I Am Not The Face Of Facebook

I have been on Facebook for fifteen minutes. It has changed my life. It is a site for"social networking", which is ideal for me except that:

a. I am not social; and
b. I don't network.

I was sucked into the site, lured by a friend who indicated that he had posted pictures of his children on his Facebook page. I trotted on over to the site and found that I could not access said pictures unless I registered for my own page, so I did.

Imagine my delight when the Orwellian program infiltrated my email list and asked if I would like to add contacts from my email list as friends. Never one to be considered entirely friendless, I readily agreed. My profile is half-assed at best, but when I get the chance (and finish pushing my novel up a hill), I intend to pretty it up. Maybe even add a picture and such.

As I was trying to discuss my adventures in Facebook-land, my husband (who, I may add, has been forced to read every single word I have written on my novel thus far) suggested that my next writing project should be the erotic adventures of a woman who lives south of the border and that I should name the book "Sexico".

Did I ever mention that I married him just for his looks?