Mm 2nite

Alice was in town this past weekend, and a lot occurred: Thai food, student art, falling asleep in a dormitory suite, Saturday sessions at the liberry, barbecue on the mounds, dance party, Knockout, and poker. Although I still live just a few minutes away from my college, I don't think I've had a weekend that was as reminiscent of my college lifestyle since graduating.

While all of that was good if not intense for an old fart like me, I'd say the highlight was Margarita Monday; Alice purposefully made sure her trip coincided with a Monday and it was pretty special. Although the attendance was down again, (though there looks to be a high RSVP rate for this coming week,) it still managed to be wildly fun. That's right, no-shows: we still manage to have fun without you! Most Mondays I have at least a few hysterical conversations that I feel worthy of a blog post, but by the time I'm home and drunk, I've forgotten what many of them were. That's a hazard of the job, I suppose. I wish I could capture exactly what kept me laughing all night, but I have only story I can coherently share at this point:

En route to the restaurant, I text messaged Andrew a quick reminder to drop by after his class: "Mm 2nite." I figured the shorthand would suffice and didn't expect him to write back as he was academically occupied. About forty-five minutes later while well into my first margarita, I got a call from an unfamiliar phone number with my home area code. I answered, and the caller asked, "Did you text me earlier?" I told the caller I had not, then ey apologized to me and I similarly said, "I'm sorry" back. After hanging up, I recapped what had occurred to my tablemates, then sputtered "Why did I say I was sorry? I didn't do anything wrong."

It was a good deal later, as I sipped my second margarita, that I had an epiphany. I have two Andrews in my phonebook, the other being an old friend from Connecticut. I know that old Andrew doesn't have that number anymore because I accidentally called it when trying to contact California Andrew a few weeks ago and reached someone named Mike. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I had texted the wrong Andrew, or Mike as he seems to go by these days. Indeed, I checked my phone and confirmed that I had made this error. I relayed the story to my friends and they found it rip roaring funny, especially since the message, "Mm 2nite," could be construed as some sort of booty call.

When Andrew eventually showed up with Nicole, he, too, found the story amusing and decided to take it to a postmodern level wherein the intended Andrew called the wrong-no-longer-an-Andrew and left a voicemail consisting of nothing more than "Mmmmmmmm tonight." Meanwhile, somewhere in Connecticut, someone named Mike is becoming increasingly creeped out and changing his phone number, just as the Andrew before him.