I have been super fortunate,

I’m well aware.

The group of friends I have

Are pretty much the group of friends …

I’ve accumulated over my life,

Entire.

I still hang out with the same high school friends I’ve been hanging out with …

Forever.

I also keep in touch with many friends from college,

And many of my adult friends …

Are still my adult friends.

Granted …

I don’t see any of them in person nearly as frequently,

Or as regularly …

As I would like.

But then …

Everyone does have a life

And all.

However …

There are a few people in my life that have been important to me,

Where there has not been any connection …

In decades,

Of.

Any.

Sort.

And though I don’t think of them regularly,

Obsessively,

Stalker.

Like.

I do think of them from time to time,

And remember how awesome they were …

In the day.

However,

As much as things have changed since we’ve last connected,

I figured if they had an interest in connecting,

As I am sure they are all aware of Me v 2.0,

I would have been aware of it by now.

So I accepted that bringing connection to those connections,

Was likely not going to be something …

Connecting.

But then …

Recently,

A family member forwarded me a Facebook message they received …

Inquiring about Me v 1.0.

The sender had seen my father’s obituary,

And noticed that Me v 1.0 was not mentioned,

Causing them to wonder if Me v 1.0 had expired.

Previously.

Yeah, true …

One could make a good argument that is exactly what happened;

However,

I don’t think it accurately responds to the intent of the inquiry.

Which made me wonder,

Maybe they didn’t know about Me v 2.0.

Anyways,

Since Me v 1.0 is not on FB,

They sent a message to the one name listed in Dad’s obituary that is on FB.

With the message eventually being forwarded to me from my family member with the words/emoticon added “Tag, You’re It. ”

Now a bit of the complicating factor here was …

Time.

My family member checks their FB about as often as I check my FB.

Not.

Regularly.

The message they received was like several weeks old before they saw it and sent it my way.

So procrastinating Amy felt the obligation not to procrastinate …

And respond promptly.

I felt compelled to respond by the next day,

But was more compelled to respond within a few hours.

Which. I. Did.

Second hmmm.

Amyways,

I put some thought into the response,

Started out with a nice Amy Wan Kenobi quote …

“Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time …“

Followed by a Function Change acknowledgment,

And that I would enjoy connecting, but understand if no interest.

Concluding with a …

This message would be my only communication, unless otherwise requested.

And that …

Was a long time ago.

The first week after sending my message,

I did check for a response,

Way too phreaking much.

I also noted that nothing indicated my message was ever read,

But that’s not a reliable indicator of ….

Much.

I speculated that maybe they were on vacation,

Or didn’t check FB much themselves.

You know,

Talking myself into thinking there might be a response

Eventually.

But there wasn’t,

Nor is one expected …

Now.

There will be no follow-up from me.

I know,

I Know,

I KNOW!

One could make an argument,

Possibly a good argument,

Arguably a compelling argument,

That this post is just a thinly veiled attempt to reach out again,

While still not directly reaching out enough to violate my no more communication,

Unless otherwise requested,

Assertion.

I get,

The skepticism.

Like seriously,

I finally reappear after not posting a thing in almost half a …

Decade?

And there is no ulterior motive?

It’s just coincidence?

Sure,

You bet.

But really …

There is none,

It is just coincidence.

Mostly.

Because I’m publishing this post for an actually legitimate reason,

Which is …

To point out …

Just how phreaking small the world can be!

Because,

Before I responded to the original missive,

I checked to see if we had any current mutual friends,

Which wouldn’t be expected,

As we are not located near one other,

At all.

Now,

There were not any first degree …

Mutual friends.

But lo’ and behold,

There were some …

Second degree mutual friends.

Actually,

Multiples,

Including some of which,

When I realized they were second degree mutual friends,

All I could do was mutter …

WOW!

You have got to be kidding me!

So now,

Though an updated connection with this connection isn’t in the cards,

Going forward,

Every,

Single,

Time,

When I interact with one of the second degree-ers,

Though I will NEVER mention a word of the smallness of the world to any of them,

Inside,

I will be smiling with memories of a really good person.

Back in the days,

One night on American Idol tonight,

A caller calling in,

Posing a question,

Was a chica by the name of Tara Miller,

Who happened to be the very first kiss of Simon Cowell,

When they were 9.

What I found so kewl was how touched Simon seemed,

And how he remembered,

Without apparent pause,

Exactly who she was.

You always remember your first kiss !

Sorta, kinda, maybe.

‘Cause though I totally remember Joe’s first kiss …

In second grade,

In a shed,

I don’t remember my first kiss.

Maybe it’s because I was much,

Much older than one normally is when they have their first kiss,

So the memory imprint wasn’t quite as strong;

Or maybe it’s because I was under the influence of alcohol when I had my first kiss,

And since I can’t remember my first kiss,

I can’t say for certain that such was actually the case,

It is certainly possible.

Likely.

What I do know though is that for some reason,

I find it a kind of empty feeling,

This whole “not having a first kiss experience” thing.

It’s not necessarily a sad feeling,

Mind you,

As I am well aware there are a good number of not fun first memories from which I have been spared.

It’s more one of those situations where all you can really do is acknowledge it while shrugging your shoulders.

*shrug*

“I’m not a medium or anything, but I’m pretty sure I just heard my deceased Grandma say “What the PHUCK?“

Context: Four or five of us were holding down the corner of our home bar. As usual, the guys were talking about something and I wasn’t paying active attention to them, instead mindlessly staring at my phone. But then, out of the blue, I heard one of them use the words “Hoity Toity” to describe a dinner he had to attend. He’s not like 90 years old either, or 80, or 70, or 60. Early 50’s. Old, but not old enough to use a phrase like “Hoity Toity”. Anyways, I deadpanned the line while maintaining my attention on my phone, smirking slightly when I knew the guy that said the words was looking at my in response to my utterance. He got the last word though, saying “At least I wasn’t singing along to Shake It Off like you were earlier. Yeah, I saw you.“

The office building in which we have our offices is frequently mentioned in books about haunted locations in my hometown as being,

In fact,

Haunted.

The history of the building itself lends credence to such speculation …

It is an older building, first built in the mid-1800’s;

There was a fire in the building in the early 1900’s;

And,

People died in the building.

Allegedly.

We have had our offices in the building for almost 2 decades,

And I must say that if it is really one of the more active haunted locations in my hometown,

Then we really don’t have that much haunted activity in my hometown.

It is fairly quiet here.

But that doesn’t mean there is no activity in the building,

Or odd stuff happening.

However, for the most part,

It takes very little effort to rationalize away 99.8% of any curious happenings.

Over all these years,

I have personally only had three incidents which though I have rationalized away,

Fully appreciate the rationalization is sketchy,

Or at least leaves a bit of doubt.

This is the story of my most recent,

Odd event happening,

Which I still haven’t completely sold myself on the debunking,

Not that there isn’t a viable explanation,

But that the one I have sold myself on just hasn’t completely convinced me yet.

Like my second experience,

This one happened in broad daylight.

Mid

Afternoon.

Which certainly reduces the spooky scariness of the incident,

But elevates the quantity of WTFness present as your brain processes what it thought it experienced.

This event happened on a Thursday.

The day of the week means absolutely nothing,

We have one women’s restroom on our floor,

And at the time …

Three women working on our floor.

And though it was never discussed,

Or planned,

It sort of was like we all had our own stall.

Mine is the middle one.

An extended-size stall was on my toilet left.

And a duplicate stall in size on my toilet right.

I walked into the restroom,

Turned the light on,

Entered the middle stall,

And properly positioned myself for toilet usage.

Having brought my phone,

I started to check the Twitter,

It was at that moment when it happened …

FLLAPFLLLAASSTAPLAHSSSHTTTPPPA PA PA PA FFFFFFFFFFA

No, it wasn’t me.

But,

Yes, that’s as close as I can write a very vocal discharge of gas.

Upon hearing such coming from the stall toilet left,

I laughed a bit as my inner monologue wondered what grandpa was doing in the women’s restroom.

Krap,

Literally,

I actually did laugh out loud and

Hoped the next stall occupant didn’t hear me.

Then seconds later I not so immediately thought,

Wait,

I’m pretty sure I am alone in the restroom.

Yeah,

I am.

So I did the curiousity killed the cat thing,

And leaned down to look under the stall to see if I could recognize the shoes of my neighbor,

To identify who was Edmund Fitzgeralding that bowl.

Which is when I became confused,

Because I didn’t see any legs or feet in the stall …

Toilet Left.

Nothing.

So I turned my head and looked under the stall to my right,

And likewise saw no legs.

Or feet.

I leaned back and looked up at the ceiling wondering if somehow the noise I heard could have come from the restroom above me.

Unlikely.

But … I decided that was the explanation.

No one to the left of me,

No one to the right,

And it definitely wasn’t me.

So back to Twitter.

FLLAPFLLLAASSTAPLAHSSSHTTTPPPA PA PA PA FFFFFFFFFFA

This time I was sure.

The sounds definitely came from the stall to my left.

So I looked down again to see if there were feet …

And …

There were not.

And no plops of anything in the toilet water,

Either.

So it must have just been gas.

And lots of it.

There has to be someone there,

But wait …

I turned the lights on when I walked into the restroom, yeah?

It was dark in this windowless room,

When I arrived.

I know I turned on the lights.

Think I’ll just finish my business and leave.

So upon exiting the stall,

I walked over to the sinks that were on the opposite side of the wall,

While still trying to figure out the source of the loud sounds.

I took the position with the sink closest to the extended stall that had been to my toilet left.

It was more extended that I thought and I could tell the stool was further away from the shared common stall wall than I would have guessed,

So I figured I would do one more under the stall scan for legs or feet,

And that’s when I had success.

Indeed,

There were a pair of legs and feet in the stall.

Dirty canvas, white shoes,

Attached to a younger looking set of bare calfs.

What was out of the norm though was the person in the stall had turned their body so the legs were positioned on the left side of the toilet seat,

Meaning even had I gotten a good look under the stall when I was sitting on it,

I might not have ever seen the legs.

And they were maybe trying to keep their presence hidden.

So,

I concluded that someone from not in the building had come into the building to use the restroom,

Since on our floor,

The restrooms are unlocked and always open.

No biggee,

At least I know I wasn’t imagining the sounds.

So I dried my hands,

Exited the restroom,

Walked away from the door as it closed,

And promptly took up position in the lobby to see who exited the restroom.

Don’t get me wrong,

I have no problem with anyone using the restrooms on our floor,

My curiosity was solely based on wanting to know who in the world belted out the boisterous volume of gas that I heard.

So I waited.

Glancing frequently at my phone,

While keep a peripheral focus the door.

Waiting for it to open.

But it didn’t open.

So I continued to wait.

And wait.

Clearly not the most efficient use of my time,

Whatever.

But eventually I …

Walked back into the restroom.

The light was still on,

As I had left it,

But when I looked under the stalls for feet,

I didn’t see any.

So I poke opened each stall,

And found each empty.

There was no one but me in the restroom.

I rationalized the empty restroom as being the result of either the individual following me closely out of the restroom when I initially exited and before I turned back around to take up position for watch,

Or maybe they left while I was on watch and my peripheral vision just sucks.

I sold myself on the latter,

As I don’t attribute this to paranormal,

Just not normal.

Regardless,

I’m inspired.

If upon passing I find myself hanging around there here parts,

My ghost thing is going to be passing gas,

And being amused when the living are blamed.

Historically,

I have never been a good breaker-upper.

In fact,

On those rare occasions where I hung around long enough to necessitate a break-up,

And not go ghost,

I really wasn’t a breaker-upper,

But just found myself engaging in behavior that became increasingly so avoidance annoying that the other person would eventually dump me instead.

Not some of my finer moments,

I know.

Recently,

However,

I did mature to the point where I ceased such avoidance behavior,

And initiated the break-up …

When I felt one was in need.

Initially,

I thought I might go with the “It’s me, not you” diatribe,

Which was something I did have familiarity using.

But instead,

This time,

I was so looking forward to ending the relationship,

That I decided I was going to enjoy a good old-fashioned verbal sparring during the destruction of it all.

Sure …

I would use the same words I had used in the past,

But in a slightly different order,

“It’s you, not me”.

I had been on the krappy end of this abusive relationship for far too long,

And I was going to entertain myself some during its final moments.

So there I was …

Knowing how I could end the break-up conversation quickly by just muttering a few simple words,

But instead deliberately refusing to utter those words,

While drawing out the break-up,

And they knew I was drawing it out.

Intentionally making them go through the motions of acknowledging a need for their improvement,

Change in their behavior.

Then receiving promises from them of gifts, presents, and accommodations along the way.

These acts worked for them in the past,

To keep me around.

But this time I knew …

Going in,

That I was fine accepting my life was going to change because of this break-up,

While feeling a bit odd until a new routine was established,

Without them.

I was ready,

This relationship was over,

And I was so looking forward to it.

So I picked up my phone,

Dialed their number.

“It’s you, not me”,

I thought as the phone was answered and their …

Soul-dead, automated voice said,

“Welcome to Comcast“.

Epilogue: I cut the programming cord with Comcast in January 2015. It took me about 36 hours to forget them. I still have Comcast for broadband, though that is coming to an end soon as we have a new source in my hometown pulling the fiber as I punch this post. I still view lots of programming through Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Hulu (on occasion) and mainly binge watch things now. I read a great deal more and listen to many, many podcasts.

Also, apologies in advance to those that think I am making light of domestic violence by the prose used in this post. That was not my intent, but I understand the concern and is why I sat on this post for two years. Heck, I probably wouldn’t have even posted it today except I had to deal with Comcast yesterday helping at my brother’s new place and it was just a reminder how awful they are. My apologies to anyone offended by the analogy.

And phuck you, Comcast.