Go Bobbio! You look trés spiffed out in your firefighting duds. And you really do look like Cheech. Which is totally a good thing, because you can truthfully say, “Jake’s not here, man.” 
Yay for taxi! I wish you a speedy convalescence.
[QUOTE=Jahdra]
Occasionally, someone will misdial, the phone will ring, and about 30 people freak out over a phone that actually rings.
[/QUOTE]
Phones don’t ring anymore? Color me confused.
I guess I should tell you all … I’ve officially declared this romantic endeavor overwith. By way of explanation, I’ll paste in here the letter I wrote out to her (though I’m not going to give it to her).
Dear Cute Girl:
This is to advise you that I'm done. I'm done making efforts to spend time with you. I'm done arranging to run into you in person so I can actually get responses out of you. I'm done sending you emails to which you don't respond, unless I give you cookies. I'm done waiting for you, period. The only reason I've continued to believe your little story about a long distance relationship is because you emphasized it was up in the air. That way, even if it weren't true, the implication is that there was some sort of potential between you and I. Well, FUCK YOU. Fuck you for lying to me. You have since made it clear that there is no such potential. You have made it abundantly, sterlingly clear that you don't care at all whether I live or die, much less whether or not you ever see me again.
Why do I feel justified making this claim? Let me go over the one damning piece of evidence. The smoking gun, as it were. Sunday afternoon, as I dove once more into the bog of physics problems in which I perpetually reside, I phrased the situation to myself thusly: "If I'm going to compete with this long-distance guy, real or not, I need to demonstrate how good a boyfriend I can be." So I resolved to make a striking demonstration of the degree of thoughtfulness, creativity, and humor I can put into a relationship. After I was done working for the night, I set about making a coupon.
At 1:30 Monday morning, I painstakingly crafted a certificate entitling you, the bearer, to one free lunch with me at a restaurant I knew you would like. Like any good candidate boyfriend, I remembered your statement about liking Mexican food, and I remembered our much earlier conversation about the burrito place in question. I combined this with humorous fine print and an elegant means of presentation: I taped it to the door of your building. This, I was sure, would get your attention. Later that day I verified that it had, in fact, been removed from the door. So I know you got it. I know this because, once again demonstrating my attention to detail, I placed it on the door a mere 6 hours before I knew you were to pass through it.
Monday passed with no communication from you. Likewise Tuesday. Today I made one final effort: I arranged to cross paths with you this afternoon. Overlooking the fact that you were on the phone, a "hi" was exchanged and no mention was made of your free lunch. Between my placement of the coupon and now, Wednesday afternoon, there has been no communication from you. Not a phone call, not an email, not an instant message, not even a bloody facebook poke. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch. NOTHING. Which, as of right now, is what you are to me.
You see, this is it, chica. You've run out of time. Maybe you didn't read the fine print on that piece of paper, where it said "LIMITED TIME OFFER." I'm not a toy on a shelf to be stored until you decide to play with me. I had hoped we could at least be friends, but when you don't respond to something like that extraordinary gesture I really have to wonder. Have a nice life.
Resentfully,
Your former suitor.
(What is it about a man in uniform???)
