At the bottom of this entry, it says the time that the entry was posted. Smouse, honey... I want you to take a good look at the time at the bottom of it. Yes. 6:53 am. While you were probably enjoying sweet slumber, I am up writing about you. And you know what? I SHOULD be getting ready for school. Technically, I am supposed to be at Central Elementary at 7:30... but no... you are more important to me, Smouse. Actually... your identity or lack thereof is driving me nuts.
I was talking to Erin on Saturday before the game... walking up to where we start the parade (also take not of this, Smouse... shouldn't the performance be on our minds, not the identity of a fabulous person named Smouse?), and Erin asks if I have any clue as to who you are. And I say no. Then she proceeds to tell me about how in high school, she used to get candy grams and stuff from some mysterious person named "C.M." (or something like that). She checked the yearbook for all the guys with those initials, but she came up with nothing. To this day, Erin has no clue who this character was.
Smouse, I don't want to go on living like this! THROW ME A FREAKING BONE, HERE! But I really don't want you to just come out and say it... it would be much cooler if you gave me hints. But I'll go ahead and tell you this. You are a girl, you aren't in band ('cause you posted a comment during band rehearsal), I am probably not the only person you know in band, and (of course) I think you go to Clemson. I have no idea where Smouse came from... whether it is a nickname, or some derivative of your real name, or whether you like mice (which would make me think that you are an AKA... I love them).
Anyway, Smouse, I need to go get ready so I can sit through another day of class at Central. Please take this blog to heart. With every comment you write, you lead me on like a Tri-Dilta leads on a frat pledge (as Sarah would say).
Monday, September 13, 2004
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
What's in a name, anyway?
Smouse
S mouse
Anony-mouse
Anonymous?
I am not a big fan of live mice, but the ones that sing in Cinderella are pretty cute.
Allow me to explain myself a bit. In college (where you correctly assume I am), you run across many people. Some of these people you only see on the cat bus. Some, you see several times a week until you graduate. Some were in your english group freshman year. Some caught a ride home with you from band practice. Different people play different parts in everyone's lives.
So, Hamilton, I will tell you this. We have crossed paths many times. Every time, I have come away with a deeper respect for you. When I have the chance, I am proud to call you my friend - not because you write for the Tiger, or because you are a drum major, or because you are brave enough to take on children as a career - because you're Hamilton, and you're awesome. I just thought it was about time someone told you that.
So, don't worry about who I am. Just let me try to be the friend you always were to me.
Post a Comment