"Do you hate my boyfriend?"

"Do you hate my boyfriend?"

I was sitting at my desk at Job #1 [attn: Josiah's sister - This is where I would have used strike thru on the name of Job #1 and then followed it up with some clever text but I'm not sure at how good the internets and the computerers are at finding the name of the company and I've already got into a spot of trouble for it. Know, however, I was thinking of you when I wrote that. You've now achieved infamy and immortality via a Stephen P. Bohn blog shout-out. May your days be golden.] yesterday when I got an IM from a friend of mine. Why, yes, I do stay signed into G-chat all day long. Why, yes, I do have my AIM linked to it. Why, yes, I would like a glass of pink lemonade.

"Do you hate my boyfriend?"

It was a strange thing to start a conversation with, right? Not as strange as, say, going up to a stripper and saying "Hey, baby... Wanna go make out in my limo?" but I guess that works for some dudes. Especially if you look like either a magician or a gender ambiguous villian from a James Bond movie. What's even more strange is how this dude to the left (his name is Erik by the way) used to play Dungeons and Dragons as a kid and considered himself a "late bloomer". If there is any sort of parallel between him and me, I'm gonna take my 10 point Magic Quarterstaff of Destiny and slay me a whole bunch of 'em. Yup. The adianoeta there? A quarterstaff is made of wood and well... you get the idea. It was a sex joke. There. Also, I feel pretty proud of myself for making a sex joke right next to the word "adianoeta".

Anyway... back to real life. 'Cause that's where I try to live occasionally. Her question threw me off: "Do you hate my boyfriend?" I told her I didn't. It's pretty difficult for me hate somebody if I don't know them although, in all honesty, that really hasn't stopped me before. I hate Peyton Manning and I've never met him. Really, though, what's not to hate about him? He gets up to the line of scrimmage, yells for a bit, runs a play, loses a game (or, more importantly in the annals of football, the Heisman Trophy to Charles Woodson), and then cries about it. How can you respect a man who cries when he loses a game? I cried when my grandparents died and when I get hit in the nuts but that's about it. And only every time maybe at the end of The Return of the King. But that's it. Not because I lost a game.

After re-confirming with my friend that I didn't hate her boyfriend, she proceeded to tell me that he thinks that I give him the evil eye on the occassions that I've met him. This may or may not be true but it certainly isn't intentional. I told her that on both the occasions that I have met him, I thought I had been civil enough, even if I didn't care enough to remember his name.

Turns out this dude is named Leeroy.

Naturally, this caused me to both yell out and type the "Leeroy Jenkins" battle-cry:

Yes, said battle cry brought some strange looks from the majority of my co-workers at Job #1. I'm one of those 'square pegs' here.

What? I like the internet and I alluded to the fact that I really like thought D&D was okay. Yeah, I know that's a World of Warcraft clip.

Good heavens... I just turned off my entire readership with my knowledge of RPGs. Oh, well... It's not like I have an image to worry about because women aren't going out with me very often either way. If I'm gonna be single, I might as well be single and happy as opposed to single and wearing a t-shirt / vest combination like most of my East Nashville counterparts.

So, friend who may or may not read this blog: I don't hate your boyfriend. But give it time because I very well could in the future. Who knows what tomorrow holds!?