Politically Incorrect on the 23rd

I've wanted to blog all week about how strange it is that I found out on the same day this week that a) a midget and b) someone I was friends with in middle school (and who just recently tracked me down via my blog) both live on a street I drive down every day to get to work, and I'd never realized this before.

But then I figured, knowing my luck (I just recently broke my bathroom cabinet mirror and consequently had the worst day of work I've *ever* had the next day--someone deleted files I'd spent nothing less than 6 hours working on--and I got a certain foxy lady pissed off at me and vice versa, and the list goes on and on), I would end up finding out that she's actually MARRIED to the midget fellow and they're very sensitive about referring to him as a midget (understandably so, which is part of my hesititation in mentioning it). And then the death threats would begin, since they both just live a few blocks away from me.

So I didn't post it.

But now I am.

Because, well, dammit, when you find out someone you were friends with in middle school and some of high school (who wrote a poem comparing you to the mineral beryl) and a midget live on the same street, not more than a handful of blocks away from you, that's just too fucking David Lynchian not to mention.

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