Whenever I tell people I'm going to Paris to visit friends, the first question they always ask is, "Wait, aren't we at war with France?" After that they start asking about who, exactly, I'm visiting, as if I couldn't possibly know anyone overseas. Once they find out who it is, though -- that's when the questions get irritating.
"Do you really know Misplaced?" they say. "Can you get me tickets to his blog? Is that his real hair?"
You can imagine how frustrating this is -- a frustration not born out of jealousy over the thousands of hits his blog gets while mine languishes in obscurity, I assure you. Whatever its cause, I will begin feeling angry and bitter about it just as soon as I finish bunking at his apartment, eating his food and drinking his coffee.
For those who doubt my honesty, I offer the following photographic evidence that he and I do, in fact, know each other.
Misplaced (right) and me during our stint with the Chippendales (Juniors Division)
I suppose we were 14 or 15 when that pic was taken. Mercifully, I forget the details of that particular junior high dance. I don't even remember who my date was, but I'll say this to her, whoever she is, where ever she is: Sorry! I'm sure the cheesy piping on my lapels and my circus clown bowtie made you think staying home that night might have not have been such a bad idea after all. Plus, Anonymous Girl of Decades Ago, I'm virtually certain I was too nervous to speak to you that night. Let me treat you to an espresso to make it up to you.
"Do you really know Misplaced?" they say. "Can you get me tickets to his blog? Is that his real hair?"
You can imagine how frustrating this is -- a frustration not born out of jealousy over the thousands of hits his blog gets while mine languishes in obscurity, I assure you. Whatever its cause, I will begin feeling angry and bitter about it just as soon as I finish bunking at his apartment, eating his food and drinking his coffee.
For those who doubt my honesty, I offer the following photographic evidence that he and I do, in fact, know each other.
Misplaced (right) and me during our stint with the Chippendales (Juniors Division) I suppose we were 14 or 15 when that pic was taken. Mercifully, I forget the details of that particular junior high dance. I don't even remember who my date was, but I'll say this to her, whoever she is, where ever she is: Sorry! I'm sure the cheesy piping on my lapels and my circus clown bowtie made you think staying home that night might have not have been such a bad idea after all. Plus, Anonymous Girl of Decades Ago, I'm virtually certain I was too nervous to speak to you that night. Let me treat you to an espresso to make it up to you.
On the positive side, though, I think this picture helped me solve my "what to wear in Paris" question. Can't go wrong with black tie.
3 comments:
you look like a mix of a Beatle and that kid from American Pie.
Thank you for that -
Did you get Misplaced's blessings to post that, though? I only ask because if you didn't, there is a good chance you will have to bunk somewhere else and get your own coffee.
That is priceless...
You are confused about who your date was because, if I'm not mistaken, you ended up making out with my date- Those are some very large ties- I'm assuming they are clip-ons because that's how we rolled.
Post a Comment