So this Myspace thing has kind of taken off like a cancer for me, like it do—you know, getting all excited about having a shit-ton of “friends” and being all disappointed when someone doesn’t “friend” you back. My biggest disappointment? My junior prom date.

Backstory: Shmollis (not his real name, obviously, but if you look real hard, you can probably figure it out because you’re all smart like that) and I met when we were competing in Speech & Debate; he was a cute little (emphasis on “little,” since he was about 5’7 tops) ginger kid and I—well, I was dating this guy from yet another team who wrote me badly-spelled letters every single day and who was also really dorky looking. Shmollis and I clicked, and he asked me to go to prom. I ditched the other guy, Shmollis and I went, had a fantastic time and ended up going out for about half the summer, as much as you can call liking someone who lives an hour away “going out with” at 17. Had his class ring and the whole 9 yards.  Then, for reasons unclear to me at the time, he asked for his ring back. I of course was rather crushed, but we agreed to be “friends” (as you all nod knowingly).

I might’ve mentioned here a time or two that back in my younger days, I was never known for my tact; that little detail never became more apparent than when one day, I was at a card store and found a card that you send to people you haven’t heard from for awhile. I can’t remember the exact gist, but the punchline was three check-off boxes with answers—the third of which was “Go Fuck Yourself.” At 17, that’s freakin’ hilARIous, so I checked off No. 3 and sent it to him, knowing that he would think it was hilarious, too.

Yeah, I called that one wrong. He spent most of our senior year ignoring me at meets. I know, right?

Well, then a year goes by, and I’ve finished my freshman year at college. I was getting ready for work and the phone rings. I pick it up, and wow! It was Shmollis! I was stunned and happy to hear from him, so I did that nervous talking thing that people sometimes get and blathered on about this, that and the other. And at the end of the conversation, he says, “You haven’t changed a bit.” Huh? What’s that supposed to mean? I thought to myself, but I don’t remember acknowledging it in any way at the time. But never heard from him again.

Ten years later, 1999: I’m at the magazine for which I used to work, and googling people has become my latest obsession. I google our old friend Shmollis and find that he’s at college in state. I’m sure I was depressed at the time, so I send him what I thought was a friendly e-mail with the line, “You know, I never understood what you meant when you said I hadn’t changed until [whenever it was that it occurred to me that, I don’t know, maybe he felt I was self-centered], but now I do ...” blah blah blah, and to e-mail me back sometime. You know, because I’d gained some perspective or some shit. And he never did, but it was easy to pass that off as maybe I sent it to the wrong e-mail address, although with a name like Schmollis, it’s a little hard to get that wrong, even for me.

So now, it’s 2007, and for fun I look up our old pal Schmollis to see if he has a Myspace page. Sure enough, he does—after a stint in the military and graduating from school, he’s back living in his hometown. I debated—It’s been 20 years since we were in high school and since I showed him my ass in that card. Should I “friend” him, thinking that hey! it’s been 20 years, he’ll be amused at the blast from the past; or should I leave it alone because he’s still pissed. I threw caution to the wind. That was about a month ago. No Shmollis.

I mean, seriously, people! I went on a ROLLER COASTER for this guy during the day-after prom at Great America. The LEAST he can do is put me on one of his back pages as a friend.