I’m sorry for the mass mailing. I’m a terrible correspondent, as I’ve explained in greater or lesser tones of contrition for most of my life. My parents always tried to encourage me to write thank you cards when I was a child, and I’d scribble some half-baked gratitude, something about how fabulous my new old lady briefs monogrammed with the days of the week were, and then forget to mail it. Or not bother to stamp it, which is even more pathetic, somehow. It’s like the hard part was done and I got hung up on the minutiae. A stroke of contrariness? I don’t know. Sue me.

I never call anyone because I’ve nurtured a hate-hate relationship with the phone my entire life; imagine the curse of the ubiquitous cell phone for someone like me? It’s possible that I was the only teenager in the universe who avoided the phone–actually screened my calls. Hated the phone as a teenager; skillfully navigate it now by ignoring its ubiquity.

Anyway, back to the reason for this letter. Since Facebook has made the sphere of private versus the public such a complicated place, and the internet makes it possible to find anyone anywhere unless you’ve doctored yourself a little alternate identity and travel documents, I thought that it might be time to address my own personal privacy settings. Imagine, if you will, a shield of preferences circling me like a force field of ultimate power.

You girls I knew in Junior High School make me a little nervous, to be perfectly honest. I wasn’t sure how to be your friends back then; I was convinced that well-put-together girls in pressed Levi’s and Polo shirts scorned the very earth I walked on. Sure, I won “Class Clown” two years running–but I remain convinced that it was because I was the spastic heartbroken girl who didn’t know how to be well-put-together so was funny instead. I look sad in both my yearbook pictures when I was photographed with my male clown counterparts, two Frowny Clown Portraits adorning the Thrift Stores of History.

So, junior high school girlfriends, you get a free pass but only as long as you don’t remind me that I’m still that spastic poorly manicured goombah who can’t be bothered to find clothes which fit. Pointing and laughing are strictly forbidden. Otherwise, I’ll drag you off into the purgatory of the HIDE button.

Junior High Boys on the other hand are welcome. You guys were awesome in your dorky ways; sure, you didn’t want to date me because I didn’t have boobs until, well, ever, but you were a fun crew who laughed at my jokes. And there wasn’t a mean bone in your body–not that you shared with me anyway–and I hear many of you are still friends after all these years! That’s reassuring, somehow. You guys are alright.

Late adolescence and early adulthood harbors a strange melange of friends. There are many of you who I miss, even though I don’t write and I never call. Be assured that you’re still on my list of Friends and not Acquaintances. Yeah, it’s true. I forget that we haven’t talked in almost twenty years. I assume, completely irrationally, that we’ll hook up for coffee soon and talk just like we did in the past. I was actually surprised when one of you wrote me to say that we hadn’t seen each other in forever and wow, things have changed. Have they really? I can’t tell from inside my force field. I thought things were exactly the same as they always were, at least between us. Shows you how subjective it is here behind my wall of impenetrability.

I haven’t avoided many of you–note the “lousy correspondent” disclaimer–but there are some of you I have. How can you tell from my silence, since my silence is all-encompassing, whether we’re still friends or whether I’ve dodged you like a virulent strain of flesh-eating streptococcus? That is a perfectly reasonable question. Check the history files. Did you A) betray my trust B) play Machiavellian mind games with me, making me question my very sanity or C) both? If you answered “Yes” to any of these, put yourself in the “Avoided Like Plague” pile. There aren’t many of you, but you’re out there.

The Ex-Boyfriend privacy settings are more complicated. They also run to the “Sure, look me up sometime,” to the “Jesus, seriously, dude. If you were the last man on earth I’d commit Seppuku.” Again, if you’re unsure of where you are on the spectrum, review the history. Were we A) relatively unharmed by our dalliances? B) Total goofballs but not really impacted by anything resembling “commitment” or “longevity?”  or C) Cheerfully involved until we kind of just weren’t any more and then stumbled into the next thing? If you answered “Yes” to any of these, the force field will welcome you through.

If, on the other hand, you find yourself keeping company with this series of identifying characteristics, you can place yourself in the “Last Man = Seppuku” pile. Were you A) Formed in Lucifer’s loins? B) A sociopath? C) Abusive, ranging from mental anguish to a broken collarbone? You guys not only get the booby prize but the award for Most Toxic Relationships. I have avoided Facebook in no small measure because of you gentlemen, and I hope you can tell from my specific tone of silence (and my force field) that I have a mile-thick wall around me that reads “FOOL ME ONCE.” Also, restraining orders and very large friends.

But the rest of you–sure. Look me up, I guess. I mean, it’s sort of like going to the zoo to stare at the animals. Interesting for a minute until you realize that the animals are just biding their time until they can turn on their master….wait. No, that’s a lousy analogy.

Let me start again:

Sure, look me up, I guess. I mean, it’s sort of like reading the gossip pages and relishing the dirt you pick up about familiar strangers…

Damn. That’s not right either.

Okay. I’m just trying to say that I love many of you even though we haven’t seen each other in a long time. Except for those of you I don’t love. And I wish you could tell the difference, but because of my self-imposed silence, I guess you can’t tell who’s who. So maybe this new-fangled Force Field of Ultimate Power will make it easier for everyone to sort out who goes in what column.

Thanks, and I’d say “We’ll talk soon,” except we both know that’s not true. But I love you.*

Cheers, Quenby


*Unless I don’t, of course.

TAGS: , , , , , ,

QUENBY MOONE used to be a graphic designer who wrote once in a while. After her father came down with a touch of Stage IV prostate cancer, she became a writer who did graphic design once in a while.

She's written a book called Living in Twilight (no relation to vampires - unless dying of cancer is a part of Edward's story) in which her design skills came in handy, and includes some of her stories featured on The Nervous Breakdown.

76 responses to “Dear Everyone I’ve Ever Known (and Some I Haven’t Met Yet),”

  1. Matt says:

    Mark Zuckerberg needs to contract you to help develop and install these privacy settings. They’re a lot more fun than the current ones–and would probably be more effective, too. (No, Facebook, I really DON’T want to be “friends” with my ex-girlfriend’s mother, of all people. The woman hated me for years, so I doubt she’s warmed to me since then. Stop recommending her to me.)

    • Quenby Moone says:

      I know! What the hell, ex-people? Ex’s of ex’s? Seriously? You want to find out what’s going on in my life? The answer is NO.

      I really am just not that interested in your life. Why are you, nosy person?

      • Matt says:

        Someone I know once had his childhood bully look him up on Facebook. He walked around in a state of “Are you fucking kidding me?!” for days afterwards.

        • Quenby Moone says:

          Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

          I just got that “Friend Request” and was seriously put in a state of “Huh?” I mean, do you remember the tears and hatred and hostility and cruelty? Maybe you don’t, which I think probably warrants a trip to the family doctor to check for Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease. Because if it’s just random curiosity, you are insane and unwelcome.

  2. Gloria says:

    Thanks for that clarification, Quenby.

    You’re hilarious. Also, it was more than generous of you to call the shits in the Seppuku category “gentleman.” Even in your emotional compound you’re a kind soul.

    Unless you’re not…

    • Quenby Moone says:

      My emotional compound! I love it! It has fortress thick walls and is growing moss, so why not? I need to start stockpiling down here.*

      *Unless I shouldn’t, because to do so would be to admit a status of “shut-in agoraphobe” rather than simply “privacy-minded.”

      • Gloria says:

        Second time in two minutes that I’ve read the word “stockpile” – the first time was from a astrology-related status update from The Onion on, you guessed it – Facebook. It read: [Leo] Children are our nation’s greatest natural resource. Keep a stockpile of them in your basement in the event of an emergency.

        I don’t know, Quenby. I don’t think this could possibly be a coincidence.

  3. Ronlyn Domingue says:

    Database masterminds could certainly figure out how to create a “block” list that one could complete and automatically reject any unwanted friend-ings. Pre-empitve, you know. Save one’s self the awkwardness or pain. Athough there used to be, or still is, some function where others cannot friend you, but you can friend others. As if the world wasn’t complicated enough until social networking. Sheesh.

    It isn’t all bad, though. I rather enjoyed finding out what old friends have been up to the past few decades. And I was totally thrilled when a friend from third grade found me. I’d always wondered what happened to him.

    Thanks for the chuckles, Quenby.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      I like the pre-emptive “toxic” list. Maybe we should hire Uche to research it. I’ll bet he could figure it out. He’s the smartiest of the smarty-pantses.

      I like being looked up by the people it makes sense to be looked up by, but there are so many who make no sense. It’s like opening scabrous horrid pustules for fun. Yay!

  4. Becky says:

    Had a very awkward moment over Mother’s Day dinner in which my sister in law started talking about facebook and how I’m always blah-blahing on there, and I was frozen in abject terror wondering if my mother-in-law would berate me for not accepting her friend request.

    I just can’t do it.

    THE WOMAN HAS NOT EVEN SENT A REQUEST TO MY HUSBAND. Her own son, for godssake. What does she want with me? She’s a close-talker and an interrupter and a personal question-asker and a space-invader. This is just another invasion of my space.

    Aside form her, I have no hard and fast rules on who absolutely isn’t allowed, besides coworkers. And people I don’t know or who refuse to identify themselves to me.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      There’s always that ONE PERSON who just freaks you the hell out when the cursor blinks “Friend Request.” Mine came last week, hence my Ultimate Privacy Settings.

      Seriously, Toxic Person, did you think we would catch up? Reminisce? Um. No.

      Also, nosy mother-in-law’s need not apply. Lucky for me, I like my family. The only trap within my family is religious stuff which I tune out like static. It’s not a perfect system, but it works.

      • Becky says:

        I like her fine. I mean, she’s a nice enough lady, and I am grateful to her for my husband’s life and many delicious family meals, but this is MY interwebs. She has no need to be in them.

        She is a busybody, too-much-too-loud-talking individual by nature and I am a private, not-talking-too-much individual by nature, so we spend most of our time making each other uncomfortable. She advances, I back up. I sit at one end of the couch, she sits practically on my lap, even though there’s a whole couch left. I think it’s because she’s Catholic. And Polish.

        I have a similarly nosy aunt whose request I did eventually accept, just to quickly run to my privacy settings and shut her out of access to just about everything.

      • Gloria says:

        My born-again ex-mother-in-law keeps friend requesting me. I left Jim three years ago and haven’t heard from her since. And now all of a sudden she wants to be my FB friend? So she can read my status updates about my vagina and see the Youtube videos of George Carlin decrying that religion is bullshit? No. I think not.

        I created a dummy profile for these types of people – and changed my primary email address form my real one. It was only a one second bit of effort and solved an annoying problem.

  5. Irene Zion says:

    Quenby,

    I could totally go along with this whole thing, except that no one has come out from my past to find me.
    So, I think I was that forgettable back then.
    I would really like to be annoyed by all my past schoolmates barraging me with friend requests, so I could pick and chose. The only problem is that I really don’t remember anyone except my first best friend Karen from across the street and we’re still friends 52 years after we met.
    To sum it all up, I guess it’s okay that no one remembers me, because I don’t remember them either.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      It might be a generational thing. You might be your only contemporary ON Facebook. There are probably fewer of your past-mates lurking the halls of Facebook than mine. I fear what my future son’s zone of obscurity will look like. Maybe we’ll all just be holograms interacting with each other all the time whether we want to or not by then.

      I think I just felt a chill run down my spine.

      I like it when I’m not remembered. Appropriate obscurity for a life lived in another time.

    • Matt says:

      AHA! We’re onto you now, Irene! There can be only ONE reason no one has come out of your past to find you:

      Because you eliminated them all years ago.

      • Quenby Moone says:

        Jesus, Matt. That didn’t even occur to me, but you might be right.

        *eases away from Irene very slowly*

      • Irene Zion says:

        MATT!

        What kind of friend are you to out me on-line as a mass-murderer?
        I thought we had a simpatico thing going.
        Now I have to change my name and move again.

        • Matt says:

          Thanks to BP the Florida coast is about to become an oily wasteland–you’re better off moving.

          And hey, at least I didn’t mention that all of your kids are actually the biological offspring of your vict-

          …uhm.

          Nothing to see here!

        • Irene Zion says:

          How come they all look like Victor if the mail man was involved here?
          You, Matt, are getting me in Dutch here.
          Even Quenby is afraid of me now, and I hardly ever hurt a woman!

        • Matt says:

          Obviously, Victor got around. A LOT.

          It was probably the Ambien.

        • Irene Zion says:

          But, but,
          Matt,
          I distinctly remember being there, giving birth….

        • Matt says:

          Psychological camoflauge, as a way of sheiling yourself from your many nefarious deeds. There’s probably some high-falutin’ term for it. Lenore would know.

        • Irene Zion says:

          Matt,

          So I am not aware of what I’ve done?
          Well, then I hardly can be held accountable, eh?
          I’m not moving then.
          I’ll just get a lawyer.

        • Matt says:

          You could always establish a residence and identity elsewhere, and keep it as a back-up in case things in Florida don’t work out so well.

        • Irene Zion says:

          Can’t do that.
          The property taxes are surprisingly low in Miami Beach, if you only have one place. If you have two places, they ding you good.
          Plus, to have two places, you have to use cash money now. That might present an obstacle.

        • Matt says:

          You’re thinking too parochial, Irene. International is the way to go, “non-extradition treaty” being the key phrase to look for.

        • Irene Zion says:

          Well, since I’m mono-lingual, Belize might be a nice place….

      • Andrew Nonadetti says:

        Heh. I knew I liked you, Irene.

        If you must run, go to the Borders in the Aventura Mall. Look for Aristotle’s “Ethics” – one copy will have a triangle-shaped hole in the back cover. Turn to page fifty-three. There will be further instructions there. Good luck.

      • Judy Prince says:

        AHA, Matt! Not the opposite of “Six Degrees of Separation” but “Six Degrees of Decapitation”! AHA! Irene, Irene……..oh woe is thee and we!

  6. Andrew Nonadetti says:

    All things considered, I don’t suppose it’s necessary for me to mention my feelings about social networking sites. If only we could use modern technology to blend filters with, say mood rings. Sort of a real-time “smart shield”. Call it the “iHateYou” or something.

    The only time I was every cyber-stalked by a voice from the past was via LinkedIn, which has to put me on some list involving the word “lamest”.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      I’m completely unfamiliar with LinkedIn, since I haven’t been what you could call “professional” in, like, forever. But I have a feeling if you’re going to be stalked somewhere, that definitely rates in the “WTF?” pile.

      Yes, the Mood Ring Privacy Settings. My Toxic Relationship setting would be blood red with bolts of lightning shooting out of the computer monitor toward their mark.

  7. Sarah Bell says:

    Quen! Beautiful. And my sentiments exactly.

  8. Zara Potts says:

    Man, I am constantly changing and updating and relisting ‘friends’ on facebook. I do a six month cull which seems to work for me.
    But I had an awful experience where I just completed my cull and deleted a whole bunch of people when one of the deletee’s called me up and asked: “Why did you delete me?”
    I lied. I said it was an accident. I said my computer was being an asshole.
    I didn’t refriend her. Now she knows I did delete her AND I lied about it.
    If there’s a Facebook hell, I’m in the inner circle.

    • Becky says:

      OH man.

      Deleting people who have your number is dangerous.

      Unless someone really pisses me off or I really don’t ever talk to them and can’t imagine why I ever would (this is has been the case with some project-based relationships), I don’t delete people.

      If I’m really tired of them, I just hide them from my feed for a while and revisit it later.

      There was one guy, though. One stupid, nasty, conniving motherfucker who is married to one of my best friends from high school who friended me, then caused me nothing but grief for 3 months, who I vengefully unfriended. He sent me a friend request literally 5 minutes after I removed him. I found that creepy. Then he started chasing me around, harassing me instead through the feeds of mutual friends.

      So I blocked him. I am now invisible to him. Creepy creeper.

      • Quenby Moone says:

        Yikes. Just…yikes. That is one icky story. I…just… ew.

        • Becky says:

          World class cocksucker. He is married to my friend because he was cheating on his ex-wife with her (my friend) when she was 18 and he was almost 30. He is a sleazeball.

          I am a grumpy person in general, but I usually don’t come right out and say that anyone is a rotten human being.

          He is a ROTTEN human being. Foul son of a bitch.

      • Matt says:

        Umm….my mother kind of did that a couple years ago. It’s even creepier then.

        • Becky says:

          At least you mother has some vested interest in talking to you. At least her status as your mother gives *some* kind of explanation with regard to her obsession with you.

          This guy…I’d only met him a handful of times and all very long ago, back when he was “that married guy Susie* is having an affair with.”

          His behavior was inexplicable. And adamant. Just WTFness everywhere.

          *name changed, of course

        • Matt says:

          Just saw your above comment. Wow. That is seven different kinds of ick all rolled into one.

  9. Quenby Moone says:

    Sweet mercy, that’s hilarious! I will never put you in that spot–I wouldn’t have the balls to ask why I had been culled, anyway. Holy crap, that’s a great cautionary tale. For so many reasons!

    *checks list to see if she’s made the cut*

  10. Simon Smithson says:

    Co-workers (well… management…) and tools. Those are my rules. And if my parents knew how to use Facebook, probably the same.

    Man.

    I’d almost forgotten how sweet it was to look at a friendship request and just click ‘deny’.

    Also, Quenby: “You guys are alright.”

    Your stock, already high in my book, just leaped even further up.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      I like that I have stock in the Smithson portfolio! That seems better than Schwab at this point. Anything seems better than Schwab at this point.

      And what tools exactly? I’m wondering if you refuse hammers as a rule, or if it’s more in the heavy power tool line. Where do routers fall?

      • Simon Smithson says:

        Oh, there’s a portfolio. Bet on it.

        Screwdrivers. I hate them.

        Routers are OK.

        • Quenby Moone says:

          You’ve bought the router myth! That’s what they want you to believe, and then they start talking behind your back and plotting. Screwdrivers are the safer bet. Nice, sedate, unassuming. Sure, a little less exciting, but really, when it comes to tools, isn’t that what’s wanted?

  11. Internet Vomit. That’s what FB is — and I use it — although more to “like” things than actually leave a smart quip or a meaningful quote. Some people “do” FB well, others, like me, seem to stumble around like someone turned on a bright light in a dark room. I spend most of my time on line with one arm crossed over my eyes afraid to look — afraid to see who might have found me. And it’s not like I’m running from the law — just Catholic Grade school, high school and college ( the early years).

    I know — someone should start a page: Quenby Moone’s Rules of Privacy page– it will give me another thing I can acknowledge to the world that I like.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      Heh. That’s hilarious, Internet Vomit. I like how you just outed yourself as a complete one-eyed FB user. I think I’m in your dark room.

      Not literally, Robin. Just to be clear, that’s not me rubbing against your leg!

      And I love how bland and utterly non-committal “liking” something is. Not “feels passionate about” or even “would not kick out of bed for eating crackers.” Just “like.”

      Pathetic.

  12. Brilliant as always, Quenby. Glad to know there’s another person out there with an aversion to the phone. I prefer to walk 20 minutes and order my pizza, then run back to meet the delivery guy, than to actually speak over the phone. I can’t even use Skype.

    Facebook is a weird thing… I always get added by random people, and because I have the Beatdom Facebook group, a lot of people find me that way. I don’t want these randoms to know my innermost (wait, who am I kidding… if I broadcast it, it’s innermost…) thoughts. But then, I don’t want to turn them away. Or explain myself.

    So I add and ignore, and keep all my criminal/embarrassing moments offline.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      Phones. I really loathe them. I wish we had the one phone in the town square and we all used it when we really, really needed it. But this modern life and all.

      Yeah, I know what you mean about the guilt/add friend situation. I’m often confused by who friends me, and don’t know why they would, but then don’t know why I wouldn’t.

      Facebook possibly saved me from myself with their data-farming, privacy-selling ways. The doors of populist rage may bite them in the ass as there would be a mass defection, which would save me from having to think about it anymore. I would just delete and move on…

      • Phones are great for emergencies and such… but I hate talking on them. And I hate texting… I’m always misunderstood and left thinking someone hates me because the tiny little message didn’t accurately convey the correct sentiment. Ridiculous.

        Facebook is great, though… I love it. It’s my new vice.

  13. Don Mitchell says:

    I totally with you here, Quenby, except that I got so tired of it that yesterday I committed Facebook seppuku.

    I joined because of Matt — I needed to contact him and had no other way. So Matt’s to blame for my Facebook presence. But now I have his email.

    I had two blocks of friends — from my 50th HS reunion, and from TNB. The HS people seemed to be totally into playing those games (what’s up with that? how can that be the least interesting?) and the TNB folks, well, were on TNB, and that gave me enough information. I almost never looked at my wall, but when I did it was full of things from people I hardly remembered, some of whom I disliked.

    And I got to learn their political/religious beliefs, which was sometimes distressing. One guy ended up as a woodworker and I thought maybe I’d ask him to use his thickness planer on some big koa planks I had, but then, no, I read his page and he’s a pimp for Rush and Glenn fucking Beck. I didn’t think it was right to go to his house and get a favor while all the time thinking, What’s wrong with you? If it hadn’t been for Facebook I’d never have known and I’d have some planed planks. Shit.

    Anyway, I was tracking all the Facebook privacy escapades, and kept going to my settings and setting everything to “friends only,” but when I surfed over to the Washington Post (where I’d registered a long time ago) and my goddam Facebook picture pops up in case I wanted to like something . . . I said fuck no. It’s over. I don’t hide myself on the net, but I don’t want my Facebook presence to follow me all over as if it were in charge of how I presented and defined myself.

    So, seppuku it was.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      I love this comment, Don! And so timely, your seppuku. I’m such a newbie on Facebook that I feel like I can’t already have all the objections to it that I do, but there it is. The politico/religio/not-want-to-knowio factor is extremely distressing to me; I do not want to go there, people. I really don’t.

      We should adopt playground rules while there. I would be a blander place but a far less stressful one!

      Anyway, I feel as though I need to raise a glass of something to honor your brave and noble Facebook suicide. It’s a little early for pale ale, but I’ll tip my coffee to my lip in honor of you! And if you ever want MY email address, you may have it, my friend.

      • Don Mitchell says:

        Now that the comments are emailed as well as posted, Quenby, I already have your email. But back when I was looking for Matt, either that facility wasn’t working right, or I was setting it up wrong. Those were TNB V2 days.

        I hope I didn’t sound like an intolerant privacy nut (you didn’t seem to think so). I just don’t like asking favors of people whose beliefs are anathema to me. Commercial transactions or barter, sure, you bet. Normal social interactions, you bet.

        As for privacy, let’s face it. When you have a presence on the net, there’s not much privacy no matter what you do. I accept that. Hey, I even have a couple of Gmail accounts and a web site. I just didn’t want to trail FB’s long tail behind (or have it flicked ahead of me?) of there on the net.

        So thanks for the coffee toast. Tip?

        Incidentally, for FB seppuku: http://www.seppukoo.com/

        I love the video clip. The instructions are in Japanese!

  14. Judy Prince says:

    Love this, QB: “Were we A) relatively unharmed by our dalliances? B) Total goofballs but not really impacted by anything resembling “commitment” or “longevity?” or C) Cheerfully involved until we kind of just weren’t any more and then stumbled into the next thing? If you answered “Yes” to any of these, the force field will welcome you through.”

    Looks like you’ll have to publish two lists, QB. Good luck on that. 😉

    Dear Rodent hates phone calls, too. And he has an effective, if mercenary, persuasion for kids’ writing thank you notes: It’ll encourage more gift-giving.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      I like the gift-giving carrot/stick relationship. You’d think I would have been similarly motivated. But maybe I just thought it would mean that I got more Granny undies monogrammed with the days of the week, which, truly, doesn’t appeal to me now. I can’t imagine being impressed by them then.

      Anyhoo, I suppose that your “Rodent” is not a giant capybara in your living room, but someone near and dear to you. I will refrain from too many questions about how someone got the moniker Rodent, because then it would open speculation about all the names we share over here in our little patch of heaven! But tell dear Rodent he’s extremely clever about the phone and we share a special bond about it.

      My force field hasn’t actually had to slam shut too many times yet. Just one resoundingly loud “CLANG” that echoed all the way to Texas. You may have heard it from where you are!

      • Judy Prince says:

        QB, I’m sooooo grateful for your info about FB. I’ve been avoiding it despite friends’ pleadings to join, but somehow something that has what’s called a Wall, and which “shares” me and my friends with everybody’s “ex’s” must be agogly mindless.

        Re dear Rodent, he’s not a capybara which is a greasy looking HUGE rodent in South American which is a delicacy and therefore capybaras are hunted, pore t’ings.

        Rodent explains his name by saying he used to go by the name Dormouse, which I rather liked, but then to get “street cred” he shifted to Rodent. Makes a kind of FB sense, nah?

        One reason I loved your test for those you had dated is that it’s so like most of the h.s. dating I recall. Some guys were toxic, yeah, but most were buddy friendships—-and, like you, I loved them all, in a way.

        Now I have several “business” phone calls to make——I rather enjoy beating people up verbally!

  15. Mary says:

    LOL Quenby. Great piece. It’s wild how much Facebook has shaped our social lives in recent years. I feel like we all should have big explanation/disclaimer fields on our facebook profiles to let people know whether they should even bother contacting us. Mine would include things like, “Can you handle frank discussions of sex? Then you’re cool. Do you think it’s important for me to know that I’m a “baby killer” for being pro choice even though I haven’t actually had an abortion but support other women’s right to do so? Then your out.”

    • Quenby Moone says:

      My disclaimer page would probably stretch longer than I care to think about. It’s also why I ignore all the places in FB to state my political/religio/lame affiliations. Really? I don’t want to know yours–and I’m definitely not telling you mine! You can maybe guess if you know me–or read anything I write. But I’m not gonna hang a sign or anything!

      But yeah, my Preferences of Ultimate Power would definitely exclude zealots and rubes.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      And by “you” I mean the collective “you,” not the YOU you. Just to confuse myself and you even further!

  16. Jordan Ancel says:

    Quenby, I feel compelled to friend-request you.

    Perhaps you can suggest to FB to add your list to the privacy settings. I think most people would be able to tick off at least some of them, especially the “ex” list.

    I applaud your antisocial social networking skills.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      I’m completely cool with being friended by you, even though “friending: the gerund” is just about the most bizarre word ever.

      I feel like we know each other already!

    • Quenby Moone says:

      Also, I’m almost POSITIVE you don’t fall on the spectrum of “yikes,” so that works in your favor.

  17. Erika Rae says:

    I feel exactly the same about the junior high girls vs. boys. Polos and all. This was awesome. Sorry it took me so long to get to. I have similar problems with communicating in a timely manner.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      Timeliness? How about the lag time between your comment and my response? That’s lag time!

      Thanks. Polo shirts and pressed jeans. I had one lame Izod which I don’t think fit me right. Two pairs of Shrink-To-Fit Levi’s which most certainly did not have the proper broken in look. Now you can buy those same broken-in jeans for 250 dollars! I’m still out of luck!

      Ah well. They scared me, so who needs ’em?

  18. Q, how did I miss this? I’m so sorry to be late to the party. I do like your rules. I’m going to live by them.

    I just got an awesome friend request from some guy who I have never laid eyes on. He listed his interests and “Knifes and Firearms”.

    I shit you not.

    • Quenby Moone says:

      Knives and firearms? That must be my old boyfriend, bless his heart! He’s a plum, don’t miss out! Although I understand that he’s also into “motorcycle clubs, Harley’s,” and other curious things that border on the felonious. Regardless, a catch.

      He’s married now, but if there’s a crystal ball I’m betting it will end in divorce or other misery so there could be an opening for you!

      Don’t wait–he could be gone at any time. Literally, back to the pokey.

  19. What a catch!

    And I misquoted… It was actually “Knifes and Fire Arms”.

    So fucking hot.

  20. Kait says:

    This is the most brilliant thing I have read in AGES! 🙂 I just went through a facebook privacy nervous breakdown a couple weeks back, I wish I had had this to read then! Amazing, really.

  21. […] her ultimate privacy settings, we know the contents of her underwear […]

  22. […] QUENBY MOONE establishes some privacy setting ground rules. […]

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