It's not safe to talk about anything and everything on my blog like it used to be. With Facebook, anybody and/or their dog can find you. And sometimes they do.
I'm as bad as anyone at creeping people's Facebook. I think of someone I haven't thought about in decades (or since yesterday) and see if they're on Facebook. Finding them I look at their pictures and see who their friends are and then stalk their friends' pictures and then look at their friends' friends . . . I'm a relatively busy person, but give me some down time and a computer and I can cover lots of territory.
If I do this kind of creeping and stalking, it stands to reason that somebody out there just might be curious about me. It's a stretch, but it could happen. If someone gets as far as finding me on Facebook, it's a simple jump to this site which used to be my little blabbing joint. When I started this blog in 2005 it was a fairly safe place to post my intimate little thoughts. Not quite as safe anymore.
I'm really thankful for my Gordon. I landed a really good husband, much better than I deserve. It's the grace of God, let me assure you. I dated some doozies.
Let's call the fellow in this story Marty and let's pretend he lived in Reno. Marty and I met through work and started talking on the phone. I went to Reno to visit him. Then he came to visit me.
When rabbit owners get ready to breed their rabbits, they take the doe to the buck. If the buck goes to the doe's cage, he's distracted with the change of scenery and doesn't perform. I am similar to bucks this way. Not that I went to Reno to breed, but I was distracted by the change of scenery and stuff to do and was unaware how terribly incompatible Marty and I were. I was into seeing new things and Marty was subsidizing my sight-seeing so I had a good time. I realized afterward that Marty had nothing to do with my enjoying Reno. Nothing whatsoever.
Several weeks passed and Marty decided to visit me. The gender-confused buck in this story was on her home turf and no longer distracted by the scenery. Things were obnoxiously clear; Marty was the worst obsessive compulsive disordered person ever.
At my house, when I came out of the bathroom he got up and went and straightened the towel I'd just used. After I got a drink and put the glass in the sink he jumped up like a jack-in-the-box to wash it with soap and water. He rearranged my Tupperware and swept the porch. He put my videos in alphabetical order. He always turned my radio and air conditioning off when I stopped the car.
About 12 minutes into Marty's Arkansas vacation, my head was about to blow off. I didn't think I could possibly last two more days. I took him to work hoping to wear him out on the people who had more destructive behaviors than me: Hey look, Herbie missed a belt loop. Edith has ink on her finger. One of the stalls in the ladies' room is out of toilet paper. Oh drats, the janitor missed this spot. See her chipped nail polish?
My efforts back-fired; colleagues thought my predicament hilarious. The office crew went to lunch and invited Marty. Turned out Marty had a Reno stomach not a greasy Southern-fried one. He got diarrhea from our little diner. For the next six hours he reported all his bowel movements complete with how many sheets of toilet paper each took.
I was beside myself with crazy. We went home and I promptly went to the mailbox to get a breather from him. When I got back to my front door, it was locked. I knocked and he opened the door and told me Stephanie and Christopher were "wild" and asked, "Why can't they be more like your sister Stacie's kids?"
If it were possible for eyeballs to rupture out of one's head in fury, I never would have seen my eyeballs again. I told him I was taking him to the airport. And I did. 27 hours before his plane left.
Some people don't get into Facebook. That's fine, but they shouldn't start a profile and not finish it.
Last night I told the family about my few long hours with Marty. Out of curiosity I got on Facebook to see if Marty had ever married and see if his kids were noticeably deranged. I found him. His profile had nothing but his age and location, not even a picture. I went to his friends and thought it ironic and hilariously sad when this notice popped up: Marty has no friends.
