International “Fat boys have balls” day

This is my second time today at the Online Cafe, since my email access now is officially sparse and sucky. Earlier, I was reading email and drinking ginseng tea and got a text message from Bill, which said

What is the Vera project?

to which I responded

Blah blah blah, something about music and local stuff, blah blah blah. Why do you ask?

to which Bill responded

I just walked by the old Annex space and thought you would know.

Hmm. While highly amusing from my end, our meeting at the Matrix wasn’t exactly grounds for a renewed friendship. Once I get out of Online, I call Bill, and I say

Hey. So, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out before you take off - you know, when it’s not a shock to either one of us that the other one is there.

to which Bill says

Okay. We’re downtown and we have dinner reservations at 8:45 … do you want to meet for coffee?

Now, it should be noted that I’d just spent the last half hour at a coffee place, but I still say yes. I go home, I let out the dog, I spend about fifteen minutes jockeying for parking in the Pacific Place parking garage because of freaking PROM, I find Bill and Kylie, we have coffee. I show him wedding pictures. We talk about drama involving, as someone once called her, “Fat Ankles Herself”. I call Townie to tell him the good news about a couple of UNCO weddings. I find out that he has strep throat. He sounds just like I sounded a few days ago. This means that I probably had strep throat, which I probably got from one of my students who came to SCHOOL with strep throat two weeks ago. Goddammit.

They take off for their hot Pink Door date, and I call Sjet. She is at Gameworks, just a couple of blocks away. We go back to her place, where I talk to Ryan on the phone (IN JAPAN! OH MY GOD!) for an hour while she puts away clothes. We proceed to go to prom together. She is wearing a strapless dress with an insta-corsage, I am wearing that weird dressy men’s suit jacket with the freaky Ren-Fest-y sleeves. We are feeling sexy. We drink wine with The Girl and Jaye Rhea on The Girl’s porch. We eat couscous salad. We go to the B&O and have the most orgasmic meal I’ve had in months. Then, she writes “THE BURNINATOR” on my take-out box, and “Mini Burninator” on the tiny little Creme Brulee take-out box. We look so freaking pretty we decide it should be illegal.

In fact, it might be.