When I'm doing important things in New Orleans, like not being murdered, I get “Unfriended” a lot on Facebook-- which makes me sad-- Mainly because "Unfriended" and Facebook aren’t even REAL dictionary words.
This stirs memories of when the neighborhood association asked if I’d like to join their board. It pretty much speaks to their lenient member acceptance policy and it might explain why our neighborhood association didn‘t accomplish much.
Those meetings were incredibly boring. They were attended by people who didn't seem to care to be at home but astutely curious about other people's business via griping about some guy who never mows his lawn or some redneck who erected a wagon wheel mailbox.
I, personally, felt that Irish whiskey on the rocks made these meetings far more interesting-- They held a different opinion-- which, I think, makes them fairly closed minded. So…I took my whiskey and went home.
I always seem to cause trouble via the written form of social communication; I’m especially bad at communicating via text messages.
My friend, Amanda, is a writer and an extraordinarily brilliant communicator. She also has gigantic breasts. I'm not sure how her breasts are relevant to this story...but it seemed right.
Since I’ve known her, Amanda tends to take things personally and then finds herself feeling that people are angry with her.
(If you ask me, I think that she was probably beaten with sticks by the other children when she was younger.)
Amanda Port: Hey…u watchin’ the game 2nite at the pub??
Jim Patrick: Yep.
Amanda: What’s wrong : ( Ru mad @me???
Jim Patrick: uh…no.
Amanda: U seemed short w/ur txt
Jim Patrick: Oh, sorry, was just answering your question but I foolishly overlooked the real question behind the question. I meant that I fully intend to watch the match between the Saints of New Orleans and the Patriots who hail from an area which can only be described as our nation’s cradle of liberty…the majestic land of New England.
Of course, as history notes, some residents of early New England were sociopaths but they knew how to throw a tea party.
BTW, Today I found myself wishing that they‘d bring back burning people at the stake as a means of punishment.
Anyway, I very much look forward to the game-- but not as much as I greatly anticipate seeing your radiant smile and crystal bright blue eyes-- Even the most beautiful Shakespearean sonnet pales by comparison to the magnificence which lights up a room simply by your very presence.
I'd text message my favorite sonnet but I don’t really want to send 14 txts since I’m almost over my limit and AT&T charges about $750.00 per txt after that.
I hope that we can hold each other tight throughout the entire game tonight-- as though we’re exchanging body heat to survive sub-zero temperatures on an Andean mountainside after a terrible plane crash-- We’ll only release our embrace long enough to take a sip of beer.
By the way, if we WERE stranded on an Andean mountainside, I promise that I would NEVER entertain the thought of killing you and eating your body in order to survive.
It was quite negligent of me to answer your previous question with such a flippant and angry txt such as “yep.” What time do you plan to arrive at the pub?? And, will you be topless? Xoxo
Amanda: 6pm...Smartass.
Me: R U mad at me?
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