by Bethaney Wallace
In 2006, Mark Zuckerburg proved why he’s a billionaire by tapping into the “adult” market. Where previously only college and high school students could join Facebook, in September of 2006 Facebook became every teenager’s nightmare by becoming available to anyone 13 years or older, the only stipulation being a valid email.
An online outlet where parents can stalk their children while simultaneously embarrassing them? If anything is surprising, it’s that this market didn’t exist before.
(And while I’m on the subject of Facebook updates: on an unrelated complaint, Facebook, you’re a billion dollar industry, you’re telling me you can’t add your own name to your spell check?)
Once receiving the dreaded email no one wants to get, informing you a parent has electronically befriended you, there are two options: You can, as my 18-year-old sister has, ignored their repeated requests and has yet to hear the end of it. She obviously has something to hide, my mother is convinced. That unless she is whoring on the side of her drug dealing job, she should have nothing to hide.
And option two, accepting both parents, one grandparent, and eight aunts and uncles, as I have done, has left me no better off. Now at every birthday barbecue or President’s Day get-together, Facebook is a favorite topic of conversation — their favorite, not mine. And cyber lives are up for discussion. “How do you know Mildred? I saw the pictures of you two together from June 8th,” or “Greg told Jenny he wanted to see other people, but she already was.” My family has never met Greg or Jenny. If creeping was a sport, they’d be on the Olympic team.
So now, it seems each time I log in to Facebook, there is another parent or family friend filling my newsfeed. My old science teacher is now divorced but wants to start dating and my aunt and uncle are going on (another) second honeymoon (pictures will follow), Facebook will tell me. And apparently, I am supposed to be glad they are able to share this information.
Luckily, websites like lamebook.com, failbooking.com, and myparentsjoinedfacebook.com (whose motto is, “Congratulations! Your parents just joined Facebook. Your life is officially over) offer an outlet to make fun of a relative’s embarrassing Facebook comment, or in my case, entertainment at the expense of others — although I’m sure my day is coming. My mother has yet to land herself on either of the sites, but it’s not because she hasn’t tried. Posting pictures from middle school dances, Christmas morning — PJs and all, often I make her swear she won’t post pictures before she can even take them.
So the next time your aunt introduces herself to your boyfriend via Facebook, or your grandpa accidentally writes his status on your wall, upload it to one of these websites. I can’t wait to read it.
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