"isn't it kind of exciting, though?" chuck asks.
"no," i respond.
"there is nothing that you want to change about your old site that you can do now?" he prods.
"no." i respond.
"nothing ...?" he coaxes.
"no," i reply. take a drag of my cigarette.
we are on the phone, trying to decide if we will be in the same room for the evening. we are back-counting on our fingers and trying to determine some sort of mathematical equation. where the "togetherness" threshhold starts and ends. how many days in the same room is too many days in the same room? two months ago we hung out twice a week. we did about five or six consecutive days last week, the week before that, the week before that ... until he looked at me on monday -- what would ultimately be the final day of our marathon -- and said "i'm going to the liquor store."
(he then got hopped up on bacardi and challenged to me at a one-on-one game of an edition of family feud released in 1988 ... and subsequently schooled my ass).
"so," he says. "what are we doing tonight?"
"well. i am thinking of starting my new blog," i say. hints of the kind of remorse you feel when you look at your high school year book and realize your science teacher, the one who turned out to diddle high school girls, was actually pretty hot. and, well, you were 18. whatever. its all about missed opportunities. the time you should have closed his door when you had an after-school meeting.
"think of how fun it will be to write your first post," he says.
"blah. i want to write about red lobster," i tell him. "people will see that. no one will come back. red lobster is boring."
"hmm ... you need a fun first post. no one has a fun first post," he says.
"anyway," he says. "i was thinking of drinking and writing. together."
"hmm. ... really?" i test it in my head. i could do that or do the alternative: spray toonses with bleach and roll him all over my kitchen floor. particularly the hard to reach spots.
"yeah. do you want to drink and write?" he asks.
"yes. do you have enough alcohol for me, too?" i ask.
"i have 10 beers and half a bottle of bacardi," he says.
"that doesn't sound promising," i say.
"10 BEERS AND HALF A BOTTLE OF BACARDI?!" he says incredulously.
"its tinged with drunken disappointment," i say, dividing the tally by two drinkers. "right about the time we start to get hopped up on it, it will be gone."
"i think that when it is gone? that marks a good end-point," he says.
by the time i get to his house, i am a little excited about my new site. new color schemes, a new tenor. none of the muckity muck that dragged me down. but mostly i was excited because i'd decided upon a name while scalp-deep in suave.
"blah blah blah-ler," i tell chuck as i run up the steps.
chuck reads this before i post and says: that's all you got?
why do i suddenly feel like he has turned into my pimp?