So I was making a fire last night out of one of my old high school yearbooks (which had nothing to do with not having newspaper and everything to do with wanting to burn those fuckers). I was getting a lot of joy from the tearing out of pages and whatnot when I, perhaps due to some obligatory masochistic impulse, still felt the need to read the signed back pages. And then I found an entry that totally floored and confused me.
Not that my friends weren't witty or funny, but those yearbook entries always tended to lack intriguing content. It was startling, like finding filet mignon in a strawberry ho ho. Except not gross.
And I had no idea who "Rog." (the signee) was. I was appalled I might not recall who this infinitely cool person was. The Al Pacino reference really caught me off guard, as I did have a friend who was obsessed, but her handwriting was atrocious, so I ruled her out.
I already miss you and your toffee-sticky fingers and shapely knees. Even though we'll still share the same city, I'll no longer see that flash of your dazzling smile in the hallway. Life's a bitch! Well hey, if anyone ever tells you to "kiss my [squirrel]" like I did when we first met, you just do to them what you did to me; what a reaction. But don't take them on any parking lot trysts; repetition is death. And I'd be jealous. I'll never forget all the guys you scoped...and tackled...and if you ever find the right one again, THIS time find out his name in the morning.
Please never forget Big Al's words of wisom..."When in doubt...*" So just go out there, my little sugarpop, and start your own teddy bear factory and never look back. (And never sleep in leather.) Please try to get over your desire for callipygian young men--there just aren't enough to go around, you know, and I'm afraid you'll steal mine. Or at least the one destined to be mine. Or whatever. But anyway they're simply all merely tentiginons and thelyphthoric, so to hell with 'em. But hey, "I'm supposed to be doing promotion here." Blah. Yearbooks always make me sob and I'm only wearing my tweed briefs (nothing to wipe my nose on) so I'll sign off now. Good luck, sugar pop!
Your comedy partner,
*In Scent of a Woman, Al Pacino advises his cat, "When in doubt, fuck."
But anyway, there you have it. I was stunned. And I'm sure it's because I was stressed and tired and thinking in high school mind-frame, but of course I still know the very witty person who wrote this.
My sister Alex! We did have an overlapping year together in high school, but I have no doubt this was written at home in a full-on tonuge-in-cheek-fuck-this-yearbook-shit gesture. It stood out from the tripe then and it really does now.
The handwriting was obviously familiar, and of course "squirrel" totally seals the deal. Ok, that and the Pacino line. But whew! It just confused me to read something that made me laugh hysterically in my own yearbook, it was so gloriously out of place.
(And hey, Alex, just for you, this is post #666, wewt!)