Lord, I'm so retarded sometimes. Not nearly as smart as Steve Perry, anyway. The other day someone had asked me the name of a person with whom I was working on my most recent grant.
"Julie."
"Julie what?"
"Ummmm...." First of all, I'm horrible with names. Though, admittedly, this is because there are a lot of names in my head. Authors, names of band members from the 1980s, old classmates (being that I attended over a dozen schools growing up as an army brat), and, er, porn stars. ".....ummmmm, Julie Rage."
"Julie Rage? Who's that?"
It is at this moment that I realize in some horror I have just uttered the name of some centerfold or another. Julie Rage is a porn star. I have just told my boss I was working on a grant with a porn star.
"No. NO! I mean, no.... Uh, Julie, uh, Strain."
Christ. Another porn star.
"Uhhh, wait, I mean, Julie Clarke."
Oh, for god's sake, would somebody please stop me.
"Oh, okay."
And for the next 24 hours, I live with the gnawing fear that my boss is busy googling the random names I'm apparently so familiar with.
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