"Beth, now that we have this openness between us, now that we're friends, I have something to admit to you."
Alright, so this self described "aging slacker," this punk rock guy who hates my favorite band, has something he needs to get off his chest. I was expecting something huge: a Neil Diamond fascination? A secret Melrose Place addiction? A Hanson fetish?
"When Third Eye Blind comes on the radio, I don't change the station."
"Uh huh, and your point is?" I stared at him, confused, waiting for something more like, "..and I sing along," or, "..and I pull to the side of the road and start dancing," or something substantial.
Nothing. "Yeah, and..?"
"First, it was Semi-Charmed Life, and then Graduate, and How's It Gonna Be, and now this new one.." he faltered.
"Losing a Whole Year."
"Yeah." Uh huh, sure, oooh, big secret.
I countered that Third Eye Blind was a great band, but her referred to his newfound 3EB love as a "problem."
"That's a problem?" I fumed, and pointed to my cheek, nose and forehead, turned a grotesque bright red by the sun, that everyone else had been pointing at all day. "THIS is a problem!"
Dear high school self,
What a weak and irrelevant ending. I can't believe you got a degree in this crap.
Also, you'll understand exactly what he's talking about when you start to like a few Fall Out Boy songs ten years later. Also, how did you still manage to get another second degree sunburn in 2002? You're a dumbass who doesn't know how to use sunscreen.
Love,
Future self
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