I enjoyed your last email so much that its hard-copy and I spent the day together. (You understand, I trust, that it has been so long since I received a communiqué of this caliber [and note I did not specify “email”] that I wanted to be sure it knew how special I thought it was.) What I did was, I took it to work with me. I introduced it to my staff, then let it sit in the break room and watch TV while I went about my business. I checked on it periodically to see if it needed anything (it was always content) and at about twelve I bought it lunch at the Blue Mesa, where we split the Tex-Mex Plate and a couple of martinis. Now it is sitting here, with me, on my finest pillow, ready to read over my shoulder as I crack my knuckles and stretch my muscles in preparation to respond. And I, of course (and it should go without saying, but say it I will) am sitting here in my tuxedo, in honor of this, such a special, occasion. With my dictionary to my right, my thesaurus to my left, and my Funk and Wagnall’s on my lap, I feel not even the slightest bit prepared to respond. I do, however, have a brand new box of wine suspended from the ceiling with a string attached (one end to the spout and the other to my bicuspid [thus leaving my fingers free to type]) for easy feeding and inspiration.
The Movie That Will Henceforth Not Be Named…
…may be in our past, but who are you to decree that slip-on checkered Vans are as well? The world is in dire need of quality footwear that is not only easy to don but impossible to not stare at for overly-long periods of time, or perhaps play a game of chess upon. Mine were blue and white and matched not a thing that I ever owned. And as far as parachute pants are concerned, I have not been able to find any item of clothing that has the requisite number of zippers to satisfy me since 1983, much less one that made such a thoroughly entertaining “wisch-wisch” sound as I walked. That is why this “retro” fad of certain FM radio stations and Hot Dallas Nite Life Spots has me all rankled inside. If one is going to sing and dance to songs that go “You spin me right round baby right round like a record baby right round round round,” one must be willing to dress the part, mustn’t one? Yes, one must.
A FEW THOUGHTS ON SUCKED TIME
Thought One: All we have is time.
Thought Two: Something is going to suck it.
CONCLUSION: Why not have it sucked well and in a way that is a Big Phat Hunk O’Fun?
When you speak of this “mutual interest in talking to each other,” you do, in fact, speak for me, and with great accuracy, I might add. So damn the torpedos, I say. First star to the right, and straight on till morning. And seeing as how I am deathly afraid of saying something off-putting even to folks I don’t like, I seriously doubt that I will do anything that may cause you to click on AOL’s Privacy Preferences. (Did I mention that I’m the nicest guy you have ever not yet met?)
So unless you have some skeleton’s in your personal chat room that are near the toppling-out point, I don’t see what could possibly come between us. (Did I mention that my first impressions are right 100% of the time, whether they be gleaned from 3-D forms or blips on a screen? Chalk it up to my innate people-reading talent, which has only been magnified by my formal training at the university level. Yes, I am a degreed professional, and I have certified myself quite well-adjusted. More on that later.)
Do I give the impression of one who labors long and hard over his words? Is that why you ask? Do you feel as though I am the David Copperfield of email?
Do I come prancing smokily out of your inbox in sequins and long-hair with a voluptuous vixen on either side and a tiger pacing in the cage behind? I don’t know what your intuition is telling you, but right now the words are flowing right out of the box wine straight through my fingers and into your heart of hearts, or so I hope. Honestly, though, I could easily sit on the porch of the general store, here, whittling away at this message until dawn, so, as I said, time will be sucked, regardless. Sorry, but I take pride in my writing. Only people who I feel can appreciate it, though, get this, the tuxedo treatment, because, alas, it is not always easy going. If ever you feel as though all I’m doing is throwing high-dollar words at you, I will be forced to curl up in a corner and pout and wonder where I went wrong.
I hate to think
that the beginning of our correspondence was a fluke, and your reassurance that you did intend to send, at a later date, the message you accidentally sent unfinished does little to convince me otherwise. Please humor ME, now, and tell me that you were so enthralled, enraptured, and et ceteraed with my post that you couldn’t resist making me your first adventurous, e-contact. I only ask this of you because my ego has nothing whatsoever to do with any innate, inner sense of security in myself, but rather is founded entirely upon what others think of me. Har har.
Okay, it’s getting a little stuffy in this tuxedo and I think that fact is becoming apparent in this email, so if it’s okay with you and your last message (the presence of which I still feel reading over my shoulder), I’m going to change into shorts and a tee-shirt and relax a little.
I don’t meet too many people these days. I’ve never been much of a socialite myself, and I’ve always preferred to have a small group of very close friends as opposed to a larger group of casual acquaintances. Why am I telling you this? I’m leading up to answering your question as to whether I’ve ever met an online lady offline. The answer is yes. I’ve only been online for about four months now (I was trying to make it till the year 2000, just so I could say that I did, but when I got this here machine I’m typing on for free, I gave in). I met one of the people who responded to my post (not this one, but a different one). We have been out a couple of times, and it has been a positive (luckily, I hear) experience so far. But she has a child and I do not want to get involved with someone in that situation. (And yes, I have been honest with her about that, in case you’re wondering.) I would be willing to do it again with someone else if it felt right to me. Actually, I had plans to meet another online friend tonight, but it didn’t work out. That’s okay, though, because I was incredibly, uncomfortably nervous about this one (it did not feel entirely “right”). So why was I going to do it? I’ve already answered that. In all honesty, though, I’m quite happy to be sitting here at my keyboard typing in your general direction. This letter has been writing itself in my head all day.
Speaking of honesty, of course I did not want you to say “yuck.” Only two things would have broken my heart more than a “yuck” from you:
1) Your saying you had never heard of those bands and/or people.
2) Your telling me that you wrote what you did by referencing the 1999 Blockbuster Music Encyclopedia of Rock and Roll.
If that is true (and my intuition is telling me it’s not) please keep that secret to yourself and allow me to harbor my fantasies about you for all time. Some quick thoughts on what you wrote, separated for your convenience by several sets of ellipses: I do not, nor did I ever, own a camaro (unless the song “Bitchin’ Camaro” by the Dead Milkmen qualifies), however I do still have my Levi’s denim jacket with Motley Crue buttons still pinned firmly in place. (It’s in an airtight, glass display case with my Twisted Sister belt-buckle.)….”Blue” happens to be my favorite Jayhawks song, and the line “Where have all my friends gone / they’ve all disappeared” rips me apart every time I hear it….Rod Stewart ain’t got nuthin’ on Ricky Martin, baby….Tom Waits is dark and weird, yes, and also the coolest guy on the ice cube….Don’t die until you’ve heard Wilco’s first album….As of today, The Flaming Lips are the fourth greatest band of all time….If I ever meet Robin Hood, I will ask him to steal Chris Cornell’s voice and give it to ME. (But then I will have to have a zeppelin-sized third lung surgically installed in my chest to provide it with the requisite amount of air. And speaking of Zeppelin, they are the second greatest band of all time.)
There is a certain amount of truth to the Cheri Oteri quote, which is why I must pause here to wonder whether I might take just a minor amount of offense at it. Seeing as how I requested the e-company of a woman with a great sense of humor, I can only hope that your selection of said quote was not intended as an eye-opener for moi. Hee hee.
I loved your list of things you love. It made me laugh and smile, and those are two of my favorite pastimes. To that list I would add Louis Armstrong singing “What A Wonderful World,” the Star Wars movies, 90% of J.D. Salinger’s writing (some of which I have ripped off in this very email, and not for the last time, you can be sure), every word of The Lord of The Rings, and the message of a little number called “All You Need Is Love” by the world’s greatest band of all time. And for what it’s worth, only one thing is better than little kids in shorts and red cowboy boots, and that is little kids in shorts and red cowboy boots and no shirt, so you can see their little pot belly in all its glory.
I could go on like this for another week or so, but I but I do have to go to work eventually. Bills to pay, you know.
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