running out of you… and the jerk store.

I should have asked you how your week has been. I’d get to hear you describe in detail and with an amount of color that you seldom hear from anyone else. I’d ask you about what you thought of the upcoming spring and how it almost seems to have already arrived. At some point I would ask you your thoughts on white pants for men. I could never say enough about your style, getting to hear your thoughts on men’s style would be enlightening. I’d probably wind up complaining about the curls that are forming in my hair. I’d fish for some sort of direction on where I should be going with it. Messy? Clean? Afro? I’d avoid talking about Saturday night unless you brought it up. I didn’t like being that drunk, and most definitely around you. You were such a pleasant surprise that night, and I felt like an idiot the next day. Even though I think I already know, I’d ask what your super bowl plans were. It would be fun to see you sharing your house with your friends and to see you excited about sports. Somewhere I promised I would make 7-layer dip. As I thought back to my super bowl party from last year, I remembered how much everyone loved my friend’s dip. Random, but true. I’d ask you what you did with your nephew throughout the day. It would make me smile to hear about you your tales of swords, guns and explosions. I’d tell you about Wednesday’s Jazz game, the one against Portland that I got to go to. We’d have passionate discussions about CJ Miles playing minutes and Memhet’s performance. I’d ask if you downloaded the rest of the Russian Red album and what you thought of the Cyndi Lauper cover song at the end. If you hadn’t heard it, I’d demand that I send it to you right away. At some point I’d probably let it slip that I’ve missed you, not because I’ve been too busy to tell you, but because you deserve to know.