Assorted Memories

I get reminded of a lot of stuff all the time, just walking around doing normal things.

One time when I was ten or eleven I was playing outside at my grandma's house. There was an old guy riding around on a bicycle, and he called something out to me that I couldn't hear. After a couple seconds he tossed me some Jolly Ranchers and pedaled away, giving me a big smile as he went. Of course, all I thought at the time was, "Sweet! Jolly Ranchers!" I picked them up off the lawn and ate them, marveling at my wonderful luck.
I told my aunt of the good news a half hour later. After one really freaked out aunt, a call to poison control, and a frantic trip to the grocery store for some Ipecac I learned that you shouldn't take candy from random people. Or if you do don't tell anyone.

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One time I was filming a skit for German class in junior high. It was set at a doctor's office, and I was one of the patients. We were very mature little thirteen year olds, with highly developed senses of humor and class, and we decided my ailment would be explosive diarrhea. To achieve this we smeared chocolate pudding on the seat of my pants. While in the hallway some girls walked by and saw my pants.
"Ew, what is that?!" They asked, with very prim, greater-than-thou looks on their faces.
"Well, uh, it's pudding." I said.
"Ok. We'll just call you poopey pants from now on." They said, mustering up the most demeaning, superior stares they could.
"Um. Ok."
And they did. I never really minded, but when I remembered this a few days ago I thought how nice it would be to go back and say, "You know what? You're nasty bitches and I don't like you."
I think that about a lot of people, actually.

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For my senior year in high school I took a class in the humanities for my last English credit. Our teacher was fresh out of the University of Utah. She had a couple years of experience, so she could lead an effective class, but hadn't quite been dried out on the stove of public education just yet. At the end of the year she read us her undergraduate thesis. It was on thongs. No, not the southeastern hamlet in England, not the sandal, but the underwear. It was admittedly well written, but I wonder what it says about the U's Humanities program when a senior can finish off her undergraduate education with an essay on underwear.

(By the way, check this out. "They are not only sexy and stylish but differentiate the younger men from the underwear of their forefathers." Go Wikipedia go.)