Sometimes a most rewarding outcome does occur. A year ago I was out with a good female friend of mine. While we were indulging in some cheap cervezas I figured (A) the typical friendly flirting or (B) the unlikely meeting of a sweet girl at the bar would occur. Certainly not for (C) her bosomy, (there I go talking like my pop again) blonde, stereotypical Jersey girl roommate to suddenly, after knowing me for a year, bring me to the beach and confess that she wanted to make out. This Option C rarely happens.
More often than not Option C is just bizarre and/or frustrating. It ends with tiptoeing down stairs, meeting parents who I didn't even know existed, or my taking care of a vomiting girl. I've grown to hate Option C. I never know exactly what it is, but I welcome its arrival like a wet fart.
A quick sample of the option C happened this morning. Nikki had written earlier in the week apologizing for not getting back to me and seeing if we could maybe fit in a lunch this weekend. I told her to simply get in touch with me. I heard nothing, as expected. However, this morning I woke up and saw: Missed call - Jailbait - 4:04 am. I was ecstatic. There has never been a phone message left at 4 o'cock in the morning from a girl that didn't lead to something good. I figured at worst she was going to drunkingly say how she was smitten with my bad self and couldn't wait for Tuesday to arrive so we could jam out at the shelter, talk about rare musicians and then get a cup of java in SoHo all while discussing how overrated Ginsberg was and Obama's bungling of the TARP funds. (Listen, it's my f'n fantasy, I'll tell it as I please!) What I wasn't realizing was Option C.
The message opened up with a cavalcade of metallic sounds marching towards my eardrums and a racket like that of two trains wrestling. Then, the light whisper of a distant laughter - perhaps Nikki - echoed through the cacophony of sounds growing less and less audible. More rhythmic metallic noises and more half hearted chatter each took turns filling up my inbox.... and that's it. That's right, five minutes of random subway drunkenness from her ass sitting on the phone the wrong way. Just like this post, the phone call was the pinnacle of anticlimactic action.
A quick sample of the option C happened this morning. Nikki had written earlier in the week apologizing for not getting back to me and seeing if we could maybe fit in a lunch this weekend. I told her to simply get in touch with me. I heard nothing, as expected. However, this morning I woke up and saw: Missed call - Jailbait - 4:04 am. I was ecstatic. There has never been a phone message left at 4 o'cock in the morning from a girl that didn't lead to something good. I figured at worst she was going to drunkingly say how she was smitten with my bad self and couldn't wait for Tuesday to arrive so we could jam out at the shelter, talk about rare musicians and then get a cup of java in SoHo all while discussing how overrated Ginsberg was and Obama's bungling of the TARP funds. (Listen, it's my f'n fantasy, I'll tell it as I please!) What I wasn't realizing was Option C.
The message opened up with a cavalcade of metallic sounds marching towards my eardrums and a racket like that of two trains wrestling. Then, the light whisper of a distant laughter - perhaps Nikki - echoed through the cacophony of sounds growing less and less audible. More rhythmic metallic noises and more half hearted chatter each took turns filling up my inbox.... and that's it. That's right, five minutes of random subway drunkenness from her ass sitting on the phone the wrong way. Just like this post, the phone call was the pinnacle of anticlimactic action.
Damn you Option C! Damn You!!
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strangely I hear the same thing whenever I get a call from Mikey late at night... but the cacophony roughly follows the rhythm of Living on a Prayer.
ReplyDeleteall that build up, to nothing. bummer.
ReplyDeleteJack please do not forget Def Leapard 's Pour Some Sugar on Me and The Pussycat Dolls' Don'tch! I believe those are the holy triumvirate of drunken phone calls from Mikey.
ReplyDelete