Tuesday, March 01, 2005


Sorry I didn't get to post any more foolish, juvenile thoughts about pranks yesterday - I promise I'll get back to them eventually.

"The best part about 19 year olds is that every year, they get one year younger than us!" Says my brilliant, but askew buddy George.

As with normal Mondays, we shuffled down to the bar for happy-hour after a long and grueling day of work. In the midst of our discussions about firetrucks, baseball and notreallyofficegossip, the hostess (who we know well after all this time) asks if its alright to give these girls sitting in the corner my number so they can "text" me.

I'll say right now very simply, I don't text. I went so far as to shut the option off of my phone after continually recieving 25-30 a day, despite my failure to respond to any of them. I'm sorry, I don't see the point, so I told her to give them George's number - he likes the attention anyway:

"How R U?"
"Fine. Who R U?"
"I'm *****, ***** is next to me (blond)"
"You look young, how old R U"
"SHSU - what bout U? Names?"
"Im George, Brian next to me"
"Don't B shy"
"Young enough to be a kid, old enough to enjoy it"
"No really"
"30 both of us"
"Wow! U don't look it" (How does a 30 year old look,Bi-atch? Sensitive, I know)
"Wanna hang out? We are going to BW3"
"Maybe we'll see you there"

Total elapsed time: 10min, 36sec.

Okay, I really don't know the exact time, but I know I'm close

In less than two minutes concurrently, I had a phone conversation with a friend which contained at least 8 times the amount of dialogue and 20 times the content. Now, I'm no efficiency expert, Bob, but it doesn't take a genius.

Besides, if you want to meet me, don't hide behind the LCD display when you are a mere 20 feet away! Pull up your diapers!

Needless to say, George left a little mad because I wouldn't go to B-Dub's to be his "wingman" (if you know BW3 - thats kind of freakin' punny). I'm not really sure why I was opposed to it - maybe I've just got a girl on the brain. Or maybe I was happy sitting in my assigned barstool drinking my assigned beer, thinking about firetrucks, baseball and notreallyofficegossip. George usually leaves the bar a little mad anyway.