Confession from a Motownian

I have a confession to make: I might be a little Facebook retarded. I like Facebook...to the extent that I use it. That is to say, I have a Facebook page, I have added a bunch of friends to it and a bunch of people from high school that I may or may not actually remember. I have a few pictures of me and my kids. And every so often I actually "write on somebody's wall." Is that what it's called? I hate to sound so old-lady-ish and un-tech-savvy. I usually love to try out these new internet trends. And I'll admit that I do like the satisfaction of seeing that some of the people I knew in high school are fatter than me now. But my Facebook usage ends about there. I do not take all those quizzes that are sent to me. I reject a lot of people as friends who are suggested to me by other people who I am pretty sure would not have sat with me at lunch--thanks for those memories, by the way. And then there are those invitations to stuff that I totally don't understand. I currently have about 650 of these waiting to be accepted or rejected. I don't want to flat out reject them because I don't want to insult the sender. And because I secretly suspect that accepting them makes you cooler. But mostly because I have no idea what it means to be invited to "join their posse in Fashion Wars" or to be "Kidnap'd by Becky to Seattle with the Ol' Potato Sack Trick!" And when Facebook asks me to allow it access to everything on my computer, in my journal, in my bank account, and in my naughty drawer so that someone can "send me a cupcake" or "put an ornament on my tree," I feel a bit nervous. So I just ignore these requests and hope they go away. I did take the plunge the other day and allow Big Brother Facebook access to my life so that I could take a quiz to find out what region of the U.S. or Canada my accent is from. It picked "North or Midwest." Bravo! Only, I already knew this. Cause I grew up in the North or Midwest. So really, I just handed out the master key to my computer files to a massive website so that they could brilliantly decipher that I'm not from the South. Great. When my identity gets stolen and millions of dollars disappear from my bank account, at least I'll have the consolation of knowing that I still sound like I'm from Detroit.