I'm Seeing All These Weird People Everywhere

Look, I know all about the Model3 emulation fallout that's going on.  Yes, it's great we can play Scud Race and Daytona 2 again.  But the emulator is not complete--it has no sound, some graphical issues, basic keyboard control at best, and no multiplayer.  So I am sorry that I'm not playing the game 24/7.  I got plenty of screenshots if that's what you're after.  But I will have to find a better computer to play on.  Clearly, my laptop's graphics card is integrated and thus it can't be upgraded.  I always get struck down with lousy computers.  I'll talk about emulation later.

DAMN, this cable back here sucks.  TV's been going out, Internet's been going out, Black Ops is hiccuping every ten seconds, WTF's going on.

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Hey, let's talk about two real-life stories.  First, I went to church on Sunday.  Now there's this guy that I occasionally see.  He reminds me of someone.  He wears a dark red polo shirt.  And dark blue jeans.  And brown shoes.  He's also quite obese and has a beard.  While missing a few details, if you can't tell who, then let me show you:

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Flagman.  I saw the Flagman.

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Ok, well here's the second story.  In 2006, I graduated from a Christian (non-Catholic) private school whose name will not be revealed.  So I got an e-mail from one of my teachers who wants to have a Class of '06 get-together a few days ago (April 1st).  To protect this teacher's identity, I shall refer to him as "Mr. Pappagiorgio."  Rather than sit at home playing Call of Duty all night for the nth time, let's go do it and see what's up.

In the e-mail was a series of instructions to his house up the highway.  Rather than print out a list of instructions, I use Google Maps to pinpoint his exact address and go from there.  Once again to protect his identity, I'll rename his street address to "Dumbhead."  So Mr. Pappagiorgio lives on 192 Dumbhead, Mandeville, LA.  Okay, print out Google Map, let's go.

So as I start driving to 192 Dumbhead.  I enter a upper-echelon neighborhood, complete with a golf course and security guards.  Okay, so Mr. Pappagiorgio is rich!  I then arrive on Dumbhead street, but the house numbers go 16, 17, 18, 19...no three digit houses anywhere.  So Google Maps told me to go exactly here, but there's no 192, what's going on?

However, at the exact pinpoint on Google Maps was a bunch of cars parked, presumably for a party.  This was near house 19 so I thought this has to be it...you know, 192, 19, one digits off.  I park, get out of the car, and go ring the doorbell on homely-little house.  Out comes some middle-aged lady.

ME: Hello, is this the Pappagiorgios' home?

LADY: No, but he lives right across the street!

ME: Heheheh...thanks.  Sorry for interrupting you.

So then I walk across the street to house 20.  I hear a bunch of people inside.  I ring the doorbell and a man opens the door.  I walk in and ask "Where's Mr. Pappagiorgio?"  Sure enough, he says he's not here and then I realize I'm at the wrong party.  Clearly, this was evidenced by the little kids running around and the Catholic nuns I saw in the back.  Okay, wtf.

Thankfully, this kind man got out his iPhone and immediately looked up directions for 192 Dumbhead.  The REAL 192 Dumbhead which happens to be ten miles up the highway from where I was.  So there's two streets named Dumbhead, but Google takes me to the wrong Dumbhead--the one without a 192.  And what a coincidence--the wrong Google instructions took me to a party in progress.  And what's with the neighbor telling me that Mr. Pappagiorgio lives across the street when he clearly doesn't?  Is there more than one Pappagiorgio family around here?  So for a moment, I've just crossed into

Finally, after arriving an hour late, I show up to the actual party.  Of my class, there's four girls and one guy.  This guy was a part of the "Counter-Strike Gamers" so he told me what his old friends were up to.  Most were in other states going about their schoolwork or jobs.

EDIT: I notice that when it comes to talking with people, I usually listen to the other guy talk.  For instance, when I was talking with this guy, it was just what he did, what his friends did, not curious about what I did.  One way to make friends is to tell them what they want to hear.  I don't want to cut off the conversation and send the inferred message, "Look, what you're talking about has been beaten to death already--now listen to what I want to say."  Am I the only one who feels this way about conversations with acquaintances?  Well, that's what Facebook is all about--listen to me, what I like, I love me, etc.

Other than that, everyone was just talking about the old school and how they drive around in the golf kart causing trouble.  Everyone was nice, but it wasn't that great or formal or anything.  I got to tell everyone I graduated from college though.  I also sported my green Southeastern Louisiana University ring which made me look like a pimp.  Though I didn't flirt with these girls since they're more annoying than anything else, plus they already have boyfriends.  Girls are nothing but trouble, man.

Well, guess if my old acquaintances are living up to real-life consequences, then I ought to as well.  Time to kick some ass.

I know talking about my life can be boring, but so what--everyone deserves a narcissistic moment every once in a while.  Like I've said before, every person is unique and has a story to tell.