The only description I have is his first name and a few facts. He’s relatively tall, he has dark features, and he likes to play basketball. She also said he’s most likely in a fraternity. Helen Keller could have given me more information.
Here are the steps to liking a photo from 63 weeks ago: delete Instagram, set phone on fire, become the first person to live underwater.
People keep telling you to join OKCupid. They tell you that there are other people out there for you, and that you broke up for a reason, and that you have to get back out there and try, or you’ll never fall in love again.
How often do I stalk you on Facebook? Ehh, often. I would pretend here that I’m not constantly clicking over to see what you’re up to and gauge the attractiveness of the various people you’ve been banging who cruelly aren’t me, but that’s what I like doing in my spare time.
Pretty Facebook Girls, you are the unicorns of the social media world. Your life is a blur of candid photos that somehow come out looking like something that would win a week’s competition on America’s Next Top Model, and other girls subtly remarking on how cripplingly jealous they are of you in comments that are meant to look joking.
Creeping is an almost pointless endeavor if you don’t have a trusted friend to whom you can show your findings with attached commentary such as “OMG isn’t she so beautiful it’s so unfair!!” or “Look at how cute his old blog was!”
Perhaps it would be best to make an actual list of information you acquired legitimately vs. information that you harvested from Facebook/Google/old blogs/other unfortunate sources
For every bubble that came up, a thought bubble came up in my head. What am I doing here? I envy people who seem able to place themselves inside a jacuzzi and have their problems melt away; where my problems, it seems, just brew.
