Lately, I've been interred in Facebook, which is the holder of such joys as random quizzes, improbable 'friendships,' and requests for such things as to throw an Easter egg at someone you may or may not know.
It's good to reconnect.
For my part, some of the most interesting this to happen is that I've found people from 30 or more years in my past. One of the most interesting is a man who now lives in the frozen north and now works for a store that uses a bullseye as its logo. This man is now happy, centered, solidly in love...with another man. I am insanely happy for him, which might seem odd, given our history.
You see, this man is also the person who was first boy to ask me out, the boy who I accompanied to the Homecoming dance my freshman year. He was the boy who first touched my boobs too, though in a seemingly innocent way - we were in the 'community pool' (A staple of 70's living) and he and I we goofing around, when he put a fingertip to a mole on my right breast and said 'she's got freckles on her but....she is nice' and my heart melted with a fever for something I had no idea would later turn out to be full-on lust. He cemented my lurve for clever wit, biting repartee, and a fashion flair that included terrifically feathered hair firmly placed with a can of White Rain.
And still is.
His response to a Facebook post I put up earlier today cracked my shit right up, causing me to think that perhaps I chose correctly years ago in searching him out, or in being open to his overtures, or in however it turned out that we're now still in-tune enough to mock one another from years and 900 miles apart.
God, I love the 1% of the Internet with which I'm familiar.
In a sort-f similar vein, I once got a letter from a boy that said (in reference to me) "watch out for this one. She's dangerous."
Wonder if that still holds true?
Also, to round out the allthetime nostalgia feel of this post, I got a little reminder of the former me today. The ex came by to pick up the boys this afternoon on the regularly scheduled Thursday afternoon switcheroo, and thoughtfully dropped off my ID tag from WAYBACKWHEN when I worked at WUSF in the late 80's.
What the hell happened to me over the last 20 years? I was awesome, and now, am merely a soft mushy kind of half-me. A righteous slap in the face, that one.
Slapped, perhaps, yet I feel no different, I act not very different, I AM not different than I was when I was 27, full of estrogen and potential....but time moves on. We go gray, we lose hair, we gain weight in unexpected places, we have a whole lifetime of history to look back on and a whole lifetime of memories yet to make, with a face only our mothers could recognize and a heart only our best friend would know; from which, if we are smart, we take home the message that if our choices were wise, it is enough.
Indeed, I am not as young as I once was, but you are not to tell my brain. She thinks she is forever 23, and I am in no position to disabuse her of that notion. It's better that way for all of us, I'm sure.
I do miss those cheekbones though.
If you're of an age to miss something about your youth, what is it?