From the Vault

During my brief lunch break today, I went out to my car and looked for a notepad in the trunk. I found a couple yellowed pads that had some pretty obvious water damage, but the real find was a blue steno book with A TON of good stuff from the days when I was newly-unengaged (don't worry, my current engagement is going great, so don't get confused), freshly unemployed, and for the first time since leaving home at age eighteen, living with my parents.

Here are a few selections, that certainly took me back:

If I had a time machine, there are two things in my life that I would change:

1. I'd stop myself from breaking up with my girlfriend in junior year of high school because I thought I was going to lose my virginity to her (thank you, church).

2. Skip College, and get a trade.

Do plumbers or x-ray techs have twenty-year structured payment plans to pay off their schooling? Fuck no. And unlike videography, editing, and copy writing skills, people will always need someone to unclog their drains, or take pictures of their broken bones.

I'm still pretty sure on the first time-travel mission, but I've revised the second part to convincing myself to pick something a little more marketable, like a teaching degree. Here's some commentary on romance:

My parents have been married over thirty years, almost half of which, my dad has worked nights. This, I think may actually be one of the keys to their success. Relationships are so hard these days. Most women I meet, I don't want to spend thirty minutes with them, let alone thirty years. Even when you do meet someone you like, that doesn't mean the feeling is mutual...

I was definitely going through a temporary bout of misogyny there, but luckily, I got better, and when I did, I found the right one.

This next piece was probably written during a sales meeting. It's always curious where my mind wanders during anything corporate. I once spent the better part of an hour-long training session plotting scenes for a sci-fi erotica story that seemed creepy even to me by the time the donuts wore off.

Who doesn't like a night on at the strip club, right? Cheap beer? Check. Topless women? Check. I tried to come up with more reasons, but that seemed to be enough.

I didn't go inside a "gentleman's club" until I was twenty-six. I want to know who decided to call them gentleman's club. I have never seen anyone remotely resembling a gentleman (or lady) in a strip club. "Creepy guy club?" Maybe. "Douchebag's Club?" Definitely.

The weirdest people spend the most money, and ninety-percent of the time, they're wearing suspenders or overalls. It's as if whenever the farm subsidies check rolls in, Farmer John leaves the sheep alone and comes to town.

And on that horrifying mental image, I bid you all sweet dreams-but don't worry, I've got a few more tidbits from this treasure trove to share with you later.

-Andrew