Curiosity Killed the...

A dear, dear friend of 20 years and I have managed to sporadically keep in touch while she has been living a few hundred miles away. Just as I have, she endured the sudden shit-out-of-luckness that results from sudden job loss; and a few comically failed relationships. Although I always know where our friendship stands, sometimes, I have no blasted idea how she is doing, as she tends to "disappear" for months at a time.

True to form, I haven't heard from her in about four weeks.

Early this evening, I surprisingly found an email from her in my inbox. It read:

"Hey you. Will be in touch this week. Been crazy this way. Going to be moving out of my roomates...I had a bad accident with her stove. Didn't go over to well.

Love and thinking of ya."

"I HAD A BAD ACCIDENT WITH HER STOVE?!" That has to be the most hilariously intriguing sentence I have read in my entire life! My mind is whirling with visions! What kind of "accident" does one have with a stove that leads to an apparent eviction? I'm guessing it's much more serious than the time we were too drunk to realize we had put the frozen pizza and the cardboard in my oven in a desperate attempt to satisfy our late night hunger ten years ago. Hell, there wasn't even enough smoke to set off the detector. Couldn't be pizza rolls left at 450 degrees for eight hours. My friend Wendy did that once. Not only did she live to tell about it, she didn't get kicked out of the house she shared with Sara.

I'm dying to know! The curiosity is killing me! And knowing it could be weeks, MONTHS, before I hear the end of this brain-baffling tale is simply torture!

Ahhh... Drunk People!

On the phone now with my friend who was already "buzzed" about two hours ago. I knew I was in trouble when I answered. Gotta love her. So many "f" bombs... my eardrums have been blown to bits. Why do drunk people feel the need to repeat things over, and over, and over, and over again! Hilarious! She's texting a guy that she "likes a lot" but yet continues with...

"Piss off you little fuckin' weasel headed fuck. I like him ALOT. You little fuck. You little fuck! I love him. I want to fuck him."

Now, I'm trapped in a "tennis match" of sexual-tension fueled text message readings and she is holding me responsible for coming up with the perfect response to get him over to his house so they can "do it."

"You're witty... come on!!!!"

Come on!?! I'm sober, in sweats, and half asleep... sheeesh! I haven't played the drunk hook-up game in years!

I endured 1 hour, 47 minutes, and 18 seconds of that! If I charged 99 cents a minute, I would have made $105!!!! Maybe THIS is my "calling!"

I need to start charging, recording this stuff or... start drinking heavily!

Intervention

That's it, boys! I'm holding a mandatory intervention for the entire male species!

I have received yet another drunken declaration! This time from my friend Todd. Todd and I dated when I was 17. Do the math. TWO DECADES ago! He managed to mumble that he has been scared to ask me for months, but would I consider going on a date with him. "A DATE." He exclaimed. Ugh.

Todd's a great guy. I've enjoyed our friendship over the years and he would do anything for anybody. He's helped me with a few things around the house. For a couple leftover slices of pizza.

But, I'm not one who typically goes backwards. Especially not two decades back. We don't have a lot in common. I'm sure he could fill in as a sex partner... but I wouldn't be willing to risk our friendship for a few frolics in the sheets. Hopefully he'll forget this one...

Incurably In Love...

Apparently, all of my "lovers" are drunk tonight... again, the universal drunken confessions of affection...

My "creative friend" and I were engaged in another email marathon... and he confessed to being "a bit tipsy" which turned into requited flirtations... the death of his laptop battery finally put a stop to it. He was emailing me while playing piano at his rehearsal... God that's hot.

And my darling Irish friend has called me again. Not once... but twice. He's told me that he has never written a poem in his life... and the letter I should receive shortly will contain two.

I'm smitten with both of them.

And they are both entirely inaccessible to me. So as I have a soap opera type fantasy of two wonderful men, both incurably in love with me... fighting for my affection... I leave you with this "soundtrack" for the episode:

http://jp.youtube.com/watch?v=HtTHsBlhdxo&feature=related

Aye Theenk Aye'm Fahlling...

Ahhhhhhhhh...if only I could record cell phone conversations!

Manus just called me from a wedding reception. He's drunk. And Irish.

Have you ever tried to understand a drunken Irishman? Hell, I can't even understand half of my American friends when they are wasted! I did manage to piece together most of the conversation, yet it was still riddled with a lot of "Huh"s and "What"s?!

I discovered two things. Apparently Jager Bombs and drunken confessions of love are universal. Yes, folks, it happens everywhere... worldwide. Manus declared that he "thinks he's falling in love" with me. I wonder if he'll remember that when he wakes up with a pounding headache!