Monday, July 31, 2006

I Went to the Beach. Jack Worked

Yesterday, I took a trip to the Jersey shore. It was lovely. I left Jack at home. He had to work on a proposal to help the Gagantian tribe of Slandar (a remote island off the Philippines) reconnect with their gods. Apparently, the Gagantian feel the gods have become emotionally unavailable and despondent. They believe the gods feel unloved and betrayed. The Gagatian have pled with the gods for forgiveness, but the Gods just make curt comments and turn a cold shoulder. Ganatian people have spiraled in a tailspin of depression. They don't know what to do to get the gods to trust them again. Jack is on the side of the Gagantian. He told me, "The gods are really being unreasonable. July is the height of Tumar (a Gagantian sport) season and that's where people are focusing their energy. I mean, for the other 11 months of the year the Gagantian are completely devoted to their gods. I think maybe the gods should lighten up and give their people a month to explore their own interests."

I told Jack, "I agree, that is completely unreasonable of the gods, but aren't the gods a manifestation of the Gargantian imagination and/or culture? They've created the gods and therfore created the strife in their own collective heads. The relationship in a sense doesn't actually exist and therefore the neither does the strife."

Jack replied, "Rachael, are you really going to judge a group of people expending a great deal of emotional energy on relationship that only exits in their own heads?"

Dropping my head to my chest I whispered, "No."

Thursday, July 27, 2006

PSA: Hemp

Beat a hippie. The hemp plant you save could be your own.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

I'm dedicated

I have a joke that takes about 10 seconds to tell. It almost always gets a laugh. Unfortunately, I can only tell it when it's really hot and sticky out. Keep in mind I'm slight in stature.

"It's hot out right? God, it's so hot...this morning, I was three-hundred pounds. Now, look at me." Cue uproarious laughter.

I enjoy telling this joke this much that I pray for disgustingly hot weather. I wish for days of 97 degrees and 87% humidity. I'm willing to risk heat stroke and have all of you suffer, so I can perform 10 seconds of funny that doesn't even fit in with any of my other jokes.

This Little Light of Mine It's a Shining

As sense is talked to me, and as I ease into a healthy mental state I wonder... is mental stability funny? Can I create art that other people can relate to while like this? We all know everyone is dysfunctional. If I all of sudden become functional will I loose my relevancy? If today, July 26th, I magically turn into a rationally, emotionally-balanced human being will I have anything to share?

"Well, Rachael you can always talk/write about your best friend Anna." But will she and I still be friends? Can an absolute mad woman and totally well adjusted woman be friends? Only time will tell people.

Happy Wednesday.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Do You Have Tissue?

I was at the coffee shop today and my eyes began to tear up. The guy sitting next to me asked, "Are you OK? Do you need to talk?"
"I'm fine." I replied. "Just allergies. I'm allergic to disappointment and heartache."

Just Try to Stop Us

My friend Jesse and I have decided we want to commandeer a landed plane. Anyone can hijack a plane filled with fuel already in flight.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Me and the Green Van

Today I drove to Jersey. Driving in front of me was a green van with a sign displayed in its back window, "Not for hire." Isn't the green van full of itself-- driving around the tri-state area assuming people want to hire you. Execuse me, green van, but when did I proposition you for work? Do I look like a child abductor seeking a bloodless vehichle to work out of? And even if I was a child abductor I don't have the money to hire you for my nefarious plans. Not that I imagine you cost much, just look at yourself, you're green--how 2002. No matter, I'd rather spend my two dollars hiring a chipwich to make me happy for five minutes.

That's right green van, I don't want you. How dare you reject me before I even ask for your acceptance. I did not put myself out there on a limb. I did not make myself vulnerable before your wheels. In fact, that is exactly why people don't ask for what they want; don't make themselves vulnerable; or become actors because they fear rejection. I don't need your unsolicited rejection!

So you know what, green van? I reject you. What do you mean you didn't ask for me? Too bad. I reject you. I reject you! I reject you!! How do you like it?
---
Sorry dear readers I don't have a picture of the rejecting green van. It's hard to snap a photo while I'm checking my email on my phone, eating a donut and driving a stick shift automobile. Come-on, I only have two hands and two knees.

I Try and That's What Needs to Count Today

A friend asked for advice on how get over a lost love. He said, he has tried everything including the ritual of writing the lost love's name on a piece of paper, placing the piece of paper in a film canister, filling the film canister with water and then throwing the canister in the back of his freezer. Supposedly, this symbolically rids you of the lost love. I think it symbolically freezes your love in time ensuring that it never fades away and that you always pine.

I think instead of freezing names in one's freezer it's much simpler to move very far away. The caveat with this tactic is that you can only use this technique for as many places as you can inhabit. Eventually, you'll have to give up on love or kill yourself.

I guess you could try to make a relationship work.

Friday, July 21, 2006

"Are You and Jack Still Together?"

Monday evening my boyfriend Jack and I went down to Professor Thom's (a Redsox Bar on 2nd Avenue) to help our friend Melinda celebrate her 30th birthday. After the baseball game aired it was time for the trivia contest. For those of you not familiar with trivia contests let me explain. Trivia contests are a type of question and answer game where people who are unsatisfied with their lives-- because they feel a sense of intellectual and cultural superiority towards most of the world, and yet find themselves having to answer to very dim supervisors at their mentally non-stimulating jobs--compete with one another to see who knows the most information on subjects that the rest of World finds pointless, like current events and math.

We, Melinda's friends, formed a power house trivia team. She named us the "Twat Factory."* We kicked ass. My boy lead us to victory in the categories of " world geography," corn "cartels," and "polythesistic peoples holding on to their existance by a thread." That last category Jack was the only one in the bar who knew any of the answers. I knew answers to most of the music questions.

For knowing the most trivial of information "Twat Factory" won a pair of tickets to see Poison (a hair band from the 80s) at the Garden State Arts Center (this venue is now named after a bank.) There were nine of us on the team but only two tickets. Who would get the tickets? Obviously, the birthday girl got one ticket. But what about the other one? It was decided that the 8 of us would have to nacho-wrestle for it. Jack bowed out. He said there is too much senseless violence in the world right now and he did not want to be part of the problem. He suggested we draw straws. I told him that reminded me too much of the Donnar Party.

Jim, the owner of the bar, moved the tables in the back of the bar and spread out the nachos. Now there were seven of us. We fought honorably and fiercely for 3 hours. The guacomole was in our hair the sour cream in our eyes and nacho chips in our lungs. A clear winner could not be determined. In the end I got the second ticket because I have access to a car and could drive the birhday girl to show.

Drunken Melinda emitted her excitement in loud statements like, "I'm going to have sex with C.C. DeVil!" and "Rachael can have sex with Bret Michaels." Jack jumped in and said, "I don't think Rachael should have sex with Bret Michaels. I don't think he'd be sensetive to her needs. I don't think he'd realize she, as a woman, has needs."

Melinda disagreed stating, "That might have been true pre-'Every Rose Has it's Thorn' but now, he's sensetive. And C.C. is now sober since his Surreal Life stint, it's going to be great."

Jack rebutted, "I think 'Every Rose...' is just a ploy to get more sex. And who knows what diseases he'd pass along to my love that she'd bring home."

I added, "And I don't find them attractive. And I'm not interested in first having to perform sexual favors on an unshowered roadie just for the privilege of having inconsiderate, disease- ladden sex with an over the hill band member. Now, if it were Skid Row, that's a different story."

"Agreed." Jack said.


*This is a completely true detail. I suggested the team name "Melinda Turns 30", but the birthday girl prefered " twat factory," which in retrospect was a much more fun choice even if it was completely inaccurate. None of us manufacture twats and only two of the nine of us had one.

In the Words of Maggie Esteppe, "MARRY ME!"

A couple of weeks ago my best friend Anna met a lumberjack fellow after a folk show she performed at. She called me immediately and told me, "Rachael, he's the man I'm going to marry so I never have to pine again."

I think if a person isn't going to marry for love they might as well marry to save their own sanity. (Nothing drives a person crazy like non-stop pining.) I think it's a more virtuous reason than marrying for money, or for your biological clock that's running low on batteries, or for the need of a beard to show off at Christian Right rallies where you're a key-note speaker.

Only problem with my best friend Anna marrying to subside the pining, she probably shouldn't have called me to tell me that infront of the lumberjack. Better luck next time girly.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Apparently Sea Streak Didn't See Al Gore's Movie

For those of you not in the Northern Hemisphere it's summer up here. Every summer I make sure I get myself to the beach (what Jerseyians call "down the shore") at least once. A couple of weeks ago I went for a walk in Park Slope, Brooklyn. On my travels I met some lovely degenerate gamblers. And I am sincere in my calling them lovely. They were all single, over 50 and bought me drinks. As we sat in their regular bar watching "the ponies" Henry, (aka Spike) took a shine to me, turns out I reminded him of his ex-wife. I imagine I reminded him of his ex-wife at the beginning of their marriage when she was young and had yet to leave him causing him an apparent drinking problem.

Henry told me about a ferry he and his buddies take from Wall Street to Momouth Race Way (that's a horse racing track in NJ. It's much classier than the Meadowlands or Yonkers Raceway). He went on to explain that the ferry also went to Sandy Hook (a National Park in NJ it covers 6 miles of beach) and if I had a bike I could take it on the ferry and ride around Sandy Hook. This sounded fabulous to me. He told me it was about $20 r/t.

All excited and filled with vodka and cranberry juice I went home and researched this ferry. Turns out off peak weekend round trip ticket on this ferry to the shore costs $33. If you want to bring a bike that'll cost you an extra $3 EACH WAY!!! For you art school grads that totals $39. Get this. Gas prices are at an all time high. Regular gas in NYC is $3.23. The car I have access to gets a little over 30 miles to the gallon. Sandy Hook is 67 miles from my apartment in Brooklyn. For all you football players, that means it'll cost me $15.32 roundtrip in gas and about another $3 in tolls. That's if I go by myself. If I go with a friend the cost gets cut in half. If I go with the a friend on the ferry we each pay $39.

Here's the question. Why is mass transit a luxury item? Why is Sea Streak economically forcing me to burn fossil fuels? And I'm sure the bastards are subsidised by my tax dollars.

I feel an exegency to soak up as much Jersey Shore as possible before glacial melt pushes the shores of the Atlantic to the coal mines of Ohio.

Down with the ecological terrorist Sea Streak!

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

No, I Don't Either

Have you ever gotten so drunk that the need to text message a boy you like, "Ever have sex with a friend?" But then you chicken out and instead you text, " Damn! Phil Mickelson really choked at the US open this year. Hope you didn't loose your shirt." And then you realize that maybe if you didn't drink so much you wouldn't find yourself attracted to degenerates who bet on golf.

Yeah me niether, but my best friend Anna, she's nuts, and she did that.
-----

Feel free to come down to Rififi tonight and see me perform my hilarious, guitar comedy. I don't know who else is on the show but, it starts at 10pm I think it's $5 and it should be fun. Plus, I'll need moral support when I'm yet again disappointed by astrology.

Monday, July 17, 2006

A List and Then A Sports Metaphor

As we find ourselves in the midst of tennis season I bring to you a metaphor. But first a list.

There are varying ways to get what you want.

a) You can sit in a darkened room with a bottle of scotch waiting drunkenly for what you want to appear at your bedroom door. I don't know if this ever works, but at least your drunk and sitting down. Though, if what you want does appear let's hope you haven't passed out and missed it.

b) You can pray to a higher being. The only problem with this method is that higher beings work in mysterious ways and they think they know best. So either they give you what you want, but don't tell you where it is, and therefore don't know where it is; or, they think what you want is bad for you and give you something else like an severed limb and a swim team to coach.

b2) You can wish. This is very similar to option "B,"praying, except instead of making sacrifices you just wish for what you want on eye lashes, pennies, or when all the digits of the clock show the same number. Sometimes this works, but only if what you want is really easy to get anyway, like wanting a chocolate chip mint ice cream on a sugar cone.

c)You can arm yourself and demand what you want from the people or persons who have it. This method is employed by organized criminals, disorganized criminals, governments, terrorist organization (see governments), and armed robbers. This is an effective method as long as the person who has what you want is not armed with bigger and better equipment. However, this usually doesn't work at all if what you want is your amorous and/or affectionate feelings reciprocated in either a romantic or platonic relationship.
*side note: Right now i'm having drama and difficulty with a platonic friend. Which really pisses me off. Worrying about her and our relationship is taking up valueable time I could be worrying about boys.

Which brings us to option "d" and the metaphor.

d) You can put the ball in their court. You can pick up a racket and serve over your intentions, your wants, or your desires over into someone else's court. Then it's their turn. You've done all you can do. You've asked for what you want. Eek! Just when you thought tennis was for wusses all of sudden we place upon it direct and honest communication and BAM! Tennis becomes more frientening than if you were Joe Theisman and you saw Lawerence Taylor coming to get you.*

The other problem with putting the ball in their court is it takes patience. You toss the ball over there and now you just wait for it to be returned. You could be sitting on the lonley, green, hard- top for decades, and unlike option "a" drinking scotch, it's not a comfy place to sit. You're out in the elements. Further, they may never return to their court to return serve. But you don't know that for sure. If you leave your court you could miss it. People will tell you to go play tennis with someone else. Why? Someone else is just as likely to leave the court. And you can spend your whole life roaming from court to court putting the ball in other people's court. Can you run out of balls in a life time? Can you buy more at the Sports Authority?

Sometimes you might think you see them over there in their court, but your not sure because you have really shitty night vision from your lasik surgery. So do you go over to their court pick up the ball and hit it back over the net, again? And if so how many times do you do that? Or what if your vision is fine but theirs is awful and they don't see that you've hit a ball into their court? Some people are blinded by their emotional stupidity.

Or what if you put the ball in thier court and they are there in their court? They return your serve and then you return their return serve. Now you're volleying intentions. When do you walk off the court together hand-in-hand happy that you've both chosen option "d" and have now gotten what you want? God, you're right, people tennis does suck. I don't care how cute James Blake is.


*In the 1980s Lawerence Taylor broke Joe Theisman's leg whilst they played the game of American football.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Perhaps This Is True.

I heard on NPR this morning that gas prices are at an all time high. It appears the latest violence in Middle East is the reason. This leads me to believe that Hezbulah, Al Queda, and Hamas are militant arms of American Oil companies.

**please excuse my wrongly spelling arabic names in English.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

alcoholic?

The other night I sat in a bar with some people I knew. I can't remember who, and I'm not sure if it was yesterday. Come to think of it I don't know if I knew these people or I just overheard the conversation. The details aren't important. One dude said to another, I'm pretty sure everyone else was male, "Hey man, have another drink. " The other fellow declined or was mulling it over, all I know is he did not answer right away. The first dude then said, "Oh, no man, I don't want cajole you into another drink that's a sign of an alcoholic." Basically, by asking someone, perhaps, aggressively asking someone to have another round with them makes the asker an alcoholic. Whomever imparted this information to the first dude must have been a teetotaler from 1800 Quaker Pennsalvania.

Here's why this idea is stupid. I've had people harass me to see horror films. These people really enjoy horror films. I do not, so they try desperately to convince me to go with them to the horror films. Now, are my friends who enjoy to be frightened addicted to scary cinema? No. They happen to really enjoy horror films and want me to have a great experience as well. Kind of like when a girl sucks on a guy's nipples, because she really enjoys when her nipples are stimulated, and he's all "Hey watcha doing?" And she responds, "What?" and he asks"Why are you doing that?" And she answers "Because I want you to feel what I feel" and then the boy sighs and the girl gets discouraged and they lie in awkward silence. Is she addicted to horror films? Or nipples? Is she an addict? Maybe. But, not because she wants another person to enjoy what she enjoys.

My point is, if you were an alcoholic you wouldn't want other people drinking the alcohol. The more alcohol other people drank the less alcohol for you. A real alcoholic would probably say, "Don't you fucking take one more sip of that vodka tonic! It's mine, I tell ya! Mine!" Kind of like Daffy Duck when he finds riches.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Birthday Booty

On the eve of my birthday I've been a little depressed. Some would say that's normal, as I'm getting older and 29 is my last year of my twenties. Unfortunately, that's not the problem. See, many women in my family have lived past 90 years old. I see how I've lived these past 29 years and think, "Oh god, 60 more years of this shit. Ugh! 60 more years of career disappointment, 60 more years of hating my art, 60 more years of thinking I should text message Bill, 'you still married?'" And then not text messaging him only because I don't have his cell phone number and you can't text message a house. I'm already tired and I"m only 29. If I'm tired now while I have my health and am in some sort of shape what does this mean for me when I eventually don't have my health and I'm in no shape at all? There are just more years and more years and more years and still more years to come. Fuck Me!

But then I came home to a birthday card from my aunt. Inside she wrote to me that she had purchased this card in 1990 but had been waiting for the right person and the right time to send it to me. On the front stand two women and a dog in a dog house. The one woman says to the other woman, "Yeah, I named him after my ex-boyfriend." And the name above the dog house reads, "Fuckface." Brilliant card.

The next piece of mail I opened was from my friend James. It's a pink t-shirt and on the back it reads, "No Fatties." He told me last week while he was visiting that he wanted to get me a shirt that had printed on it that sentiment. Go James and Aunt Sue for brightening up my day.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

If You Know Shed Some Light

Below is my horoscope for this past Saturday as interpreted by astrologer Holiday Mathis:

Money flows through your fingers. The important part is that you do have a flow, as stagnation will dwindle away at your sense of abundance. The old adage applies tonight: Don't sell it if it's already sold.

What the hell does that mean? If she didn't know what to write she should have just written so. Or she could have stated that there weren't any major astrological things going on. She could have told us Cancers, "Hey, today is probably going to be alot like yesterday. Not much to speak of going on in the heavenly bodies. Some days even the stars need to take a break. Check back in two or three days."

I understand astrology is bullshit, but if she's going to take the time to write horoscopes out, and the Boston Herald is taking the time to publish what she has written, can't we at least keep up the pretence that astrology shows us a truth and insight into ourselves and the future. Come on. Just a little effort here, that's all I'm asking.

Friday, July 07, 2006

Less Than a Week Your Favorite Day of the Year

My birthday is in five days. Don't fret. You still have time to get me a gift. And if you need an extention feel free to email me and discuss your situation. I'm sure we can work something out. The deadline of July 12th isn't as important as you spending a great deal of money on me. In fact if you want you can just send me an obscene amount of money. The more money you send me the more likely I'll be willing to overlook the lack of thought in the gift. If you don't know what to get me and don't want to get me I like alcholic beverages. I'm partial to vanilla flavored vodka. I'm not an alcoholic, but a bottle of Grey Goose vanilla flavored vodka would probably be the most meaningful gift you could give me. I've never been known to drink whiskey, but I wouldn't shun you or return a bottle of whiskey, because i'm that kind of considerate. I really care about the feelings of the people who buy me things. I want you to think I'm really appreciative and grateful. Basically, you can't go wrong. Anything you get me I'll love and use. I'll ferment it until it's 80 proof. But you can't feel that sense of validation and approval if you get me nothing. They only person you're hurting is yourself if you don't buy me something or send me money. In the end I'm only thinking of you and your happiness. I'd hate for you to feel dejected.

So let's celebrate my 29th birthday today tomorrow on the 12th or even in October--hell I have libra rising--It's never too late to buy me a gift. And you can even buy me multiple gifts throughout the year if you feel the need to feel good about yourself. If you want to feel giving and helpful, I'll definitely thank you for whatever you get me each time you get me something.

It's an important birthday because on my 30th birthday my metabolism will retire. This is it. The farewell tour of my metabolism. It'll just be ice cream and vodka for the next 365 days.

Happy Rachael's Birthdays

Thursday, July 06, 2006

An Open Letter to a Retailer

Dear Barnes and Noble.com,

Can you please take me off your email mailing list. If I want to buy something from you I know where to find you, in fact that's how you found me. Are these mass e-mails anyway to treat a customer? I wake up in the morning and I see that I have a new message. My heart flutters with anticipation-- kind of like when a person's elbow accidently-deliberately gently and briefly touches the person s/he loves but can't have.--- I quickly type in hotmail into my firefox browser. Who could be emailing me? What wonderful sentiment awaits me? Am I invited to a party? Or to an intimate dinner? Maybe it's just someone who's merely thinking of me and wanted to say hi and find out all about how I was. The possiblities for internet affection and attention are endless. It's at this moment that broadband cable internet seems too slow. My fingers can't type my password in fast enough. Finally my inbox loads and there on my illuminated screen the opposite of love, but you, Barnes and Noble.com, trying to sell me books. My heart sinks, my solar plexus feels like it's been punched. I'm deflated. Defeated. Destroyed. Is that anyway to start a day? I'll tell you it is not. And with that I say good day to you, sir.

Sincerely,

Rachael Parenta

ps. how do you not wind up in my junk mail folder?

pps. If you want to chat and ask me how my day is I could be down for that.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Text Message Mystery

A couple of weeks ago as I sat in an East Village eatery with some cronies I felt a buzzing. Turned out to be my phone alerting me to a text message. I received a text message from a person on AOL instant messanger, user name AngelsLifeFree. I have no idea what that means either. Nor do I know anyone by that name or handle. I don't associate with Angels. I don't associate with people who need freeing from Angels. I don't know any Los Angeles Angels fans. I don't know anyone who is free. But that didn't stop me from engaging in text conversation wtih this AngelsLifeFree. Now, a wise person would have ignored the message. A semi-wise person would have not ignored the message but would have asked, "Who the hell is this?" I am not wise, instead I'm proud and foolish. I tried to figure out who it was without letting on I didn't know who it was. I will not be bested by someone who still uses AOL.

ALF: hey rachel what's up? (You can reply to this message)
Me: Apparently, yes.
ALF: What?
ME: Oh I miss read your text I thought it read "(Can you reply to this message?)"
ALF: I said hi rachel on the first one.
but ALF didn't say hi rachel. ALF wrote hey rachel what's up. Why would ALF blatantly lie like that? Who do I know that is a pathological liar?
ME: Did you know you misspelled my first name?
Here's where I see how well ALF actually know me. I'm very clever.
ALF: rachael
ALF: sorry
ME: I'm waiting on Nachos. What are you up to?
ALF: nuthin i was just wondering how ur day was?
here's where my mind rattles, do I know anyone besides Jack who wants to know how my day went? And if I do, which is doubtful, do they have AOL instant messenger? I find it highly doubtful that anyone who would still be using AOL puts much effort into life never mind other people. It's not 1996 anymore.
ME: Alright. And yours?
ALF: Really tiring
Tiring heh? That sounds like my mom's friend Arlene. She's always tired and moaning about it, but would this 50someting year old woman be texting me from her Fort Lee apartment at 12:51 am? Hmmm.
ALF: i need a vacation.
Maybe it's not Arlene. Arlene is a teacher and teachers don't need vacations. They get plenty of them. Especially in the summer they get 2 whole months. hmm?
ME: Writing wipe you out?
I'm thinking who else besides Arlene likes to moan? Perhaps a comedian. I know plenty of them, what do comedians do? Moan. And then they write down their moaning.
ALF: oo yeah
ME: good thing you don't have to go into work early tomorrow.
Now here I'm wondering if I'm texting myself in a schitzophranic episode.
ALF: me too
Which would explain ALF's response
ME: No. Wait. I typed you don't have to go into work early tomorrow. I don’t' have to work at all.
ALF: ignoring my specific work comment continues-- Can I ask you for advice?
ME: Sure
Because I'm a very giving person even if it's to a stranger or possible alien puppet with AOL.
ALF: Well have you ever heard of footjobs?
ME: no
ALF: well like using feet to do the job I guess
ME: what kind of job
ALF: like using ur feet
ME: for sex
ALF: yea
Me: maybe an Asian woman's feet or for a man a lady with her middle toes missing.
ALF: lolol haha
here's where both my comedian and Arlene theories flew out the window. A comedian would not laugh at one of my jokes. And Arlene never really got me. Luckily my nachos had arrived.
ALF: did you ever use them to flirt like under a table at a restaurant
ME: In college.
ALF: Giddy up
Here's where I"m thinking it's Michael Richards as Seinfeld's Kramer. Who else would use "Giddy up?" The only problem is how did Michael Richards get my phone number? Who would betray me to Michael? If it's not Michael then maybe it's a cowboy? I did live in Oregon for three years. But do cowboys use AOL instant messanger.?
ALF: but could you use a foot massage.
At this point my nachos have arrived and I read this as ALF telling me ALF could use a foot massage.
ME: We all have needs.
Because I don't know that I want to give this texter a foot massage, especially, if it's a cowboy from two centuries ago. They didnt' have good hygene back then.
ALF: that's true what are urs
ME: Nachos.
Now this is a shame that i misread the offer for a foot massage because that night I really could have gone for one. Even if it was my mom's friend Arlene. Don't ask me how I would have gotten from the East Village to Fort Lee at 1:03am but maybe the offer wasn't time sensitive. We'll never know.
ALF: HaHa
Again with the laughing. You know who thinks I'm hysterical? College kids in Bowling Green, Ohio. Only problem they didn't know me yet. Unless one of them was studying quantum physics and had seen my act before I had performed and thought my feet adorable. Then they slipped back to the present through the worm hole and began texting me. That must be it. It's the simplest explanation.
ALF: OK
ME: OK.
And that was it. No good-bye. Just OKs

Everything in black actually was texted.