Well, after watching Sunday's priemere of The Surreal Life II, I think there's no better time than now to mention that I went to high school with one of the show's celebrity stars, Traci Bingham. Typically I'm not one to name drop, especially on my blog. It's tacky and boring. But since she's appearing along side the likes of Tammy Faye Bakker and Vanilla Ice, Bingham has outted herself as a B-celebrity, and I think I say that I went to high school with her without seeming like I'm some attention-seeking loser.

Yes, yes, I know: many of you probably think of me as an attention-getting loser already. Whatever. I respect that. One can only not link to the Instapundit so many times before he is clearly groveling for some attention. I built my own boat so I'll have to sink in it. It's just that I'm not a strong swimmer and, oh god, is that a shark!?!...Oops, no, false alarm. Not a shark. I'm not even on a boat. That was just an expression. Ho! Snap. Gotcha. Don't deny it. I got you. Ho! Sucka. What spider?!!? Where!?!? Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!! Get it off of me!!! Get it off of me!!!...oh....ha. Good one. I knew there wasn’t a spider on my shoulder. I was just playing along. Didn't want you to feel bad. Really.

So, yep, I went to high school with Traci Bingham. We weren't exactly friends, but we each knew who the other one was. I knew her for being one of the prettiest and most sought after girls in town; she knew me from all the times her boyfriends beat me up after school. Ha. I jest. Not all her boyfriends beat me up after school. Only seven of them did.

And boy did they ever beat me up. It wasn't simply a physical beat down either; they slapped me around mentally, as well. I'd never heard such devastating name-calling before, and if it wasn't directed at me I'd dare say it was awe-inspiring.

My strongest memory of Traci Bingham is from my sophomore year. My parents were out of town and I took advantage of having the house to myself by inviting over one hundred teenagers for a house party. It was my first time ever hosting a house party and I was a bit nervous. I mean, what sorts of party snacks do one hundred teenagers prefer, anyway? Brie? Scallops wrapped in bacon? Cheese-Its? What? It was a puzzle. Everything had to be perfect. If I wanted to move up my high school's social order I had to have the proper party snack. After much deliberation I went with the scallops wrapped in bacon. It was an expensive choice, but those one hundred teens ate them up like nobody's business. They couldn't get enough of them. It's like those scallops wrapped in bacon were Cheese-Its or something.

The party went on into the wee hours of the morning, and one of the last guests to leave was Traci Bingham. She and a few of her girlfriends hung out in my bedroom, drinking and giggling. I was honored to have such esteemed company sitting on my bed, giggly and drunk. It was also refreshing to share the company of Traci Bingham without one of her boyfriend's combat boots on my groin. Still, it was awfully late, and I tried to drop hints that maybe they should go to somebody else's bedroom to giggle and drink. However, Traci Bingham and her friends weren't much for hint-picking up on and wouldn't budge.

Then at one point, Traci Bingham turned to me and said, "Oh my god! You have the coolest voice!"

"I do?" I asked.

"Oh my god! Say that again," Traci ordered.

"I do?" I said.

"Oh my god! Chris Monks! You have the coolest sounding voice ever."

"Thank you."

Traci Bingham turned to her friends who were wrestling and giggling on my bed. "Oh my god, guys, doesn't he have the coolest sounding voice? Go ahead say something again, Chris Monks."

"What do you want me to say?"

OH MY GOD!" Traci Bingham and her friends all said in unison.

"Chris Monks!" Traci Bingham screamed.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Chris Monks, oh my god, you have the coolest sounding voice ever!"

"Thank you."

"I love your voice."

"Thanks."

"I'm going to write it down to show you how much I love it," she said grabbing a pen from my homework desk. It was one of those pens with a picture of a woman in a bathing suit on it. When you tipped it the woman turned naked.

"Give me your hand," she said.

I gave her my hand. I remember her fingers feeling warm and well-groomed. She had pink nail polish on, and she smelled like gum. Wintergreen gum.

She voiced the words as she wrote them down on the back of my hand, "Chris Monks...has the...coolest...speaking voice...ever." She made a heart over the "i" in my name.

"There. It's official," she announced releasing my hand. "Chris Monks has the coolest speaking voice ever!"

"Thank you," I said. I really meant it, too. I mean, here was Traci Bingham who one day would be the first African-American female lifeguard on "Baywatch" deeming my voice the coolest ever. Of course, I didn't know she was going to be the first African-American female lifeguard on "Baywatch" at the time, but still, based her well-groomed her hands and her pleasant scent of gum, I knew she'd grow up to be a moderately successful sex-symbol.

Shortly thereafter, Traci Bingham and her friends left the party. I was relieved to finally see them go, but also a little melancholy because my bedroom just didn't feel the same without Traci Bingham in it, giggling and drunk, saying how much she loved my speaking voice.

So that's my best Traci Bingham story. I never claimed it was anything special. I'm sure there are many other people who went to high school with her that have much more scintillating stories. But I also bet that none feature her telling them what a cool voice they had. I hope not anyway. Man, that would suck. I've like held that compliment very dear to me for so long now. It would be devastating to find out that was just a standard line she used for people who were trying to get her out of their bedroom.

This post is dedicated to Pilot School retreats.