No, I Will Not Friend You on F*cking Facebook

Let me say that again.

I will not friend you on fucking Facebook.

I realize we just met 4 minutes ago and you feel like we have bonded for all eternity. In the few moments we have spent together, you have decided you need access to my photos, my list of family members and the chance to scroll through all the “check in’s” I have done in the past 6 years. Nevermind this is a professional event and I am here to network for business. It is important you have access to my personal space to determine if I am the right fit for your company. Because the photo of me with my grandmother in 2015 shows how amazing I am at restructuring your corporation.

Maybe, you do want to be actual friends, but want to screen me first. That’s a fucking brilliant idea. I truly am the same person I was in 2010 when I was blond, into NASCAR, super immature and didn’t have the life experience I have now. I’m sure Bonnie’s bachelorette photo album featuring a very drunk me, laughing with some Greek guy at a bar is indicative of who I am at this very moment.

And you. Yes, you. The chick who was in my graduating high school class over 24 years ago. Aren’t you the girl who made fun of me every day? Why the fuck are you friending me just because I commented on a mutual friends post? What makes you think I want to have all of your bullshit in my feed? I’ve ignored your friend request 5 times. We’re bordering on stalking now. Please get the hint:

I will not friend you on fucking Facebook.

I also will not friend you on fucking Facebook if you are a husband/wife/partner of a friend I have on Facebook. Unless we have met in person…at least once. Who are you? Why are you interested in me? I’m sure you are a fabulous person. But, I am not going to be a part of a weird drama because you’re wondering why I liked a photo and now you think there is a huge, sordid affair happening. There isn’t. Get over yourself.

If you have publicly trapped me into friending you on fucking Facebook, I have to be a bitch and unfriend you on the sly. This involves a fake trip to the ladies room so I can hide everything in my profile from you as soon as possible. I will probably forget to unfriend you for at least a couple days. Don’t pretend you’re not itching to scan through my shit as soon as you have a dark moment to yourself. I’m a chick too. I feel those urges. I’ll finally remember when you start showing up in my feed a day or two later and I’m wondering who you are.


Now you’ve made me feel like a bitch and our next meeting is going to be awkward. We both know I’ll run into you again. You’ll be happy to see me and exclaim “I haven’t seen anything of yours on Facebook. You’re not on very much, are you” You’ll proceed to check your phone and say “Wait…we’re not friends? How did that happen?"

Ping. Friend request….

“Ok, I’ve just Friended you again. That’s weird, huh?”


And this is why…

I will not friend you on fucking Facebook.