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I remember living in West Seattle, going to the gym, running home and eating a sandwich, then going to Bank of America to make a deposit.

The teller laughed at everything I said. I was charming. I was vibrant. I was unstoppable.

I distinctly remember jumping in my car, high on my ability to communicate and just be generally awesome. As I looked in the rear view mirror to back out of my parking place, I noticed a substantial amount of mayonnaise on my right cheek and very upper right lip.

I wasn’t really embarrassed. Mostly disappointed. No, not disappointed. Proud, now that I think about it. Because hopefully that teller is telling this same story to someone now. Or has at least repeated it once.

To be a star comes in many forms.

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Engaging irreverence, occasional coherence, often pointed, mixed with enough indelicate humor as to create a want, a craving for more.