In response to the 'small world' conversation, I have a couple of WTF stories I only wish I could illustrate with images.

About 5 years ago, I was in Post Falls, Idaho at a little rock/gem shop, chatting with the owner. He starts talking about how back in the late 70s n early 80s he and friends would save up a few bucks, get a cheap motel room in Lincoln City, Oregon during the week, beachcomb like crazy for a couple of days, and then set up a table near Mo's Restaurant in Taft, the south end of LC. They would sell the shells and agates they'd found to tourists who had not been so lucky at beachcombing, which was a pretty common practice back then. I very innocently ask if he ever remembered seeing a little girl with braids running around with a slightly older boy. He said he did, whereupon I grinned and told him "That was me and Jason. My dad was the head cook at Mo's and Jason's dad was the restaurant manager." Guy almost had a heart attack.

1991 and I'm working at Arby's in Keizer (north Salem), Oregon. We get a new manager in from another store, a fella named Stan Kuchas (pronounced koo-chass). Something about Stan just kept bugging at me, and finally it occurred to me that when I was really little I might not have heard the names of my dad's friends and coworkers quite clearly. So one day I'm slapping sandwiches together and Stan has the register and I ask during a quiet minute if he has kids. Yep, two boys, both in college. I ask if one's name is...Jason. Stan says yes. I ask if Jason's right around 22 years old. He looks up at me through the sandwich slide with these HUGE eyes and asks "Just who the hell are you???" So I ask if he remembers a guy named Rico that used to work at Rustlers Steakhouse in Portland and then Mo's in Taft. Stan says he does. "I'll tell him you say hi if you like. I'm his daughter, the one that used to run all over Taft with Jason while you guys worked together at Mo's." In 1981, for the record. Stan just about hyperventilated; when I was a kid I'd thought his last name was Couch, pronounced "cooch" just like Couch Street in downtown Portland, Oregon.

Most recently, I started a new Twitter account for the express purpose of tracking the professional activities of some of my favorite musicians. No profile pic, no info other than my name. This lady pops up outta nowhere and asks if I'm from Oregon. I check her out...stay-at-home mom of 2, lives in Hawaii, infrequent posts, nothing suspicious, so I answer yep and ask if she is too. She answers with yep, and went to GRADE SCHOOL with a girl who had my same name...in Lincoln City...Oceanlake Elementary...Mr. Augustine's 6th-grade class.

OMFG you guys--she's got me 100% nailed and we have not seen each other since we watched the fucking Challenger explode on live closed-circuit tv, with 3 classrooms of kids around each set! I've been recognized in some weird situations by people I never expected to see or hear from again, but holy shit THE CHALLENGER DISASTER was the last time I'm sure we were in the same airspace!!!

I know it happens to other ppl, but that seems pretty high on the WTF scale.

Like this one?

Awesomeness.

I drove a Yugo for a while.

It got me around.

Around the bend?

What were your digits? Did it travel long distance or local calls only? What made you finally hang up?

Know why Yugos had rear window defrosters?

To keep your hands warm while you're pushing that piece of shit.



Guy walks into a parts store, and says "I'd like a rearview mirror for my Yugo."

The guy behind the counter says "That sounds like a good trade."

All joking aside, the one I drove was actually a pretty decent little car. A red GV, 4-speed, am/fm/cassette and two, count 'em, two speakers.

Momdigr bought it as a brand new unsold vehicle. It was a couple years old. A guy in Clarksville, Tennessee bought a shitload of never sold Yugos, and sold them for about $2500 a piece. Momdigr used for a 60 mile (round trip) commute for a few years, before putting it out to pasture. That's when I got hold of it.:D

I cleaned out a fence row with it, and didn't even dent it. I tried, literally, and I mean literally, to pull the gear shift out of the transmission in a fit of rage. I was bent over, completely inside the car, both hands gripping the gear shift, bending, snatching, yanking, cussing.

Drove it for a year after that. Finally smoked the clutch, and it was sold to a friend of Popdigr's who wanted the engine to run a mini sawmill.

I'm completely with you.

More titty for daddy is a good thing. I don't care if they're filled with mashed potatoes.

Mmmm...warm, buttery mashed potatoes...( . v . ):yum:

Those would be far better than the immovable overfilled, rock hard balloons some women seem to have these days. I prefer nature's creations. I think Imma start a list.

WTF?

I'd hate to see what they consider bad...

Fewer than 400.

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All your pictures are broke Gravdigr. Oh boo hoo.

tarheel

That last pic is creepy as fuck.