Dear Friendster

Please stop emailing me. Seriously, it’s just getting pathetic at this point. Listen little buddy, you had your shot back in 2003; I played with your dashboard a bit, you re-introduced me to my old buddies….what I’m saying is: we had some laughs. But that was six years ago. I’ve moved on, and so should you. Please stop emailing me.

I understand that you’ve had a total makeover in the last year or so, and are hoping to make yourself somewhat more presentable and, dare I say, sexy. There’s only one problem: I’m currently intimate with, not one, but two other networking sites: Twitter and Facebook. Yes, yes – they’re not perfect either. The former frequently plumps up like a whale when it eats too much, and the latter attempts to force Farmville and some Mafia game on me every day. With that said, it’s their turn. It’s their turn right now. You might remember a scene in Goonies where little Sean Astin says:

Up there, it’s their time. Down here, it’s our time. It’s our time down here.

If you do remember that scene, you’ll understand where I’m coming from. Please stop emailing me.

You might have heard a saying that goes something along the lines of, “If you love her, set her free, and if she comes back, she’s yours forever.” The problem is that you just won’t let go, little buddy. I feel suffocated, and that’s not good for either of us. But yeah, to clarify, even if you stopped emailing me and played “hard to get,” I’d still ignore you. Facebook and Twitter are cuter.

What’s most depressing is that you continue to email me at an address which I’ve long since abandoned, except for the once-a-month “just in case” checks. Is there anything more sad than a person/app who passes by your door every night hoping to catch your eye, all while remaining oblivious to the fact that you don’t even live there anymore? It’s sad, Friendster. Really sad. We had some laughs. We had our time. I haven’t signed in in six years. Please stop emailing me.