Like nearly every person my age, I have a Facebook page.
It’s full of random crap. Pictures of my dog, pictures of my wedding, bitchy posts and inane updates on my life. (You know, much like this blog.)
I made the mistake, in a long conversation with my boss today about a pending case, of mentioning that I have a Facebook page.
Apparently, so does boss, because he added me as a friend.
Shit!
I have not confirmed or ignored his friend request, but I must. And I think I have to confirm it, because otherwise, I just look bad, right?
Now, it’s not that I’ve got anything really bad posted. I can go through my profile and sanitize it, removing any really terrible posts or photos. I won’t even be too embarrassed if he sees the terrible pictures from my bachelorette party (MJ, think you could remove the one of me gnawing on plastic penises?).
But Facebook is my ultimate work escape tool. Dammit.
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1 comment:
I hated to do it - but all Buster + Penis photos have been untagged. :)
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