So now that Gwen is getting married, she seems much more committed to trying to fit in with the creatures indigenous to this planet. (Unlike Krista, she pees every fourteen seconds.) She’s started returning phone calls, attending social engagement, and generally embracing humanity again. She’s even decided to join Facebook.
I suggested she try Twitter, but she is vehemently opposed. I guess I’ll just count my blessings and be glad the dropped that whole Friendster agenda she was originally pushing. Baby steps, people – baby steps.
After too many hours of wedding planning and too few glasses of wine, I set about creating accounts for Gwen and her bride-to-be. Wait, did I type bride? Oh dear, that might have been a Freudian slip. Everyone knows Gwen wears the pants in that relationship. Shit, did I do it again?
Matt’s account was a breeze. Sadly he wouldn’t actually let me write his profile blurb. I don’t know why not, frankly. I’m the epitome of good taste and discretion. If he’d just let me write the damn thing he could have made all kinds of new friends around the Interwebz…and penal system.
The problems didn’t really start until I tried to set up Gwen’s account. She has a strange last name, you see – strange enough that Facebook thinks she’s a lying deceptive douche attempting to create a false identity. That’s only half true. They told her she had to prove she was registering with her honest-to-God real name.
Now you need to understand that Gwen is a marketer’s dream. She’s a total sucker for slick packaging and a witty tag line. She is the whole reason the marketing industry exists. Once we’ve reeled her in and she decides she needs something, there isn’t a thing on Earth that’s going to stop her. Telling Gwen no is a sure fire way to orchestrate the destruction of the planet. I’m sure Matt would back me up on that statement, but only if there was no way Gwen would ever know about it.
Facebook is asking for trouble, plain and simple. Gwen is about to bring the pain. She calls me almost every day now with an update. The calls almost always begin with, “I still haven’t fucking heard from Facebook.”
Last week I tried to offer some solutions rather than just support.
Me: You could always tweak your name a little. What about using Gwendolyn?
Gwen: No! I want Gwen, damnit. Why should I have to use a different name? My siblings are on there. I bet I’m tagged in photos. I’m real, damnit! They know it!
Me: Um, honey? If you aren’t a user, you aren’t really tagged. They don’t know you exist.
Gwen: Yeah huh! I’ve seen my brother’s photo albums. I’m tagged on there. I’m real.
Me: But, it’s not linked to an account. Technically you can tag anything. I’ve got a friend that tags her shoes from 1983 in her photos. They don’t have an account either. Come to think of it, Facebook would probably flag someone registering with the account name ‘my keds’ too.
Gwen: I’m real.
Me: Sure you are, Pookie. You could always change your name to Magillicutty Vagina Juice. That would make for a pretty fantastic driver’s license. Then you DEFINITELY have to keep your last name when you get hitched. It would be criminal to alter a name that perfect.
MVJ: I’m not changing my name.
Me: Can you repeat that Magillicutty Vagina Juice? Your iPhone is breaking up yet again.
MVJ: I just want my Gwen account.
Me: Then do what they want.
MVJ: I did. But they aren’t responding.
Me: It’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Of course they aren’t responding.
MVJ: I’m not happy about this.
So here’s your insider trading tip for 2010: Facebook is going down. It’s time to find your new social network of choice. Magillicutty Vagina Juice has spoken. You might as well kill off your online identity now.