I've always felt guilty about not having a time capsule. Whenever they run those stories in small town newspapers about digging up a century-old tin of oldey-time rotten goodies, I always wish I would have written a worthwhile journal, filled a box with Koala Yummies or just shoved some toys with a note saying "YOU'RE OLD NOW FOOL, HOPE UR STILL ALIVE" inside an old soup can and shoved it into my parents' mindfully cared for lawn behind the shed.
We actually did the future letter thing once during sorority initiation, and instead of writing pages on my feelings to "the woman I'm going to become," I instead wrote a hokey letter to myself about all the boys I had crushes on and why they were such losers, so it's my own damn fault. I fully unrecognized the glory that is throwing Google a few bucks a year to hold your entire life existence in its records until just now, and while looking for a now-lost e-mail about my one minor foray into groupie territory — it's as tame as a burlap sack filled with bunny rabbits, I promise — I stumbled across this gem: a correspondence with The League's Paul Scheer, my first big fancy celebrity interview.
Sure, I had interviewed a myriad of mid-level musiains for our school's paper and a ton of townie weirdos for journalism papers at that point, but to go in with someone who's almost guaranteed to give you a good laugh in the middle of it was fun and exciting, and apparently not as professional of a scenario as I now realize, considering how ridiculous our e-mail correspondence was. I'm honest to god floored by my brazenness as a know-nothing twenty year old, but while I may be a terrible journalist, I do a damn good job of being a fantastic creepy twenty-something-teenager. That giddiness needs to be revived! Maybe it's time I get a Living Social deal for some kickboxing-Zumba combo class so I stop being such a 'shmallow. Either way, oye vey.
(This Hanukkah series is pretty fledgling at the moment, but I promise, this one will make up for it.)
File under: the most inappropriate pitch email of all time. Also,"kiddo"!?? I was twenty years old, unable to drive on the highway since no one trusted my license or my hand-eye coordination, earning $75 a week and spending it all at Forever21. Kiddo. Uuugh.
Oh. Oh my god. A semen joke? Maybe my few years gone corporate have ridded me of inappropriateness and turned me into a sad sack adult, but whoa. WHOA.
Aww. What a gem.
I'll never know what on earth I was talking about with that Alton Brown comment, but the rest of this? Not so embarrassing! Though, wooing people with sammiches is still my move. Now I feel dirty.
I really, really hope I wasn't dating anyone at this time, because I'm pretty clearly hitting on him but definitely just thought I was "being silly." That's what you get for hanging around a sorority for four years where your only job is to fundraise, get wasted and socialize, I suppose.
I should feel like a damn doofus. Though, I was sorta right.
...Though he sorta is, too.
Can you believe there was actually an interview at the end of all this madness? Me either. We wound up talking about his part in Meet Dave, which was kind of not seen by anyone and completely ironic in this context, but I swear it happened. Another thing that happened is that I spent my 24th birthday with him and Ron Jeremy at a Lil' Wayne show. But that? That's a story I'll be saving for next Hanukkah.