frickin' Graeme

I call his bluff. "Frankly, I don't believe she exists. She's vapourware." apprehensive look on my face.

Graeme's expression grows stern. "You blog this." He inhales comitally. he's tapping an authoritative finger on my desk now. Seven days, and she'll be here. . . .she's coming. She's REAL man! I have pictures of her!" He sounds almost panicked now, voice cracking with emotion - like a man who's seen a UFO and has no idea how to convince the world of it.

I have to laugh. He had a plan but it fell through. He asked her if she had plans this weekend. No. He asked her did she want to get together? Yes. He asked her did she want to meet him in the help room (where he always is, giving help) later? Yes. Did she show? No. Thats where his plan of "Hey, wanna go back to my place?" Fell through. And I laaaaugh and laaaugh. So now we have to wait seven days, till next Friday, when he straight up INVITES her.

Till then, Jess, you are vaporware.

Also I swear to got I will not write on this topic again unless something earth shattering happens. . . I've spent far too much time on it already.

Ladies, just know, we have plans sometimes, WE HAVE PLANS. And you shatter them without knowing it. We have ideas in our head, idyllic utopias where spontenaiety rules all and always turns situations for the surprise best. Just to what you're supposed to and let us pretend we're in the movies!

She had better have a good goddamned excuse for this. "oops, I forgot." Isn't going to cut it.

Well, yeah it is, but it shouldn't.


just dip it.