suggest friends for your mom

The inevitable has happened.

My mother added me as a friend on the Facebook.

This wasn't always seen as inevitable.  When I first ventured onto the Internet, and first became a computer whiz in the 6th grade, and my dad would spend hours trying to teach me things I already knew, or warn me about viruses that I knew were only hoaxes, I never thought they would catch up to my computer wizardry.  And now, they both have Facebook accounts.  Even though my dad still sends me virus warnings, despite the fact that I have a Mac, and despite the replies I've sent him that merely say "Dad, go to Snopes next time."  I guess I'll always be one step ahead of them, but damn... this is just too much.  What if they get crazy again!?

I always said that I would never, in a million years, add either of my parents on the Facebook.  Too much scandal.  Too much cursing.  Too much gay.  As soon as I found out my dad was on the Facebook, I instantly deleted the two most ridiculous pictures I could remember having: the one of my ex-boyfriend playing with my lesbian friend's strap-on dildo and the one from the night where I had too much to drink and had a photo shoot in my underwear and Gwen Stefani leopard-print stripper platforms.  Even though I knew there was no possible way he could see them, I just shuddered at the mere thought of a huge Facebook meltdown hacker attack that let my dad get a glimpse into my Facebook and those being the first pictures he found.  He still hasn't added me as a friend.  And now, I'm a little hurt.

But tonight, as I was doing my usual stalking, I got a notification.  "Your mom just joined Facebook."  Of course, it said her name, but this blog is about me, not her, so I'll keep her private.  I imagined her sitting in front of the computer, helpless, trying to figure out what the hell this shit was.  Something about that pathetic mental image endeared me to the thought of her on the Facebook, and I called her up.  I said "Please tell me that didn't just happen."  She and I laughed, and before I knew it, I was instructing her on how to set-up her Facebook page.

When I really started to think about it, I don't really care what my parents see about me on the Internet.  They're my parents, for fuck's sake.  They changed my diapers.  They've seen my no-no place.  They love to tell me about the time that they had to wear gas masks to clean the shit that I flung around my crib and bedroom when I was 2 years old.  They found the picture of a military man holding his dick that I printed out in 9th grade and tried to pass off that I was holding it for a friend.  They let my ex-boyfriend sleep over in our house.  They changed my little brother's diapers when he was paralyzed from the waist down in the hospital... after he had gone through puberty.  They are fucking troopers, man.  The point is that they've seen me at my worst, and Facebook is by no means my worst.

I guess it'd be one thing if I wasn't really proud of who I am, or what I've done, or if I wasn't comfortable with myself.  At this point, I'm happy with being me.  And my parents have a very good idea of who I am, what I like to do, and what kind of bullshit I get into.

When I came out to my mom during my junior year of high school, I did it because I didn't want to have to hide anything from her (and by extension, my dad - I was just too scared at the thought of it).  I wanted us to be close.  I remember shaking, reading her the letter I had prepared, crying my little eyes out, hoping to the gay Gods above that this would fill that slowly growing emptiness in our relationship.  Even though she cried back at me, after 2 days, it was clear that it was the best thing I could have done, and it has made us infinitely closer.  So, why should I be scared of them perusing through my Facebook page?  Everything that's on there has occurred in the past, and there's not much they can do about it now. 

Besides, I like to think that it'll get us even closer - and even the bad stuff will make them like me more.  They'll have an even better idea of who I am, what makes me sad, what makes me happy, what song lyrics I like to post when I get emo, and what angles my face looks best at for profile pictures.  They'll get to see how much my friends appreciate me when they write such sweet things on my wall.  They'll get to see how much my friends appreciate me when they tag me in horrible, scandalous pictures.  They'll see how clever I am when one day, they can't see the picture anymore because I'm a master de-tagger.  For better or for worse, there's a certain amount of my life that is spent online, and they'll now be a part of more of my life.

Plus, judging the first Facebook chat I had with my mom, it's going to provide me with hours upon hours of entertainment.  Everything that woman says online is hilarious.  She's so much quicker and wittier than I give her credit for.  She always mixes up her words and pronounces them wrong in person, and now I've figured it out that she's just always thinking too much, and giving her a little time to type really up's the fun.

I guess I'm okay with it.  I won't be granting them access to the blog, though.  Baby steps, even if they always are one baby step behind.