Saturday, September 30, 2006

I think I do the long distance friend thing better then most. It's almost a science. There is a person dependent amount of time at which the purpose of your next conversation switches from 'keeping in touch' to 'catching up.' Ideally you get your convo on right before you cross that line. There is also a natural frequency of me wanting to talk to someone. My good friends are those that my want-to-talk-to interval is shorter then their catch-up-value. I call it the WIC ratio because I'm a nerd.

I'm reacquainting myself with an old accomplice who reveals that she has a blog. Blogs are great; I'm apt to comment well before I would actually want to talk to somebody, and they think I'm keeping in touch. This way, if I never again talk to this person and I happen to find myself in their town, I still have a couch to sleep on.

For some reason she won't tell me the site's address. She's unreasonably rigid about this. I'd have an easier time yanking the skank out of Paris Hilton. She's embarrassed or ashamed of it. I don't know, if I was ashamed of the things I found interesting, I doubt cataloging these thoughts in an internet journal for the universe to read would be my chosen avenue of resolution. To get this information I offer her the standard gamut of bargaining chips: adoration, sexual favors, first-born children, pie, etc. She eventually succumbs.

During our discussion I pointed out that it was good she was talking to me, as having a steady Rory presence makes life 7000% more blogable. That hasn't yet proved to be the case. After our discussion I thought how cool would it be to make good on our bargain and actually let her ravage me sexually. Actually, probably not that cool for her. So I went with the pie thing, that seemed cool too.

END OF ACT 1