Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Rooted Out Sloth (or Why I Won't Tell You My Name)

I don't know about any of you, but my early twenties are a great big blur. There are huge gaps in my memory from that period. I was a very different, very messy person who did a lot of drugs and slept with pretty much everyone who wandered into my field of vision. Also, I apparently didn't like Stevie Wonder. Let me explain: Remember a while back when I mentioned that I have a very unusual name? Well, it's a nice name, but it's uncommon and with the advent of the internet, it seems I am highly locatable. I have been googled. The man who googled me is not the first from the "messy Sloth" era to do so. But the others who googled me...at least I knew who they were. This guy claims to have dated me for a little while. Or at least we were "hanging out" which means I probably slept with him. I would be more skeptical if I hadn't run across an old diary of mine recently and read whole chapters about a boy I was sleeping with who, until I read it, I had completely forgotten ever existed. Even now, I can only vaguely recall him. He was thin. Jewish. Glasses. Sharp hip bones. Sweet, quiet. I can't remember his face at all. I think he was my neighbor. Anyway, this googler, Tom, decided to email me and say hi. I'm sure he assumed I would be like, "Oh, hey! I've been wondering about you all these years!" Instead I was like, "Ummm....hello. I have no idea who you are." He tells me we met in a bar when I was complaining about Stevie Wonder playing on the stereo. What? I love Stevie Wonder!! But, like I said, my early twenties are difficult to justify. Messy. Slutty. Questionable taste in music. So I believe him. The question is: if I did remember him, would I be friendly or would I run for the hills? Ah, sweet intrigue...