Everything I know, I learned from social media. Sure, for years I snobbishly peered down my giant, snooty nose, through my ill-fitting nerd glasses, at people who frittered away their lives on it. I shook my head at the tragedy of so many wasted hours, which could have been devoted to selfless service, self-improvement, and education. Then I resolutely turned back to my Celeb News and "Celebutante" magazine, and confronted the brutal reality that I would have to solve Linsdey Lohan's problems alone. Everyone else was too busy interacting with real people they actually knew. Wouldn't someone please think of the children? I mean, not their own, but Brad and Angelina's? Who has time for facebook and e-mail? Don't people have lives?
The obvious first step on my stairway to enlightenment was the realization that I had less of a life than anyone I had ever known. Even dead people. ESPECIALLY dead people. This can mean only one thing: That Harvard billionaire guy actually had me in mind when he created facebook. (I'm flattered that he thought of me, but I am a married woman and wish he would just move on. It's embarrassing.) In fact, I think Mr. Internet was thinking of me when he came up with his self-titled invention. I needed it, and it needed me. (Some readers might disagree with that second part, but I would argue that I am making a valuable contribution to the cause, which is again simply to waste as much time as possible.)
Since my major paradigm shift, I have gleefully sought to transfer every aspect of my old life to my web world. I rely on social media for my world news, my local news, my friend's news, and my celebrity news. (Breaking now! Britney Spears finally marries lonesome Lothario Larry King. Mrs. King retaliates by wedding Kevin Federline.) Any event in the outside world did not actually occur until it is documented online. (Did you know Barack Obama won the election? Fox News on facebook mentioned something about it the other day... they seemed unhappy...)
Brick-and-mortar stores are so last year. Grocery shopping? Fed-Ex me my food and volumnizing shampoo. Sick or injured? I can diagnose myself on a website. (Apparently I suffer from hairball blockages between my four stomach pouches, according to a reputable veterinary site. ) This medium is an embodiment of the dream of every agoraphobic, all-around-life-aphobic like myself. I now have a window to the outside world, and can finally lock myself in my house like I have wanted to for these long years. I think that was what Mr. Internet had planned for me all along, and I'd like to thank him for making my current life possible. Actually, I suppose I should thank Al Gore, because according to the internet, he invented it.
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