{schmaltz}

last night i was hanging out in the living room thinking about something, when my thoughts derailed and crashed right into the pile of yearbooks on the bookshelf beside the piano. i picked up the one from my second year of college and skimmed through the scribbles on the inside covers. and then i was laughing so hard i was crying a little.


it would seem that all of my friendships centred around mean nicknames and inside jokes involving injuries i sustained in embarrassing ways. {example: GB = garbage butt, because of the time tim stuffed me in a garbage can and then knocked it over. you should have seen my back after that. rusty legs, sloth fingers, apple cheeks, cold fish hands, the list goes on--we're talking physical scarring, you guys.} also, can you tell none of us were very big on given names? {dirt, foster child, heinrique, etc.}

anyway, it got me feeling pretty nostalgic. i long for that time when my friends beat me up and laughed at me.

here's all of us. can you find me?

{first row standing, blue jeans, blonde side ponytail. no rusty legs or garbage butt yet, as this was taken on the first day.}