I deleted my MySpace account in 2007. I remember doing it. I remember all of the steps – the ones that said “OMG YOU’LL NEVER SEE THIS AGAIN” and the ones that said “ARE YOU TOTALLY TOTALLY SURE?” and even the one where I clicked the old URL and double and triple checked that it was gone: that nothing showed up outside of a 404 message and a gentle suggestion that “Hey, I should probably sign up for MySpace!”
It wasn’t that I hated MySpace, it was just that I didn’t use it. It was stagnant. I didn’t need it out there floating around, collecting sparkly badges and developing an identity of its own.
So I deleted it. In 2007.
A little over three years later, it’s back. Apparently.
Real, live footage of a deleted account that is no longer deleted.
I’m going to assume it’s an oversight. I’m deleting it again, naturally. Because I didn’t want it in 2007, and one would assume that means I don’t want it now.
But it makes me laugh – a bitter, angry, spiteful laugh, mind you – to see this message as I attempt to delete the account for what will now be the SECOND time.
Yeah, I know, MySpace.
That’s what they told me LAST time.