This weekend my better-half insisted I finally clean out our attic since my lifetime collection of random items has exited the stage of "quaint collector" and entered the territory of "crazy agoraphobic shut-in." In addition to discovering an angry letter I wrote when I was 12 (yet thankfully never mailed) to Beckett Football regarding Barry Sanders, and my absolutely worthless—yet totally complete (for some strange reason I own all 33 issues)—collection of Sleepwalker comics, I unearthed a scrap of paper that contained the pager number of Mark Hoppus from Blink-182.
A couple of things:
• I think it's from 1993, back when people still had pagers. For all you kids, a pager was like a cell phone that did not make calls. Wearing a pager was like wearing a broken cell and showing the world that you were either the husband of a wife on the cusp of birthing your child, or you sold used waterbeds down by the airport. Possibly both.
• The band was just known as "Blink" back in those days.
• Evidently I used really girly note pads to write down phone numbers. Are those flowers?
• I have no clue why I kept this number. Honestly, I'm afraid to call it.
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