So we walk down Church St. We avoid people we know, we go into our houses or apartment buildings, often ride up in the elevator with lovely people we don’t talk to. We screen our calls, and sometimes pretend not to notice people on the street.
And then we go make friends on MySpace.
For the uninitiated who haven’t yet partaken, let me recommend it. You may have three friends in real life and one of them may be potato chips (ahhhh, 1998…). But on MySpace, there can be friends galore, even if you’re only friends with magazines and porn stars (ahhhh, 2002…).
When I told my friend Doug about it, he said, “I thought that was a site for 17-year-old girls.” In a way he’s right. That’s the thrilling part. To be a part of something a teeny bit too young for you!
Not since I tried on a pair of pants last year that said “Juicy” on the ass.
Not since I text messaged someone the words, “how r u?”
Not since I stood next to a bunch of tweens outside Mann’s Chinese Theater for the Hollywood premiere of the Spice Girls movie Spice World and excitedly waved to Baby Spice in her nice white pantsuit has anything seemed so fabulously not me.
Yet so fabulously me.
Although truthfully, Baby Spice did look at me funny, as I was too tall for a tween, and too into it to be just a mommy stuck there with a child fan. Seriously — she was walking around waving, waving, waving, and she stopped and looked right at me with a slightly quizzical look on her face. At least I can say Baby Spice and I had a moment. Her eyes may have said, “What the…?” But I’m sure her heart was saying, “Hello, weird lady.”
My actual friends may fall by the wayside as I’ve discovered a wonderful MySpace world of bountiful friends and smiling faces. When you first get your page, you’re all excited and naive. You think you can just request interesting-looking people to be your friends. Cool-looking homos, guys and gals.
But not so! There’s nothing like the “Will you be my friend?’ clanger of an unanswered request. It’s the same kind of thrilling naiveté that makes you think you can walk up to girls in a bar in Montreal and strike up a conversation. Oh, they are fabulous-looking girls, indeed. But they no likey talky to. For some reason, no one gets, “Pardon my French.”
Anyway, so after careful consideration, I’ve decided to move to MySpace. Lock, stock and barrel. The weather there is all glitter letters all the time. The geography is much more razzle-dazzle. And the people are friendly. Plus it’s very gay friendly. Just ask my new friend Ldyfcker22. She’s wonderful. And apparently enjoys bondage, threesomes and Enya.
Not that I don’t love my Toronto. You know I do. But I think it’s time for a change. It’s not the first move I will have made in between dimensions. Last year, instead of moving to England, I decided it would just be more practical to move into the film Imagine Me And You with Piper Perabo and Lena Headey. That’s all I really wanted, anyway. A magical world where hot English girls look adorable in cute sweaters. Yes, thank you.
Two years ago I relocated for a brief period to the sunny place in Mary Hart’s mind where she lives in a state of ever-cheerful dementia. It was fun, but every time I tried to nap I heard the world’s loudest woman, that decibally enhanced Maria Menounos bellowing, “Let’s find out what the stars are doing for Easter!”
I feel bad for the stars, by the way. We used to just watch them walk the red carpet, but now every news story gets filtered through, “Let’s find out what the stars are saying about the high price of gasoline!” I have no one to blame but us, we, nous, the homos. Oh, didn’t we think it was fun and camp to read The National Enquirer? We were so up on our celebs! But, like when Kevin Costner got the gay boy 1991 Caesar haircut, when it moves over into the straight masses it can get unsightly. And we started it.
I wonder if I’ll worry about these sorts of things when I live in MySpace.
Only thing is, I told the coolest person I know about my MySpace obsession. She who knows what’s what and what’s goin’ on and how to be hip without even trying replied, “Isn’t MySpace kinda over?”
But I just got here!
That’s it. I’m moving back to Imagine Me And You. Piper, put the kettle on.