MySpace

MySpace. What can I say?

Some days, I hate it. Some of the time, I am in awe of it. Most of the time, it scares me.

Yes - I attempted MySpace several months ago, but since I am an idiot, I misspelled my email address which is also your login (for those few of you not on MySpace). How I misspelled, I have no idea because I can further idiocy by telling you, my email address is simply my first name, period, my last name. Yep - I misspelled my name.

So I could never log into my account. Nor could I email the bastards for my login information because they send it to your email address. Oy.

I hope you are still with me...

Moving on, I created a second account. Second verse, same as the first.

Happy, happy? Joy, joy?

One Sunday I spent hours looking up old friends dating all the way back to elementary school. I was so obsessed I called my brother (who lives with my mom, and his girlfriend, and my adopted brother. And that's what you call a Full House) to go find my first yearbook and run down the list of names for me that I had forgotten.
That was one crazy adventure.

Another day, I devoted to more current past friends and looked up everyone from the college days. Yes - I skipped high school because fuck that.

And then, of course, the stalker in me just had to look up all the ex-boyfriends. And when you go looking you find.
Married. Divorced. Children. Living in New York city (bastard!)
You see recent photos and they either got hotter or uglier (thank you, thank you) or even, bigger.
Then I get all Pink Panther on it and start investigating - and by this I mean, I scour their friends list.
And decode each one, one by one, friend by friend, comment by comment.
It is exhausting but at the same time addicting.

You'd be shocked to what you find out on your own investigations.

And what is up with my friends who will only communicate with me through MySpace? My friend, X is the perfect example.
I have her work email, personal email, cell phone number, and home number. And vice versa.
I'll reach all of the above to ask her to dinner or what plans she has for the weekend.
No response.
And its not like I don't know she's getting these messages.
I'll get home and check MySpace - HELLO - X's communication of choice: MySpace email.
WTF?
And she is not the only one! I get messages all the time from people I see on a regular basis - even people I work with, three cubicle rows away! But still they want to ask me weekend plans via MySpace.

Oh. Well.

Months ago, on the first go round - I did look up an old boyfriend - one that particularly told to die.
He didn't apparently because there he is live and well on MySpace. I left it alone.
I was not going to contact him for all the beans in the pot.

Last night I come home and check my email. I had a message from him.
And it was a long one. A very long one.
It was sweet and sad.

To sum up this guy, who we can call Brian, we 'dated' but never had our ducks in a row. He lived at home with his parents never seemed like he was going to leave. He was out at a bar every night of the week. And I swear to this day, one of his friends dealed some sort of drug - it bothered me more that they would never admit it to me more so than the career choice itself.
After we called it quits, we kept in touch and I am sad to report - that the next boyfriend after him, oh gosh how do I say this?
I cheated with Brian on new boyfriend. All. The. Time.
Like at least twice a week.
And to defend my younger self - I was 22 and didn't care.

Some years down the way, affair in the past, I went to visit San Antonio (shocker!) for a work trip. I was staying in a hotel downtown. Brian and I hooked up the first night I was there. Second night we made plans to have dinner together.

He stood me up.

I was livid. LIVID.

1. I know about 8 people in San Antonio that I could have made dinner plans with.
2. I didn't have a car, so I was basically stranded downtown. Alone.
3. I was too proud to call up one of the 8 people to come eat with me or meet me up. Plus 7 of them didn't even know I was in town because I planned on only hanging with Brian.

But that's not the end of that story. Brian decides to show up hours later at my hotel door, drunk as a skunk. I gave it to him and I gave it to him good. Real good. The yelling ended with me telling him I hope he died on the way home driving drunk.
I know. Harsh. But again to defend my younger self, I didn't care. I was pissed. No, livid. LIVID.

That was the end of us. Dunzo.

Until last night when I received the best ever letter in the form of a MySpace email from him. To sum it up and not to bore further, he said:
He didn't know why we couldn't work. He is upset that we ended the way we did. And the kicker, are you ready for it...
"I can't think of a day that I don't think about you"

WHOA.

Did I reply?




You bet your MySpace, I did.