Linda and I were phone buddies. We met at a bar called The Yard. She was a bartender and the owners sister. On occasion Paris and I met there and had some of our best conversations.
Due to unemployment my new schedule consisted of searching for jobs on line in the morning, bouncing through myspace in the afternoon, writing short stories in the evening, and either rehearsing at home or playing open mics at night.
I haven't been going to The Yard as much since I quit my job so Linda would usually catch me at home in the afternoon. We're friends on myspace. When one of your friends is on line a little blinker flashes near their picture, if they have one, to let you know they are bouncing around too.
"Hi," she said quietly through the phone. I could tell she just woke up. She worked the night shift and was usually up until the wee hours of the morning. Sleeping until afternoon was commonplace for her.
"Hey," I answered, still in my pajamas myself. "How was work last night?" I asked looking at my pending friend requests. If you want someone to be your friend you send him or her a message. You are then held in limbo until they decide if they want to be your friend or not. I was waiting to hear back from five people.
"Boring," she said yawning a long satisfying yawn. "This sucks. I've had a boatload of profile views but no new messages or friend requests."
"I know how you feel," I replied. "I have the same problem with this on line dating site. I get views but no requests." I stretched out a yawn myself. "I did get one but it was crazy."
"Online what?!?" She asked surprised. I proceeded to tell her about my friend finder site, the sausage that showed up in my mailbox, and Derich's 401 cock reference. She laughed so hard she snorted three times.
"You poor thing. That is so wrong. You have to send it to me!" She was still laughing to herself.
"I don't want to look at that fucking thing again let alone send it out to someone," I protested.
"Come on. You'll do it for me because I'm your best friend."
"OK! OK! I'll get it to you."
"Ha! Ha! I'm in his Top 8!" She said triumphantly. If you are in someones top 8 that means that of all of the friends someone has you are considered to be in the very top. This is cool unless the person you are friends with has less than eight friends.
"Who? Who?" I cooed like an owl.
"Do you remember Peter, the guy who used to hang out at The Yard last year?"
"That narrows it down. You know I have no memory for sausage," I said switching the phone from left ear to right ear.
"Unless it ends up in your friendly adult mailbox," she laughed.
"Fuck you."
"Anyway," she continued, "he was the guy who always liked my pink shirts. He used to invite me over to his house to watch reruns of Will & Grace on the Lifetime channel."
"Oh ... the gay guy!" I said as I realized that some of my pending requests wouldn't accept me as a friend.
"I don't know if he's gay..." she started.
"Come on! Will & Grace on the Lifetime channel?!? What does this guy look like?"
"Just go into my friend file and click the abraccuist." She said sounding annoyed.
"The abracadabrist? What is he a magician?"
"No you asshole, the ABRACCUIST! Just click on his file."
I went to her friend file and found the abraccuist. Sure enough she was in his Top 8.
"You didn't sleep with this guy did you," I asked looking at his strawberry blond afro. "Never mind. Will & Grace. Lifetime channel." I laughed.
"You love being an asshole don't you?"
"It's all in a days work," I said. "What the hell is an abraccuist?"
"I have no idea," she relied. "Maybe it's his new job title."
"Hang on I'll look it up." I opened another window on my computer and headed over to my favorite dictionary site. There was no definition given. I decided to Google it.
"Oh my."
"What? What?" she asked.
"Google it." I said laughing to myself.
"Talk about 401 cock!" She said laughing out loud. Under the term was a vivid description of sexual benefits offered to any woman willing to respond to his adult profile. What was funny was that his profile was five spaces above mine!
That Beautiful Black Man
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