I couldn't get into MySpace at first. People kept telling me it was crack, you'll love it, it will rock your world, you will marry it and have loads of babies, etc. And by people, I mean mostly Karol
So now that I'm officially a MySpace addict and I've seen the dark ugly place that this entity can dig you into, I can speak from experience and tell future addicts why the site is so addictive.
It's sort of why blogging is addictive but only once you have a blog of your own. You can comment on other people's blogs, for example, not only because you want to comment, but also because you secretly want to say something witty and have people click onto your blog. Except with MySpace, you don't actually have to read any blog posts. You can make witty comments about freaking Popeye's fried chicken and chances are, people will click on your MySpace page, read your profile and see eighteen different pictures of you(and some girls, daaaaamn do they put up some pictures). And yeah it's a bit immature to have a back and forth conversation about what happened the night before and have everyone confused by private jokes with your best friend, but whatever! They are clicking on my MySpace page!
So there you have it. MySpace is completely regressing back to highschool where everyone wants to hang out with the cool people and be in their top 8 12 or whatever. It's completely pathetic, and it's officially making my day job suffer.
P.S. Let me know if you want to be my MySpace friend cuz I only have like 35.
Lesson to be learned
Getting lost in blogsurfland one evening I came upon this Best of Craigslist ad.
I completely agree with Bitter Bob's comments about guy/girl friendships. 99% of the time, there is an attraction on one side of the spectrum and the guy/girl is just waiting for some late drunken evening when their 'friendship' crosses the line in the sand into 'friendship with benefits' territory. And I think in this case, although the girl is being blamed for being manipulative, the guy deserves equal blame for being stupid. If his girl-friend is crying over other guys and you keep buying her drinks while she's kissing drunk boys at the bar, get a freaking clue. And get a nice girl to treat you right, while you're at it.UPDATE: Ace puts his $.02 in with
some brilliant advice for the men:This whole "friends" thing is a pussy way to get close to a girl without putting anything on the line. I've done it dozens of times myself. It's unmanly and counterproductive. Make a move or don't, but don't be chickenshit chump waiting months and months for the "right opportunity.
Whoever said money can't buy happiness simply didn't know where to go shopping
This afternoon, as I'm walking down to Union Square after work trying not to drop dead from the inferno that is New York, I had the sudden urge to splurge. My suburban born and raised girly self needed an air conditioned building with high ceilings, escalators, and racks of discount belts. So I popped into Filene's Basement, my new favorite department store in Manhattan. It's got great bargains, it's never all that crowded, the cashier people are shockingly polite and you can try on stuff in the corner where the full length mirror is in the Juniors section and not have to wait on line for a dressing room. (Ladies, trust me on this one. Fugettabout schlepping to Century).
As I was browsing through DKNY petites, I suspected that I may have officially replaced alcoholism with shopping. Now, I'm not saying I had a serious problem in the past. It's just well, I was a lush. My friends knew how to lure me into any situation. Poker, PN? There will be wine there....
Or, C'mon PN, let's go deep into south Brooklyn even though it's 11 pm! I'll buy you a drink! Karol
is most guilty of this and I love her for knowing me so well inside and out, and embracing my lushness with open arms.
But lately, I find myself having no desire to drink. For instance, I know the bartender at a certain bar uptown who gives me free drinks and tonight I chose to order seltzers with lime the entire evening. Yet, I went about twenty blocks out of my way in 106 degree stifling heat (don't forget about that humidity factor) to find the perfect black belt. I turned down happy hour with a coworker the other day because I wanted to buy new ballet flats from Loehman's.
Part of it is that I'm in a stage right now where I am craving alone time. I've always been a big shopper, but shopping is more about getting lost in a whirlwind of senses and being able to escape lingering thoughts about your over-complicated life. All of a sudden, major decisions involve how this purple mini skirt hides my hips but does show off my thighs. Should I shell out the forty bucks even though I have no top to match?
I figure this phase will last until fall hits and I want to be outdoors drinking pinot instead of sniffing anti-theft device glue. In the meantime, you guys should check out this hot new red dress I picked up.