if you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want – good or bad – BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you
I pulled this from hillarygayle's livejournal. I don't care if you post it on your blog but i think it can be intersting, espcially with all the things I have actually done.
6 comments:
Okay, this is a bit awkward, but I think it's important to tell.
Last week was the first time I met Justin. But we have a history that dates back before I was born.
My mother used to tell me stories about my father. He was a rugged man with a harmonica that can fill the room with the sorrows and joys of his heart. He and my mother fell in love in 1980. One thing led to another, as they say, and I began to be knitted together in my mother's womb.
Justin lived next to my mother and he came over and punched my mom in the stomach. I still have dent in my head from his fist.
Remember that time that you were playing spades in the student center. And I said, "Spades are stupid!" And you
said, "Nuh-uh!" And then I said, "Yeah-uh!" And then you threw your cards down on the table and lunged at me. I ducked around you and you chased me all around the student center, til I decided to be smart and run to my dorm, where you couldn't come. Then the next time I saw you you said, "Hey!" And then I said, "Hey!"
Justin, I remember back when you and I were young, picking cotton on a tobacco farm in Arbyrd, Missouri. We each filled our little bags to the brim, then stopped to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches we packed for lunch. Sometimes little gobs of jelly would fall out of the bottom of the sandwhiches, staining our breeches. With the hot sun shining down on us, our throats were parched, and neither of us had remembered to bring anything to drink. The peanut butter was a little too thick on your sandwhich, and I'll never forget the last twinkle in your eye when you got choked on it and died. Good times.
Mark
Justin and I went to the small town of Elba, North Dakota once. Or was it in Nevada? Hmmmmm. Can't remember. But Nevada has Reno, and it's a big little city, so they say. Whoever they are. Either way, it can't beat California, which has many earthquakes and immigrants. Chinese people have the legal ability to immigrate, which many of them used in the late 60s to come over and help build the railroads. I can't help but wonder if they were up to something. You know, now that I think about it, we never took that trip.
My Senor, I remember de glorious time we had ransacking de villages and stealing de prized horrses. That's when we crossed through de desert, de sun gleaming down on our goodtimes. Sancho got a bullet en his head. Lupe fell off hiz horrze. But de rest of us escaped to a leettle pueblo where we hid in a church. Mi madre came over to feed us grains and beans. Dat's when you got tired of grains and beans so you punched herr in de stomach and next dented my head.
Justin, I remember when you came and rescued Charlie, Sarah, Joe and I from the accident in Weiner. You threw Sarah on your back as if she weighed nothing and carried her all the way to hospital while we followed behind...stunned! You are such a hero :-)
Post a Comment