Thursday, November 11, 2004

A little addendum to the little tribute to the art of drunk dialing.

(Part II)

Monday afternoon at work, I received an instant message from a high-school-era friend who I have not spoken to in years, other than the occasional IM or, more recently, blog comment.

"Did you get my package?"

Package? No. Knowing this friend, who I recall having a somewhat perverted streak, I cringed at the thought at what might be waiting for me at home. A stripper huddled outside my door? A large bright box which read something like "OPEN NOW! THE SEX ENHANCEMENT AIDS YOU ORDERED ARE HERE!"?

He messages back, "Do you have a large pot?"

I had seen the banner ads on the top of several websites. So I guessed,
"Did you send me a lobster?"

No. He had sent me three lobsters.

Turns out this friend got drunk last week, came home, and started shopping for friends he hasn't seen in years. I happen to be listed in the phone book, thus my mailing address, although lacking my apartment number, was easily obtained. Others were getting books, computer accessories... and I? I was getting three live lobsters, fresh from Maine.

I love, love, love lobster. However, my roommate hates, hates, hates seafood and non-fuzzy animals. I knew she was going to be horrified by this entire ordeal, and she was.

"They come here alive?! You cook them alive?! Just because I think they're scary, I don't think you should torture them! Does PETA know about this kind of thing?"

I don't think I really heard her over the rumbling of my stomach in anticipation. Mmmm. Looooobbbssstttteeeer.

I promised to mask all evidence of the lobster killing, and due to her reaction, was quite happy that I was able to intercept the FedEx package. Fortunately for both of us, she was working at the CMAs all of Tuesday, when the lobsters came in.

I had wondered why the drunken-lobster-orderer didn't call me to warn me, so I later asked him. He claimed he did, but I hung up on him. Then it all came together... I remembered someone calling on my land phone line, which no one ever, ever calls, at 4:30 one morning. Waking both me and my roommate up. The caller had asked for me, refused to ID himself, and I bitched him out and hung up. Drunk dialing on the land line is NOT appreciated, as its ringer is super-loud, and makes both my roommate and I very grumpy at 4:30AM. But... mmm, lobster.

And it was gooooood. God I miss fresh seafood availability. I recruited L. to help me out, and we took lots of pre-cooking lobster pictures. And got a little goofy. L. suggested recreating the Abbey Road CD cover with me walking behind them, which would have been funny, but was a little difficult since I didn't have a crosswalk handy.
So we improvised...

Playing for the pot. Ha! (L's line, not mine.)

And that, dear friends, is my story about ... well, I just told you.

*random mildly amusing fact: Dave Eggers gave me the playing cards featured in the above picture. I usually mention that fact when I bring those cards out for a game, so thought it'd be fitting to mention it here in this utterly random story, too.


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