Yesterday, I had coffee with an internetular associate. A sort of getting-to-know-you face time, if you will.
Fail.
The problem, you see, was that we had become internetularly associated by the vaguest of means–participating in the same chat board conversations, urm, twice, and then becoming Myspace friends, and then essentially not having any online conversation of substance before meeting.
Holy hell, I have never experienced anything so awkward. No, scratch that. I personally have never been quite so lacking in the conversational skill department, because the dude was perfectly personable, and interesting enough to carry the conversation as I sat firing interview-style questions at him whilst wracking my brain desperately for something to say.
Highlight of the hour-and-a-half conversation?
Dude: So, yeah, my dad was a cop, and he got shot, so we moved from City X to City Y.
Me: Oh, really? My dad was a cop too, also shot. Where’d your dad get shot?
Dude: City X.
Me: Oh no, I meant on his person. My dad got shot in the leg.
Dude: Oh, right. In the head. He died.
Me: Oh, fuck me.*
Yeah. On that note, goodbye, 2007.
Have a happy New Year, y’all!
*Worse than the fact this conversation went down? I wanted to laugh. Hard. Mostly at my own folly, but also at his delivery. Is it too late to choose my seat on the jet plane to hell? I prefer window.
I found that funny, too, so save me a place in Hades. I am the queen of being unable to carry a conversation.
It’s Ok Sid. I’m still the worst one after tallying up that add up your vices and experiences for a bad person score post you put out a few months back. Besides, this one time, I had finally gotten a date with this total hottie in college and as we were walking to the date spot she fell in the snow. Being Joe Cool I didn’t immediately aide her or help her up but just jokingly said “Yo get up”. Amazingly the date continued and she explained to me how after her shift as a life guard she was run over by a woman backing out of a parking space who then pulled forward and ran her over agin going back in the space and a third time in her panic to back out and get off her. She’d had several operations to add things like parts of her hip into her leg to rebuild it. So when she fell it was bad and I really shoulda been a better guy at that monent. Now when girls fall down I just go right to it with the fixing them up and getting them on their feet. I suppose I should finish the story and say that I dated the gimp regularly after that.
Rob: Oh. My. God. I think I have to quit you.
“I dated the gimp regularly after that.”
*DEAD*
One day we’re gonna have to have a sit-down and talk about this.
Nettie: I know what you mean. Tis tough. I can carry one, just not “dry,” with a stranger, in the middle of the afternoon. Give me booze, a developed mutual interest, anything! It’s terrible, I know, but I want a do-over just to prove I can have intelligent conversation. Meh. I’m working on not caring what other people think of me, though.