I woke up hungover this morning. I had an all night internet hangover. I would have gone further in my revelery but the battery went just about dead and the power cable was, sadly, in my room where a sleeping babe finally settled. I discovered YouTube and read the presidential candidates blogs.
Do you think they write that themselves or is it hired out to some University journalism or poli-sci major? What must that be like? Is is, like I suspect, the largest and longest popularity contest in the world? What possesses a person to wake up and say to themselves (much like Nader) “I think I’ll run for president today.” Huh. I woke up today and didn’t want to get out of my flannel pants and 10 year old Dixie Chicks concert crew tshirt with “I did the Chicks” on the back. So much for ambition. I’ll bet that Hilary just wants to be a beyatch to someone. I’ll bet that Barack wants to go out for a cigarette. And I’ll bet that good Ol Boy, John, wants to tell an off color joke. But they give that up to try and be the leader of people who, really, think they don’t want to be led but aren’t smart enough to do anything about it.
Not to talk politics. I don’t know enough to have an intelligent discussion. So I have to resort to talking about poop.
Ella made a random person laugh in a public bathroom by declaring that her poop looked just like chocolate ice cream. There isn’t anything like a stranger laughing in her own stall.
I got a random e-mail from a high school boyfriend. We dated for a short time one summer. As it turned out, we knew each other all too well since we had gone to Sunday School together since we were three. He was always nice enough but, you know, the spark…whatever…that’s not the point. He ran into my mom who must have forked over my email address that I use for nothing other than personal correspondence to cut down on junk email. It’s kind of like my cell phone number. I don’t give it out to just anyone.
He got married very shortly after high school. I don’t think he went to college. He went bald, gained a bunch of weight (hey, who didn’t…I’m not getting all judgey. I’m just stating the facts), had, I think, 5 kids (maybe more by now…they take up the whole pew at church and it’s been a while since I’ve gone to my mom’s church).
My mom told him what happened with Stephen apparently and that I’m going to be in town to work on the opera in April which he took as I’m starring in the opera. She must have left out the part where I haven’t actually been ON stage in more than 12 years. He said that he would come and see it and that his wife likes that kind of stuff but he’s a guy so he doesn’t know much about it.
Really, really random. And nice. If I ran into someones mom who gave me an email address, I can think of maybe 4 people from high school that I might, maybe, actually try to contact. And honestly, he was one of the last people I would think of. I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t see him in church with his brood, I wouldn’t know who he was. So yeah. Nice. And not sarcastically.
I think that must be one of those things that happen as you grow up. You make friends. You lose contact for whatever reason. The relationship divides and moves on. But you always wonder. Even if you know whatever happened to so-and-so, you wonder what they have experienced since you last had that beer together or since your kids played in the sand or since that band camp week. Or, in our case, the senior youth group trip.
His? Was the first weiner I ever touched.
But I won’t tell his wife.