Most people will agree that Facebook is the worst thing that has happened to humanity, with the exception of bio-chemical warfare. Sure, Facebook is super cute when you're trying desperately to prove to the universe that someone loves you, even temporarily, as much as your mother does. That having been said, I'm almost positive there is some kind of algorithm for determining the exact duration of your Facebook-documented relationship. I think it's safe to say that around the time the second year Instagram pics of Thanksgiving dinner hit the internet, your relationship is on the fast track to world-wide, play-by-play dissolution.
We've seen you at Fenway. We've watched you drink craft beer. You've had some great dinners. Who appreciates nature as much as you two? No really, that WAS an amazing sunset. And those pics at Easter are proof that his sisters like you.
If you've made it to the ninth month mark, we've seen you on a Swan boat; two years in, you've probably posed on a gondola in France. Wait -- are guys driving on Route 66!? The kicks are all ours. No one has ever worn the same t-shirt before -- holy shit, are you two trailblazers. And that pic of you guys grabbing the Charging Bull's balls in NYC is a riot -- you both reek of endless, original fun. Seriously, marriage is clearly on the horizon here. Is that a cookie you're sharing? Oh_my_Gaaawd, you guys are too cute.
Despite the artfully crafted image that you're having the best_relationship_ever, those of us at home, anxiously awaiting the next milestone of your failing relationship via Facebook's ironically titled 'Newsfeed,' know the real score. In between uploads of couple shots with the '60s vintage' filter highlighting your mutual flair for retro fashion, we secretly know that you've already broken up 496 times. And we can't wait until break-up number 497 hits your profile, when the real shit-slinging status updates unfold. For those of us who know you personally, this is far better than anything reality television has offered insatiable audiences during the last two decades.
The first 496 break-ups are probably intimately tied to someone's Facebook stalking tendencies. If you're an amateur private investigator who is handicapped by his overwhelming personal insecurities, you've probably accused your girlfriend of hooking up with a guy who turned out to be her cousin. If you're particularly psychotic/smart, you know that the 'hey girl, long time no see! We have to get a drink sometime' comment on some 'fat' chick's page directly translates to 'they're banging.'
This very subject probably came up in the middle one of the amazing dinners that you documented on Instagram two months ago. Now you probably broke up before dessert was served, but another champagne cocktail found you giving head at 2 AM. Repeat varying interpretations of the aforementioned scenario. Ad nauseam. Now actually puke your brains out. Ok, you may find yourself in legitimate break-up territory at this point.
Fast forward to the 'real' break-up.
If you're pretending to break-up, you have remained Facebook 'friends.' Know that this is just another exercise in your mastery of dysfunctional relationships, or you have successfully deluded your partner into believing that you're both grown enough to handle an immediate friendship that entails looking at every meal your ex-partner will shit out from now until the apocalypse with less-than-cryptic captions on rack of pork entrees clearly directed towards you.
Remaining Facebook 'friends' is a great tactic for keeping tabs on your ex, and 'justification' for sending random passive-aggressive texts calling him or her out on being the asshole you always 'knew' they really were. Typically these epiphanies/hate texts happen after you've popped a Xanax and killed a sixer of Red Stripe. Fuck getting the last word; with the advent of Facebook, breaking up means you can always have the last text. If you're the ex of a compulsive checker-inner, your online friendship is now a convenient GPS for your unresolved relationship issues and festering hatred. This social-networking ankle bracelet is also a great way to 'accidentally' show up everywhere your ex is, and cause whatever drama you feel fit. Even better, having ass-loads of real world mutual friends may unfairly curb any perceived malicious intent, while allowing you to be the deranged_lunatic you really are. Ahh... technology.
Depending on the reason for your break-up, your partner may have been spared an orchestrated beatdown or 'random' tire slashing. But thanks to the check-in feature on Facebook, it's doubtful he's been spared having to watch you and your drunk girlfriends parade into the bar he's at after you've starved yourself down 15 pounds and are now modeling Forever Slutty-One's skankiest fall fashions.
Of course, if you're of the more demure variety, you'll never actually show up anywhere your ex is choosing to socialize. Oh no, you're far too sophisticated for that game, girlfriend. Truly refined intellects wage a Facebook war with their exes using internet memes. As an honorary internet psychologist, you'll opt to post memes that 'only you' will know truly showcase your ex's shortcomings.
Insert picture of a pig wallowing in a trough of crap:
'I got tired of you, so now that I'm working on improving my true divine Queen soul, some loser ghetto-ass ho-bag can deal with your shit.'
If you're particularly bookish, you'll opt for posting famous quotes on your status updates instead:
'Dost there exist a man who hath truly revered the demi-god that is woman? He who cheateth on a lady of bountiful beauty who maketh the most superior feasts in all the land with a douche-bagged tart-let he doth engaged while dining on bratwurst in Fanueil Hall, will surely face the gates of Hades and pernicious wrath of Lucifer.' -- Shakespeare
Again, all of this is better than prime time television. For this reason alone, part of me hates to even suggest that we stop airing out our dirty laundry on the status update clothesline, but it's certainly something to consider. Six months down the line when you've successfully snagged another dysfunctional relationship -- or perhaps a fully-operational one if you're lucky enough to start a freshy when the moon is in Venus -- you're going to look back on this electronic diary and realize how you and/or your ex should have been crowned Dickbag of the Year. Personally, I miss the days of the analog relationship.