Sah-weet!

I'm only on MySpace because Z made me. I have just one photo up there, virtually no personal info to speak of aside from what was initially required of me to get an account, and most certainly am not engaging in dialogues with even one of the unfortunate cast of characters represented in yesterday's disheartening post.

The primary objective of MySpace appears, to my untrained eye at least, to be one of collecting as many friends as possible. It doesn't matter if you know shit or shinola about any of them and bonus points are awarded if 90% or more of the peeps on your friends list look like hos.

I really just don't see the point.

However, this evening, with J otherwise engaged, M3 incommunicado due to a parental visit and my 90 minute phone call with S (the boy from Boston who I'll be going out with for the first time on Friday) having concluded hours ago, I decided to make the best of an unfortunate situation.

Deeply saddened by today's dearth of communiques in particular from M3, I elected -- rather than unproductively mope and pine -- to instead pretend that he didn't exist, making believe that we'd never met and that I most certainly hadn't managed to unwittingly fall under his charmingly deceptive and manipulative spell after a mere six hours.

Then I theorized what it would be like, if he was indeed a figment of my imagination, to have copious amounts of free time and energy now available to devote to new hobbies and, more importantly, to channel in the direction of exploring new friendships.

It was a strangely freeing sensation. And one that ultimately resulted in me engaging in a tete-a-tete with a young man who made my acquaintance via My(allegedly abhorred)Space. He presently lives in Virginia but tomorrow will be returning to my mid-sized town that he also calls home for 25 days.

That's one day for each of his years on earth. Give or take.

He's proposed that we get me tipsy, I let my hair down, lose my inhibitions and join him for a few rounds of beer pong and flip cup.

(I don't know what flip cup is but I'm reasonably certain that roofies are involved.)

Then he called me "sophisticated and experienced".

(aka "hot older lady who might rock my world.")

It was a profoundly unsatisfying experiment.

But I gave him my number anyway.