Long story short, they pool your profiles, pull information and create a map of who you are and what you do, like an interactive, biographical website. Well, at least for the person whose version I saw on Facebook before insantly building my own.
Hers? Beautiful! Informative! Organized! Mine? A veritable shitshow of things I've randomly posted over the past year, deeming me completely ineligible of any future HR-cleared job.
Let's take a look from left-to-right. First up? A picture of me walking down a hotel hallway, drinking out of a fifth of Jack Daniels, on the fanciest night of my life. Next: "Various", both where I work and a reaffirmed notion that even I have no idea what I do for a living. Below it, a photo taken with Adele before she was an A-list star and, apparently, before either of us had ever heard of the concept of makeup.
One tweet about Homeland, a location notification and a numerical representation of how long I've been hustlin' and there's the truest statement I've ever seen stare me back in the face: "I talk about dinner." I have no idea what I do all day, but I know what I'm doing for dinner. If my family had a crest, it would be a tiny clock, a miniature platter of Prime Rib and a recliner, since this is who I was destined to be: someone who can't stop thinking about where they're getting their next meal from. And, speaking of? There's my madre, being her similarly Awkward-ified self, smiling between bursts of hitting on John Stamos (and him, like, kind of being into it.)
So that's what I am: Meals. Whiskey. Accosting Celebrities. Hey, maybe this thing is better than I realized — that's basically all I'd prefer to do in life, each and every night. Now, to just find some way to get that done...
Good thing it's the season for life goals.