One of my favorite series of books might make my father in law (and his collection of world history books) raise his eyebrows, but surprisingly I don't think any of them are pink. They might as well be, since they are about high school and crushes, but the author's dry humor and sarcasm make me feel comfortable admitting that I read most of these books during or after college. Plus, since most of my friends read them, I have allies who can back me up when I say I sped through 3 Jessica Darling novels in 6 hours at the age of 24 but quietly sat in the background when JD Salinger died because I haven't read Catcher in the Rye. (It's on my list, OKAY?!)
(I have a point, I promise.)
Megan McCafferty, the author of the Jessica Darling books, has a blog. She calls it her (retro)blog and posts old pictures of herself and old journal entries she wrote and makes fun of herself. I love this idea! I love making fun of myself.
My retro blog title for this beautiful number would be something like: XXL Fred Flintstone T-shirt + Picking Your Toes in Public + Orange Soda Mustache + Huge Plastic Glasses = PURE AWESOME, aka, This is Why I Had No Friends.
I don't think I'll end up copying her idea, because a) I like to think I'm more creative than that and b) I'm not that funny, but I started looking through old journals just in case I needed material, and I stumbled across an old online journal from when I was 19.
(I'm getting reaaallly close to the point.)
My memory is broken, I think. Yoni will tell me a piece of trivia and I'll forget it 5 minutes later. I can't retain ANYTHING I learn in classes. I'll read a really interesting article about something and when I go to tell someone about it, I won't be able to remember any of the details. BUT: I remember what I was wearing on most given days when anything of mild importance happened. If you tell me you really like something, I'll most likely file it away and get it for you for your next birthday. And one time, when I was 19, a guy stepped on my foot at a crowded bar at LSU and then yelled at me for being in his way. I remember it like it was yesterday. He had blonde hair and looked vaguely like Abe from a season of Road Rules, back when people still watched that show.
6 years later, I'm on the elevator on my way in to work, 4 hours north of where we went to college, and he gets on. I recognize him immediately and call all of my friends - it had been a big deal when we were nineteen but apparently my friends have been too busy remembering important things (they all have masters degrees...) and have no recollection of this most important moment in my life.
After that initial elevator ride, that guy was on the elevator with me at least once a week. I would be behind him in line for coffee. We would be on the shuttle to the parking lot together. Every time it happened, I texted my friends and pleaded with them to remember. No luck. A few weeks ago, I found out that he is going to be a brain surgeon and I had no one to share this information with. I started to think I made the whole incident up because what kind of friend wouldn't remember a guy stepping on my foot 6 years ago and ruining my night?
Well, while browsing my old journal looking for material for a rip off of (retro)blog by Megan McCafferty, who writes some of my favorite books, I found PROOF: (See how my mishmash post came together all of the sudden)?
[29 Feb 2004|01:54am]
the new dirty dancing came out last night and all we wanted to do was dance. so me rache and dana went out to fred's to do just that. we get in the door, some guy steps on my foot, spins around and yells "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, BITCH!!!!"
It happened! I knew it.
Thanks for the tip, 19 year old me. PS, Your run on sentences and excess of exclamation points are embarrassing me and I will never share you with anyone. I'm also going to pretend I didn't just find an entry where you admitted that you wanted a trucker hat.
I know at least some of you out there had blogs before they were blogs... care to share any wisdom from your younger selves?