds seek like minds, I am a crazy magnet. You know those parents that drive teachers crazy (not in a Mrs. Douchetard mean, nasty, I'm really a bitch way)? Those parents LOVE me. Why wouldn't they? I'm fluent in crazy. Anyhoodle, I have a parent I'll call, Mrs. Super Crazy, and she friend requests me this morning. SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!

Oh. Hell. No.

Now, it's not that I don't like Mrs. Super Crazy. But I have to draw the line somewhere. There's work Smart Cookie. And there's non-work Smart Cookie. And this whole thing is making me bananas. I don't want to have to worry about work in my free time. Gosh, have you not read this blog at all? I worry all the time anyway! I don't need any extra piled on.

So what should I do? Should I just start deleting people? Help!

Book Club = Happy Times

Photo Courtesy of Chrissy via FACEBOOK (um, without permission, but I assumed it would be okay)

FROM LEFT TO RIGHT: Amanda, Patty, Sheila, Claudia, Chrissy, Smart Cookie (k, let me just state for the record that I had NO IDEA that that top I was sporting was so booby-licious. Seriously, who do I think I am, J.LO?), Lisette

Last night was our first bookclub meeting, and despite all my fretting, it turned out to be just as much fun, if not more, than I had anticipated. All the cleaning and worrying and suicide threats were totally worth it. And my biggest fear, sitting alone in a clean house full of lit candles with a glass of wine, being sad-face and lonely because nobody showed up was, as always, just a product of my overactive, pessimistic, seriously crazy imagination. Thankfully.

Really, it turned out to be more of a mini-reunion than an actual bookclub -we discussed the book for a total of five minutes, maybe. Out of seven of us, only four of us managed to read the whole book. And to be fair, three out of the four who read the book are without bambinos, which makes it, I'm sure, a smidge easier to read.

It was a serious trip down memory lane. We talked about so many people that I don't even remember that I seriously felt the need to dig out my high school yearbook and look a bunch of these people up. Seriously, did I go to the same high school as some of these guys? Where was I when all this drama was going down?

Something that I found really amazing and really enjoyed was how open we all were about discussing our fears and insecurities when we were younger. And how it sometimes takes growing up to realize that the uber popular cheerleader and more (Chrissy, that's you, baby!) had the same feelings of doubt as the quiet girl, the free spirit, the stalker (your words! not mine! But really maybe you could go into the private eye business), and all the other types that exist in every single high school across America, a la Breakfast Club.



We ate delicious snacks (Chrissy, J LOVED the tomatoes and mozzarella. Quel surprise, right? Those I-talians! SO predictable!) and drank wine. I drank so much wine (three glasses on a school night, whoa -nelly!) that I woke up in the middle of the night with a seriously dry mouth, and too lazy to wake up, I tried to gather up enough spit in my mouth to swallow and alleviate the cottonball-ness of it all. How gross can I get, right? Oh, and there was one moment in the middle of the meeting, that I was attempting to pour myself some more vino. It was a small bottle, and since there were seven of us, I didn't want to hog it all, so I tried to pour myself a tasty little driblet. I was gently pouring. And gently pouring. And nothing came out. How odd! Um, until I realized I still had the cap on. All this after only two glasses! Lightweight.

You know how I had mentioned the mess that were my closets, cabinets, and drawers? I actually considered pinning a blindfold next to the kitchen closet and making whoever opened the closet to throw out trash put it on so as not to see the chaos behind closed doors. I didn't do that (that's kinda crazy talk, no?), but whenever anyone opened the closet to throw out garbage, I sidled up behind them and whispered, "Just look down! Don't look up!" No. I really did. I whispered this to Claudia while she was throwing out something, and I must've caught her offguard, or maybe she's just really good at following directions, because she, um, dropped the trash on the floor accidentally. What did I expect?

It was just a really great time. My friends are usually a couple of years older or younger than I am, and that can sometimes result in a big difference in life experiences and expectations. Meeting with these AWESOME women made me feel proud of the women we are, and how far we've come.

What a Girl Wants....

What this girl wants, what she really, really wants is... a new job. I made the mistake of updating my status on Facebook to read, Smart Cookie has never wanted anything more. Oh. My. Word. The gossip shitstorm that that statement ignited was effing HILARIOUS.

First of all, anyone who knows me knows that J and I have been trying and failing to have babies for like, ever. Well, I guess that that statement is not entirely true. We've been trying quite successfully (ha, ha), just failing to get that elusive egg to do her job and let that sperm penetrate. Anyhoodle, this cryptic status update apparently piqued some of my peeps curiosity, and like that super fun elementary school game Telephone, all of a sudden, I was receiving congratulations for being, are you ready for it? PREGNANT! I about peed in my pants. Hysterical.

The truth is, I didn't want to announce to the whole world that I'm looking for a new job. I'm currently gainfully employed, and I'd like to keep it that way, capisce? But there are some job opportunities on the horizon, and I want them. I really, really do. I've never been so excited or passionate about the possibilities. *Deep Sigh. I've never wanted anything more.

Oh, and my Facebook status now reads, Smart Cookie OMG! Would love to be, but is NOT pregnant!

At least not yet. ;0

Oprah Better Watch Her Back!

So. Guess who has started her own book club? Yep, that would be moi. I know, I know. You're thinking,

Smart Cookie, what about your self-diagnosed social anxiety disorder? Or, your belief that people are fun, but only in moderation? What about that? Huh? Huh?

Deep sigh. That's all still true. But I wanted to join a book club. I seriously heart reading. In fact, last night I was reading a book, and J said (a little peeved), "Jeez, you're always reading something, aren't you?" Anyway, I checked out some bookclubs -online of course, and wasn't interested in any of the book selections. That coupled with the fact that all these people would be -(gasp!) strangers, was definitely a deterrent.

So I had a lightbulb, or a flash of genius if you will. I would start my own bookclub. But Smart Cookie, you may say,

You kinda are not close to too many people. Wouldn't a bookclub not, um, be a bookclub if it was just...you?

Ahhhh, but that is where Facebook comes in. I lurve Facebook. It is totally my type of keeping in touch. Closeness, without being too close. I have a tendency to feel overwhelmed by people, and Facebook keeps me connected without making me feel suffocated. So, I chose some of my peeps on Facebook, many whom I haven't seen in years, and sent them a mass letter asking them if they would like to be part of my bookclub (I say my, but it's not really mine, more like ours). Honestly, I had prepped myself for disappointment. I had only chosen people who had made a genuine effort to reach out to me, whether it was by commenting on my status, sending me notes, or reading this blog, and whom I would feel comfortable with (tres important, obvs. -have I mentioned I don't handle rejection well?), but who knew? People have their jobs and their families and their babies and their lives.

But to my surprise, many of my peeps were interested! I'm so excited. It may seem lame to some, but as someone who ironically often shuns people but craves friendship, I'm really happy about it.

Our first book is Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, Or Why Pie is Not the Answer by Jen Lancaster. I chose that book because of the first line, "Today on a bus, a guy called me a fat bitch." Oooooh, sounds good already! And because, as a 33 year old with an ever changing body and consequently, a low body-image, I thought it would be enlightening to discuss it with a bunch of girls who may suffer from the same issues, and if not, may give me some tips on how to squash my inner bitch, at least where my weight is concerned.

So, I'll say it again. Oprah? I'm coming for you, bitch!