Who am I kidding? I am nothing but a number. Numbers rule our world. I went to enter my PIN at Target and I think I put in my current weight by accident. (Damn scale and those stupid articles that tell you to weigh yourself every day or you won’t lose weight) I was on Facebook the other day (okay, five seconds ago) and it asked me for my password. I have so many passwords for so many things I was seriously stumped. Once I finally figured it out I decided to change my password so I’d remember it better next time. Yeah, this time I’ll put in cheeseburgerandfries1970. I’ll remember THAT for sure! You’d think I could remember my own name and the year I was born, but no.
Speaking of Facebook. That monster of a time-enhancer. (yeah, that’s right, it’s not a time-suck in my house) There is one big glaring number on everyone’s page. The amount of Friends you supposedly have at any given time. This number is very important. I’ve noticed that either you have so many friends (I’m talking in the triple digits like 652) you are either as popular as Ashton Kutcher or you just play Mafia Wars too much. Then there’s the other end of “friend” status. Those people who have maybe 11 friends. Which is actually more than I have in real life, but in the Facebook Universe, you may as well be a pariah. The interesting thing is, those that seemingly have “few friends” are usually the ones who actually have a life. And real close friends. You know, they are out living and being with real live breathing people during the day. Not on facebook with their eyes glazing over as they plant crops. (And who am I to judge, I consider myself one of the eye-twitching Farmville masses)
Why are we so obsessed with the number of friends we have? And why is it important to show the world that you have 567 of them? I don’t know because I fall for it too. When I get a “friend request” I get all giddy inside. Ooh! Someone wants to be my friend! That must mean I am someone! I do matter! I am popular! About as popular as I was in high school. Which is to say, not very. But when I see my Friend number inch ever higher (albeit slow as death and molasses running uphill on a frigid Maine winter day) I still for a fleeting moment feel damn good about myself. Maybe in a few years I can hit that 200 mark?! Doubt it. So pathetic, but at least I admit it. We are all just little kids on the playground, wanting to be friends with everyone. Even that kid eating dirt in the sandbox. We just want to be liked. You like me, you really do! Okay, maybe not, but you do want me to be in your Mafia and that’s good enough for me.