Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Why I Love Facebook

I have decided that there are half a dozen Facebook camps.  I could break them down into genus and species (one includes those closet farmers who long to live the rural dream), but I’m sure I’d lose about half my friends in the process.  

I’m in the unfortunate camp that believes Facebook IS a viable social life (currently my only social life, thank you very much).  This means I change my status at least once a day and comment on a handful of others before nightfall.  I know at least half the other camps will collectively roll their eyes at me, but to them I say, I y’am what I y’am, virtually.

So you won’t be surprised to discover that I had an imaginary conversation via Facebook this week with the 3-Day Weekend.   And this is exactly why I love Facebook.  I posted a fairly innocuous status:

3-day weekend,
May you include lots of sleep, pizza, recreational basketball viewing, and non-argumentative playtime with kids.
Pretty please?

It wasn’t even very creative, but in less than 20 minutes I got this response:

Dear Shauna,
More like ecstatic joy on Friday, grumbling about chores on Saturday, whining and sulking at church on Sunday, and then constant bickering with each other and the cry of, "But THEY'RE going to the movies, why can't WE?" until the blessed hour of bedtime. Just thought you needed a little reality check there.
Love, the 3-Day Weekend. *smooch*

In this comment, the 3-Day Weekend is played by my friend, Sharon, a classmate from my days at BYU-Hawaii.  She is so witty that sometimes my eyes sting just from reading her comments.  I wasn’t nearly as quick with my reply, which, now that I look at it, is lame-O.  

Dear 3-Day Weekend,

I'm just not that into you.


And the conversation continued until we both spontaneously combusted.  No, really.

Dear Shauna,
I'm always here for you anyway. At least, whenever the teachers at your kids' school decide that they can't stand your kids for ONE MORE DAY and take a vacay. I'm afraid I'll stalk you until your youngest is in college. Bwa-ha-ha-ha.
Love, The 3-Day Weekend.

Dear 3-day weekend,
I have yet to secure that type of commitment from a single man. Regardless of your perseverance, I find myself attracted to the Boys and Girls Club who open their doors to my fighting children when I am at wit's end (thanks to you). Unfortunately, they are closed on Saturday and Sunday, thus ensuring the grumbling about chores and whining and sulking at church. Read: you suck.

Dear Shauna,
Who do you think inspired the Boys and Girls Club to close on Saturday and Sunday? I have my ways of making people do what I want them to do. I am all powerful. Do not trifle with me.
Love, The 3 Day Weekend.

Dear 3-Day Weekend,
I'm very close to filing a restraining order against your stalking, delusional 72-hour self. We are going to have fun this weekend, whether or not it involves three little straight-jackets (note to self: check etsy for handmade straight-jackets in children's sizes). So there.

Dear Shauna,
Just be grateful that I do not call my cousins to aid me in demolishing your carefully constructed delusions. Spring Break and Memorial Day still want recompense for the joy you had last year. And don't even get me started on how much Presidents' Day wants payback. Remember--it's not the kids who are out to get you--it's us.
The Vacay from Perdition.

Dear 3-day,
You and your inbred cousins can go pester all those families at Disneyland. Already we've had 2 meltdowns, 1 screamfest, 1 public brawl, and 5 'do-you-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-the-weekend-in-your-room?'s. It's only Saturday. I don't know what's in the 3-day weekend water, but it has possessed my children in a Linda-Blair like fashion. I have a dream, 3-day weekend, that my three little children will one day endure a 72-hour time span without teasing, whining, fighting, pouting, crying, or, heaven-willing, one roll of those sassy little eyeballs. Watch your back, Vacay from Perdition, because you have children too. And until we settle the score, all your silly little unofficial holidays will not be safe (yes, April Fools' Day, Grandparents' Day, and International Talk Like a Pirate Day, that would be you).

Dear Shauna,
I do have children of my own. I hereby retract all ill will heretofore either intentionally or unintentionally leveled in your direction and beg for your forgiveness. You are tougher than I am--I am merely a vacation and a lame one, at that. you are Mother. You are invincible. You will Win. My apologies to you and yours, and I will endeavor not to be a pain in the rear from here on out.
Love, Three Day Weedend

Dear 3-day weekend,
Ah shucks. Let's be friends.
xoxo, Shauna

I know what you’re thinking: here are two women with far too much time on their hands.  And to you I say, here are two women looking for a healthy outlet so they don’t place their children in strait jackets and run away to Jamaica.  (By the way, it was Sharon that once pointed out to me, via Facebook, that straight jacket was really strait jacket.  A true friend who also happens to be witty and brilliant.  Back in paradise, her mother was my grammar and semantics instructor, wouldn’t ya know  [Oh, and even after that poignant Facebook lesson, I still spelled it straight jacket in this exchange because I’m, you know, unbrilliant.])


Tola said...

really, it's "strait"? not that i question the woman mothered by Dr. M Baker, it's just . . . . . how did i get to be 42 years old and another English major and not know that? yeesh!

shauna said...

That's exactly how I felt, Tola. Your comment is so very appreciated. I don't feel like such a numbskull now! (blogger tells me, by the way, that numbskull is actually numskull, somehow thumbing its nose at me.)

Michael Irwin said...

How did you get ... ?

For Pete's sake, you even married a Brit and never asked! I feel so under-utilised!


The VIP.