What is with people being so open with their personal lives over status updates? Whatever happened to privacy or for the sake of others: discrete detail?

Countless updates on my Facebook talk about break ups, fights, family ailments, etc. There is a time and a place for that, really, I do not understand why people are twittering hospital visits and posting pictures of themselves in labor.

This sort of attention is more like gawking than it is empathy. There is a high resemblance in a “celebrity voyeurism” sort of thing making Facebook like a tabloid. You can see who is friends with who now, who is dating who, who has gained weight, gone to rehab, graduated college, got married, knocked up, and died—dare I say it.

I’d personally prefer the public not knowing out about my boyfriends who commit third degree murder or my bra size. I like to keep some things personal.

I guess if you're prodding for this sort of attention, you’re getting it, right? You’re getting the satisfaction that lets you sleep at night. The kind of doting and coddling any princess or prince deserves.

You're getting countless comments saying: My goodness, what on earth is going on with you? What happened to your sister? Are you okay? Hang in there cupcake!

If it is just sympathy and commiseration you’d like, why not make life easier and send an e-vite to everyone to come over to your house for hard liquor and weeping. Better yet, go on Dr. Phil. You already have all 456 of your friends you claim to know reading about your personal life, why not let the rest of America and select countries get in on the action? Then you might, if you’re lucky, get balloons and letters in the mail. Talk about road to recovery.

Then there are those sneaky, cleverly idiotic updates that make you wonder. The ones that could mean nine different things; the ones that you ask yourself: Who died? Wait, no…it can’t be death, maybe he meant he got fired?

All because the update read: Bob Smith can’t live after what just happened.

Then, you gasp for air as your heart stops.

"This could be really, really, bad," you say to yourself.

I mean, if it is on Facebook, it is so serious.

Then a plethora of comments follow as Bob Smith never, ever, answers. Everyone is left at their keyboard impatiently waiting because they have to know what just happened to him. It will kill them. The Internet becomes a stir of rumors being spread. People begin to search through other comments and ask around. The clock ticks.

Cut to two days later he over zealously mentions something about rescuing a kitty cat from the pound and you really just want to delete him as a friend. Rude.

Regardless, lives are impersonal now. Everyone knows everything about everyone. Privacy is irrelevant and if you want it, good luck. You're going to have to move to a remote island, ex-communicate all who you know and still have to change your name.

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