So yesterday I felt like holy hell, I looked like someone just dragged me about a half mile behind their car and I was disconnected to the world--so I couldn't call for help. I left my very cool clutch that I received from Cr for Christmas (white satin with a hot pink lightning bolt down the center) in A the skin-head's car. It is an amazing scientific fact that if you don't have your phone on you, that everyone, their mother and my mother need to get in contact with you. So, imagine the phone conversation between my mom and myself yesterday when she FINALLY calls my landline.
Mom: M? Where have you been? Why aren't you answering your cell phone? (obviously forgetting that I'm 27, and have my own house and really shouldn't have to account for where I've been)
Me: Umm yeah, I left that in Chelle's car (didn't feel like getting into the whole A, the skinhead thing if I didn't have to).
Mom: Well, I have these lightbulbs and paper towels for you and I just wanted to know when a good time would be for me to drop them off (getting a tad too huffy for my taste)
Me: Um well, that's really nice of you to do (all of my lightbulbs blew out on the second floor for some reason...I think possession) but maybe we could do that tomorrow? I'm really busy (hungover). I'm grading all these papers and I'm on a roll (I just threw up and now I want to lay on the couch with a cool washcloth on my forehead)
Mom: You're hungover aren't you?
Me: (defensive) Am not!
Mom: You know M, at your age you should really concentrate on finding a man (WTF? Where's this coming from?) and focus on that rather than focusing on the next good time (What kind of good time is she talking about? Hmmm) You know, maybe you should leave that poor boy alone.
Me: What poor boy?
Mom: Drk
Me: He gave me his hat, so there (I revert to 13)! I'm going to go now. (Click)

So then there was the problem of getting my cell phone back from A. He actually called me and asked me if it would be alright if he dropped it off on his way out. I said of course but to not take offense if he heard "Sexual Healing" over and over again because that's my ring tone and apparently people have been calling all day. He was ok with this and then asks,
"So what's the deal with Chelle?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well she says she likes B but she hooked up with last night, and ummm I wanted to call her and ask her if she'd like to go to the movies or out to eat or something. What do you think?"
(I had spoken to Chelle who said that she was just drunk and that she really didn't see a future with a skin head)
"Well...I um know that she definitely is hung up on B. And I think if she knew there was a chance there she'd go with that. Sorry A. But you know? I don't know any of this for sure, so you could call her and find out for real." (because I didn't want him to know that we had already discussed him)

I call Chelle immediately to fill her in, her response--
"Great, the only man that likes me and calls me back is a skinhead"
"it could be worse!"
"How?"
"I don't know, but it could be. I dunno, a serial killer could've fallen in love with you and had sex with your dead body and all..." (as Monty Python says,"Always look on the bright side of life")

Two minutes later: Chelle calls me excited, B called her from Orlando (Miami is apparently next week's fishing locale). He called because she sent him a very bitter text message (apparently) on Friday night, asking him why he was blowing her off. From Florida, B cleared this matter up. Too bad she hooked up with his friend (let's hope he doesn't find out).

Later that evening:
A brings my purse back to me. He's dressed in complete black with white braces (suspenders for those of you who don't know the lingo), black Doc Martins with white shoe laces. I quickly draw him into my house before my neighbors think I've joined in with Mr. White Power. Again, the big lug is like a teddy bear (I seriously think this skinhead thing is a front), "Do you think I should call Chelle?"

(In my head I'm thinking,"Dude just call her but whatever you do, do it quick because I think I'm going to puke again soon")

"Um I don't know A, I know she definitely likes B."
Whining, "I know but she hooked up with me last night and she seems like a really intelligent girl. She seems like a good girl. It's hard to find girls like that as of late."
(Could it be the get up? Or maybe the affiliation of the group you're in? Naaaahhh)
"Well I don't know what to say."
"Here's my phone number, see if you can't find out what she's thinking ok? And um, give me a call?"
(Alright just call me Columbo)
"Sure, no problem."
And with that A, the lovesick skinhead walked back into the night sans satin clutch.