Those of a certain age, you will remember in 1988 when Van Halen released the second album with Sammy Hagar as the lead singer: ‘OU812′. Now, despite what you may have thought of the album itself (I know some of you have never gotten over the loss of David Lee Roth) what was undoubtedly cool was the title. I remember thinking, “WOW. It’s letters and numbers but YOU CAN SAY IT AS A SENTENCE! WOWWOWWOW!!!!” Not a lot of bands had done that before, and this sort of short-speak was new and unique.
Now of course, it is commonplace. ‘U’ has replaced the incredibly difficult and laborious spelling of ‘you’ and thank goodness someone came up with ’2′ as opposed to ‘to!’ I don’t know about you, but typing out that one other character to actually write the word was really bringing me down. Continue reading
“What’s your idea of a great first date?”
“Geesh, I don’t know.”
“Tracey. Come on,” she replied.
I sighed to myself.
Her next IM flashed up in my inbox. “Okay, just use this template: On a first date, I enjoy discussing _____ over _____ at _____.”
“I’m busy,” I replied.
“TRACEY. COME ON.”
“DO NOT ALL-CAPS ME.”
“YOU ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY.”
“No, YOU are driving ME crazy.”
“I’m coming over.”
“Omg. Please don’t.”
No response. She was already on her way.
No doubt about it. Lux was on a mission.
I was already sweating. I swiped the back of my hand across my brow and then took a sip of Bud Light in the hopes it would cool me down.
It did not.
The emails kept coming in. I tried to reply to them as soon as they arrived, but just as I’d press ‘send’ to one, another two or three would land in my inbox.
I was drowning at work.
The day after I’d returned from my West Coast training trip for the new part-time responsibilities my New Boss was allowing me to take on, I was given another person to support. So now, not only was trying to prove myself in the new role, I was once again assisting three Executives. As well as attempting to manage my duties as NY Site Leader of the Wellness Group, not to mention continue my very important post as President of the Fun Committee. In all the chaos, I’d completely ignored my position as the Co-Founder of the Gum Culture Task-Force. There was only one sad, stale, half-consumed pack of Watermelon Trident left.
“Not even a bootycall?”
“Not even a bootycall.”
“So you got nothin’?”
“I got nothin’,” I said, shaking my head.
“That’s a damn shame,” said Sean, as he took a sip of his Guiness. “No one to drunk-text.”
“Nope, no one to drunk-text,” I sighed. I took a sip of my Bud Light. “Well, except My Ex, of course. I drunk-text him all the time.”
Sean gave me a look.
“Wow,” I said, as we entered the bar. “I didn’t think this place would be so big.”
“Me neither,” Marlie agreed. “And with so many people.” The atmosphere was more like a club than the intimate lounge setting we’d been expecting. Dance music pumped through the speakers and the dim concrete and dark wood space seemed incongruous with the early evening sun that still blazed outside.
After we got our drinks, we looked over the ‘Ice Breaker’ cards we’d been given when we checked in. These were a list of questions we were supposed to ask the Firemen in order to get them talking. But I just couldn’t imagine myself actually starting a conversation with:
“What is the best type of protection for a Firefighter?
1) Fireproof Suit
2) Oxygen Mask
3) A Condom”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” laughed Marlie.
“I know,” I said and rolled my eyes. “It’s totally ridiculous.”
“I hope it will be fun.”
“Of course it will be fun.” I peered into the candlelit bar. “We’re here together. We’ll have fun no matter what.”
“A lie is a lie is a lie,” insisted Leanne, as she tucked a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s as simple as that.”
“Okay, I get what you’re saying,” I said. “But this is the thing. As one of the readers commented – if you meet someone out and about, you’re not going to introduce yourself and be all, ‘Hi my name is Tracey and I’m 43.’” I took a sip of Corona and then continued. “No, you’re just going to get to know them and then age comes up later. But online, you’re required to put how old you are and that automatically categorizes you, before someone even gives you a chance. And in my case, dismisses you.”
“But why would you want to even date someone your age who’s cut-off is thirty-six?” she asked.
“Hmm, that’s a good point,” I said and looked around the table. “What do you guys think?”