Talking to other authors…

There is a secret world for internet columnists, one that I have recently been exposed to. In the interest of full disclosure I will be recording it here for public record.
Me:
Sticker
Me: Facebook has some weird stickers
Bryan: That is a dude who’s into bestiality and BDSM, and his flag belongs to no nation.
Me: Hey now, maybe it’s not bestiality, maybe his dog is just very dapper.
Bryan: The dog is flesh-colored. That’s upsetting.
Me: It’s a Chihuahau. They’re like the hairless cats of dogs, except they have hair. And are not cats.
Bryan: Chihuahuas don’t abide hats like that. I know this for a fact.
Bryan: Thanks, Uncle Milford, and your rat-dog from hell.
Me: I thought you were going to bed.
Bryan: I can’t. Today was an angry day.
Me: Ah. Well maybe you will calm down with some cat videos.
Me: Or you could watch 19 Kids and Counting. Michelle’s voice is very soothing.
Me: Quiet like a mouse.
Bryan: Ah. I’m doing it the old-fashioned way like the Amish.
Bryan: Waiting until my phone dies.
Me: And then angrily staring into the dark. Gotcha.
Bryan: YES! How did you ever!
Me: Then I will keep bothering you (and everyone else) until your phone dies.
Me: I’m a good friend like that.

Oh blog, I have been neglecting you…

And during the time I’ve been neglecting you, what adventures I have had!

I played with the cat.

I took a needle to my ears.

I played with the cat.

I made a bunch of stuff from scratch including calzones the size of my head.

I played with the cat.

And then I made a video where I talk about makeup and tattoos.

To be clear, I’m not starting any regular thing. I just got bored and when I get bored I stop doing whatever I’m supposed to be doing (this blog) and do something I have no business doing (editing videos). However, this serves as an excellent opportunity for nepotism and shameless plugs, because although I seem to have a very specific fear of looking directly at the camera, my brother Haydn is considerably less awkward and considerably more awesome.

Fair warning, there is some swearing, but he’s a 20 year old guy so, y’know, managing expectations. Wear some headphones or something.

Going through old notebooks makes me feel like I have memory loss, or maybe split personality.

I’m going through my closets in preparation for a garage sale I’m hoping to have, and part of that is going through my significant collection of spiral bound notebooks. I’ll buy one or be gifted one and I’ll use maybe four pages, and then into the milk crate it goes. Some were supposed to be diaries, some hold the first chapter of a novel never to be finished, some hold notes for sermons because I’m totally going to start doing that. But it’s rarely full enough to where I can’t rip those pages out and have a pretty much complete notebook, so I’ve been sitting there with a recycling bin next to me doing just that in the hopes of lightening the load. And that’s when I ran across this.

What was I talking about? What am I referencing? I don’t own any guns, nor do I want to. Why is it in stereotypical crazy person scrawl?

And it gets worse as I get closer to the bottom and further back in time. I don’t remember any of these, so we’ll chalk it up to clone Cyra.

By the handwriting and humor it looks like I wrote this when I was 8, but I pulled this out of my high school folder.

I think this is the best picture of me that’s ever been drawn.

Just me hanging out with Batman. You know. As you do.

I think throwing these notebooks away will be good for me. I can go back to convincing myself I was a cool teenager who was totally well adjusted and repressing the memories of how dorky I actually was.