A friend stopped by to visit today who is from out of town. He grew up here in San Diego, but now lives in Philly. Our families see each other a few times a year. I thought it was fun that we had dressed alike; jeans, white shirt, sandals, and got my husband to take a picture of us. Innocent enough. Or so I thought!
I made an offhand comment about putting it on my Facebook page, and my friend, whose real name is Michael but who I will refer to by the code name “Mike” in this post to protect his identity, said,
“I don’t let people post pictures of me on Facebook.”
I’m pretty sure he isn’t in the witness protection program, so that got me to thinking. Maybe he is right, maybe we shouldn’t be posting pictures of ourselves all over Facebook, because there is some pretty damning stuff out there. I went back and looked through some old photos (“Mike” and I met in 1989), and sure enough, there was plenty there that no one in their right mind would want plastered all over the internet for eternity, or at least until The Rapture (when you are either in heaven enjoying your 72 virgins or are still back on Earth desperately trying to find a Starbucks that is still serving).
So take a stroll down memory lane with my friend “Mike” and me, as I turn over all the rocks, open all the closets, and lance all the boils from our sordid past!
The fateful picture that started it all. Mike’s face has been obscured to protect his identity (hint, he’s not really a redhead).
This was such a crazy night! Mike and I were hanging out in my bar in Nepal, actually he was mostly just watching while I drank a table full of goat herders UNDER THE TABLE! We were all totally having fun, and then this jerky German guy shows up and gets all aggro about some medallion. Ruined our night. Whatever dude.
Can you say KARYOKE! Well Mike and I can. Mike is a HUGE Justin Timberlake fan, and when he heard that Justin and Janet Jackson were doing the half time show at the Superbowl in 2004 he insisted that we get dressed up just like them and sing along during their performance. This picture is soooo embarrassing, because black leather jumpsuits are, like, totally out of fashion! If you think THIS picture is bad, you should see the ones after it that even I refuse to put on the web. Wardrobe malfunction indeed!
Mike and I can tell you from experience that you have never truly partied until you’ve done it with a Russian. Maybe it has something to do with centuries of suffering under feudalism, only to have that replaced by a totalitarian communist government, and then only to have that replaced by nepotistic oligarchs and former KGB goons. Or with having to kill for the last bottle of vodka off of the nearly empty state run store shelves. Mike and I ran into Boris Yeltsin one night and there was no stopping him, he kept us out until 6:00, A.M.!!! I thought the dress was cute at the time, but now I think I look like Marcia Brady.
One word. Vegas.