Where Aren't They Now: 45

Sherry doesn't believe in food expiration dates. At worst, the food that has "expired" simply becomes a new food, or at least has a new use.

She has been known to eat something well past its date, and is particularly fond of eating around the mold on old bread. (She picked this up from an ex-boyfriend who detested the idea of waste. After all, if you can see the mold... then you know where the mold isn't.)

Where Aren't They Now: 44

Annie has been known to refuse discounts.

It bothers her that two people can pay such radically different prices on the same object, simply because one has a coupon. She stands on an odd principle that everyone should pay the original price on any given item, whether or not it's the President's Day Weekend Blowout Sale-a-bration.

Where Aren't They Now: 43

Mabel is as skilled an understudy as they come, though one of her biggest fears is actually being called on-stage.

She has understudied for huge parts and big names. She memorizes entire choreography repertoires and learns every word of the Shakespearean monologues that might some day-- God forbid-- become her own to perform.

Mabel typically works with the biggest attention whores in the industry, as they're the ones most loathe to share the limelight. While many understudies step in for weekend matinées or the occasional weeknight performance, Mabel ducks the opportunities as often as possible.

When the absolute need arises for someone to step in-- an injury on stage, say, or a last-minute illness-- she's ready and willing. But overall, Mabel is simply there for the theater ambiance. Her best friends are theater folk, and she loves listening to the performances night after night from her place in the wings.

New challenge/cry for help

Happy Sunday, dear Where Aren't They Now readers! All... dozen of you!

That's what I'd like to talk to you about. I've written 40+ stories so far, but I have some pretty dismal readership. I'm talking numbers here-- those of you who DO read leave awesome feedback and comments. About 4 of you even rate the stories, which I appreciate so much!

Still, I'd love to see if I can pump those numbers up. I'm not ready to shut down the blog yet, but perhaps it's time for another challenge?

Challenge: convince a few people to read the blog. Right now I have 12 readers through the feed-- I'd like to make that 20 by the end of the week. If you like the stories... if you find them funny or interesting or amusing in any way... tell a friend! (And if I can't get 8 more freakin' people to read this blog, perhaps I need to evaluate my stance as a writer.)

I'll post another Young Erica picture + story here if we can make it to 20+.

Note: if you read this blog but not through a feed reader, leave a comment on this post and tell me so. Merci!

Where Aren't They Now: 42

Meister has been called "Meister" so long he can hardly remember his own name (which he never shares).

It started in middle school football, when such nicknames tend to form. If you're a guy and you don't go by your last name, you get something vaguely masculine like Champ or Hambone. Meister got Meister.

It fits him. It's like he's been crowned the master of something, but he's not sure what. Everything, maybe. Meister of the Universe. World Meister.

He's nervous about getting a job because he knows that they'll want his real birth name which is nowhere near as cool. He wonders if he can walk in and say, "Hello, my name is ----- ------, but folks call me Meister"?

Where Aren't They Now: 41

Brant has three dance moves, which he has to use sparingly.

He doesn't know if his moves have names but he knows there are only three of them. He's tried to create new ones, or at least variations on the old ones, but no dice.

It's a shame, because he loves to go dancing! But once he gets to the club or the bar he knows that he has a short supply to dole out. He tries to save them for the prettiest girl or the best song, but usually ends up playing wallflower until the very end of the night and busting them all out at last call.

Where Aren't They Now: 40

Shreeveport was pretty much your average dood. He modeled his wit
after Kevin Bacon, and he modeled his hair after Kevin Costner. But
our dear Shreeveport had a personal secret, for years he woke up with
a long, wet purple ribbon strewn out across his bed. And every
morning, he embarrassingly would gather them into his backpack and
throw them into a dumpster on his walk to school. He was able to keep
these beautiful ribbons a secret until one fateful day when his father
had to sneak into Shreeveport's window after cheating on his mother.
To his horror he saw his sleeping son convulsing and shooting a long
ribbon from his mouth. He immediately showered, changed clothes, and
then called 911.

Years later Shreeveport is dealing with the disease. Doctors have
diagnosed it as Rheumatoid Night Ribbons and are working on
preventative medication. So far Shreeveport has tried the following drugs, with little success:

Plexowim (side effects may include ankle wristing, ear husks and in rare cases bowel monsoons.)

Seudocrod (side effects may include sports breath, vase jumping and in rare cases anne b. davis eyes.)



This entry is a GUEST POST! Evan Oliver is taking the reins today. If you'd like to write a guest post let me know and I'll send a picture your way!