Don't You Just Hate It

Don't you just hate it when someone knows you, and you have no fucking clue who they are? You are to embarrassed to say anything, and you don't want to hurt their feelings by not remembering them, but in the meantime you just search the archives of your mind trying to figure out who the hell they are.

This happened to me today with the Direct TV dude.

My nephew informed me that my satellite hasn't worked for like 4 days, so I called in Direct TV to check it out.

"Kelly!" he exclaimed as I opened the door. "I knew it was you when I saw the address!"

Who the hell is this guy? I can't remember ever seeing him before. Fuck.

"Uh, hi..." was about all I could stammer out. Ok, so he knew me, and he knew my address. Fuck again.

So he comes in and is working on my Direct TV box thingy. It seems to be fine, so he thinks the cord thingy came loose from the dish on my roof. He goes outside to check it, and I start making frantic calls.

I call R, as she knows everything about me. "What does he look like?" she asks. "About 6'2, brown hair. Good looking in an Affleck kind of way. Nice jawbone." "Did you go out with him maybe? What's his name?" she asks.

Hell, maybe I did and he didn't like open a door for me so I never went out with him again. He hasn't told me his name yet either, so I'm screwed on that end.

Fuck, he's coming back inside. His description isn't ringing any bells with R, so she is of no help.

He comes in and flops down on my couch. "Man I had some good times here," he says.

Ok, so I didn't date him, because if I had "good times" with him, I'd remember that.

But shit, he's been here, had "good times", and is talking to me like an old friend. Did I really used to drink that much or what?

"Do you ever talk to Bob?" he asks. Ahhh haa! A clue. That would be my ex boyfriend Satan.

This is making a bit more sense, as when I was with Satan we used to have some huge ass parties.

I feel a bit more at ease now because perhaps I'm not losing my mind, and he was one of the random people that floated through. "No, I don't talk to him anymore," I tell him.

"That's good. You were way to good for him. Sandy and I always used to say that."

Breakthrough!

Sandy, friend of Satan, had a boyfriend that was in the Military. Came home sporadically. Came to a couple of parties with her, but we didn't see him much.

His name was....His name was...

Sam.

Sam was the Direct TV** dude. Sam, the nice guy with the great smile that was always sober even though the rest of us were totally wrecked. Sam the boyfriend that treated his girlfriend like she was a queen.

"Are you still with Sandy?" I ask. "Yep, we're getting married in a couple of months."

Fuck. Wouldn't ya know it. I got a sweet, nice, sober Afflecker in my living room and he's about to get married.

Oh well, no biggie. I suppose I would have remembered his name if I thought he was that great...

**Yes, I know Direct TV is one word and all that jazz, but I'm becoming increasingly aware of what certain words do to your search engine hits...