For months now, I’ve stoically avoided Friendster. I was under the impression that it was more of a Datester and wanted nothing to do with it. Seeking Irony and Rhinestonegirl told me that I should really sign up for the thing. Seeing how they’re both very clever and whatnot, I said to myself, “Fine, I’ll set up an account and ignore the damn thing. What would be the harm in that?”

Last night, bored out of my skull, I plugged in the name of a childhood friend I had known since elementary school but had lost contact with some eight years ago, and up popped his photo. “Interesting” I said to myself, and started plugging in the names of other people from my past.

That kid who gave me head lice in the third grade … a Friendster. That girl from college who walked in on me having an intimate moment with my PC … a Friendster (don’t judge me). My buddy who I visit in Philly from time to time … a Friendster. Even my “Friend in Chicago” had a Friendster profile, which surprised the hell out of me, seeing how she usually stays away from this internet crap.

So I’ve sent out my invites. Unfortunately, since Earnest Evans technically doesn’t exist, none of these people will have any idea who I am. Perhaps if they’re desperate enough for friends, they’ll respond.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I fear that Friendster now own my ass. And Rhinestonegirl and Seeking Irony, you two are a couple of crack dealers.