You duped me.
I bought your stock on Day 1 of the IPO. I should have known better. I have a Wharton MBA and was an investment banker and a McKinsey consultant.
But I subscribe to Warren Buffet's buy-what-you-know approach. And I know you, Facebook. Maybe not the financials, cash flow or EBITDA, but I know you. I spend so much time with you, I think we're really tight buds.
I joined you in 2007 -- late for a Harvard student, which I wasn't, but early for someone over age 25, which I am.
You bring me joy with Sh*t Miami Boys and Girls Say and invites like Dave's Redonkulous Costume Party. You cause me pain -- was he really at that party with her? Why wasn't I invited to that dinner?
But let's face it: you annoy me at times. Why do people send me Farmville goats or Virgo horoscopes? Why do I care how fast Liz ran this morning when I was sleeping? You think I really care about Ed's kids' birthday parties or breakfast choices?
You play Cupid, bringing me dates via Facebook chat:
"Yo, what are you doing tonight?"
"Do you want to go to dinner?"
"Gr8. Pick you up at 7:30. Laters Babe."
You don't bring me more money or a job, but I know people you hooked up with fancy new careers. I haven't lost a job over my status updates, but know of people who have. Ouch!
If we are being real, you cause fights. "No, I won't Facebook-stalk the guy you like to find out if he blocked you. I'm sorry that means you think I'm not a good friend."
I defriended an ex, got refriended, then defriended, then refriended again until I defriended him once and for all. Yeah, you bring the drama.
But you inspire me and give me personal goals. Through "The US Traveler Challenge" quiz, I discovered that I've been to 44 states. Alaska, Arkansas, Hawaii, New Mexico, Oklahoma and South Carolina, here I come.
I'm so into you, I read two books about you before the Sorkin movie came out and then saw it twice. I still giggle about Zuck insisting that his soon-to-be-ex girlfriend didn't need to study because she went to BU.
I should invest in you -- right, Warren? On IPO day I plopped down lots of money on Scottrade. I clicked a bunch of buttons. I didn't have to work at Goldman Sachs like my business school friends, but I could still own a piece of you, Facebook.
Zuckerberg and I had a bond now. I felt smart, successful and in-the-know -- nerdy chic.
Then I read an article titled "Don't Buy Stocks in Day 1 of an IPO." I didn't get too worried. Maybe just a little. But Google and Apple were in the $500 to $600's, so you seemed to be a bargain at $39. No offense.
When your stock tanked post-IPO, I felt angry. WTF? How could you do this to me? Where was the love? A heads up would have been nice. I almost didn't want to log in to you anymore. You dropped by a third; now I may never get to Alaska or Arkansas. Thanks a lot.
I spent so much time with you. You knew more about me than any friend, family member, colleague or boyfriend. You disappointed me. You let me down -- more trust issues to discuss in therapy.
I know about sunk cost, opportunity cost and throwing good money after bad. But I'm not a quitter. I spent too many hours with you. You're one of my best friends. I have hope for your rosy future. Nine hundred million friends can't be wrong.
I still love you, Facebook. I'll tell you where I am and let you host my precious pictures and videos. I won't read news about your stock price. I don't want to know. I won't listen to malicious gossip and rumors trashing you. One day you'll repay me. I will never defriend you.