The most useful thing I learned last year was that the best antidote to stress is gratitude. It’s been scientifically proven that it is impossible to feel stress and gratitude at the same time.

Naturally, when we think of what we’re grateful for, our minds make a beeline for family. Go ahead and try it the next time anxiety creeps in. Think of how lucky you are to be surrounded by people you love, and watch your stress evaporate like the conspiracy theory of the week. Can I hear an Amen?

Last Christmas, my mother-in-law presented me and Doug with a DNA ancestry test kit. “Who’d be dumb enough to do this?” Doug scoffed after pulling off the wrapping paper. “He ya go, FBI! Help yourself to my DNA! Go ahead and frame me for whatever the f*ck you see fit!”

(Where one conspiracy theory dissolves, another is born.)

I, on the other hand, was intrigued. There are three good reasons for this. The first is that family is important to me, and if there are hidden members to my clan, I think it’d be cool to connect. Second, my great-grandmother once had her family tree professionally drawn, and although I can’t be certain about the reliability of family-tree research at the turn of the twentieth century, it revealed her origins in the Algonquian tribe with direct lineage (cover your ears, Mr. President) to Pocahontas. If there’s a single drop of Native American princess coursing through my veins, I want immediate confirmation of it. Third, as far as family trees are concerned, I think everyone ought to know how many degrees of separation exist between themselves and Kevin Bacon. And so, I promptly spit in the vile, licked the envelope and sent it off to Ancestry.

When the results came in, my family tree didn’t look like anything I’d expected. Pocahontas wasn’t even a leaf bud dangling from a branch (although the reason for this, I’m convinced, is because she never got around to registering with Ancestry.com. Kevin Bacon was nowhere in sight. However, the kid who sat next to me in Biology class from September 1988-June 1989—the same kid I bantered with as we inspected our twin DNA under a microscope but were too dumb to see the similarities—the same kid I once backhanded after his offhanded remark, to which Ms. Simpson sternly admonished, “I never want to see that kind of animosity in this classroom again”—was.

Back to the topic of family and gratitude. Scott Santa Maria, my long-lost fourth cousin with whom it’s highly likely that I share a pair of great-great-great grandparents—I am so, so, SO very grateful that we never dated.

Amen.

Anyone who’s been on Facebook for a few years has been through it, some of us more than once.

It happens in a series of steps. (1) Someone randomly pops into your head. (2) You think to yourself, “I wonder what so-and-so is up to.” (3) You go on to think, “Hmmmm. So-and-so hasn’t posted anything on Facebook in a long time.” (4) You get a sinking feeling. (5) You look up so-and-so on Facebook and are slapped in the face by an “add friend” button.

You’ve been deleted.

When this most unfortunate thing happens, the key is to handle it with grace. You accept that you’re not going to be for everyone, and it’s a part of life. Your friend chose to break ties, and you wish that person well. You’re too busy and enlightened for hard feelings. You move on.

I give myself excellent advice. The problem is, I rarely take it.

Five years ago, I attended my friend Becky’s daughter’s birthday party. There I saw her brother, and immediately, my brain performed steps 1-5.

Not one to miss an opportunity for awkward confrontation, I slithered up to him while he filled his cup from the punch bowl.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Oh, hey,” he said. “Real good, thanks. The twins are growing up fast. Just the other day they–”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great,” I said. “So, listen. I see you deleted me on Facebook.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You did. Any particular reason?”

He resumed filling his cup. “I dunno. Did you post pictures of your dinner more than three times?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve never posted a picture of my dinner. (The truth is, if I knew how to make a dinner, I’d most likely post it. But he didn’t have to know that.)

“What about cat videos?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “None of those, either.” (The reason for this being, by the time I’m done with my daily eight-hour dose of funny cat videos, I have no time left for sharing them. But he didn’t have to know this, either.)

A silence fell between us. His cup was now overflowing. He could see I wasn’t letting him off the hook. He put down his ladle.

“Look,” he explained. “As far as Facebook friends go, I have a 99 rule. Once I see I’ve got more than that, I start narrowing it down.”

I stared. I waited for him to explain further. He didn’t.

“’Ninety-nine rule’—what the hell is that?” I demanded. “You’re going to stand there and tell me that I didn’t even make your top 100?! I’ll have you know I am the most likable, non-offensive person on social media. My grammar is impeccable, and I never post my opinions on religion or politics. Who do you think you are—Simon Cowell?”

Now he was the one who was staring.

“And let me tell you something about my posts,” I ranted. “People like them. Some people even describe them as witty. The New York Times called my posts the biggest effin’ sensation since the British Invasion. What did I do to fall out of your good goddamned graces?”

If I’m not mistaken, I believe I saw a glimmer of half-amusement, half-pity in his eyes. “There is a reapplication process,” he consoled.

I got three inches away from his face. “Let me tell you how this is going to play out,” I hissed. “You are going to send me a shiny new friend request. And neither of us are leaving this party until you do it.”

If I remember correctly, he left the party before I did. He didn’t say good-bye.

Five years later, the friend request has finally arrived.

America, it’s time to cast your vote. Shall I confirm Chris Robinson?