Okay, I said yesterday in my post that I would explain why my nickname in high school was Edmund Wayde the 2nd. Except that when I wrote it out, I would always write Edmund Wayde the II. This backfired when I wrote it for the yearbook my senior year. I kept having people come up and ask me why I was Edmund Wayde the 11 (because my Roman numerals didn’t look right when I wrote it. Which is not surprising because I routinely cannot tell the difference between my 5’s and 8’s. Or 5’s and S’s. Can we just say that my handwriting isn’t that great?).

I think my scanner works now so if I can find my senior yearbook, I will scan my picture and you can see the excitingness that was my life in 1985. And how my hair wasn’t so much as big as kind of fluffy.

I was kind of a nerd in high school. While I wasn’t popular by any stretch of the imagination, I was on the yearbook and newspaper staff so I knew pretty much who everyone was. It was normal to find me walking down the hallways, devouring a book. People learned to walk around me because I did not pay attention to where I was going that often. I did walk into the occasional wall.

Anyway, the nickname came from the fact that I adored the song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” and also there was this really, really hot guy who worked at Donatelli’s in Mahtomedi named Wayde. Wayde was gorgeous. Blond and dangerous-looking and I’m going to laugh myself hysterical in a moment but as I am remembering him, I think he kind of looked like George Michael. God, I hope that’s wrong and just my really bad memory thinking “Hmm. Blond, dangerous-looking. Well, that’s got to be George Michael with stubble.” Not that George Michael isn’t hot, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that I saw a video of him with Wham! while Beth and I were at the Hard Rock cafe and he was wearing the most ridiculous outfit and I turned to Beth and said “How did we (we meaning America in the Eighties) not know he was gay?” Because in the Eighties, George Michael was the epitome of heterosexual studliness. I’m really thinking that we all did a lot more drugs than we really remember.

Donatelli’s was this Italian restaurant that Kathy and Sue and I would go and hang out at on the occasional Friday or Saturday nights. They had a juke box in the corner where I would plug quarters into it to play “Teddy Bear” & “Return to Sender” by Elvis Presley. They had red leather seats that were sumptuous and nice booths and I loved it there. Haven’t been back in years. Now I am completely craving a Pepperoni pizza turnover. It was served with dipping sauce and pepperocini peppers that I wasn’t allowed to eat because I had an ulcer. But sometimes I would sneak them off the plate and eat them and then Sue would yell at me.

So, anyway, I collected stuffed animals and I had a stuffed parrot collection. I named one of my parrots Edmund Wayde and then Kathy and Sue started calling me Edmund Wayde the 2nd. No, I’m not really sure why. But my nickname for my nickname was Eddy. Which is my cat’s nickname now.

There was one time that we had to go and register for classes for our senior year and Sue and I were going to go together and I was told I was not to be late getting to her house at all or I would be in really big trouble (meaning she would leave without me. Which I hated).

I got up early that morning. I was ready to leave at the precise moment I needed to leave at to get to Sue’s on time. I was going to show her that I could be on time. I got about halfway to her house when I realized that I had left my registration papers at home. Crap. Well, there’s no help for it, I have to turn around and get my papers.

But I can’t just tell Sue that I left my papers at home. No, that will never do. I have to be creative. I have to tell her something so I rack my brain as I am walking back to my place and then back to hers. Finally, it hits me!

When I reach her house, I see that she is getting ready to leave without me, as she said she would. I approach her quickly and see that she is tapping her foot, a sure sign of irritation. I quickly tell her that it is not my fault that I am late.

Sue (S): Really? And why is that?
DM: Well, I was walking here and I had all my stuff together and I was completely prepared but then, just minutes away from your house, these three leprechauns kidnapped me because they were convinced that I stole their pot of gold and they forced me to go look for it. I tried to tell them I had to get to your house but they just wouldn’t listen to me.

Sue looks at me. I smile charmingly at her, sure that she will believe me.

S: You are such a dork. Get in the car.

No real point to this post except that yeah, I was just as much a dork in 1985 as I am now. Just thought you should know. And Sue, now that I look back, was extremely practical and logical. Just like Beth and Keem.

And you know, I might have had a better chance of convincing her this happened if there wasn’t a bar named “The 3 Leprechauns” in Willernie (the neighboring town).

Next to come is a story I wrote many years ago called “The Perils of Princess Paisley.” Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Oh and Keem doesn’t know where my yearbook is. So I can’t scan my picture. And before you ask, why would I know where my yearbook is if Keem doesn’t know where it is. I am not the organized person you keep pretending I am. Stop it with all of this pressure. Sheesh.

Advertisements