Thursday, August 24, 2006

The One and Only

A common complain against this blog that I’ve heard from those who have been reading it since its inception is that I’ve turned it from a history of what I do to a scattershot listing of pop culture minutiae and links to strange and often regrettable locations online. This, I must admit, is true. Somewhere along the way, I realized that certain details about my life should stay that way — my details. Nothing against my readership. I’m really quite appreciative of the people who bother to check in again and again. But as near as I can figure it, you all basically consist of the following groups of people:
  • people I see everyday
  • people I don’t get to see often enough
  • people who check in purely for the minutiae
  • people who just want to CTRL+F their name to see if I’m disclosing too-personal details about their lives, or, if you will, Kristen
  • people who I’ve consciously decided to avoid but maintain tabs on me through the fragments of personal information I let slip out
  • the dreadfully bored
  • people who are researching actual cereal boxes, for whatever reason, and who quickly become confused and leave
  • people searching for information on Moesko Island
And that’s all fine, really. I genuinely appreciate that anybody reads what I write. Nonetheless, I generally have decided to skimp on the real goods because, honestly, anybody who needs to know what’s going on in my life already does. And that’s that.

If I can take a quick break, however, from cramming all manner of forgotten and ignored pop culture down your collective throats, I would like to discuss something fairly personal in this post. This is something I haven’t done before, and I’m honestly not sure if it will work. When I consider it — and I have been, in spare moments, over the past few weeks — I think this will test the power and range of this stupid little blog. It could even have the opposite effect of what I’d like it to do, but I figure it’s my only shot.

Jonna Hurrell.

I knew Jonna during the beginning of college, which now seems a lot longer time ago than I want it to. In a lot of ways, everything was different back then, even though I still live in Santa Barbara, I still write and I still look the same, more or less. If anything, I feel like where I am changed around me. But back when this was all still new, Jonna was there. Jonna, the girl who high school Spanish class temporarily reduced to “Juana Hurrell.” College put a lot of us through the ringer, though, and by the time I was done with college, I didn’t really know Jonna anymore. I hadn’t talked to her in probably two years I had no idea where she was living or what she was doing.

I still don’t.

This is not a unique situation with me. I unloaded a lot of the people from the beginning of college very purposefully, much as the weekend drunk pukes so much toxic fluid after a night of hard partying. Flush. All gone. Go to bed and start again in the morning. Jonna, however, always tugged at me a little. Like, once I saw this well-dressed, put-together, sorority-looking girl eating at Kahuna Grill and she full-on tilted a cup of milkshake into her mouth. I believe she choked on the straw or a particularly hard chunk of unblended ice cream or something, because she promptly started making gagging noises and, for whatever reason, hitting the table with her hand. Then whatever was inside came out, in a hugely messy burst of dairy and embarrassment. And she had this little stream of milkshake running down the side of her face. Then she ran away. Literally. But she left her purse. And then she had to go back and get the purse. It was funny. I don’t know why, but it occurred to me that that little scene would have been something Jonna would have really dug. Granted, most people probably would have laughed at Princess Milkshake Boom, but Jonna in particular stuck out in my mind.

Really, it’s things like that that make me think of Jonna. Strange, quirky, darkly humorous things that I feel like she would have really appreciated. Like when Moe fell asleep in the stairwell. That kind of thing. And as much as those things make me happy — I’m still laughing about the milkshake girl, even as I type this — it makes me a little sad that this friend I used to have isn’t around to hear about them.

In general, I try to avoid typing people’s full names on this blog. The last thing I want for my friends is a permanent internet search result that inextricably links them with an unrelated musing about the girl from “Flavor of Love” who shat on the stairs.

But I’m using Jonna’s full name here because I have no record of her phone number — new phone, you see — or her email address — Hotmail cleaned out my account when I forgot to check it, you see — or anything like that. Because I have no other way of finding Jonna, I figure I’ll let Jonna find me. Besides, I don’t know if Jonna, like me, decided to purge out the recurring cast from seasons one through three. At least by putting this out there online, Jonna can know what my side of this is and respond or not accordingly.

Jonna Hurrell. Are you reading this?

Oh, and I’m really sorry for mentioning the stair-pooping girl from “Flavor of Love” in the same post as you. It just came out. But you get the idea.

1 comment:

  1. If it's any consolation, I thought Moe's camp-out in the stairwell was really funny too. Especially because she let herself get locked in there twice in the same night.

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