August 1, 2005


This is Bob, from the other night. It was obnoxiously slow last night at work, and I got to wondering why you haven't replied to that voicemail I sent you last week. I came up with a few theories; let me run them past you.

1. You're having problems with your voicemail, which means that you probably won't get this one either, and this whole long spiel is moot.

2. You actually did not have a good time, and were just acting to fulfill some sadistic Method-acting for a play you have coming up--to which I say "Bravo."

3. You're following some arcane dating rule that says to wait at least 3 days after he calls you, to keep him guessing--to which I say "Bite Me."

4. You talked to your mom and found out that my voice cracked during voice lessons my junior year, and, as a composing major, the very idea of an imperfect voice repulsed you.

Of course, it could just be that the job you just started is totally kicking your ass. Anyway, I was just wondering how you were doing, and how that new job is going. You should call me, and we should hang out sometime. I don't work tonight, but I work tomorrow night, and for the rest of the week I get off of work by 4. Though, as I think about it, you probably are working a lot of nights. Oh well. Call me and we'll figure something out. XXX-XXXX. Bye!

Well, what do you know? It worked, and we've got plans for tonight.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.