Drinks with Megan

I met up with Megan for drinks last evening. She promised to be on best behavior after what happened last time we held a public rendez-vous. I figured she was lying, but agreed to the meeting anyway. I guess I have a soft spot in my heart for her.

Megan certainly does not have a soft spot for me, because her heart is made of the blackest obsidian. Volcanic glass is hard all over, bitch.

I got there 15 minutes early and saw that Megan was already there. She took a booth near the window so she could see everyone who drove up to the bar. She wanted to see if I had been tailed. Megan stood up to embrace me, and I noticed she hadn't touched her beer.

"You look good," she said.

Then she punched me square in the face. As I tasted the blood dripping into my mouth, I muttered to myself, "I knew she was lying."



---
Hours after that beating, I realized I was lucky.

The cut on my nose will heal; the black eye will fade; the my swollen testicles will eventually return to their regular size. Even my wounded pride wasn't a permanent condition. Not many, few immortals even, walk away from such an encounter with Megan. I danced with the devil and lived to tell the tale.

See, I knew it wasn't personal. It was just business and that's why I didn't attempt to flee (fighting back was never an option). Take it like a man.

She knew that I knew, and appreciated it, which is why she bought me a beer afterwards.

And I knew that she knew that I knew, which is why I stayed and enjoyed a few more rounds with her.

And I think she knew that I knew that she knew that I knew, which may have been why she offered me a ride home but then dropped me off at a highway rest stop 45 minutes from where I live. Actually that was probably because she was drunk.

Party with Adspar

My sister Megan had a birthday party Saturday night. I didn't want to go at first because I figured it would be mostly her work friends that I don't really know, and its a long drive from my house to her house in Baltimore. I usually hit Party Poker on Saturday nights for the sweet weekend action and I certainly need the income. So I figured I'd just skip the party and send a gift. Good idea huh?

When I told her I might not go, she became quite displeased. I believe something along the lines of "Fine. I don't want you to come anyway!" So obviously I had to go to the party to spite her.

Birthday spite is awesome.

---

So I picked up my other sister Bailey from her dorm in College Park and we rolled up to Baltimore. On the way I explained to Bailey my typical gripe with this kinds of parties - I hate making small talk with people I don't really know. I really have very little to say to anyone, and I don't like forced social interactions. This is why I rarely leave my house, and why everyone hates me and I have no friends.

Lately I've had 2 strategies for coping with these situations. Either I try to plan ahead of time for one interesting thing I could talk about, or I just ignore everyone and find ways to amuse myself. Lets shorten the 2nd option to "IEFWAM" since it will be coming up a lot.

When we arrived at the gathering, there were obviously 2 separate groups of people. A group that I knew fairly well was hanging out in the kitchen, and a group that I didn't really know was hanging out in the living room. After spending a few minutes catching up with the people I knew, I had a tough decision to make. All the chairs in the kitchen were occupied, and they weren't even very comfortable even if one opened up. So I could awkwardly stand there in the kitchen, hovering over the people sitting down, or try to figure something else out.

I spent a few minutes of surveying the situation (This consists mostly of me wandering around pretending to look at various decorations while I plan my next move. File this under the IEFWAM plan.) After careful deliberation, I decided really wanted to go sit on a couch. But that wasn't going to be easy, because I didn't want to talk to the people in the living room. I had an idea to try to lead a revolution to get the kitchen people to migrate to the couches, but the kitchen people seemed happy where they were, and the living room people probably wouldn't give up the couches without a fight.

Quite a conundrum.

Just when it seemed that all hope for comfortable lounging was lost, I saw my opening! I swiftly darted to occupy a couch seat.

---
After spending some time in the kitchen with some high school friends and her brother and sister, Megan decided to play the good hostess and go mingle with her college friends in the living room. Sauntering over and sitting on an empty loveseat, she noticed that her brother had quickly followed her.

Megan, understanding his reclusive nature all too well, recognized that his decision to move into an area full of strangers was an odd choice for him. She looked over at him inquisitively, only to find herself further perplexed by what she saw him doing. A few years ago she would have been embarrassed by it and gotten mad at him, but by now she's gotten used to it and is able to be slightly amused by his antics.

*SIGH* "Adam... what are you doing?"

---

Upon plopping down on the small couch, I was immediately disappointed by the result. When I had scouted out the living room earlier, the tan leather couches looked like they would be plush and fluffy to sit on. But it turned out the seat was a lot more firm than I had expected. I like the kind of couch that you really sink into; this was much more benchy than I was hoping for.

So I was grinding my hips side to side in frustration, trying to somehow loosen it up and sink further in, and I noticed that not only was the seat too firm, it was also quite slippery. My ass was sliding back and forth way too easily. And its not like I was wearing track pants or something, I was in jeans. At this point I really started wiggling my hips back and forth and side to side, trying to figure out exactly what the deal was with this couch.

Say you're playing pickup basketball and somebody has to drop off your squad and a new unknown guy joins your team. The first few times down the floor, you'll probably give him the ball more often than anyone else because you want to size him up, see what he can do. You want to give him a quick test-run so you know what he brings to the team. That's what I was doing with the couch. And I determined it wasn't really a couch, it was more like a leather-covered granite slab doused in KY jelly.

But to Megan it just looked like disturbing flailing about: some combination of seated dancing and humping an imaginary 250lb woman in my lap. I was engrossed in IEFWAM and oblivious to how ridiculous I looked.

---

"Adam... what are you doing?"

"This couch sucks. You should get a new one. It is too slippery! Actually your floor is too."

I stopped sliding my butt around, and started sliding my shoes around on the hardwood floor. Then I did both at the same time.

But in the middle of my IEFWAM I realized I had stumbled upon my alternative to IEFWAM - plan ahead of time for 1 interesting thing to talk about. "Megan, this house is frictionless!" At least in my mind it was something interesting to talk about.

Armed with my new conversation idea, I decided a return to the kitchen was in order. I snuck over to Bailey and told her about it. I don't remember her exact reaction, but it was basically the equivalent of rolling her eyes and telling me that I'm an idiot.

Undeterred, I went on. "No, this is good! The problem is that I'll have to be careful who I say it to. I can't be telling everyone the same thing, because then I might say it to the same person twice."

I'm pretty sure Bailey was thinking, "Yeah ok, THAT is your problem... And more likely whatever poor sucker you tell this to will tell another person about this ridiculous conversation they just had with some idiot, and then you'll talk to that person too."

Whatever.

I had a plan. Eventually I saw a perfect opportunity to use my new conversation item. I shared my friction thoughts with Megan's roommate Angela (who I had only met once before) and I thought the conversation went pretty well. I was pretty proud of myself.

---

Shortly after the Angela conversation, my friend Cara said she was going to head home, and being a gentleman, I offered to walk her a few blocks to her house. The crowd had been thinning out, and I returned 15 minutes later to find the remaining guests gathered around Bailey in the kitchen, cracking up as she told a story, with Megan occasionally filling in some details.

I came in and sat down, and everyone looked at me and laughed. "We were just talking about you," says Bailey, and she continued with her story. Hmmm, great.

"So he comes over to me and tells me how he came up with his GREAT conversation idea but that he doesn't want to use it on too many people for fear of looking stupid."

Megan butted in, "like there's any way he won't look stupid when his conversation idea is 'This house is frictionless' hahahhahahahahahhaha."

Everyone is greatly amused at my expense. They all hate me. I hate parties. Why did I come?

It turns out that Megan and Bailey were both sitting near me when I had the conversation with Angela, and they both heard me start to talk about the frictionless house and decided to eavesdrop. For some insane reason, they didn't think it was going to make for as fascinating a conversation as I did, and wanted to see the trainwreck.

Dammit. I am an ass. Why did I have to spite my sister on her birthday?

Bailey went on describing my moment of truth:

"So he says to her - 'Angela I have a complaint about your house - it is frictionless.' Angela stops and looks at him, and after a very brief pause says.... 'I KNOW!!! I'm ALWAYS slipping in here! I want to cover the whole house in those sticky pads you put on the floor of bath tubs!!' And then 2 minutes later Angela left to go swing by another party."

Megan chimed in, exasperated "So he picked the perfect person to tell it to - the one person in the world who would ever know what he was talking about, and she was leaving soon so she wouldn't tell anyone else!"

Everyone exploded in laughter after the "I KNOW," and again after Megan's comment.

I am a hero. Everyone loves me. I love parties. Everyone wants to party with Adspar.

A quick story about Megan

I have a sister named Megan. This is not about my sister. This story is about a different Megan... a more heartless and deeply complicated Megan.

Megan is a cruel vixen with a heart of stone, her hair as fiery red as her temper. Lives of mortal men mean little to her, and she shows them no compassion in the face of her unchecked aggression. Her ways are mysterious.

One time I watched her rip this dude's soul out with her bare hands, just because he passed her the ketchup. Her moves were swift and sudden, yet remarkably precise. The other patrons of the fast-food restaurant should have fainted in shock after standing witness to such a gruesome spectacle, yet their sheer terror overwhelmed them far more, and none succumbed to blackness. They stood frozen and silent, not daring to move.

"But you asked him to pass you the ketchup!" I screamed. Being immortal myself, I didn't share their fears. However I immediately realized the error of my ways. There are severe penalties for speaking out against Megan, and I knew what would happen.

Without a word, nor even a glance in my direction she proceeded to force-feed the man's raw soul to some woman's baby. There is very little in this world that can stop a mother from risking her life to defend her baby, but then again Megan might not really be from this world. The woman didn't interfere.

I knew that this mother was originally from Oregon. I shuddered at the recollection that Megan hates the Pacific Northwest more than she hates tomato-based condiments. But could she know of the woman's shameful past? I prayed to whatever God could allow such tragedy that Megan had simply chosen this baby because it was the cutest thing in the room. For if she knew of its Oreganian heritage... I didn't dare contemplate.

The woman just stood and watched, a surreal cool seemed to control her, as if she were completely oblivious to the dread that gripped all the others.

She knew.

"Little Francis likes soul," Megan finally said to the mother, as she moved the last spoonful towards his lips. "Don't you wittle bitty Fwancis?! Yes you do!! Yes its sooooo yummy! VROOM!! VROOM!." she babbled as she swooped the spoon through the air, immitating the motions of an airplane.

The baby's name was actually Robert Eugene, in honor of his grandfather and the Oregon city where his parents met. The mother said nothing to correct her. Robert Eugene giggled happily at the mysterious lady with the airplane spoon.

When the last of the soul was devoured Megan informed the mother, "Soul is high in protein and rich in B-vitamins. Francis will grow strong. He will one day be very wise."

Relief flooded over me as Megan turned and walked out. I sat down and finished my McRib sandwich.

Once upon a time...

Long, long, long, long ago, Handsome Prince was sitting in his house in Montgomery Village, chatting on AOL Instant Messenger with his old girlfriend, Sexy Ex-y. The details of the conversation, long since forgotten, are unimportant. What is important is that at some point in the fateful conversation, Sexy Ex-y took a picture of her breast and used IM's direct connect feature to send the image to the handsome prince. It was creative high-tech flashing. Good clean amusement between consenting dorks with a digital camera and high-speed internet.

Many moons passed, and Handsome Prince drifted away from Sexy Ex-y, and the picture was long forgotten. However, unbeknownst to Handsome Prince, evidence of the exchange was retained, in the downloaded pictures cache of his AOL IM files...

A new young lady, Beautiful Princess, entered his life. Handsome Prince and Beautiful Princess were very happy together. Their days were filled with joy, and nights with passion, until one day, he stumbled across the long, long forgotten picture while she was sitting right behind him. Did I mention that I had long since forgotten about this picture? Oops I mean, the Handsome Prince had long since forgotten about the picture, and it meant nothing to him.

Upon seeing the very meaningless image, the Beautiful Princess shouts "Oooh, busted!" and walks away. Except she did it in a way where it was hard to tell if she was pissed or amused. Handsome Prince, being quite smitten with Beautiful Princess, immediately recognized the deliciously precarious nature of the situation. His cool exterior belied the panic alarms sounding inside his head:

Crap, she just saw Sexy Ex-y's breast!! Why is that picture there?!! DAMMIT WHY DOES IM SAVE PICTURES!! Crap, I hope she realizes that the picture was auto-saved a long time ago. Oh god I hope she doesn't think I saved it intentionally. Actually, that breast could be anyone's, right? You can't see the face!! Whew! Oh no, shit, or maybe she thinks girls just send me pictures of their breast. Maybe she thinks some girl is trying to seduce me and I haven't told her about it. Oh god, now she thinks I'm either hiding pictures of old girlfriends or pictures of random would-be seductresses from her. Wait, what did Beautiful Princess mean by her comment? Maybe she thought it was just some random breast from somewhere on the internet! The internet has lots of breasts, and maybe she doesn't realize it came from IM. Surely the Beautiful Princess wouldn't care if I just had a random breast picture from the internet. Maybe "busted" was just sarcastic, yeah!! Right? Well now its been too long and I haven't said anything to explain. If I say something now, it will just look like I'm making up a story. Dammit, we've been watching all those Sopranos episode where all the men cheat on their wives, and we just watched that scene in "A Perfect Murder" where Michael Douglas comes up with a beautiful lie right out of his ass. I don't want it to look like I'm full of shit. No, I better just not say anything now. She probably thinks its just a random boob, right?? I'm FUCKED. Actually this is all kinda funny...

Later that day, the Beautiful Princess finally asked the Handsome Prince about the picture, apparently after hours and hour of mulling it over in her mind. The Handsome Prince had been so worried about what he should do, he never stopped to think that if he just told the Beautiful Princess the truth, she wouldn't care at all. And then the wonderful Beautiful Princess was so concerned about not wanting the Handsome Prince to think she distrusted him like a stereotypical jealous girlfriend that she agonized about the situation for hours before finally asking him. In the end, she didn't care, and they both wasted a lot of energy worrying about nothing, all because the Handsome Prince is a moron.

The End.

The 4 morals to this story:
1.) Tell the truth, you stupid Handsome Prince. She's not going to care. Don't put her through needless agony. What the hell is wrong with you?
2.) Don't create the appearance that you keep some kind of secret archives of sexual souvenirs from your ex. Oh, and don't call her "Sexy Ex-y." Call her "Plain Jane" or "Inferior Ingrid" or something like that. What the hell is wrong with you?
3.) If you are an internet poker player like the Handsome Prince, don't assume that someone in the real world will think that taking suspiciously long before acting might be a bluff. Usually when people take a long time before betting, its cause they have a monster hand. But she knows you're too smart for that, so your girlfriend might raise you on the river because she thinks your delay means you missed your overcards. So either bet right out, or have the monster. What the hell am I even talking about?
4.) Always use thinly-veiled fairy tales on your blog as a way to make peace with your girlfriend while simultaneously amusing your audience. That way everyone is happy.


Finally, since I realize all you dirtballs are going to ask to see that picture, here it is.