Demon, please!

Tuesday, February 11th, 2003

*phone rings*

Me: Yo yo yo. Word up, dawwwg!

Sarah: Ok, so I’m just going to start calling out the demons, m’kay?

Me: Ok.

Sarah: Bob?!  Are you in the room, Bob?!

I think she and I will never lack something to talk about.

Jar Heads

Tuesday, February 11th, 2003

Me: You know what I need? A jar opener.  *longing silence* I miss my jar opener.

Sarah: You know what else you could get?

Me: What?

Sarah: You could get some jars.  You know…like to open.

*insert my hysterical laughter here*

*silence on Sarah’s end*

Sarah: What?…I mean, you’re already there!

Just celebrating the moments of our lives, kids.

Why I Haven’t Had a Date in Months

Monday, February 10th, 2003

I am using my friend match .com screen name. My name is (fake name here) I’m look attractive woman. I saw you and your picture on your ad YOU look pretty and soud great and I’m interested. I would like to get to know. If you are interesting please take a look my personal love… I AM SEEKS ROMANCE! (ELSEWHERE IN TEXAS) YOU WILL SEE MY PICTURE OR SEND ME E-MAIL TO MY PERSONAL E-MAIL AT (insert email address here) I am look forward hear you talk some. Have a day-xx!

Right. Ok, then.

Pocket Protector

Monday, February 10th, 2003

The next time I hear someone say “out of pocket” incorrectly, I’m going to riot.  I’ve never heard it used so improperly until I moved to Texas.  It seems that people here think that being “out of pocket” means “out of the office” or “unavailable”.

I. find. this. so. irritating.

For those who don’t know, being “out of pocket” means you’ll have to pay for it yourself.  As in, “Damn, I tried to pass off that hooker as a business expense, but they didn’t believe it when I said I was having dinner with my sister.  Looks like I’ll be out of pocket on that.”

It is not, nor has it ever been, “I’m going to be in a meeting all afternoon, so I’ll be out of pocket. You can reach me on my cell phone.”

Who said that was ok?  Who?  C’mere, let me smack you around a little.

Codfish to Strangers

Saturday, February 8th, 2003

So I was at Target this morning, perusing the Valentines when a rogue sweatpant-wearing soccer mom snuck up on me to peer at one I was reading.  She guffawed.  Hijinks ensued. Next thing I know she’s lamenting her lost youth, tearing up over her failed relationships and shredding her best friend to bits because she has a boyfriend.

[insert requisite smiling and nodding]

Then she starts asking me where I hang out and if I wanted to get together to have drinks sometime.  I haven’t had a date in almost a year and I get asked out by a straight, middle-aged, mini-van driver with abandonment issues at 8 am in the card aisle at Target.  It’s pretty consistent with my track record, I suppose. 

Anyway, I sort of hemmed and hawed for a minute, then I just came out with it, so to speak.  I told her that I hang out in the gayborhood.  She said, “Oh!  I love gay men!  But how are you ever going to meet someone there?!”

I said, well…actually, at this stage in my life, that’s probably where I’d want to be if I wanted to meet someone.  You could actually see the lightbulb go off over her head.  Then she proceeded to inquire about things — intimate things — that I don’t know that I’d divulge to a friend, much less to some woman over greeting cards.  I kind of did that “backup, continue on with what you’re doing, smile and nod” thing you do when you’re trying to wrap up a conversation.  She finally said, “Ok, well good luck, honey!” as she turned her cart around.

Then, from 2 aisles away, she bellows, “You made a good switch!  Tits are pretty!”