After eight months clean, I almost succumbed to the banal existence of falsehoods and wanton-ness that is the f-book.
She who must not be named, a wench currently residing in Los Angeles (what, too nondescript?), rather cursively con(vinc)nived me to join up again after confessing to her that I felt I was somehow missing out on the development of my friends who live afar.
I cannot see photos of them. Do they still exist? How can I speak to them?
We rapidly came to a conclusion as to how I'd feel more involved in my own life.
Rash solution: I'll get f-book again.
I can't be Amanda Helen again. I need a fake name. To throw people off the scent.
I'll be a male, with the same birth date as my own, and my name will be The Hermanator.
My first capacious failure of the evening, alas, clever Zuckerberg demands a "real" first name- I am denied. (Perhaps I should have gone with the wench's suggestion of Dildo Faggins).
I am now Hermanator Hermanator. I have a degree from UCLA and my religion is bagels. My political loyalties lie with apples and oranges.
Does this in resolutely mean that in my fantasy world, in my wildest chimera that I am in fact a male whose name is a pun on a 1980/90s/00s/10s movie franchise I've never seen nor had the desire to see?
I have the same birth date (this I feel is an odd thing to fantasise about- oh! baby February or what about September- but I could have made the effort nonetheless), I am still a Jew, still went to UCLA and still like to make fruit related puns?
Surely I can treat myself better than this.
I request the friendship of a dozen or so people I actually know, no, but really know, no know.
I then realise that most of them will ascertain that Hermanator Hermanator is in fact, me.
But what about those select few?
Those hot footed judgemental f-book pros who would no doubt reject me based merely on my derisory moniker. They'd vitiate immediately before attempting to decipher who I was. To figure out the real me.
Sensical solution for a non sensical situation: Put up a real photo of myself for my profile.
I then started to get accepted.
I received the obligatory "yes", "you're back", "can this be?", "love" messages on my wall from the select few I chose. You know, the ones I really wanted to stay in touch with, the ones I don't want to lose.
They respond to me within minutes of requesting their friendship.
What delicious instant gratification.
They affirm their friendship so fleetly. As if it were there all along.
In fact they're so quick that I get the feeling I could write them an email. Or write a letter. Or heaven forbid call them.
I feel queasy and doltish.
The only solution: I delete Hermanator Hermanator.
