Provoking Facts!

– I have no idea where else to put this, so I’ll just run with it here. I had dinner with another of my old high school friends, Michele, over the weekend. I rather enjoyed this one as well, and I didn’t have the sporadic panic attacks like I did last time before lunch with Lin. I think it’s mostly because during that lunch, I managed to prove to myself that I wasn’t a completely lost cause – that I could still relate to normal members of human society, and specifically Richmond Hill High School alumni. So I felt better about myself going into dinner with Michele, and I think that was a big factor in helping me get through it without freaking out.

I also think the fact that I was coming from a relaxing, alcohol-filled afternoon barbeque minimized the number of opportunities I had to freak out.

Disappointingly, I think dinner slowed down a lot once we ran out of old high school stories to retell (there weren’t many). I think whatever casual friendship we had in high school has just been rendered even smaller and more insignificant by all the experiences we’ve had on our own in the last five years…which may sound depressing, but it isn’t. It’s just life. But I was having trouble keeping things rolling, and the pauses got longer between topics…and I started considering exit strategies and the very real probability that I would never see her again after this.

But halfway through dinner, I accidentally tipped my glass of Coke over into my lap…and at that point, I just wrote up my ability to impress her as a lost cause. I had absolutely nothing left to lose after that point. So no more pressure, and suddenly I clicked into the next gear. I started immediately – went with the old solid scramble-to-pick-it-up-then-chin-in-hand-and-pretend-it-didn’t-happen move, and I was on fire for the rest of the way. I think I managed to rally back to make it a pretty decent showing for the Yakster.

So I think maybe I’ll drop her an email in another five years – I honestly think I’ve had all the Richmond Hill High School nostalgia that I can handle for the foreseeable future anyway.

Dinner with Lin on Monday. I’m looking forward to it very much.

Now here’s some links.

– Airline complaint letter. I guess toilet humour is always funny. And that’s what we’re all about here.

– Authorities have blocked a couple’s bid to officially name their new son “4real” – I don’t think anything more needs to be said about that one.

– No link, I’m just pausing mid-post to ramble about something insane that just popped into my head. I imagine that somewhere, locked up in some impenetrable underground vault, there’s a folder or a briefcase that contains every message they put in fortune cookies or Jones soda bottles. And I also imagine that there’s at least one man in the world that knows every single one of those messages. And that must suck. Big time. Because there’s no surprise for him any more – he’ll just look at the first word of every fortune cookie message he gets, and know the rest. “Oh, it’s message 5-B again – ‘Kill your wife.’ Lucky numbers 3, 14, 56, 78, blah, blah, blah. God, this sucks big time, because there’s no surprise for me.” There’s no joy of discovery.

But I still really want to sneak into that vault and look at all the different fortune cookie messages they have. Anyway…back to the links!

– 72-year-old fights off pickpocket. My question is…why is a 72 year-old buying lottery tickets? How many years you think you have left to enjoy that jackpot, especially if you’re the type of crazy old man willing to tango with 27 year-old thugs? God, I hate old people – when I turn 30, I just want someone to smother me with a pillow as I lie in a hospital bed. Because obviously once I turn 30, I’ll have to be hospitalized for chronic oldness.

– Mom fatally stabbed in argument over dishes. …yeah, I hate doing the dishes too. (God, why am I joking about this!?!) The most depressing thing about this one is that he’s not some stupid kid – he’s 23 years old, so you can’t even blame society for this one if you wanted to. Anyway, here’s some bits from the director’s cut that didn’t make the final edit of this blog post.
– Those cops really burst his bubble.
– Those cops really dished out some justice.
– Too bad, because now he’ll get plenty of soap in prison.
– Who’s washed up now?
– Who’s the scrub now?
– Guess he wasn’t wishy washy about that one.

…why am I doing this…?

– And here’s another grisly tale of murder that all works out in the end.

“Hi Hell.”
“No!”
“I’ve got someone coming to you.”
“I don’t want to go to Hell!”