I got a call the other night from my cousin's boyfriend. He's organizing a surprise party for her and calling people in her address book to invite them. "Have we met before?" He asked. Nice gesture I offered, though I couldn't help but think what would happen if someone did the same for me. My address book is a 10-year-old clutter of mostly useless, outdated information. No one is ever crossed out, even if it's someone I haven't spoken to in years, even if it's someone who's dead. The only people who do get crossed out are my friends ex-husbands or former live-in girlfriends. Addresses and phone numbers are crossed out, though, lots of them. Seems by the looks of it that most of my friends are wandering nomads. There are entire pages dedicated to just one person, line after line of crossed out numbers in contrasting ink colors until finally I give up and start writing in pencil. Then there's the utter cluelessness of duplicate entries, written on the same page, almost on top of one another, how could I have not noticed? At least I've had the foresight to pen in addition family members as they arrive on the scene. This comes in handy when it's time to address Christmas cards and you want something more personal than "Ms. Jane Doe and family." Many entries are not in alphabetical order. Take for example friends who have divorced and reclaimed maiden names. I just cross out the last name and fill in the new one but leave them on the same page in the address book. Likewise friends who get married. Now when I want to call someone I have to search tax the rapidly decreasing cells in my brain to remember what name they're filed under. Not to mention married friends with different last names. The only time weddings work in my favor are when couples hyphenate, then they can rightfully remain on the same page. Doctor listings are scattered throughout: PCP, OB/GYN, dermatologists, reconstructive surgeon, and ophthalmologist. How's it possible at 38 I have more doctors than friends? So who would actually be at the party? Former co-workers, old housemates, my son's daycare provider, the Cape Cod Times/Boston Globe delivery guy, the animal control officer. The animal control officer? What's that doing in my address book? That's right, it was the time the stray peacock was in the back yard. Come to think of it, the animal control officer thought I was nuts; so on second thought, don't invite him.