Know what’s cool?

What’s cool is when you have one friend staying in town for one thing, who is friends with another set of your friends also in town at the same time, and neither of them knew that was the case until you mentioned it.

That means that early this afternoon, we not only get to grab a brunch with Carol and Robert, but with Elise, all of whom are also old friends. I expect ridiculousness to ensue, which is good. I could use some ridiculousness these days.

I did already get a dose of some Friday night. Once a year, Mark has all of his day-job co-workers over for an evening that involves a terrifying amount of alcohol. But these are geeks (Mark’s day job is all about traditional gaming), and they’re affable drunks. To mix it up, we invited a few of my co-workers from my day job over, aming it a very strange mix of gaming geeks and abortion workers, which if we do again, will heretofore be titled Drinky’s 2nd Annual Geek and Abortion Provider Ball. Just because it’d have to.

Speaking of ridiculousness, a couple of days before that I had a phone conference with a couple of people whose work is in conjunction with the U.N., so I had to call in on one of their lines. Now, I don’t know why I was surprised that the United Nations has an automated voice mail system — I mean, who doesn’t? — save that my brain does tend to start at a luddite place with most things and only advance when forced to. So, yes, my image of the UN was a bunch of delegates sitting in a room at a bunch of wooden desks with a podium or two in there. So, when I hit the voice mail system, my imagination went on a silly spree, and rather than hearing what it was actually saying, I heard things like…

You have reached the United Nations. For world peace, press one. To forcibly eject George Bush from the planet, press two: we are experiencing high volume on this line, so please wait patiently for the next available representative. If you’re one of those idiots sure the U.N. is to blame for every problem you have, press three to be connected to the NRA or four to be reminded that if you are not Native, you, too, are an immigrant, asshole.

This resulted in me starting my call by having to explain why I was laughing rather than saying hello, which was a little awkward.

filed under Heather Corinna | apropos of nothing
posted on Sunday, March 2nd, 2008 at 10:42 am

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