So the whole cliche' of "
Oh My God! You met him online?! What if he's an axe murderer? What is he's a rapist!? Do you want to borrow my pepper spray/handgun/sword of +5 pervert prevention?" is really starting to grind on that one nerve between the base of your skull and the start of the back of your neck.
I should have never even mentioned anything to Heike, but being the little overachiever that she is, had him more thoroughly Facebook stalked than the NSA could have managed in their deepest of wet dreams. Turns out, he may -not- be a natural "bad-boy black" in hair color.
Sometimes, I wish I could gingerly put my hands on either of Heike's shoulders and shake her a little.
Just a little.
Until she becomes so confused as to -why- I'm shaking her, that she forgets to keep looking up every little detail of life before living it.
If I am to be =HORRIBLY MAIMED AND/OR SLAUGHTERED= by some guy on the internet, that a friend of a friend of a friend knows from somehow or somewhere, then I really doubt going through every picture he's publicly posted on his timeline is going to save me.
I went out to the bar, a neutral one of varying amounts of usage.
I wore an outfit of somewhere on the scales of "I may be a easy" and "Could be an undercover cop, so don't slaughter me". Sensible but sexy.
No heels, at Heike's suggestion, in-case I need to "make a quick getaway".
Cleavage on a scale of "Your buying the drinks" and "Hello, you'll forget my name, won't you?"
Maybe not as sensible, but first impressions are fun to fuck around with.
Turns out, Waldo forgot we were meeting tonight ... thinking we'd be meeting on Saturday instead of Friday? I think?
Walking home, in my sensible shoes, I looked up to the night sky lost in thought. There was a general haze, a glow from the lights. It was quiet... for Chicago. And in this deep, introverted moment, all I could ask myself was "Where's Waldo?"
....
-Yvonne "Just.... I don't even... Why?" Schmitt
