According to facebook, I have 757 friends. Yet, if you asked me to recognize them at a local bar, I’d probably identify only about 70%. In fact, sometimes I look at my feed and think “who are these people?” I’m sure they are thinking the same thing about me. Actually, they are probably thinking, “Who is that person, and why on earth doesn’t she do something about those split ends?”
On the scale of facebook relationships, I’m Miranda. I’m not promiscuous with my friend requests like Samantha, nor as prudish as Charlotte. I’ll accept your request only if I know you, and if you’re someone who I don’t suspect of DATELINE mischief.
So, somewhere along the line, in order to have “friended” someone, I must have thought he/she was a decent human being. The problem is that somewhere along the line I forgot him/her. And now the sonogram of his girlfriend’s uterus is staring me in the face. (I’ll reserve comment but…really?)
Some of my friends have over a thousand friends. Others have less than a hundred. If you asked me to count how many good friends I have, I would probably say about fifty. Then, if you asked me how many of these friends could give directions to my home, I would say about forty. Frankly, I’ve only talked on the phone in the last month with another ten. Yet, I don’t define my friendships by who calls me regularly. Some of my closest friends are people whom I haven’t seen in years, but they live in my heart.
Then, of course, are the people I don’t remember with the sonogram pictures I’d rather not see.
There’s no point in unfriending these folks, since stalking people whom you really don’t know is the point of facebook. Even though I don’t remember “Lady Madonna Perry,” it is sort of fun checking out her photos from a recent trip to Italy with some guy who looks like he could sharpen pencils in his dimples. I don’t remember LMP but I sure would like to remember dimple face.
Plus, Lady Madonna Perry is probably peeking at my honeymoon photos and judging me for wearing polarized fishing glasses at a champagne dinner. I’m sure she has no idea who I am, but I’m sure that she’s cringing at my choice of evening eyewear. So, we can mutually peek into each other’s lives, knowing that at some point we both decided that the other was not a serial killer.
“Serious” science websites say that people can remember over one thousand faces. But facebook is tricky. Sometimes your face doesn’t look the same as I remember. And for most of you, I have no chance of recognizing your offspring, your golden retriever or your generic “Wonder Woman” avatar. (Nevermind your new married surname.) And we all know that you won’t recognize my dog, my split ends, or my nephews either.
Yet online, we’re good to go. Best friends forever.