George where are you when I need you?

I would love to say I have been so busy! Really, I contemplated topics on health care, modesty and middle-age. Alas, nothing felt sharp. Instead, I am going to share a shame, a blight on the level of detail worthy of Seinfeld. I was not much of a facebook person. My brother encouraged me to do so and it looked fun. I have enjoyed connecting with lost roommates, old friends and such. But, I am not always into the facebook "whoring" of some or the odd people who ask me to be friends. Really you want to be my friend? A while back a friend of mine, from my early days in church Sunday School became my friend. Later, his sister and mother became "my friends". Whatever, I thought, they are from my hometown. So, I let them be my friend. This is why FB can feel just wrong.

Somehow, in this world of electric connections and small worlds, I figured out my original friend was no longer my friend. Already, I am a bit hesitant to share this, it really got to me. My husband assured me that it was an electronic glitch. I kept checking back every few days to make sure I was no longer his friend. For pete's sake I thought, he has invited me to a few causes, I didn't respond. I checked some of his friends lists. There were clearly bigger rollers (ie people with over 500, yes 500 friends). I am sure those big rollers don't respond to him. Did he get offended by my comment that my mailman was hot for me? The more I analyzed , the more George Kostanza and I had a partnership. My husband suggested I email him. Sheesh, just be pathetic now I thought. I really would like to know. But, I have my pride people! My pride! Honestly, I always worry I am a crappy, lame, no fun-to-get-to-know-person. So that went well. I have moved on--as you can clearly read.