I’m blogging live and direct from my temporary apartment. Temporary because my stuff barely fits here (wait, doesn’t really fit here) and there’s no way my wife and I will both fit in here when we get hitched. My friend Andy and his parents were gracious enough to let me rent their guest apartment until February or so when my fiancee and I will find a new home to call our own. Andy’s street number? 322.

Three-Two-Two. 322 was my pager code in high school. This led many to believe my birthday was on March 22nd. So 4 days before my birthday I’d get a plethora of well wishes. “Thanks in advance,” I’d say to their dismay. One of my close friends had the code 311. Her birthday actually is March 11th, but no weirdos, this was not some sort of awkward psychotic twisted crush to be coupled with Miss 311. (11 coupled = 22?!?!?, I still don’t get it).

Pictured here are Roces Chapter 322s. My codesake. WTF? Now you’re thinking one of two things. A) You were one of those lame inline skaters. LOL! or B) Shiet, mang. You named your code after 322s. Everyone knows the top of the line were the Majestic 12s. Your code should have been 12.

Well, A) I hate you, and B) I never ever got top of the line growing up. It seemed to be some sort of weird life lesson that my parents were teaching. In fact, it was one of the things my Dad always said to me. “Remember son, even when you think you’re the best there will always be someone better than you.” So when I got hockey skates I got Bauer H3′s instead of the then top-of-the-line H5′s. Civic Si. NO WAI. You get an EX. Never the worst. But never the best.

So here I am. 322 in 322. Coincidence? Yeah. But one worth reminiscing about.