So last night I was thinking about Jobs I Have Had. And one of them (see yesterday’s comments) was at a coffee kiosk in a large, spacious, airy, echo-y glass’n’steel science building on the UCSC campus. And a damn fine job it was, too: free caffeine, ample sign-making and zine-writing opportunities, wacky simpatico co-workers.
So anyway, musing on this job led me to muse on one of said simpatico co-workers. A fiery redhead she was (actually, at one point I think there were four variations-of-red tressed girls working at there), very into punk and DIY and the humorous potential of hypothetical violence.
And because in this brave new world you don’t need to just idly speculate about people anymore, I did the natural thing and Googled her.
OH MY GOD. She and her husband popped up on, of all places, the HGTV site. Apparently their dining room (or, as the HGTV site would have it, the "dinning" room) underwent a Magical Transformation into a Stylish Hipster Space. And once, twice, three times OH MY GOD, in both the "before" and "after" pictures, a very high-quality photo of a boat taken by my Most Beloved Sweetie was a prominent design element in said "dinning" room.
And so I continued digging, as Googlestalkers are wont to do, and found what appeared to be her phone number. And today I crossed my fingers and dialed (this is me we’re talking about, who is notorious for her hatred of talking on the phone).
COLLEGE BUDDY’S HUSBAND: Hello?
ME: Hi, is this [first name] [last name]? (immediately recognizing his voice and knowing damn well it’s him)
COLLEGE BUDDY’S HUSBAND: Yes it is. (in that tone of annoyance unique to those who are tele-solicited on Saturday morning)
ME: Hey, this is Molly [last name, not that you don’t know it already] from Santa Cruz.
CBH: Oh my God. Molly. What the hell are you up to?
[College Buddy gets on phone]
CB: What’s UP, crazy lady?
…etc., etc., etc. They have the same cat (named after a brand of crappy imported grocery store children’s toys), the same house, the same number of children (zero), different jobs, somewhat different lifestyles (CB: Yeah, we’re getting old. We went out to a show a while ago and it still hadn’t started at 10:30 so we went to get something to eat, and then it was like 11:30 and we were all tired, so we just went home.)
Freak out, man. I mean, this girl took steps to hide and I still found her (though I apologized profoundly). Man, blast from the past…
So the theme of this week is now Google-Fueled Reunions. More ’bout that later.
And in other news: I been blagged by Suzy West. So here goes!
1. First time you got kissed: 11 or 12, I think. By Mike Vargo at theater day camp. I think he said "Thank you" afterwards, which totally weirded me out. But apparently he turned out to be quite a nice young man (not so young anymore, eh, Mike?) and probably has a lovely family somewhere. And I bet he doesn’t say "thank you" to his wife when they kiss. At least I hope not.
2. First time you drove a car: 14, maybe? My mom tried to teach me to drive the VW Dasher in the parking lot of First Baptist Church. It was a stick. I failed miserably.
3. First time I scrapbooked: November 1999. We’d just taken some darling photos of Fisher and I needed something to do with them. I’d been adamantly opposed to scrapbooking (aside: is Adam Ant, by definition, adamantly opposed to everything he doesn’t like?) on account of the nasty cuteness factor, but I figured no one could actually strap me down and make me put teddy bears ‘n’ shit on my page. I didn’t silhouette my photos, use stickers or cut anything with a wavy-scalloped-"postage" edge; and six years later, I still don’t *hate* that page. (A few that came along shortly thereafter: yes, I do hate them. I hate them very much.)
4. First time I went on a date: I have no idea. Mostly I just cut school and messed around with boys. Hee hee. The Winter Formal when I was a freshman, maybe? Man, I loved that dress. It was foxadelic (despite my 30AA bust), and we went to the Hatchcover Grill, and the waiter totally ignored us and never brought us the check and [insert date’s name here] just ended up dropping a $100 bill on the table when we left. That waiter was stoked, man; that must’ve been a $50 tip.
5. First time I fell in love: Freshman year, must’ve been 13. And that’s all I have to say about that. Oh, wait, this is a two-part question. How did I know? My already flawed ability to act with any modicum of self-preservation went flying right out the freakin’ window.
6. First time I cooked for someone: Made dinner for the same person in the last two questions, for his sixteenth birthday. I had an official dinner party with him and two of our friends, all very grown up and proper. Roast chicken, home-baked bread and glazed carrots, all out of my mom’s Provincial French Cooking Time-Life cookbook. ‘Course, I didn’t know then that he and the other young lady at the party were boinking each other. Ahh, naivete. (How do you type umlauts and suchlike on here?)
7. First time I got on a plane: Age 21, I think, flying with Jim from Grand Junction (?) back home to California. I was freaked out for about 20 minutes and then I thoroughly enjoyed it. It’s all about the window seat, man!
8. First time I shaved my legs: Ali Stocking taught me how in 6th grade; I must’ve been about 10. Didn’t cut myself then; in fact, this seems like a good place to tell you about one of my weird little OCD superstition thingies. If I cut myself the first time I shave with a new blade, I throw the blade away ’cause it’s tasted blood and cannot be trusted. Weird, huh?
9. First time I put on makeup: My buddy Tami Ohler’s mom sold Avon for a while, so we used to have all kinds of fun with her sales samples. We used to get all tarted up and go "sunbathe" in the front yard, where the retirees on her cul-de-sac had a Class-A view of our dimpled little knees in our demure Baptist-approved bathing suits. I have no idea how old we were when this started. Ten? Nine? Eleven? Something pathetic, anyway.
10. First time I moved out of my parents’ house: Left for college in September 1992, when I was 17 years and almost 3 months old. Moved into an apartment with three pot smokers, one suicidally depressed lesbian and one mad quasi-Hindu girl who would wake me up at 4 in the morning "warming up" for surfing by doing noisy double-footed leaps around our bedroom. (Yes, there was some overlap in the above characters. And yes, including myself, there were four pot smokers in there.)
OK, I guess I’m supposed to blag someone in turn. Just let me know if you want to do it and I’ll add your name here.
PS: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD! They’re playing Megadeth "Hangar 18" on VH1 Classic. I love love love love LOVE freakin’ Megadeth!!!!!! They rock far too hard for just one hand!!!!!!!!! I want to run my fingers through Dave Mustaine’s ill-kempt crack-addled locks….