ARE U FREE 2NIGHT?

Rumor has it that Brittany and K-Fed broke up by text message. So it is fitting that tonight I was asked out for a date by text message.

I was sitting at my desk when the distinctive tone rang indicating a text message. It was from a guy I met at the infamous Wildcat Tavern a month or two ago. I'd been blowing him off since I'd given him my number but, catching me at a weak moment, he convinced me to meet him for a drink after work. All without a single word exchanged.

A strapping eye-talian firefighter from northern MA, Vinny won't win any MENSA competitions but he skis, golfs and rides a motorcycle. He calls me "Honey" and asked me out for a second date before the first was over. What he lacks in IQ, he makes up in rogue-ish charm. That song popular in my teen years pops into my head: "I like 'em big and STUPID! I like 'em big and REAL DUMB!" Plus, if I accidentally set my house on fire, he can put it out and resuscitate me at the same time. "Fucking heroin addicts," Vinny pines, "All we do is drive around in the firetruck and bring 'em back to life."

A recent survey of young adults show that a sizeable minority have broken up with their significant other by text message. What a surprise to see it also works in reverse.

Meanwhile, the gentleman I barely remember meeting at the Wildcat 2 weeks ago (see earlier drunken melee post) called back. He had lost my phone number but had gone to some lengths to find me online. Fortunately for him, I am what he declared to be "very Google-able" (points for coining a clever phrase).

Apparently he was as sheepish about the evening as I was and delighted in my tale of how drunk and sick my girlfriend and I both were after the evening. Apparently misery loves company.

By an unfortunate happenstance of birth, his name is eponymous with a famous Red Sox Player, so going forward, I will refer to him as "Space Man." Space Man ended the call by programming me into his I-Phone and we agreed to a "do over."

Back at the ranch, Mr. Hawaiian Lai keeps calling from his family vacation in FLA, which had the nerve to burst into flames all along Route 95. Too bad he doesn't know Vinny - he could help.

Finally, PAL made plans with me and then cancelled all within 24 hours - truly a record even by his own low standard.

But I'm ready to let him go - no use hogging all of these North Country gents to myself. My cell phone speed dial list is starting to look like the modern-day gal's version of Sam Malone's Little Black Book.

Cheers!