As I sat deciding what I was going to do one Friday night, my mind started to wander back to my mid-20s…ahhh, seems like eons ago. Do you remember the first time you went on MySpace?

Well, maybe some of you don’t. But before Facebook, there was another social networking site…and it was called MySpace. Do people even go on that site anymore? I decided to find out for myself.

So I logged into my now barren account (I swear) and I actually think MySpace has gotten worse. After I logged in I was re-introduced to the most ridiculous group of people that ever have lived. Was it still possible to be this absurd? Unfortunately, the answer to my question was yes.

Apparently doctor and lawyer aspirations are just so yesterday. On MySpace it is now far more ambitious for girls to shun the scales of justice and stethoscopes for a shiny, silver pole and clear plastic platforms. And just in case you really don’t understand how passionate they are about their craft, the girls post pictures that would be perfect for America’s Next Top Model…if it was on Cinemax.

Apparently unfamiliar with the concept of a picture being worth a thousand words, phrases like “Don’t lust for what you see, desire what you know” splatter across the different pages. “I thirst for you to figure me out” (You have to understand all the girls on MySpace are complicated and deep and philosophical and independent and real…how they navigate the waters of life amongst a sea of simple people never ceases to amaze me…the girls of MySpace are true pioneers). Last but not least is “Sometimes classy girls have to do trashy things”. I don’t think Aristotle could have said it better himself. At this point, I was silently patting myself on the back for never becoming a “MySpacer..” Now, Facebook, well, ahhemm….that’s a different story.

Five hours later I was still on my couch shamelessly searching through MySpace becoming increasingly disappointed with my gender–that is, until I revisited some of the guys’ pages. It was like a Vidal Sassoon commercial gone horribly wrong.

Endless photos of orange skinned guys who had somehow sculpted their hair into giant gel weapons flashed before my eyes. With the eloquence of a Shakespearean sonnet, they wrote slogans like “Wuz up sexi, holla’ back at me”, and “Damn, I’d hit that.” (needless to say, I was swooning) And just in case they couldn’t woo you with their brain muscle, there are no less than ten close up photos of their abs to really get you hooked. Do any of these boys actually own a shirt??? Studies need to be done. I needed a break and I needed one immediately.

But more importantly, I desperately needed to log off of MySpace but I couldn’t. I felt like a crack addict on A & E’s Intervention. I couldn’t stop looking at people’s profile pages. I knew I was being judgmental, disapproving and critical. So I did what every self-respecting person would do.. I turned back toward my laptop and I logged into my FaceBook account.

[At Press Patrice still has her MySpace account but continues to fight her daily urge to log onto it and make fun of strangers].

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