I cannot tell a lie. It's been difficult not getting my 15 minutes of fame every 5 minutes with a clever post or status. It burns, not in my urethra when I pee, but in my chest and forehead. My mother would be disappointed to learn that the mannish girl she pushed out of her baby-hole 57 years ago grew up to be such a conflicted hypocrite. Albeit super sexy, but alas a hypocrite.
It took 28 days, but I finally get it. I don't hate Facebook, nope, not at all. In fact, some folks might toy with the idea that I'm with Facebook child. Shouldn't have skipped Jazzercising with Tina on Tuesdays to perfect my erotic Facebook profile picture. Just a little padding for all the sliding I'm about to do.
Being among the first to know when my favorite band, comedian or author is coming to town...well that's how I wound up on first base with a virtual tongue in my mouth.
Easing my social awkwardness (as my best friend Trixie would say..."remember how we are better NOT in person")...suddenly I'm on second base with a fumbling hand on my perky breast.
Creating clever zingers, trying out new comedic material and receiving "not funny. not funny at all" instant feedback...oh my! Is that your big toe? We've hit third.
Staying in touch with family and friends that live out of state...bittersweet. Wait, what? We went all the way? Home plate? Sorry, I didn't notice I was creating a fan page.
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