I Feel You Judging Me, Facebook

I Am Oppressed By The Forces of Social Media

So...I finally joined Facebook.

(Please be my Facebook friend! Just search for me - I'm there, I swear! Wait, did that come across a little needy?)

Anyway...I finally joined Facebook and, um, not to put too fine a point on it, but...

Facebook hates me.

I know, it sounds like I'm being overly sensitive and childish, but Facebook started it!

How, you ask? With this little calling card:


Geez, you miss a week of lip-waxing and your whole gender's called into question.

Fine. I mark "her profile" and hit "Okay" and go on about my very important business of hearing about what people are having for lunch and whose child announced the arrival of stomach flu by spraying the inside of Mom's freshly detailed minivan with Spaghetti-Os like a human Gatling gun.

Then, next time I log in:


There it is again.

And the next time.

And the next time.

In fact, that same question pops up - and I answer it - for the next 3.2 million log-ins.

What I want to know is - is there some Facebook intern sitting there looking at the profile pictures and trying to figure out the ones that are, shall we say, "on the fence?" Or does their system scan the photos and electronically register facial hair and then compare it to the gender of the name?

And, more importantly, how can I get a job mocking Facebook profile pictures (because that job sounds awesome and right up my alley)?

So I keep logging in and answering the same question...until today. When I get this one:



Thank you to Lea Ann at Mommy's Wish List for including my "Smokey and the Bandit" post entitled "If the Bandit's Wrong, I Don't Want to be Right" in her blog!