GIRLS AREN'T FUNNY.

Last week, I committed what some would refer to as a social media snafu. It didn’t really involve finally allowing my Mom to be my Facebook friend (which I did, so that she could properly stalk me, as opposed to solely wondering who Megan Amram was on the Twitter machine or phoning my father), it happened with the “adult” social media platform, LinkedIn.

I love LinkedIn, personally.

Granted, give me something that will link me to other people and ask for my social security number and email and phone number for shipping me size 8 shoes, and I will gladly accept. Others don’t feel as drawn to the platform. It’s like Facebook, but more professional, where you put your resume and a photo without a red solo cup in it and list your previous work experience. I love reading through these, where some friends and acquaintances take to their intern responsibilities what Picasso took to canvas - nothing resembling what they actually did. (Oh really, I know you worked in the mailroom at William Morris but you definitely have a screen credit on Moneyball.)

But that’s OK, because LinkedIn is yet another way to stalk a potential date, or prepare for an interview or a client pitch meeting. It is a place for professional groups, and if you’re really ambitious, you link your Twitter feed and update it all the time.

LinkedIn is still more purely networking, than social. But I signed in for the first time in a while, and LinkedIn asked me if I wanted to connect with recent email contacts. Sure! Why not? Potential clients and friends and people I invited for drinks or to have a Smizing contest.

So I hit the button.

Dear everyone who is not yours truly, never do this. I accidentally (sort of), sent 432 invitations to “link in”. To everyone I’ve ever emailed. That’s a lot of friends, friends of friends, and people I want to use for their Hamptons houses.

Most people didn’t accept my invitation, or are waiting the three day rule. But these weren’t really my recent interactions or people I gchat with, LinkedIn invited EVERYONE WITH WHOM IVE EVER EMAILED THAT WAS PRESENT ON THE SITE to connect with me, read about my digital PR business, and see just how long it had been since I got my hair Brazilian straightened in my profile photo. 

Among those that did accept, however, are a fantastic bunch of people that I desperately want to see my work experience.

My rabbi from my bat-mitzvah. 

Honestly, if my kick-ass progressive female rabbi from the time in my life when I couldn’t have felt less attractive wanted to immediately be my professional friend (in case she needs some PR for a moonlighting Torah session class, or whatever Rabbis do in their off-time, like golf or go shopping or think about disciples or whatever), then great.

I have not spoken to her since I was overweight and carrying a Kate Spade Bag. That being said, I love the idea that Rabbis are connecting with other Rabbis on social media networking platforms, where they can kibbitz about which Manischevitz is best or talk about how they’re trying to “young up” their sermons and talk about how the Real Housewives are a prime example of the Ten Plagues. (Ramona is so clearly Boils.)

That Random Math Professor Whose Granddaughter Clearly Set This Up For Him.

Of course I emailed all of my professors. I like to think of myself as a “do-gooder,” while some would take that to mean Obsessive Hand-Raiser or someone who goes to office hours for extra points. I like extra points. Also on my credit card, but not on my drivers license.

A random math professor (ha! I took Math in college) accepted my request, but he had no pictures, no information, and a random yahoo email address. He was cute and old and sweet though, and gave me a good grade. His birth date listed makes him 89. 

I took the class because it fulfilled a requirement at Penn and, well; it involved a lot of triangle drawing. Which I felt was a great metaphor for everyone’s freshman hall: what is the shortest hypotenuse between your door and the cute boy down the hall who may or may not have finally dumped his high school girlfriend?

JDates I emailed with but never got around to going out with.

This one is delightfully awkward. Now I know you work at a good law firm, and that your ID photo is the same as your JDate photo. We never went out, but we bantered about wasabi peas or something involving Seinfeld or honestly just forgot about each other in the sea of other potential Spanx Wearing Females Between the Ages of 24 and 29, which you put as your age range. Actually, you put a three-year age range, which is really reasonable. Once you hit one year out of your range, the girl turns into a pumpkin, a knife-wielding lunatic who obsesses over wedding centerpieces.

My ex boyfriend’s new girlfriend.

I’m not even sure how she is in my email addresses. But all I know is, this girl Came After Me. So let her see my profile in all of its glory, and hate me for no reason because that’s what girls do to their boyfriends’ exes. Hate them without any reason, except that she came first.

Complete and utter strangers.

Think about everyone you’ve emailed in your life. The friend of a friend in Barcelona for a restaurant recommendation, that guy who wanted to buy your coffee table from you on Craigslist but then you were worried to let him come over (and you couldn’t afford something nicer than Ikea anyway).

I’ve probably emailed exactly 18003250 people about jobs, if you were the class of 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, or until gas prices fall. The bottom line is, no you do not want to connect.

Yes, we want to connect, deeply and desperately and maybe someday, at some time, in real life with one another versus with clicks of a button.

But in the meantime, your gynocologist’s lab results anonymous email address doesn’t need to know you speak Conversational Spanish and are really good at Wordpress.