"That which is overdesigned, too highly specific, anticipates outcome; the anticipation of outcome guarantees, if not failure, the absence of grace."
-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
Step 3: Profit.

<kitten> Just the "hookup" thing is crap.
<kitten> These things should, ideally, happen organically.
<bda> That's how it's always happened for me.
<bda> Add one part Bryan and one part Girl to a room for a few hours, and hey, some sort of mold thing happens.
<bda> Only cute mold.
<kitten> Sounds like a great recipe.
<bda> It's worked so far. Getting to that stage is somewhat difficult.
<kitten> The hard part is getting the "girl" and "alone" and "hours" part.
<bda> Quite.
<bda> What I need to so is:
<bda> 1) Get a real ID.
<bda> 2) Go to the bar literally one block south of here.
<bda> 3) Write and get drunk.
<bda> 4) When a girl asks what I'm writing, I tell her "some stupid crap. I'm Bryan, but you can call me shit-faced."
<kitten> Yes, get a real fucking ID.
<bda> 6) We end up in my room.
<kitten> What was step 5.
<bda> I have no fucking clue.

The nice thing about the bar down the street is that it's down the street, you see. So it's a short victory walk. Or a short pathetic loser walk.

Either way, really.

(Please note that this is mostly said in jest.)

December 11, 2004 7:06 PM