Happy 10th birthday, Facebook (I think)

Looking back at 2008, when I joined Facebook, I remember the following: I was on my way to Prague and Paris, holed up in a hotel the night before my flight. I'd heard Michael Phelps mention something called his Facebook account during an interview from the Olympics.

'Facebook?' what's that? Anything Phelps did, from eating Subway sandwiches to hugging his mother to swimming the butterfly resonated with me. No matter that I was a grown woman, the axiom: If Michael Phelps jumped off a bridge, would you? completely applied to me.

So I got a Facebook account.

And with it, two friends.

Then three.

I don't remember who my first FB friends were (sorry) but within the first couple years, I was friends with about five ex-boyfriends I'd dredged up from all points east, west and overseas. I'd found cousins - first, second, third, and I don't know are we related? - and grouped them as "family". I even friended and then unfriended at least three family members, because I was starting to find that Facebook. like the Thanksgiving dinner table, was just that emotional.

I "liked" Michael Phelps. My first like. I loved getting all his pictures and updates from vacations with buddies, following his romances and endorsements and swims.

But soon, within just a few months, I wanted to scream: "Darn you, Michael Phelps!"

I was receiving invitations from people I didn't even remember from high school, from cousins I never liked, from boyfriends who left me bawling in bathrooms like on a bad episode of "Girls". I was spending at least half an hour a day checking my page, then updating my page, then updating my profile photo.

Within the first couple years, I went from one half hour a day to probably two hours a day. Facebook eclipsed my TV watching, or I'd watch, say, "Modern Family" but have one eye trained on the laptop.

Facebook.

The relationship wasn't quite so dysfunctional with Twitter, even though I'd heard many people checked their Twitter crawl first thing in the morning.

Not me. I was all about tracking down that guy whom I dated after my sophomore year in high school, and when I found him, thought of him while at grown-up interviews in the real world, at home as I posed for my new profile photos, as I giggled with girlfriends on line. (Can you giggle on line?)

He and I mutually decided to end the Facebook friendship -- he was taken, after all -- and this hurt me all over again. Not as much as at 15 when it had happened for real, but it still picked at the wound. "You always seem to come back into my life when I'm heading in the wrong direction," C. wrote from his hovel in Hawaii.

Thanks.

What the bleep did that mean?

Facebook.

I liked dozens of things, then unliked them when I realized the cool kids didn't like much. My first love only liked two things, so I'd be like him. When I found that his ex had a profile shot on the ski slopes, I thought I'd do the same. Yes, I loved skiing, but this really sealed it for me.

I was starting to crack, so much so that by 2013 I had something like 5,000 photos uploaded. I had over 200 friends, a "normal" amount, and I actually knew about a tenth of them.

It became foggy whom I had met in the real world versus who was an actual friend.

This is when I decided to take a step back from Facebook. I started logging on every other day - at least for a week. I was proud of this, in the way I was proud when I eased off smoking.

Now, I don't want to quit Facebook -- how else would I keep track of my mom in Texas? -- but I don't want it to run my life.

I also fantasize about the day when I'll travel the world meeting all my Facebook friends in person. When I was in LA, I wanted to spend time with one of those friends, but didn't realize we weren't really that close in real life. That friendship soon ended. Part of me says if we can't be real friends, why are we on Facebook together?

That would bring my total "friends" list to about 15, though, and no one wants to see that.

Happy 10th Birthday, Facebook.

I think.