It turns out I am an alum of a college, based on my participation in a ballet class they offered. I just got a postcard from them, inviting me to join their alumni network, because, you know, I took a BALLET CLASS. Do they have me down as a dance major?
If you have ever seen me dance, you are at this moment yelling at your computer screen "GET YOUR MONEY BACK NOW, WOMAN!" Yeah, it didn't take so well. And it was a long time ago.
It was so long ago, I'm wondering how they found me. I have moved five times since I took that class - thrice across the country - and that's not counting the times I freeloaded at friends' houses while looking for a place to live (also thrice). My friend Bink was convinced my official address was General Delivery @ Zip Code du Jour. Oh, and I changed my name. Not for nefarious purposes, mind you. I just got married and was feeling like a change. I don't know why women choose to keep their maiden names. I would change mine fortnightly if I could.
So here I am, joining the alumni network for a college I may not be able to find again without first consulting a Google map. Seriously. And once I join the network, they're all "Hey, now you can connect with friends!" Except I didn't know anyone there.
Well, there was a boy who took a painting class there. What are the odds he'd be listed? I have some of his pastels in my basement and have often wondered how to get them back to him. That's right, these stupid pastels have moved across the country three times and have not once come out of their box because they do not belong to me. I don't even remember why I have them.
Oh great, he's listed. Now I have some sort of obligation to rummage through the basement and see if the infernal pastels have survived and then try to contact him so I can return them to their rightful owner. And he'll answer the phone and be all "no, really, I don't want to date you. Why are you calling me?" And I'll have to explain that I don't want to date him either and the only reason I called him 543 times that one night was that my house had been broken into and I really just didn't want to be alone. How was I to know he was out of town and had caller ID? Also, he had a great cd collection and I am shallow.
Maybe I should find out if he's famous and then sell the pastels under an assumed name. Or my own name, which is assumed. I'd sell the first one to my sister, who answered a phone call from him at an absurd hour of the night when I was visiting her. She's a huge fan. She was living her perfect life, with her perfect family and was not so sure about the seriousness of a relationship wherein I didn't know the last name of the boy who was waking her up by his very loud ringing.
Ooooh, maybe he's looking me up right now! Dang. I guess I shouldn't have set up the feed on my profile page.
Pastels? What pastels?
And I still don't want to date you.