Disconnect Me

If time is money, I can't afford to make another "friend."

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Then there's Facebook, the SuperTarget of social sites: hip, but at the end of the day, another shameless drain on my time.

I planned on virtually ignoring Facebook, just like I did MySpace. Then I realized I was already on there. You see, I attended a Las Vegas conference with friends last year. Before I knew it, people started e-mailing photos of me from the event that had been posted on Facebook. My mug was already on there. I needed to join it. Didn't I?

Since then, the site has taken over my life.

It started out like a small village, a boutique gathering of my friends. Then friends of friends, bosses and party promoters joined the fray. My page is now a gentrified metropolis.

Get this: A guy—someone I have never met—recently friended me. He is apparently a hot club promoter in Detroit.

Trust, I am perfectly happy with the South Florida social scene. However, Facebook has a way of tickling my voyeuristic nature. If I manage to leave Ocean Drive on South Beach to travel to Motown, maybe this new "friend" can usher me into just the right spot for a sighting of embattled hip-hop mayor Kwame Kilpatrick.

And there's a grouping on Facebook for any fetish. Yes, as my group lists suggest, I really do believe that "Jem is Truly Outrageous," and that "Hip Hop is Dead."

I now send wall postings and messages to my legions of friends, and I live chat on the site for hours a day. It's great. Too great.

Between my multiple e-mail accounts, IMs, and my blog(http://miamiherald.typepad.com/frugalista/), I am a fully connected woman. I am not saying these social networks aren't fun. I'm just saying I need to unplug.

So, please, keep me off of your invite list. I don't need any more pals with passwords.

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