Facebook Angst

Being newly inducted to the web-stream lifestyle, I recently signed up for facebook. My friend has been detailing me to the delights of the Facebook phenomena. So with the help of my personal computer aid, aka my husband, I was set up with an account.
It was breath taking, to say the very least. First I had to find a picture. To my chagrin, I hate all of my pictures, that is why I always take the pictures and am rarely in the picture. I read some where that to get the perfect smile, and facial expression every time, one should say the word, "sex" instead of "cheese". When you say the word "sex", endorphins are said to release instantaneously and you will have the perfect picture every time. I admit I have tried it. I have noticed a difference in the resulted photo, but, when I am getting my picture taken, I am usually not alone. For the most part I have my 11 year old daughter or my 7 year old son either sitting on my lap or within ear shot. So me whispering, "sex" within ear shot of my kids seems very unsavory and down right creepy, especially when my 11 year old knows what sex is. My face in the photo may turn out fine but the horrified look across my daughter's face, kind of ruins the family photo anyway.
My husband and I settled on a picture. We had to crop it. He wasn't willing to photo shop me about 10 pounds leaner, but it was an acceptable picture. Unfortunately, we couldn't crop out my son entirely, so you see this little part of his eye leaning on my shoulder. I felt like a butcher, cropping out my son, leaving only a little bit of his bright brown eye.
Next in my induction to the computer age, I had to search for people. Who else is on facebook?
We came up with several names, and I was elated. I had a surge of utopia with the possibilities of who I could find. I felt very much like a detective, a snoop, maybe a bit of a reporter. I loved it.
As fast as the elation was upon me, I was informed that I could find as many people as I would like, but the people I find have to agree to be my "friend". I couldn't just find them, I had to ask permission to be their "friend".
Horrified I began to ask. Person after person.
I began having flash backs to elementary school, passing notes, pleading with kids to check a box, "am I your friend or not? Check yes or check no".
What if I was denied? What if on Facebook, the ultimate lined-paper note, I was denied?
I remember lining up during P.E. in Junior High School and waiting to be picked for teams. It usually pertained to Dodge ball (a truly barbaric, ritualistic hunting game) in which at the beginning, no one worried. It wasn't until the number of people chosen out numbered the people waiting to be chosen that the pit of my stomach began heaving. Sweat began beading and the chaos of the situation seemed like a distant echo, compared to the pounding of my heartbeat. I would be chosen, but only out of default.
Sitting at my computer last night, I sat and waited. Will I be chosen? Can I be able to with stand the public humiliation of being denied someones "friend".
I didn't sleep last night. Visions of being picked last, or not picked at all loomed through my dreams.
This morning, after I got my kids off to school, I immediately logged on to my facebook page, finding no results, yet.
I hate the neediness I have developed waiting. I hate that it suddenly means so much to be accepted, still, and I am a married woman of two, in my thirties.
So this is my angst. To be wanted enough for someone to check the "yes" box.
Maybe in my forties, I will have out grown it.