How Facebook is like my Refrigerator

Note:  Of course today isn't Friday...but I wrote it on Friday.

It's Friday: otherwise known as that day I plan on getting nothing done.  Now that the kids are in school, my schedule is pretty open to accomplish ambitious, start-a-business or create-pin-worthy-closets type of projects, but by Friday, I kind of run out of steam.  Let's not act like this doesn't happen in the corporate world. 

So although I might do something like fold a batch of laundry or even prep some dinner by stealing my neighbor's basil (they said I could, plus they borrowed a cowboy hat yesterday, so I think they owe me), I'm lowering my standards today.  Might wash my hair, but might skip it, too, to prolong the lovely blow-out I got yesterday.  Thinking of doing the good deed of visiting my grandma. 

And, of course, I'm writing this blog post.

I had my writer's group this week, during which my bloggie/writer friend Pam--who's new website, by the way, it completely awesome, and you should check it out--submitted a piece about Facebook.  By now, most of us have gone through some weird Facebook love/hate, drop-out/rejoin, get addicted/give it up cycle with one of the bigger social media forums out there.  Which has got me reflecting on my "relationship" with Facebook, and it's kind of like this:

I'm viewing Facebook the same way I'm viewing my refrigerator.

Let me explain. 

Now that the kiddos are at school--and heck, even when they were home--I'll find myself opening the refrigerator for no real reason.  I'm not hungry, not really.  I'm not getting ready to make something.  I'm not putting away groceries (unless, of course, I am.)  I guess I'm just having a bored or aimless moment, and opening the fridge is my response.  Maybe there's something good in there.  It's like I'm looking for a slice of chocolate cheesecake to appear and fulfill any voids or uncertainties I might have in life.  (Hmmm...is this sounding mid-life crisis-y?)

But now there's Facebook!  Yeah!  I can just periodically open that instead, and check out what's going on there.

Umm...like my fridge, pretty much nothing.  Or at least, nothing life-changing.

I don't mean to insult my "friends" on Facebook.  You are wonderful people.  But I think we know by now that there are certain people who post heavily in certain ways (read: self-employed business folks who promote, which is fine, but it's like opening the fridge and going, yup, there's bread.)  There's the slightly brag-worthy posts, although thankfully, I actually don't get too many of those.  Sometimes there's a link to something amusing or interesting, and while I thank you very much for those, how come I sometimes feel like I've just eaten a cookie I really didn't need?

It's making me realize I need to keep developing real relationships, do real things, and, quite likely--oh, ick--take real risks from time to time. 

Unless Facebook upgrades so that people actually can share chocolate cheesecake with me, in which case, baby, I'm so on it.

Notice: This Post Might Not Reduce Belly Fat

This past Monday, unplanned, I ended up doing one of the coolest, funnest things I've done in a while.

(First, wait--it "funnest" still not a word?  Crap, can we change that?  "More fun" ruins the pretty little parallel structure.)

I did improv.

Yep, improv.

I don't know if I want to go into the backstory of how I fell into a room with a bunch of "instructors"--or maybe it was a troupe, or facilitators, or just people with cooler jobs than the average Joe--on a Monday night.  Like one of the rules of improve, just accept it.  Accept the scene--Debbie is in a room with strangers doing improv--and go with it.  (Some might find the backstory interesting, and some day, I may touch upon it.)

(Also, as aside, will auto-correct please accept "improv" as a word and stop tacking an "e" on it?)

We started off doing some crazy little exercise that involved making strange noises and pointing at each other.  We moved on to naming states or games or pharmaceuticals while pointing to each other, and somewhere in there, we said our names, which we may or may not have learned.  I think my brain was supposed to wake up, although I felt a little like my questionably ADD self repeated things over and over so I don't forget to, I don't know, water a plant or something.

Things moved on from there, to little exercises which were actually building crazy, silly, fun scenes around scenarios.  I guess I do this sometimes when I write, or often in my head when I daydream, but when I started doing this out loud, with other crazy, silly, fun people, it felt so much more fun and communal and supported and instant, like people throwing confetti at me while I write a blog piece, instead of that inner voice always going "Hmm...is this okay? Is anyone going to read it? Like it? I'm not so sure."  No, almost by definition, improv is fun and right and anything goes, which is such a refreshing change from wondering if something is good enough.  Was I any good at improv?  I'm not even sure it matters, which is why, yes, I was so awesome at improv.  It was kind of exciting to try something new, and I found myself both enjoying other people's "skits" while itching for my turn, pretty please, next.

I've also found myself googling about improv, re-reading Tina Fey's "The Rules of Improvisation That Will Change Your Life and Reduce Belly Fat"*, and reflecting upon how treating life like one big improv exercise might just be free-ing from time to time.  In fact, it's actually quite possible most of my parenting has actually been improv.  (I'm especially good at improv-ing with stuffed animals, by the way.  Perhaps I should lead a class in it?) 

While I'm not sure I'll turn into some improv junkie, checking out the local club behind this fun-fest is on my list of things to do.  For fun.  Which I don't always get enough of.

Right now, I'm kind of like a timeshare salesperson with this stuff:  You should try it!

*Tina Fey later notes Improvisation will not reduce belly fat.  Sorry, if that's your goal.