It occurs to me, as I sit to write tonight’s entry, that tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of this here blog. I thought then that I’d use this opportunity to look back at some of its highs and lows, but decided that, like a flashback filled episode of a sitcom, it’s really a disappointment for the audience and an excuse for the writers to take the day off. But rest assured readers, I’m not resting.

In fact, as this momentous occasion approaches, I find myself anxious about a decline in quality, an anxiety brought about by the comments of a dear friend. “It’s crap San,” Pete said. “It’s just not that funny anymore. Where are the funny stories?” The funny stories, it seems, are fairly rampart in the months of July and August when – twice – my sexuality was mistaken (see Is there something gay about me? and De-Gay Me, both popular posts.) “You’re best when you’re anecdotal.” Pete added, although I’d take that to mean that it’s funny when bad stuff happens to me.

And so, in an effort to please my readers, and indeed escape the wrath of my friend Pete, I’ve been making note of those things in my day that are both funny for you and excruciatingly embarrassing for me. Take for example what happened yesterday at work.

My boss had asked me to count the number of invitees for a reception we had been organising. As I reached the last name in the list, Victoria Williams, I remembered that she had called earlier and left a message. “69…” I counted. “And that reminds me, Victoria called.” And so the office fell silent. But at least with this little embarrassment it wasn’t my sexuality in question.

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