You're Cut.

I think I might take a break from complaining about how tight my pants are. I've also taken a break from stuffing my face and drinking all the booze in Montreal, so methinks those pants won't be tight for long.
I got a friend request on Facebook yesterday. After being on Facebook for nearly 2 years, I am always excited and curious when I receive a friend request. Oooooh, who could it be?? More often than not it ends in disappointment - some random I met once or twice, a total stranger cruising for new peeps or, as evidenced by yesterday's request, someone you don't want anywhere near your shit. I got a request from my old personal trainer at the Y, Veronica. Some of you may remember a post I made a few months back about my wildly inappropriate trainer and her penchant for regaling me with tales of her sexual hunger. Ouash. During my 23 month tenure on the old FB, I've become selective about those I add as "friends." Because you see, some of them are not really friends. They are acquaintances, people I once took a class with, have a friend in common with, used to live nearby, etc. Some of them I wouldn't be able to pick out of a crowd, wouldn't recognize on the street - some of them I plain don't like. So why should they have access to every photo of me ever taken, my likes and dislikes, the link to my highly readable yet humble blog?
The emergence of Facebook has meant the end of privacy, the end of "I wonder what ever happened to so and so...." I recently bumped into a guy I knew in high school and whom I hadn't seen in 10 years or so. Yet we were Facebook friends and as such I knew he had become a lawyer, gotten married, traveled to Cuba, bought a condo in the old port, etc. And I had seen pictures of everything he had done, who he had done it with. So when I ran into him, it barely registered in my mind that I hadn't seen him in 10 years because I was all caught up on his life. Our facebook friendship had robbed us of what should have been an exciting reunion.
I really do love Facebook - it keeps me in touch with those I love and lets me spy on those I don't know yet am unabashedly curious about. I think, however, that Veronica won't make the cut. As if I need the woman who made me do squats and lunges staring at photos of me drinking, eating, smoking and generally being unhealthy. It's bad enough that I have to look at them.