Old man, new heartache

I'm a Facebook junkie. It's not a point of pride or anything. Just a fact. For someone who doesn't like to call or visit, the freshly opened doors of the technological world are a wonderful thing.

Except in one case: memory lane exploration.

Facebook and Google act as a sober take on drunk dialing as we look for the ones that got away and sometimes find them. Happy. Not utterly maimed and destroyed by the lack of your presence in their lives.

Then you have to deal with the to Friend or not to Friend issue. If you Friend that love gone awry, you're the mature adult moving on and yet maintaining healthy relationships. But then you see pix of him frolicking in the surf with his cute kids at some East Coast Beach resort. Which voyeuristically speaking is a simultaneous treat and torture.

So much for healthy post-breakup relationships.

Next time, I'm going the not to Friend route.

Probably.
Maybe.
Unless he still looks cute.

Hello, Mother? Can I book for next year?

So i did take a vacation and, loser or not, it was at my parents' home. And it's not like they live in a farway land, like Canada or Ohio. They're right over the river and through the Pine Barrens in Jersey.

Laugh away, jerkies. Smirk all you want.

While you had to wonder how that formica bed table in Wildwood Crest got that burn mark, I was a spoiled rotten baby at mommy and daddy's house. They even walked my dog for me.

I tell you what...if they'd been that nice to me back in the 90s, my fat ass would still be living with them.

All in all, a spectacularly relaxing week in the life.

On to Parisian preparations.