J and I were in Mrs. T's second-grade class together in Tinytown. I sat in the front row and she sat somewhere else. Other than myself, she was my favorite person in that classy-but-portable classroom, but I can't really remember why. Or, at least, I don't remember many specifics. I remember her coming to my birthday party that year, but that might be the extent to which I can give any details. Oh, and I also added a "y" sound to the end of her names at times. Looking back, I really think she should've socked me in the nose the first time that I did it. She didn't though, which was probably a good thing, since I was quite dimunitive at that age.
J is a Texan now, which I find equally amusing and bizarre. That's the stuff I laugh about? I'm odd. Whatever. I tracked her down though and, even more impressive, somehow managed to get her to buy me ice cream and fries from a woman that shot daggers at me. It was just the Texas experience that I was hoping for. Anyway, J and I started talking about some things. Nothing important really, just about her life, family, thoughts on god, blah, blah, blah. All of that stuff though, took a distant back seat to how fricken funny she was. I think at one point, that I had known that she was funny, but like most things in my life, it'd been forgotten or replaced in my mind with episodes of the "The Cosby Show." Never again. J is funny and that's all there is to it. I'll never forget it again. Now I just need to find somebody with an accent to laugh at, and my reformation will be complete.