UGH, Facebook. Are you trying to ruin my life?

I spent most of my lunch break on Facebook, commenting on different friends' links. One friend posted a map with the list of what each country ranks #1 in. I was kind of proud that the U.S. ranked #1 in serial killers. (Mexico ranked #1 in televisions and Canada ranked #1 in juice drinkers.)

I scroll down the page and see a link another friend posted about the new unemployment rate in the city: 10.3%. A couple people had posted serious comments about the economy, but I was feeling funny this afternoon. So I wrote:

"Apparently I've dated 10.3% of the metro population."

I leaned back in my chair, feeling so proud of my comment. It achieved so much. A dig at S. A dig at Christopher. The friend who posted the link went with me to the baseball game on Sunday where we talked about all of our bad dating decisions and I kept running on about how rare it is to find a guy who has a driver's license, job and bank account at the same time. So it also achieved an inside joke between us. It was also the first time I've even mentioned a dating life on Facebook; I don't talk about dates or feelings on there.

And of course because I think I am so funny, I keep checking back on the site for all the replies to my funny comment. The poster responds to the other serious economy posts and then turns his attention to me:

"@Sarah - To be fair... it's hard finding jobs for all of your 550,000 ex-boyfriends."

The other serious commenters respond, and then so do I:

"Well that just makes me feel old."

And then he takes the win:

"I guess you can cross off 'Date 500,000 men' off of your 30 x 30 list."

For the first time, I start reading the serious comments. The reason the city's economy is in the crapper is because our living supply outweighs our demand by about 5 years blah, blah, blah. One girl is talking about not being able to hire qualified employees in her sector, which just so happens to be the same sector as M-Joy, who always comments that she needs a new job when she gets mad at her boss. I look closer at her name, wondering if I can get the poster to make an introduction a la LinkedIn--

And then it smacks me in the face.

Her last name is the same last name as Adam's. Adam was a guy I dated about three-and-a-half years ago. He was 11 years older than me and he was too handsome, too rich, too generous—just about anything "too"—than me. At the time, I could not possibly fathom what this guy saw in average me. And I liked him too much and my self-esteem was too low. He eventually told me that he was also dating someone else and they decided to commit and make a go of things. (I wrote about it here and here. Some of my best writing was about it him. Shame.)

A quick e-mail to my friend, the poster of the link, confirmed that she was married to Adam. And judging by the age of their DAUGHTER, she was indeed the girl he chose over me.

I leaned back in my chair for the second time today and felt like doing a slow clap. Because the next time Adam logs on Facebook, he's going to see his wife's activity along with my name and my picture and running commentary that I've spent the last three-and-a-half years dating 500,000 unemployed men.

Bravo, Facebook. Bravo.

You can't just make up this kind of humiliation.

On the plus side, Adam always did think I was funny. On the plus, plus side, I got to narrow my eyes at her picture and say aloud, "I've slept with your husband."