Cameraphone

Dear Crazy Cameraphone Chick,

Got your "text" last night. Thanks for that. Look, I don't wanna sound like an ingrate here, and the picture message was really great and all, but I think it's time we have a little talk.

The first few times you sent me the cameraphone nudes, I thought to myself, "oh. cool." No, wait, that's a lie. I was totally and completely psyched. It was one of those items on the long scroll I keep in my pocket identifying all of the things I want to accomplish in life. "Get girl to shoot some nudes of herself to my phone." Check. Sweet. It seemed like a pretty cool accomplishment at the time.

Trouble is that was, what, FIVE YEARS AGO now? And how many times have we hung out since then? Zero. That's how many. Exactly zero. Oh, and I've since grown up a little, got a real job, got a work-issued PDA, and decided that I've outgrown a few things that I used to think were fun. Incidentally, as I've gone through this transformation from slug to delicate butterfly, you've taken things in a different direction. The first pictures were, I suppose, harmless enough. But somewhere over the years they started to get weird. I mean, like, waiting-for-the-late-night-knock-on-my-door-and-ice-pick-into-the-back-of-my-head weird. I'm not gonna get all graphic here because baby jesus reads my blog and is probably already weeping, but the world doesn't need that kinky stuff, cameraphone girl, and I certainly don't need it shooting over the airwaves at my Blackberry.

Now, maybe you've dated legions of guys over the years and you have a huge distribution list you fire these things off to now. Hell, maybe I'm just not that special anymore. But at some point -- probably around 4 years and 11 months ago -- I decided that I was OK with that. Actually, I think this realization coincided with the night you grabbed your purse off the counter and stormed out of my apartment after talking to someone in my bathroom, and later proclaimed in complete honesty that you just had to leave because, as you put it, "Otis, your roommates were freaking me out." (I lived alone at the time, and it was just you, me, the walls, and, apparently, the voices in your head).

The bottom line here is we all need to move on in life. I mean, I'm now authoring a wildly successful blog with hundreds dozens single-digits of visitors, and I just don't have the time for these antics anymore. Please stop pummeling my Blackberry with smut. Kthx.