Now starting a new portion of the column, reader e-mails. This week's e-mail, from Scott in D.C.:
So I head out to bars last night after work to meet up with some friends. After I've had exactly the amount of drinks required ... the "I now have the confidence I didn't have an hour ago to sit down with random women" feeling starts to kick in. So a friend and I are talking ridiculousness with some interns ... and about 15 minutes into the conversation, I realize I can't remember this girl's name. She was hot too, and none of that stupid glitter either. Man, I'm an idiot. She even paused as she was leaving possibly awaiting me asking for her number, but how could I, Smitty? What am I going to do, call her up and say ... "uhhh, is Topenga there?"
You gotta love getting around the stupid glitter. What, it's like you're supposed to be all happy 'cause she's wearing a backpack, you know? Anyway, unless she happens to make reference to her name rhyming with a female body part, not much to do ...
After conferring with the Gipper, one tip: Ask her how she spells her name. If she's stupid (they all are), she will spell it for you. If she's smart (not bloody likely), she will say, "you don't remember my name, do you?" If she catches on, you have no number which is the same position you're in now but if she spells it (stupid girls) you got digits.
At the same time, of course, if she's stupid and spells it out for you, you've still got a stupid girl.
Have something for me to write about for future columns? Rants, raves, observations, reasons I'm an idiot, etc. -- Email: asmitty@virginia.edu.
And now on to this week's things that keep me up at night wondering, hoping, worrying...
4I understand. Let us celebrate our agreement with the adding of chocolate to milk ... I hate to admit it, but, honestly, sometimes for me, the best part of waking up just simply isn't Folgers in my cup.
4I saw this in a movie about a bus that had to SPEED around a city, keeping its SPEED over 50, and if its SPEED dropped, it would explode. I think it was called, "The Bus That Couldn't Slow Down." ... One of my many dreams in life almost came true the other day. It was very bitter-sweet, to tell to the truth. I was walking through campus when all of a sudden a large group of people all around me broke out in choreographed dance and song, like in She's All That. This was finally my big moment. And then, much to my dismay, I realized I wasn't part of the scene. I was relegated to the side as one of the 'extras' who has to form the circle around the people dancing. I was crushed. Well, maybe next time, I too suddenly will have the knowledge of the choreography for the song, so that I may also join in the banter and the joyful glee.
4I'm not normally a religious man, but if you're up there, save me, Superman! ... Dashing and daring, Courageous and caring, Faithful and friendly, With stories to share, All through the forest, They sing out in chorus, Marching along, As the song fills the air ...
Gummi Bears, Bouncing here and there and everywhere, High adventure that's beyond compare, They are the Gummi Bears.Sorry. Just had to get that out of my system.
4Oh, yeah, what are you gonna do? Release the dogs? Or the bees? Or the dogs with bees in their mouth and when they bark, they shoot bees at you? ... It is never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever everrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr acceptable for a guy to wear capri or 3/4 pants or anything even remotely resembling them. Ever.
Mr. Simpson, this is the most blatant case of fraudulent advertising since my suit against the film "The Never-Ending Story" ... I'm still perplexed by the volleyball scene in Top Gun. Maverick is wearing jeans. Who in the hell wears jeans to play volleyball? Let alone jeans on the beach? The sweaty legs-in-jeans factor by itself is terrible. But combine that with sand in the jeans, crouching, jumping, diving, and that could be the worst experience of all time. Now sure, you can try to play it off as Tom Cruise's ultimate bad-ass-ness, but, I dunno, I mean, it's still sand in the jeans. Maybe he was just inverted.
4Alcohol, the cause of and solution to all life's problems ... There's nothing more important than the protection of the drink when headed to the bathroom at bars. The fight to walk to bathroom through the crowds and protect the cup is one thing, but there's another huge problem here. Once you get to the bathroom, that cup sure as hell better not touch anything. The placement on top of the urinal or wall is beyond belief key, and grows more and more difficult as the night progresses. If the lid of the cup touches any surface, wall, flusher, person, air that surrounds the toilet, etc. Well, that's the end of that. It's like that Seinfeld episode:
Kramer: Hey, what are you doing?Jerry: Oh, I'm taking this lace out. It came undone and touched the floor of a men's room. That's the end of that.It's a shame too, because you hate to waste good alcohol.
4Hey, look! You're one of those guards like at Buckingham Palace! I can do whatever I want, and you can't do anything! ... I think easily one my favorite parts in "Saved by the Bell" was when Zach would pull his TIME OUT move. He always liked to mess with Slater and button up his top buttons. Man that crazy Slater was always confused.
4If you're going to get mad at me every time I do something stupid, then I guess I'll just have to stop doing stupid things! ... Is it too much to ask to put Carrot Top, Celine Dion, Kathy Lee Gifford and Corey Feldman in a room together and film it?
4Hi, I'm Troy McClure! You may remember me from such other nature films as "Earwigs, Ew!" and "Man Vs Nature ... The Road To Victory" ... Is it possible for Listerine to go bad sitting in its bottle? I don't see how it could; its whole purpose is to kill germs and bad stuff, so wouldn't the inside of the bottle be like some oasis of cleanliness? Or is it possible for some germ invasion to overpower the Listerine and set up its own fortress of gross?
4This is Papa Bear. Put out an APB for a male suspect, driving a ... car of some sort, heading in the direction of, uh, you know, that place that sells chili. Suspect is hatless. Repeat, hatless ... I love that guy at bars. You know that guy. That guy you've seen out every night since first year, yet have no idea what his name is. He most likely lived on your hall; you two never talked, yet always recognize each other and say "hey." It doesn't matter where you are, bars, parties, streaking the Lawn, there he is.
This guy goes hand in hand with that other person you see out, "mutual acquaintance." You have no idea where you met M.A., or who he's friends with, but you guys act like you two have been friends forever every time you see each other. It's always a quick hello, a little jibber jabber, and that's it for the night.
Of course, we cannot forget my arch-enemies -- that couple. I have no idea who this couple is, where they're from, what year they are, what frat he's in or what her name is, yet I see them almost every single day of the week. I for some unknown reason cannot stand to see these people. They are causing no harm and it shouldn't bother me, and yet there they are, always looking unhappy together. One day, one day ... well, I dunno.
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