she’s suffering?
9/19, 3:37 a.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: Surprise!
Hi, babe!
An interesting thing I learned last week: Surprises come in many shapes and forms. Like the surprise quiz I was given in my English class. That was a good time.
Then there’s the surprise of the culinary variety. As in, the “tuna surprise” that our dining hall just loves. I really can’t get enough of that.
And finally, my true favorite: the surprise visit. Generally practiced by close friends and romantic partners. Such as Buji’s long-distance girlfriend. I know what you’re thinking—who knew Buji had a long-distance girlfriend? Not me—which makes this a
double-layer
surprise!
Now Bee, we’re living in close conditions here, and I’m really not wanting to cramp my man Buji’s style. So I thought I’d take the opportunity to come up and visit. Surprise!
Just friendly, hon. I promise. But I do miss you.
Let me know what you think.
Later,
D
9/19, 6:16 p.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: fw: Surprise!
Crap crappity crap. Just failed a comp sci quiz. Definitely, completely failed. My average is totally sunk.
Oh, and one other thing. Yeah, got an e-mail from Drew last night. Scroll down. Read it and weep.
And then let me know what the hell you think I should do.
—xx
9/19, 6:43 p.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: Oh my
Well, what are your choices? You can either tell him, politely but firmly, that you don’t want to see him; or you can offer to host him. I guess the question is what you would rather do. I mean, if you tell him no, there’s a good chance he’s going to be offended. You have to be okay with that. And if you do want him to come, and you don’t want things to go to the boyfriend-girlfriend place, then you’re going to have to be strong enough to keep things on the friend level.
Tough choices, dear. But they are
your
choices to make. Don’t forget that.
9/19, 7:01 p.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: Surprise!
Hey there—
You know I’m a sucker for a surprise (unless it’s of the tuna variety. I hate that stuff. Blech). I assume you’ll be in on Friday? The bus fromPort Authority will take you straight to Boston’s South Station. I can meet you there. It’s really easy. E-mail me with the particulars when you’ve got them.
:)
—xx
CHRONICLERS CAN ROLL WITH THE PARTY DOWNTOWN MIDNIGHT.
9/20, 11:43 a.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected], [email protected]
re: Targets and weirdness
Picture it, if you will: The room was bathed in glittering, psychedelic hues, and classic disco was being remixed to neo-trance beats by a crazed, Afroed DJ set in a booth ten feet above the rink. I was on my second beer and having kind of a hard time matching the tempo of my flailing limbs to the smooth syncopation being piped out over the sound system. The room was spinning. It could have been the booze.
But then again, it could have been the roller skates.
Gabe’s heads-up over e-mail had led me to discover a personals ad planted for the entire extended staff of the
Chronicle.
It seemed that once a semester they liked to hit a kitschy downtown sports center for midnight roller disco. I’d been so thrilled to be included in the outing—by Gabe, no less—that it hadn’t occurred to me how truly frightening it could be to see half the
Chronicle
editors on wheels. John O’Shea, possibly emboldened by the added height gained from the skates, was whizzing across the floor in frantic loops. Megan, Anna, and a few of the features editors were huddled by the shoe check laughing, gossiping, and scarfing down pizza. Myself, I’d taken the opportunity to sidle up to Mitch Abley, assistant sports editor and Target #16. I’d been psyched, firstly because Mitch represented the halfway point for this
9/19, 3:37 a.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: Surprise!
Hi, babe!
An interesting thing I learned last week: Surprises come in many shapes and forms. Like the surprise quiz I was given in my English class. That was a good time.
Then there’s the surprise of the culinary variety. As in, the “tuna surprise” that our dining hall just loves. I really can’t get enough of that.
And finally, my true favorite: the surprise visit. Generally practiced by close friends and romantic partners. Such as Buji’s long-distance girlfriend. I know what you’re thinking—who knew Buji had a long-distance girlfriend? Not me—which makes this a
double-layer
surprise!
Now Bee, we’re living in close conditions here, and I’m really not wanting to cramp my man Buji’s style. So I thought I’d take the opportunity to come up and visit. Surprise!
Just friendly, hon. I promise. But I do miss you.
Let me know what you think.
Later,
D
9/19, 6:16 p.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: fw: Surprise!
Crap crappity crap. Just failed a comp sci quiz. Definitely, completely failed. My average is totally sunk.
Oh, and one other thing. Yeah, got an e-mail from Drew last night. Scroll down. Read it and weep.
And then let me know what the hell you think I should do.
—xx
9/19, 6:43 p.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: Oh my
Well, what are your choices? You can either tell him, politely but firmly, that you don’t want to see him; or you can offer to host him. I guess the question is what you would rather do. I mean, if you tell him no, there’s a good chance he’s going to be offended. You have to be okay with that. And if you do want him to come, and you don’t want things to go to the boyfriend-girlfriend place, then you’re going to have to be strong enough to keep things on the friend level.
Tough choices, dear. But they are
your
choices to make. Don’t forget that.
9/19, 7:01 p.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: Surprise!
Hey there—
You know I’m a sucker for a surprise (unless it’s of the tuna variety. I hate that stuff. Blech). I assume you’ll be in on Friday? The bus fromPort Authority will take you straight to Boston’s South Station. I can meet you there. It’s really easy. E-mail me with the particulars when you’ve got them.
:)
—xx
CHRONICLERS CAN ROLL WITH THE PARTY DOWNTOWN MIDNIGHT.
9/20, 11:43 a.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected], [email protected]
re: Targets and weirdness
Picture it, if you will: The room was bathed in glittering, psychedelic hues, and classic disco was being remixed to neo-trance beats by a crazed, Afroed DJ set in a booth ten feet above the rink. I was on my second beer and having kind of a hard time matching the tempo of my flailing limbs to the smooth syncopation being piped out over the sound system. The room was spinning. It could have been the booze.
But then again, it could have been the roller skates.
Gabe’s heads-up over e-mail had led me to discover a personals ad planted for the entire extended staff of the
Chronicle.
It seemed that once a semester they liked to hit a kitschy downtown sports center for midnight roller disco. I’d been so thrilled to be included in the outing—by Gabe, no less—that it hadn’t occurred to me how truly frightening it could be to see half the
Chronicle
editors on wheels. John O’Shea, possibly emboldened by the added height gained from the skates, was whizzing across the floor in frantic loops. Megan, Anna, and a few of the features editors were huddled by the shoe check laughing, gossiping, and scarfing down pizza. Myself, I’d taken the opportunity to sidle up to Mitch Abley, assistant sports editor and Target #16. I’d been psyched, firstly because Mitch represented the halfway point for this
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