Entertainment

They Know Me Like The Back Of Some Random Stranger’s Hand

Facebook has or will have over a billion users this year, depending on which link you clicked on when you Googled “How many people are on Facebook in 2013?” Which is why it makes me laugh when I read post after post about how much people hate Facebook. Everybody hates Facebook so much, yet there are about a billion active users. So yeah, anyone who claims to hate Facebook is full of it.

Except me, of course.

You know why I hate Facebook? Not because it tracks me through the sites that I like. Not because it now owns every picture I’ve ever posted. Not because Facebook has decided that I’ve been to New Hampshire because somebody in New Hampshire tagged me in a photo of not me in New Hampshire.

And no, it’s not even because it’s decided my real name is Nicky-and Mike and actually informed me of this when I tried to change the WWFC account name to Nicky Not Mike because I was tired of having to tell people that it was me on Facebook and not Mike because Mike is afraid of Facebook knowing too much about him. Obviously.

No. I hate Facebook because of poor follow-through. That’s right. I believe that if you’re going to collect massive amounts of information on people, you should at least pay some fucking attention to that information. Even just a little bit.

See, if Facebook was paying attention, it would have noticed that I like things like my friend Malisa’s Zapp Hall Antique Show page or my friend Ana’s awesome Dexie Design steampunk/goth jewellery page. Or things like my friend Linda’s Three Ladies Walk Into a Bar blog post. And that I liked my friend John’s post about Vegas Stiletto Fitness Sexy Dance.

If Facebook even made the slightest effort, it would surely have noticed when I updated my status as such: 

So I came home, completely ignored my family and logged onto my computer. Then I realized the writing challenge is over and I don’t have to write anything. I’m still ignoring my family though. And I’m drinking.

Hell, I even reiterated the point not long after:

So, a week later, I’ve gotten used to the fact that the writing challenge is over and I don’t have to write anything. I’ve stopped ignoring my family. But I’m still drinking.

Based on those few likes and two status updates, you would think it would be easy to figure out that I like cool old stuff, edgy jewellery, drunk women bloggers, and stilettos. And that I’m not really crazy about my family but I do like alcohol. A lot. Doesn’t seem like rocket science, does it?

Yet somehow, Facebook, armed with all this information and oh so much more, still thought that they should suggest POSH BABY BOUTIQUE STORE page for me.

suggested page

In case you can’t read the fine print, it says “GET YOUR WEDDING FLOWER GIRL TUTU DRESSES HERE. BIRTHDAY TUTU GIRLS CLOTHING. SHOP TODAY!”

Facebook is the worst spy ever. It’s like the Inspector Clouseau of social media. And that’s why I hate Facebook.

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