Your Memory Is A Monster

Completely anonymous, letting the guilty live free and the interested live happily.

I remember you being very different. August 16, 2008

Let’s say that you went to college with this guy. And you just loved him. Every time you saw him on campus, you found a reason to talk to him. You were friends, sometimes you hung out, sometimes you had lunch together in the caf or sat around on a front porch at a party talking. You weren’t crazy stalker asking questions about him getting people to talk to him about you. You just acted kind of goofy whenever you talked to him. You were the only person around who knew half of anything about music and you always argued about it with him, in that spirited, excited way you argue when you finally find someone your equal in such an argument.

He made you a CD of all his favorite music, and you still have it, 4 or so years later.

He was a safe and comfortable person. Someone you didn’t obsess over, but someone you couldn’t shake out of your brain when you left school. Unlike those countless people who you hung out with sometimes but whose names you don’t still remember, this guy somehow manages to come up in your memories.

If you think of that time his band played some shitty show a few blocks from campus, you think: “Why wasn’t I braver? Bolder? Why didn’t I realize then what I realize now?”

But it’s infrequent that you think of him. Let’s say though, for the first time in months, you think of him one morning and realize you had a dream about him the night before. A dream where the two of you were married and in love and comfortable with each other.

And so you find him on Facebook. 

And you do realize now what you hadn’t before. 

He’s kind of stupid. And he spells things wrong. And he quotes stupid movies. And his favorite books include novelizations of the Star Wars movies and Harry Potter. And that’s it. And there is a joke about oral sex. And his favorite movies Dumb & Dumber and Baseketball

It would, don’t you imagine, change the way you look at a lot of things in your past.

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Which bitch is that? July 21, 2008

Filed under: Funny Funny Family,Thinking Thinking Thinking — memorymonster @ 7:47 am

What’s the difference between lazy and laid-back?

Remember your answer, it becomes important.

What about between scared and worried?

Friend and girlfriend?

My simple sarcasm is often perceived as caustic.

There are jokes about whether we are drunks or alcoholics.

If I sometimes can’t tell the difference between these, how can I know which I am? 

If I sometimes can’t tell the difference between these, are the distinctions important?

They certainly have different connotations: lazy is slovenly, while laid-back people have realized how to rise about the small things or only concern themselves with things they find truly important. But describe each and they end up looking about the same.

What if I am being caustic and derisive but I’ve convinced myself I am merely being sarcastic, witty. As in literature and most other things, there are small differences in tone that make the difference between them. But if you think I’m being mean, regardless of my intentions, aren’t I being mean? If I am hurting your feelings, then I’m hurting them, even if I think I am just making a joke we can both laugh at.

Yes, yes, I know. Most of this is semantics. I teach, after all, connotative/denotative meanings. I explore the ideas of tone and how different words with similar technical meanings carry so much difference in feeling, so much difference in implication.

Really, what I wonder is, when I think I am the more positive of the two, am I rationalizing? Or, when I think I am the less positive, am I being too hard on myself?

Kind of like when someone calls a girl a bitch and I ask “a bitch in the good way or a bitch in the bad way?” Good bitches and bad bitches have clearly distinct traits. 

Why must other things be seemingly equivocal?

 

Protected: Sunday Morning Walks of Shame. March 9, 2008

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To Grandmother’s House We Shall Go November 25, 2007

Mom: A seven letter word for Wine’s Rooms. Wine’s Rooms? That doesn’t make any sense.
Dad: Do you have any of the letters? Where is it on the puzzle? (as he looks over at the puzzle my mother is holding)
Me: Dad! Stay in your lane!
Dad: What are the cross clues?
Me: Dad! Stop looking at the puzzle! That’s the second car you almost ran into.

Sis: Let’s walk down the street to the bar. It’s only 3 blocks away.
Me: It’s pretty cold outside. I don’t know.
Sis: It’ll be fine.
Me: Halfway there, after having walked 5 blocks) Dude, it’s raining. And it’s 40 degrees.

Guy-Sis-Only-Pretends-to-Like-Because-He-Will-Always-Be-DD walks into the bar, wearing a knee-length, fur coat, two gold chains and a pinky ring.
GSOPTLBHWABDD: This coat is so atrocious, but I lost my leather coat, this is the only one I had. My grandpa gave it to me.
Me: Yeah, man, that is ugly.
GSOPTLBHWABDD: Right?

Brother later that same night: I’m glad that guy showed up to give us a ride in the rain, but I think he’s probably either part-way gay or in training to be a pimp.

Me two days later, when GSOPTLBHWABDD shows up for Thanksgiving dinner, having been invited only because he’s got nowhere else to go: Still wearing that coat, huh?
GSOPTLBHWABDD: Yeah, man, it’s awful. People stare at me.
Me: Yeah, you love that coat. Your other coat is sitting at home, and you just love that coat.
GSOPTLBHWABDD: No, I really don’t. Chuckle chuckle.
Sis: to GSOPTLBHWABDD You have got to take that pinky ring off if you want to stay at our Thanksgiving table.

Brother later that night: It’s been two days! He could have gotten a new coat! They’re on sale for $30 at Target! Not only is he part-way gay, he’ll be part-way dead if he comes near me again.

Text message to cousin: You dad bought us all McGriddles yesterday. I was still asleep so he left mine on my face.
Response: Best text message ever.

Text message from GSOPTLBHWABDD to Sis: I’m at rap club and they love my coat. They all think I’m a pimp. Seriously.

Text message to cousin: I can’t believe you’re not here this year. You’re missing grandma’s useless junk and expired food pass around.
Response: She really does think those are presents, doesn’t she?

Text message to several friends: We just drove past a Mexican Restaurant named “Mexican Restaurant.” Oklahoma is one classy place.