I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time in the past few days sending out information about the Band Back Together Project to various media outlets. Sounds fancy, right? Not so much. Basically I have to talk about myself in the third person, which never makes anyone happy:

“Today, Aunt Becky, of Mommy Wants Vodka, poured vanilla extract into both her coffee AND her diet Coke, just to be on the safe side of drunk.”

Wicked, right?

Not so much.

But when I click the “email” button, it goes back to the mail program I once used on my very first computer, back in 2004. It’s a blast from the motherfucking past, Pranksters. I see love letters Daver once sent me. I have emails from people I haven’t spoken to in years. I have emails from my first blog. I can see where I spoke to people who no longer blog.

It’s like stepping back in time.

Especially when I see this:

And then this:

It’s not this child:

No.

It’s this one:

Time, it seems, waits for no one.

Not even little boys.

Comments = full of the awesome. Like gravy. I can haz an RSS RSS feed .

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