I once wrote a blog about how this boy that I had met on a Hoboken pier many moons ago grew up to become an actor in the film adaption of one of the only books that I had ever read. Then fan sites dedicated to the actor began reblogging that post, and eventually I felt like I had completely violated his privacy by sharing the photograph that I had taken of him when we were teenagers. I can pretend that I am the only person reading this blog, but I should be more mindful of my actual audience.
Recently, I’ve discovered that another acquaintance of mine is being sued by one of the Kardashians. She’s also an actress, another person whom I’ve met when I was a teenager and didn’t see again until a random chance encounter at a liquor store in Tennessee. I’m not going to post any pictures of us, or even say her name, because I’m not trying to fuel the hype of these tabloids, or disrespect my relationship to her by drawing attention to my blog about something petty that is completely unrelated to me. But I just want to remember how ridiculous this whole situation is. How many people can say that they’ve ever even registered on a Kardashian’s radar? And been sued by one? Oh what a life she lives.
I always think of wedgies as being a thing that only affects nerds in poorly written dramadies about a childhood that I never had, but sometimes when I am out with my friends, someone will walk over, put their back to a wall, and pick at their wedgie. Or other times they’ll even just announce out loud that they’re pulling their intimates out of their ass. I’ve never had this problem. In fact, if anything I deal with quite the opposite. My underwear rides down in the front, which probably creates a vulgar sight for anyone staring at me when I lift up my shirt.
The blurbs that my classmates wrote to me in my eighth grade yearbook are hilarious. Sometimes I feel like they are worth sharing, but other times I realize that a third party person with no real connection to either of us would probably not care too much about what two irrelevant thirteen year-olds were writing to each other in 2004.
I feel like my high school yearbook is a lot less interesting to read. If I think back upon all of the things that I wrote to other people in their yearbooks, there is really only one message that stands out to me. My memory is hazy, so I can not remember exactly what I said to her and because we have fallen even further out of touch, I don’t think that I will ever find out. The last thing that I’ve heard about her is that she had a baby, which is honestly some pretty wonderful news, considering that the thing that I heard about her before that was that she got hit by a truck.