About a month or so ago, Facebook offered members a new profile. This was supposed to be a wonderful way to … I have no idea what it is supposed to achieve. I didn’t like it and I didn’t update. Earlier this week, Facebook warned us it was going to make it easier for us by simply upgrading all users to the new profile even though we obviously didn’t want it. Mark knew better; we would assimilate.


Today, my new profile appeared. I had already deleted most of the extraneous information that would be splattered across the top of my page. I don’t really care to advertise that I’m pretty stupid and don’t have a college degree. I probably shouldn’t have said that here, either, but very few people read this. I’m probably safe.

I also don’t want people to know exactly how underemployed I am. While I’m not terribly embarrassed by my job, it isn’t what I’m actually qualified for. I could have a far more prestigious job if I were not quite so lazy. I’m also unsure if FINRA laws or company policy even allow me to say where I’m employed. It’s much easier to simply ignore that.

Putting your city of birth, especially if you have also included the year you were born, helps the bad guys tremendously. With both pieces of information, it is possible for thieves to figure out your Social Security Number and gain access to your stuff – in other words Identity Theft.

But what irritated me the most was the stream of pictures across the top of the page. I didn’t want them there. Any picture I have been tagged it was pulled into the stream. It looked like the newest ones were first and the more I deleted, the older the tagged photos were. I finally got rid of them all.

I mentioned on Facebook how I shun cameras and don’t like my pictures as I don’t like the way I look. I never have. Well, since I noticed how I looked, anyway.

I’ve depended on my body to keep people from looking at my face. I believe that is why I was so upset with a weight gain that was not all that much weight. I know women who say, “My eyes are up here” when someone is staring at their boobs, but quite frankly, I’m better off if you are staring at my boobs. In fact, my eyes are probably my best facial feature, but you are better off looking below the neck.

My face has never been symmetrical. The right and left sides do not move the same way. I know I was a forceps delivery and I’m guessing I suffered some facial nerve damage. When I smile, it is always lopsided. Now that I’m old, and after decades of smiling lopsidedly, my wrinkles aren’t even. So even in repose, a way I used to be able to hold my face and at least appear symmetrical, doesn’t work. I have deeper wrinkles on one side of my face. Great.

I have always preferred pictures of me in profile. My favorite wedding picture is a profile picture with soft lighting and me “examining” my veil, held in my hands. My face isn’t lopsided in profile.

The few pictures of me I can actually like are taken without highlighting my asymmetry. Nothing taken for any official reason (unless I ever make it to the police profile books where I will actually like the one picture) are profile. They like to get my full lopsided face. And they want me to smile my “charming” lopsided smile.

I have very few pictures of me out there because I don’t like them. I probably should have had more pictures taken when I was younger because at least back then, I wasn’t old and wrinkled. I had real color hair instead of this not quite any real color it is now. And in repose, there weren’t deeper wrinkles on one side of my face, at least non-smiling pictures didn’t look as bad.

It is perhaps a problem of being the middle sister between two beautiful blonds. Pam’s eyes are startlingly ice blue and Cheri’s are green. My eyes change colors depending on what I’m wearing. Pam and Cheri both have real cheekbones and small straight noses, although Cheri finds fault with her nose (she has told us). And then they are both blond, something “good” in the US. They look like a Roberts while I look like a Francis. I’m Irish to their German.

It really doesn’t matter why I don’t like my pictures. I should get to be the person who chooses what pictures will be posted on the Internet.