My sister finally gave in and joined Facebook this week, or, as she succinctly put it, "I'm drinking the Kool-Aid." Tasteless Jim Jones reference notwithstanding, I was crazily excited to have my sister on Facebook—which is a little bit ridiculous, really, since we talk on the phone every day. But now I could talk to her online, too! And put up photos of shamrock shakes and tag her in them! Oh, the possibilities were endless!
I spent two hours walking Kim through her first tentative Facebook steps. She navigated her way through the privacy settings, discovered how to leave her wall and successfully return to it later, and even gave the search bar a shot.
"I can't find O____ B_____," she complained, trying to look up an old friend from high school as I sat with the phone propped up to my ear, tagging photos of her.
"Don't worry about it, she just found you," I said, watching as O.B. 'liked' the picture of Kim I'd just put up and left a comment. Within moments, Kim had a friend request.
"That's a little scary," she admitted. And it is. Which is why I'm offering these tips to my sister and the other 36 people in the world who are just now joining the Facebook nation:

1.  Remember that creepy guy from high school, the one who wore plastic vampire fangs to class and stared at you all day? Yup, he's on Facebook too, and he's about to send you a friend request so that he can finally confess to you that he was in love with you 30 years ago and that you are still just as beautiful today. Feel free to ignore his friend request.

2.  Remember your younger cousin, the one who set off firecrackers in the chicken coop and it caught on fire? He hasn't changed. Ignore his friend request, too.

3.  People will tag random pictures of you. They do not care if you were thirty pounds heavier in that photo or had just had your hair done like Gene Simmons of KISS for a costume party. They also don't care if your mother is on Facebook and will not find it as hilarious as your friends do to tag you in a picture of a bong shaped like Elvis's head. You do have the power to un-tag yourself in those photos. Do it.

4.  Good news!  Your mother is not on Facebook. Yet.

5.  Some of your Facebook friends are quite vocal about their political views or feelings on social issues affecting our nation. Some of these people are, in fact, crazier than fruit bats. Choose your battles wisely. Sometimes it's better to just bite your fingers instead of commenting.

6.  Yes, if you post something on someone's page, all of their friends can read it. So if you want to tell your friend Jeanie that you still regret not marrying John Taylor of Duran Duran, send her a private message instead of posting it on her wall where your husband might see it.

7. Of course Duran Duran has their own Facebook page! You can only 'like' it once, though.

8. Don't keep updating your status every five minutes. Honestly, nobody cares if you just found a great deal on toilet paper at Target. (Wait. How great of a deal was it?) Also, why do you want creepy vampire fang guy to know where you are at all times?

Facebook can be a little scary for newbies. Personally, I'm thrilled to have my sister on there with me, mostly because my cousin Lori keeps ignoring my Farmville requests, and I want someone to play with me. Plus, it's better that she figures Facebook out now ... before her children do!

With Valentine's Day coming up, I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane and revisit some of my past romantic holidays. This could explain a lot about my personality, so bear with me.
In 8th grade, I was going out with a boy, whom we shall call Randy Mitchell of 45 Hopewell Rd, Glastonbury. Going out with Randy mostly meant that we exchanged school pictures and I giggled like a drunken smurf every time we passed in the hallways. This was my first Valentine's Day with a boyfriend; I bought Randy a five pound Hershey's Kiss to celebrate the event. Randy dumped me (via handwritten note that he gave to my friend Amie to give to me, no less) on the morning of February 14th. Amie and I ate that whole giant Kiss during history class, thus kicking off life-long food issues.

In high school, I was friendly with a boy we'll call Lee Gardner of 122 Weir Street. Valentine's Day fell on a Saturday, and I was working at a little grocery store in town. Lee called me and asked shyly if he could take me out on my break for a romantic lunch. Of course I said yes, and lo and behold, the rotten little snotbag stood me up. I consumed an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Heath Bar Crunch that day, and to this day, toffee makes me gag. Maybe Randy and Lee should get together to compare notes on how to give a teenage girl an eating disorder.

In college, I dated a guy named Tom who was fifty thousand times more in to me than I was in to him. In February, he sent me roses, a diamond pendant, a 1986 vintage Ron Francis Whalers jersey, a new car, and gourmet chocolate drizzle popcorn. In return, I hand-made him a card that said "Roses are red, violets are blue, you skeeve me out, I'm dumping you." Personally, I thought it was clever as heck. From what I understand, Tom wound up in therapy for years. It turned out that inflicting psychological damage on February 14th was a power that could be weilded by either party, and I liked it.

My first husband used to demand breakfast in bed for Valentine's Day. I think this was because he was too lazy to waddle in to the kitchen and cook it himself. I would cheerfully comply, always adding something a little extra, like egg shells. And if the eggs happened to slide off of the frying pan in to the litter box before I served it to him, all the better. I'm sure he thought I was the world's lousiest cook. That's okay; I thought he was the world's lousiest husband.

When I finally shed all of that baggage, I tried to find someone  who was considerate, kind, and not inclined to celebrate Valentine's Day. When I met Jason, I thought I'd lucked out. However, it turned out that Jason had a tendency to promise that we wouldn't do anything for Valentine's Day, then surprise me with the complete works of Augusten Burroughs. And I have to admit...it was kind of nice.

So to all of you, I wish you luck getting through this Valentine's Day. If you're feeling down, ask yourself: what's more important? Having a snugglebunny to share this day with, or being the first in line at CVS when all of the candy is reduced to half price on February 15th? Honestly, you could make a good argument for both. 

Happy Valentine's Day!

When my fans are mobbing me as I walk down the street, they often ask "But Stacey, what do you watch on TV at night?" Apparently, these people can't make up their minds for themselves, so let me give you my take on the newest shows—and what you should (or shouldn't) be watching.

Alcatraz: Liz Sarnoff, who wrote for Lost, is working on this show, and you can tell. Prisoners from Alcatraz in the '60s are returning to modern-day San Francisco, causing murder and mayhem. Three detectives—a blond waif; the guy who played Hurley on Lost; and Sam Neill, who has yet to say "Warden James, after careful consideration, I've decided not to endorse your prison," which is kind of disappointing. If you're not going to embrace being typecast as Dr. Alan Grant, I have no use for you.
This show has left me with questions like "where the heck are these guys coming from, and why haven't they aged?" "Who is the guy behind the curtain in the sick ward?" "Who has the money to build an exact replica of Alcatraz underground?" and "Really, not one Jurassic Park reference from Sam Neill?" These are the types of questions I was left with when I used to watch episodes of Lost.  Which is why I stopped watching Lost.

Lost Girl: Jason insisted we start watching this show because the main character is a succubus. The definition of a succubus is "a woman demon who has sex with men," which explains why Jason was so gung-ho about watching this show. This is what I've learned so far:
1. Nobody understands how hard it is to be a succubus with a smokin' hot figure and supernatural powers trying to find out who your parents are.
2. The angst of being smokin' hot with supernatural powers manifests itself in tight, scanty clothes.
3. Being smokin' hot with superpowers means nobody even notices when you walk down the street half-naked.
4. Half-naked smokin' hot supergirls are allowed to be total sluts without repercussion.

I just can't get in to this show. Jason seems to like it, though.

Marrying Duran Duran: This witty comedy is about two girls from Connecticut, Kim and Stacey, who marry members of Duran Duran. Hilarity ensues, and each episode ends with everyband member professing their love for the two sisters.
Oh, wait.  That's not a real show.  That's my childhood fantasy.

Happy watching, my friends!