One of the most important websites in my life is Facebook, and that’s third only to Google and Wikipedia (AP students, you know what I mean…). I use it to keep up with friends that live in different parts of the world, get homework accomplished and just generally pass time.

Something that has totally changed my Facebook experience is the day my mother got a Facebook. She reads everything I post as well as most things my friends post. Yeah, that’s right…my mom ‘friends’ my friends…and comments on their stuff.

It wouldn’t bother me so much if it weren’t for the fact that I have to really think about what I post. My mom’s generally pretty cool. But if I want to post on my friends wall an inside joke and she sees it, it normally tends to not end well. An average conversation on the subject includes her yelling at me to explain what it meant, me explaining and then me getting in trouble for something totally irrelevant to the original issue. For example: “Nikki Culver: is procrastinating homework.”  That little red box of doom will pop up and says “Your mother has commented on your status. Run while you still can.” Okay… so maybe it doesn’t say that. “Go do your homework, because if you fail, you’ll die.” Gee…thanks mom.

When I go to post a status, I have to sit and think—“What would this look like from my mom’s point of view?” and nine out of 10 times, I hit that backspace key and post something trivial like “Time for homework,” or “Time for dinner.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother. She’s wonderful to see movies with and go shopping with. But not for being friends with my friends.

 If I’m not in such a good mood, then I listen to sad music and most of the time, the lyrics are really meaningful, so I feel like posting them. But then I get “Honey…are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” No. I don’t. I don’t like talking about how I feel, go away and let me listen to my sad music.

The worst thing about having my mom on Facebook is that she plays ALL the games. Farm Wars, Mafiaville. EVERYTHING. I’ll log in and have anywhere from 10 to a hundred different requests. No mom, I don’t care about your farm. I don’t care that your pig is missing. It’s a virtual pig…go buy another one.

 This is my world, welcome too it.

Nikki