“Fuck the juice cleanse!”
“Fuck the juice cleanse?”
“Yes! Fuck it!” she said, and she threateningly waved her champagne glass at me.
I looked over at Caitlyn and Marlie. “Fuck the juice cleanse?”
“Fuck it,” said Marlie, nodding.
“Yep. Fuck the juice cleanse,” Caitlyn agreed.
“Hmm,” I said, mulling this over. “Fuck the juice cleanse…”
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 Is It Just Me?
“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.
“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.
“Match.com is for people who have to pay to get a date. And you, my dear, are better than that. Now it’s all about OkCupid. That is the site you will join.”
When my boss, Wade, said things like this with such assuredness, I knew I needed to sit up and take notice. He was perched on the exercise ball I keep in my office cube for visitors, drinking a protein shake with an peculiar green tint. He was the vision of business-casual perfection with his lightweight sweater of that certain shade of yellow that can be worn in any season and perfectly tailored pinstriped slacks. His shoes were, of course, unscuffed but not offensively over-shined.
“But I thought that was what made Match.com better, that if you’re paying then you are proving you’re serious about actually meeting someone. Isn’t OkCupid more like a hookup meat-market site?” I asked, as I surreptitiously began applying a floral scented lotion to my hands and arms as I was pretty sure I smelled like a frat house from last night’s overindulgence of beer and cigarettes. Clearly I was not handling this breakup well. Continue reading Wade Takes the Wheel.
