Facebook’s Dangerous Policy

At the end of the day, all I can do is shrug and say, “It is what it is.”

What a stupid, fucking meaningless thing to say. But what else is there?

I cannot fight the behemoth power of facebook. I send in ID they request, and they reply that it’s not good enough, ask for more, then send yet another link to their acceptable ID list. “Here’s what we accept,” they say (again). I look at the list again just to be sure, but the options are dwindling. The acceptable forms I possess have been sent, including the kind of ID I keep in my small, locked fire safe: My US passport, social security card, and marriage certificate.

A while back, I wrote about being raped by someone who was a former Continue reading

Advertisements

My Name is Pookie

My name is Pookie McNoodles.

It’s a name that keeps me remembering to look on the bright side of life when I’m low, which isn’t exactly rare. It’s a reminder that nothing should be taken too seriously in this big cosmic carnival. It’s me clowning for me when there’s no one else to make me laugh. It’s a cloak of protection my real name no longer gives me.

And should you feel that there is nothing left to life and all that you touch withers before you, and then you remember this name, how can you help but to feel touched by the multitude of small absurdities woven into every minute of every day? How can a smile not tug the corners of your lips? Continue reading