Holy shit.

So on occasion someone out of my past will contact me and be like, "hey! Long time no see"...and I will not have clue one who the hell they are.

Usually these left-field ones come from the 30+ sized groups I used to roam with as a teenager.

I got one such recent MySpace hit. MySpace for me is the equivalent of saying, "hey, I'm still alive in case you happen to give a fuck or are vaguely curious."

And apparently Obies use it to get ass.

To each.

So I'm looking at this guy. His handle includes 'Scott.' I knew a Scott really well in high school. Think about the silly bastard once in a great while. Scott was chubby. I mean really chubby, but an altogether fun and completely non-intellectual friend (I mean that in a good way. We all need someone to be just unabashedly dumb with). Same stupid goofy grin, same kinds of interests.

But dude: the guy is THIN. It's like trying to read sanskrit while slammed on peach schnapps trying to see if this is the same dude my brain remembers.

This'd mark my first high school hit, though. Kinda surprised. I was almost universally an asshole to everyone outside of the goths and academic overachievers. This no doubt has contributed to my 5th year reunion coming and going with not a sound.

Not that I'd have gone. I'm just saying.

I think my safest bet for a reply will be: 'I hardly recognize you!' Truth of the fucking week, sexy reader.

* * *

I heard back from Katie. She'd been feeling guilt pangs about reply. But it wasn't over the content of my 'here's my photography and two potentially disturbing ode poems depicting certain women as godless beasts' email. Reference. She really liked the poems, but the thing over which she guilts is understandable.

Waiting until class shit is over and done with is a good idea. After that the hanging out can re-commence.

Thankfully there was no awkwardness inherent in the 7 hour day we shared.

Which I've neglected to write about.

Which I'd forgotten to write about.

Which I just remembered.

Which I'll leave on the back-burner because I still feel a nibbling obligation to.

You know.

Work.

I haven't done much of that fucker outside of the lab recently. 'Some people will say we're in love, Clarice.' Not so applicable a quote any longer.

* * *

Quasi-schiz is a methodology that has some appeal. I turn you to Andrew Bird for further insight. Multimedia succinct.

Later: you know you're geared up and ready for Drinko de Mayo when you hear 'so what have you' as Stolichnaya. I totally know I get the snarky derision thing from Hill on this point, but tomorrow, I am sorry, but I will get fucked up. With 3 parties and a trip to the zoo, there is no question something interesting will happen.

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