Facebook, stop picking on me.

Consider this an open letter to you, Facebook. You smug cow.

At this point, we are all shockingly aware that nothing matters until it is posted on some form of social media. Twitter exists so we can tell thousands of people whom we do not know intimate details about the mundanity of our lives, #Iameatingabanana. Instagram is the Twitter of the illiterate. Look, I am eating a banana. Vine is for 6 second clips of you eating your banana. Social media is in fact fueling the frivolous. Many people, myself very much included, are fooled into believing that something as everyday as eating a banana is news worthy. Newsflash, unless the said banana has the ability to jump from the cracked screen of your iPhone and make me a sandwich, it probably is not. BANANA.

Don't get me wrong, I tweet utter shite. Last week I tweeted that I was 'wide awake', hashtag did you need to know? Did I make an urgent and blistering impact on your life? Did the Daily Mail write a piece on it? Probably, but also on rotation was 'Woman eats yoghurt', 'Woman wears T-Shirt' and 'Woman has a nose'.

But Facebook, you are on my shit list. And here is why. Facebook is a lie. A complete and utter misrepresentation of our ACTUAL lives. Everything (and I do mean everything) you have ever snogged, married, or avoided is documented on Facebook. After all, it is not official until it is Facebook official.

Our 'friends' list is a who's who of people you haven't gotten around to un-friending. There are the girls in high school that you hung out with for a summer and now have new-borns and new-builds. There are the people we had a cheeky fumble with in the back of a pergeot 106, they are the people that you stay "friends" with so you don't have to admit that they meant absolutely NOTHING to you. Zilch. Zipper. Then, there are the mean, the meaner and the meanest. Those who the mere action of un-friending would create more drama than Kim Kardashian shaving her head in favor of a toupee. I have 599 "friends" on Facebook, but in the past 23 years of my existence no more than 100 people (tops) have attended any one of my 23 birthdays.

My social media representation is in fact a lot popular, a lot funnier and let's face it...a lot fitter than the real deal.

But that is not where my beef ends. My falling out with Facebook stems way back, back when the we saw our 'wall' change it's name by deed poll to our 'timeline'.

Who do you think you are Facebook? Micheal Parkinson? When I reach the end of my days, will you present me with an over-sized red photo album and whisper those intolerable words 'This, this is your life'...sponsored by Facebook. Mark Zuck-it-berg. When was the precise moment that Facebook became the virtual equivalent of our autobiography, our Wikipedia page, the sole source employed to document our every move. Is Facebook really that high in the pecking order?

Facebook is like the cat that got the cream. It has no problem showing you endless photos of your ex boyfriend scuba diving with your replacement. But, whilst the status on that sepia photo of the newlyweds reads 'It was a Vera Wang and Tiffany's kinda day', it really translates to; 'I am willing to over look that my hubby thinks my special place is around six inches south of where it really is because his bank account is just beeeeyond'.

Look, a little self-promotion is not a bad thing. We all do it. Go forth and toot that horn. But for the sake of our down-in-the-dumps days, our lonely days, our my-makeup-went-wrong-days, let us remember that it is far easier to carve perfection in the vortex known as Facebook than it is in real life.

For now, the battle against social media is over. We lost, we are robots, robots living online.

P.S I feel as if I am cheating on my boyfriend, but like all boyfriends...there are days when they just piss you off a little.

Happy tweetings,
B xx