Awkward Is A Way Of Life

Part A:

Last night we all went to see Pirates of the Caribbean 3. It pretty much totally sucked. I was tired to begin with, and my hopes that Johnny Depp would be enough to carry me through the movie were unfortunately falsely optimistic. I tried very hard just to go to sleep, to no avail- I just couldn’t get comfortable. Another added challenge was that the sound quality in the theater was pretty low so we couldn’t really get a grip on what was going on a lot of the time. Anyway, we lived through it and shuffled out of the theater, looking and feeling drab and unkempt from squirming so much while trying to find a comfy dozing position.

While exiting I sort of did a double-take as I noticed a local jazz musician (and Orlando-Bloom-with-a-slight-Euro-mullet look alike) that all of us girls have moderate crushes on. As I fumbled to alert Sunny without being too obvious, she was simultaneously trying to let me know that this other guy we recently met at a café was coming over. Well, it turns out they were together. Café Guy introduced us to Bass Player Guy, as we stood there thinking Hey, didn’t we just watch you on screen for 2 ½ hours? and Huh. Sure glad I’m wearing my nasty rain-soaked jeans and sloppy sweatshirt right now.

Part B:

Tonight I was emailing this woman who performed at Kristfest last weekend just to say hi and that it was nice to meet her, and that we might see her in Amsterdam if we end up making it out there in August. It was a semi-formal, testing-the-waters kind of an email, and when I pressed ‘send’, Gmail alerted me to the fact that I had forgotten to type in a subject line. I quickly tapped out ‘hello’ to serve as a rather bland but functional subject line and hit ‘send’ again.

About 3 seconds later I looked at my sent messages and noticed with some horror that my subject line had evolved in an unexpected fashion. The thing is, Gmail fills in the fields predictive-text-style with previous email addresses or subject lines you’ve used in case you want to use the same one again. It saves time and valuable effort thinking of new ones every time, I suppose. This time it backfired, though, as a previous email I sent to Taylor labeled, “Hello my little honey bunches of oats…” came back to haunt me. Yep, that’s how my email went out to Dutch rocker chick. Dang. Had to quickly follow up with an apologetic explanation. Hope she doesn’t think I’m a complete psycho.

Over and out. My work here is done.