the NOTE game

Okay, forgive me. I seem to have JUST remembered how this is supposed to work. The whole writing thing. All the stuff I've written before: ignore. I'm only supposed to write when I have a really good story. The more good stories I live, the more I write, the more i go and make good stories. Snow-baller.

It all starts with a guy named Ted. Friend, kinda. He writes notes to girls saying how beautiful they are, then posts missed connections. Trolling for poon. He told me that story. I told Evan.

A few days later Evan and I are on BART going to pick up a package from the main USPS place in SF. Evan is digging through his bag and finds these two little super fancy red/gold envelopes that someone gave him around Chinese New Year time (which, for the record, is not January 1st. God damned dirt worshiping celestials). So he says, "Hey, let's, you know, write terrible things in these gorgeous notes and leave them on BART or somewhere in public where they will get found." I agree to the plot, and scribble down:

YOUR FLY IS OPEN, LOSERFACE.

Evan shows me what he wrote: I HAD SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH YOUR MOTHER. REALLY. I AM SO SORRY.

So, not to be one upped, I crunched mine up and decided to rewrite it, but the only paper we had was torn from a cigarette pack (this becomes important in the next point). I write: I THINK U REEEEALLY PRITTY.

So we each have these, and we say, hey, why not shuffle them up so we don't know which is which, and hand them to a pair of hotties we see on the way to the post office. Excellent idea! So we shuffle, and draw, but the bummer is that I can feel that I got the one saying the awful thing Evan wrote because the paper in my envelope is soft. But that's fate for ya.

We walk for probably 15 minutes before seeing a pair of girls smoking cigarettes, dressed for business and presumably on their lunch breaks, and before I can do anything about it, Evan approaches them and hands the attractive one an envelope which expresses something about her beauty, and I give the significantly less attractive one a note detailing me violating her mama. A note Evan wrote. And we asked them to open them later, and walked speedily away.

We've decided to make this note giving ceremony a weekly activity, but we've agreed not to tell each other what we've written for the week. It should be fun.

p.s. on the BART ride home, I couldn't help but picture what those girls said after opening the notes. "Awww, that cute guy with the moustache (Evan) thinks I'm pretty, but can't spell very well. How sweet. What's your note say, Janet?"