The post with a point.

I changed my name [legally] when I was sixteen.  The Father had bequeathed to me a terrible surname of the kind which just invites rib-taking, and I didn’t want to spend my [maiden] life stuck with it.  What if I was a maiden for ever!? Crikey! 

Changing my name at sixteen meant that I didn’t need to ask The Father for his permission.  Not that he could have denied me really considering he changed his the year before, also changing the name of The Littlest Brother in the process because – heavens! – he might be subjected to rib-taking in school.  Of course, all the hassle could have been avoided if only The Father had changed his name as a young man.  He would have done, allegedly, but he was worried about what my nana [-with the long garden] would say.  The fact that she, by all accounts, was never really in love with my grandad [who died when The Father was a young teenager] might have suggested that she wouldn’t be totally bothered, and would probably have come round in the end.  But no. So my fate was sealed. 

It was a good time to change my name.  I’d just completed my GCSEs at one secondary school and was moving to another to study for A’Levels.  I made lots of new friends who were happy to call me Lizzy rather than <annoying nickname derived from surname>.  Those friends that came with me from one school to the other were quick to forget that I had once had an annoyingly horrid surname.  Life was good.

I’ve always been a tad fickle when it comes to friendship.  I’m not a good friendship keeper.  I do not a good friend make.  I am shite.  I easily get bored, or paranoid, or start to find fault.  As a child/teenager, although I had some exceedingly close friends, they were always spaced out among different groups.  Those groups inter-mingled on occasion, but generally they were separate, and I liked that I could move amongst ‘my’ groups depending on my mood and my needs. But I lost contact with many of them as university and then work [and new friends] took over my life. 

There is a point to this post.

I value my privacy.  Very much.  That’s why you won’t find me mentioning such trivialities as where I live or work.  It’s why I don’t mention the names of friends or family.  It’s why I sometimes even keep people guessing when it comes to my first name. 

It’s why I prefer MySpace to Facebook.  MySpace allows me my privacy.  MySpace is young and flirty.  MySpace is cute and adorable.  Facebook has always appeared staid and dull in comparison.  It’s like a pervy old man attempting to entice with sweets [applications]. 

But in the last week I’ve realised that I can use Facebook in a totally different way to how I use MySpace.  Facebook not only gives me the opportunity to stalk folk, but it also allows me to catch up with past friends. 

Whilst searching for one past friend I chanced, instead, upon her brother.  I only met her brother three times, when I was about fourteen.  He went to boarding school and I fancied the pants off him.  We wrote to each other a couple of times and he sent me a Valentine card, but I was fickle and his sister was a nutcase so contact disappeared and I forgot about him.  At first I just made sure he was who I thought he was.  Asked after his sister.  We messaged a couple of times.  Then I asked him to say hi to his sister for me and I was going to leave it at that.  He then said something along the lines of If you’re who I think you are it was nice chatting to you.  Who do you think I am? I asked him.  Surname was ***** I think, he replied.  Bloody hell, said I.  Some things in your life you just remember well, you’re one of mine, was his response to that. 

Yikes!  And that’s Yikes! in a good way.  It’s nice to know that when I was a mere fourteen years old I made such an impression on a fifteen year old boy [and all we ever did was watch scary films in the dark after his parents had gone to bed!] that eighteen years later [Yikes! (bad Yikes!)] he still remembers me.  Granted, it spooked me a little, but hey!  It’s almost a good spooked. 

So now I like Facebook … just a little bit.  Now I can be a child/teenager again and have separate groups of ‘friends’ to flit between depending upon my mood and needs.  MySpace for flirty, Facebook for stalking and Xanga for hiding the real me [or for being the real me, whichever way you want to look at it]. 

And Tabatha likes me liking it because she now has a profile on it too.  Bless her!

I told you there was a point to this post.

please God bless me for i have sinned xxx Elsabeth