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<blockquote data-quote="Qlippoth" data-source="post: 1942693" data-attributes="member: 1388">OK, a little groundwork to explain...Back in the day, when fire and wheels were young, I attended Johns Hopkins University. A lovely lass drew my eye; we had no classes in common, but at JHU, all the freshmen know all the other freshmen.&nbsp; I was in the Horrible Romantic Poetry phase of my life, and composed who knows how many hideous, pretentious, artsy little bits of verse for this gal, as though she'd run to the edges of the campus crying, &quot;Heathcliff, it's me your Cathy&quot; every time one of my furtive bits of dross slid underneath her door.&nbsp; Anyway, for some reason, she actually responded, but was honest, saying she wasn't spoken for but didn't want to be.Reality be damn'd, I took up th' chase! (looking all Byronic/Keatsian/Polidoric, no doubt). It culminated in the first date being a party held by my fraternity (mind you, this was JHU, a gathering of geeks): the Black &amp; White Party. Very formal, very crisp, until I found out that the &quot;White&quot; in the title wasn't about starch--it was about....a certain powderlike substance I had no intention (or knowledge) of doing. Neither did she. Unfortunately, in a vain attempt to add a little courage to my routine, I'd combined my cold medication with a certain non-Black or White herb to the evening's festivities, resulting in a rather brilliant fractal pattern that only I was able to see. Leaving my ladyfriend with (at the time) a &quot;trusted brother,&quot; I retired to the powder room to exorcise my demons, only to return to the extreme unhappiness of my date, who gave a full recount of the very impolite things my &quot;brother&quot; had decided to say.&nbsp; The taxicab never showed up, so we had to hoof it 8 blocks in the pouring rain back to her apartment. I was able to mutter &quot;I'm really-&quot; before the door slammed shut in my face.A year later, she wrote a letter asking, &quot;why don't you call me anymore?&quot;</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Qlippoth, post: 1942693, member: 1388"] OK, a little groundwork to explain... Back in the day, when fire and wheels were young, I attended Johns Hopkins University. A lovely lass drew my eye; we had no classes in common, but at JHU, all the freshmen know all the other freshmen. I was in the Horrible Romantic Poetry phase of my life, and composed who knows how many hideous, pretentious, artsy little bits of verse for this gal, as though she'd run to the edges of the campus crying, "Heathcliff, it's me your Cathy" every time one of my furtive bits of dross slid underneath her door. Anyway, for some reason, she actually responded, but was honest, saying she wasn't spoken for but didn't want to be. Reality be damn'd, I took up th' chase! (looking all Byronic/Keatsian/Polidoric, no doubt). It culminated in the first date being a party held by my fraternity (mind you, this was JHU, a gathering of geeks): the Black & White Party. Very formal, very crisp, until I found out that the "White" in the title wasn't about starch--it was about....a certain powderlike substance I had no intention (or knowledge) of doing. Neither did she. Unfortunately, in a vain attempt to add a little courage to my routine, I'd combined my cold medication with a certain non-Black or White herb to the evening's festivities, resulting in a rather brilliant fractal pattern that only I was able to see. Leaving my ladyfriend with (at the time) a "trusted brother," I retired to the powder room to exorcise my demons, only to return to the extreme unhappiness of my date, who gave a full recount of the very impolite things my "brother" had decided to say. The taxicab never showed up, so we had to hoof it 8 blocks in the pouring rain back to her apartment. I was able to mutter "I'm really-" before the door slammed shut in my face. A year later, she wrote a letter asking, "why don't you call me anymore?" [/QUOTE]

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