I'm a super-curious dude. When I was a kid, the best thing about Christmas was the hunt for the cache of presents. Maybe they were in the walk-in, maybe in the attic; I always found them because I couldn't stand waiting. Even now, when someone says "Hey! I got your Christmas present todaaaay!" I'm like, "Well, you already paid for it, you might as well just let me open it." I just can't stand it.
Delay of gratification is part of the problem to. When I have to eat, I eat. When I have to piss, I piss. Even if it means pissing in the sink or out a window. One time, I was in the bathroom and I pissed out a window. I can't explain it, I just had to go. Well, there were people standing outside; so I guess there was a little incentive there. But anyways, when I need something or my curiosity is piqued, I just have to know.
Having been a military brat, and moved hither and yon across this great nation of ours, I have all these unfinished stories. What ever happend to so-and-so from Woodbridge? Or whoosie-frumps in Miami? Sometimes I'll toss an old pals name into a search engine just to see what pops up.
Well, yesterday I Googled an old acquaintance. She was a girl I knew during sophmore and junior year of highschool. I guess I had a crush on her, but we never had a relationship or anything. I think the closest we ever got was sharing a dance at prom. Oh, and I called her the Christmas after I left, because she'd given me her phone number.
At any rate, I haven't spoken to this person or seen her in...8 years. Upon Googling her name, I was directed to a website run by her employer, and it had a photo. I laughed at how similar she looked, and then started wondering what she was doing these days. From the info on the webpage, I could tell she still lived in the area we went to school in, and she still had her last name, so I assume she wasn't married. Then I saw her contact info; a phone number and an email address.
Now, don't get me wrong here. I'm no stalker, nor do I wish to stir any embers. I think moving just creates such a rift in the narrative, and I'm just so damn curious as to what she's up to these days. I wonder if she still keeps up with any of the kids we hung out with. I wonder if maybe she's gone all ultra-conservative. Or maybe she's a closet wingnut. I'm absolutely dying of curiosty.
Of course, there's nothing I can do about it. I can't send her an email out of the blue; that would be a little weird:
Hey! This is shank from Shermer High School. How ya been? I was just Googling your name the other day and...
Yeah, that doesn't trip any alarms. Anyways, here I am stuck with my curiosity. I considered coming up with a fake story, but what if it backfired? Then I'd really look regoddamndiculous.
So I've decided on a solution. We've got some pretty talented and creative minds that come through this old shanty we call SBD; and I think now is a good opportunity to tap those vessels of untold wealth. For each contributor who submits a profile of what my old classmate's life is like now, I will give five points. Now, when I say 'profile' I mean complete; more than just a few sentances. Go crazy. For the winning profile, I'll award seven or eight points. These can be as long as a short story if you like, or they can be historical, starting at the time I left town up through the current year. Just submit them via email to my link on the right there.
Also, there's a Stealth Point in that post. Find, and I'll mail you a surprise.
Quite the ambitious project...
I do the same shit, man. I have a desperate need to know what happened to this kid from the third grade who pissed himself once a week. I'm considering hiring a PI.
Every John Hughes character was from Shermer, Illinois. Shermer High featured in all of the high school movies - Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller, Pretty in Pink, etc.
So where's my surprise, beeyatch?
someone else emailed it in before you. But I'll give you a surprise alright.
Damn. All those hours watching the brat pack were finally going to be justified. Now I've got to wait another two decades for my next chance.