Stories I only tell my friends

Funny thing about this summer of 2012.  It’s been relatively peaceful.  Without all the hand-burning/hand-breaking* and Musikfest four-ish weeks away, I’ve been light on stories to tell.

Well, kinda.

As my friend Kristina said yesterday, “You? No stories? My ass.”

So, a correction.  I’ve been light on stories to tell on the internet. Because with blog, comes responsibility.  I have some rules about what I will and won’t talk about here, like work, certain people, and certain parts of my life.  If I edit things too much, I run the risk of having them not ring true.  And then all my navel-gazing would just be shallow ramblings without the original linty flavor.

And, oh, yeah, my dad is a frequent commenter**. Who sometimes shows my mom what I write.  And I’m pretty sure I have personal relationships with my entire readership.  All seven of you are very dear to me#.

So here are three very short (and possibly not very good) stories:

1.) I like to wear knee socks when I play sports, including recreational university league softball. The only problem is that I play against former students, who clearly think the whole thing — from the softball to the socks — is hilarious.  I know this from the smirking.  And the line drives.

2.) After a recent Yankees game, my friend Kristina turned into a Mike Tyson “I-will-eat-your-family”- level enforcer of merge etiquette on the GWB. While this was going on and I was singing a jazzy, off-key version of “Lean On Me,” I turned to my right, only to see a man sitting in traffic eating a sandwich in way that describing it as “pornographic” actually sanitizes what was going on between his face and that bread. He should be banned from eating in restaurants for the sake of public decency.

3.) Recently, I was babysitting and I fell off a porch and sprained my ankle.  Most people who know me know this.  What they don’t know is that I landed in a muddy patch, which I sat in until I could stand again. Luckily for me, Men in Black and Will Smith taught my charge the word “shit” long before I got there.

Don’t worry, that’s not all that I’ve got. There are things in my back pocket that need a little time to grow. Plus, I’m sure life will give me an opportunity to say, “It’s an interesting story. A little messed up in the middle, but things turn out okay,” sometime soon.

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* I’m also pretty sure I broke a toe, too, but, you know, you can’t splint ’em all.

** What’s up, Dad?

# Though I know that at least three of you don’t mind being plot devices once in a while.