mother interrupted

My name is Mama Mags. I haven't checked my Wall in one hour and seven minutes.
Good Lord. You'd think my friends who know my obsessive-compulsive personality for what it is would steer their buddy, old pal away from Facebook, but no. They boondoggled me right on into pimping a page, poking behind my husband's back and even divulging 25 Random Things About Me. Hell, I didn't think there were more than 5 or 6, tops. Who knew I could be so deep? But here I sit, wine to the right, ignoring the offspring and left clicking myself back into my lost youth. Great. Just what my mid-life crisis needed..seeing how good everybody looks after all these years while I count my forehead furrows. But I chose to dive right on in with the masses, smearing Vaseline on the profile pic and for the past couple a weeks or so have scuba'ed myself into all that is the hum-drumery of my pal's lives...mine included. I'm using the Send a Round application like a college drop-out and spend most of my day double fisted. I figure virtual drinks are probably better for my shriveled liver than the real ones..so it's all good. And what's with this incessant need to friend everyone? I've never been the popular type that had an entourage...just a couple of good, loyal pals were all I ever needed in life..but once you cross over, it's like you're 50 Cent and can't get enough posse to post & play with.

Yes, if My Space is the slut of social networking then Facebook is the tweaked out coke-head and I'm gonna have to cool it eventually. Besides, Big Brother starts up in another month and that's all this old girl will have time for. Hey, I know where my priorities fall, okay? It's funny though, underneath all the manic commenting, tagging & What Kind of Mental Illness Are You, I see that I've been pretty darn good already at remaining in touch with the important peeps in my life and I've done it the old fashioned way- picking up the horn & then going out and getting tanked over a few....yeah, before all this new-fangled cyber tech mumbo jumbo came along. I don't think there's really anyone else out there in my leg-warmered past, undiscovered, whom it would be dire that I re-friend, but who knows? My promiscuous boyfriend who dumped me back in '85 still has my favorite pair of Levis & my Husker Du album, damn him. I've since ditched the turntable..but my kid's Mariposa Barbie could really use the jeans. And I would kinda like to see if he's lost his hair yet. Oh, I'm so bad.

Just like all rivers find the sea..my two rug rats will continue to be the reality-check mallet that I need and this lost weekend will come to a final log-out sooner or later, and I'll have to get back to cooking for them and hanging my robe up before noon. They've seen the insidious face of addiction with me and my Kashi trail mix bars, so nothin' really scares 'em. My oldest, being the feisty Gemini she is, doesn't hold back. The other day, in the quiet, dark wee hours of the morning, I was fully engrossed by the Crackbook News Feed. Like a Jaguar she crept- softly, silently..appearing ghost-like in the office doorway and scaring the bejesus right out of me. Bed-headed, with a hand on her hip, she says, "Mom, quit your brain squashing and make me some breakfast."