"And in the beginning, man created the social network which became a blessing and a plague"

I am a social network slut. Every once in awhile, some strange compulsion comes over me. It's almost like I wake up and think, "You know, I haven't established a new social networking way to release the unique entity that is me into the world in some time." In Pirates of the Caribbean, someone yells, "RELEASE THE CRACKEN!" and I am beginning to realize that I do the same thing, except with my personality through internet databases. I can't stop. "I apply my personality in a paste."


The earliest I can trace this back to in lineal terms of internet was deciding in the days of AOL, that sharing a screen name with my mom just wasn't cool enough of me and just used a simple formula (favorite letter, number, and color K17blue, bitches!!). I mean, I had reached double digits in age (13!)! From there, I would write out name possibilities. My opendiary became freeopendiary, and then livejournal became another livejournal (although this was due to malfunction more than style), and then I added a myspace. Then I spent hours of dial-up pimping out my page and web stalking while my mom screamed from the other room that she needed the phone (this saddens me, as it was the 21st century by that point). Then I got accepted to Facebook, back when it was "exclusive." Now I have a few other social network accounts, but I don't know how I feel about those. Right now, we're just acquaintances.


Actually, technically, I used to elaborately decorate my name tag in junior high. On one occasion, our seventh grade or eighth grade teacher needed funds from me to go on a field trip. I promised her I would bring the money, Lebowski, but she came to the conclusion that she needed collateral from me (I guess because you can't send teenagers to collection, although detention is sort of like that, and I went there fairly often).


Somehow, someone figured out that since I spent long stretches of time doodling on my desk tag instead of listening to lectures on geography and history (and math and science and basically anything other than English and Art), that she could take my tag while waiting for the fund transfer. Another kid in my class objected that I could always make another, but the distraught look on my face proved that no, this shit just didn't develop overnight, this was a PROCESS! I don't even know if I wanted to go on the field trip as much as I wanted my name tag returned. I may or may not have eventually gotten it laminated (my mom did, actually) to preserve my creative efforts.


So, here we go again.