Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Sets of Three, They Say...
Meg apologized, and apologized, and in regular sentence-structure fashion, she apologized once more.
"A boy ran into me." She signed, and then motioned at her shirt. "My Latte got everywhere. I'm damp, I smell like a pumpkin, and I've had zero milligrams of caffeine this morning." Her hands flew, gracefully, but precisely, without thought or hesitation. Her colleague, boss, and best friend, Mal, looked at her.
"Why are you damp? Was he cute?" Meg blushed and Mal smiled. Meg poured a cup of generic black coffee and left. But not without having the last word.
"Perv." She signed with her free hand, and made her way steadily down the hall way. When she entered her office, she sat down and began scrolling through the days appointments. 2. Welcome to the longest day ever, she thought. Meg looked up at the clock. 9:03. Her first appointment: 12:15. Fabulous. 3 hours and twelve minutes until she was able to occupy her time with something...her hands, with something.
Her mind drifted as she messed with the scroll bar on her mouse. The boy with the hat. Patrick. Her Latte. Her whirlwind morning, more than out-of-the-ordinary. Five. She's almost forgotten. She'd bring her laptop, open up word. Make the whole thing faster, as far as conversation goes...that is, if he even showed.
Meg shook her head. She had to keep busy. No focusing on later. Just now.
Myspace. She hadn't checked it in two weeks. She figured at least 15 minutes of her time could be devoted to that, easy.
She minimized the window displaying the day's appointments and who they belonged to. Typed the URL. Her e-mail address.
1 minute. Good God.
NEW MESSAGES!
NEW COMMENTS!
NEW FRIEND REQUESTS!
NEW EVENT INVITATIONS!
NEW BLOG SUBSCRIPTION POSTS!
15 minutes. Maybe. She clicked the first link, and scrolled down. Nothing worth reading, as most of the subjects were:
"Damn UR fine."
"Add Plz"
"FWD:"
And none of the senders were people Meg recognized. Fabulous. She clicked on her comments. One from Mal, insisting she update, one from her brother, saying he loved and missed her. One from "Damn UR fine.". She clicked home. Idiot.
Friend requests: Denied. Denied. Denied. This was why Myspace served no real purpose in the life of Meg.
Meg clicked home once again, and clicked on her event invitations. After signing up for myspace, Meg registered to be informed of shows in her area by Myspace Secret Shows. She usually struck gold, as far as shows in her area went. She was in Chicago. Everyone loves Chicago.
"The Sounds"
"Armor For Sleep"
"The Early November"
"Fall Out Boy"
She clicked on each. Ontario. Los Angelos. Dallas. Meg sighed. She went to open the last one, not counting on anything.
I think I need to clear up why Meg was interested in show consisting of music. Melodies. Voices. All things she couldn't hear.
For Mal. Mal could hear, and although she was fluent in sign, she spent most of the day speaking, not signing. Meg would purchase tickets, send them to Mal. Tag along. Always observe. Never listen. Mal learned to sign for Meg's sake, then made a career out of it, hiring Meg as a lip-reading instructor. This was Meg's thank you to Mal. Fair trade.
As the page loaded fully, Meg noted the pictures at the top of the message. The boy with the hat. His glasses. Patrick. Her Latte. 20 minutes. She smiled. Meg sipped her lukewarm coffee. So, maybe it would be kind of excusable if he didn't show. A flick of the wrist, a click of the mouse.
"Thank you, Meg, for purchasing tickets with us. See you Friday, December 2nd, 7:00 at The Metro."
30 minutes. How about...a nap, maybe?
"A boy ran into me." She signed, and then motioned at her shirt. "My Latte got everywhere. I'm damp, I smell like a pumpkin, and I've had zero milligrams of caffeine this morning." Her hands flew, gracefully, but precisely, without thought or hesitation. Her colleague, boss, and best friend, Mal, looked at her.
"Why are you damp? Was he cute?" Meg blushed and Mal smiled. Meg poured a cup of generic black coffee and left. But not without having the last word.
"Perv." She signed with her free hand, and made her way steadily down the hall way. When she entered her office, she sat down and began scrolling through the days appointments. 2. Welcome to the longest day ever, she thought. Meg looked up at the clock. 9:03. Her first appointment: 12:15. Fabulous. 3 hours and twelve minutes until she was able to occupy her time with something...her hands, with something.
Her mind drifted as she messed with the scroll bar on her mouse. The boy with the hat. Patrick. Her Latte. Her whirlwind morning, more than out-of-the-ordinary. Five. She's almost forgotten. She'd bring her laptop, open up word. Make the whole thing faster, as far as conversation goes...that is, if he even showed.
Meg shook her head. She had to keep busy. No focusing on later. Just now.
Myspace. She hadn't checked it in two weeks. She figured at least 15 minutes of her time could be devoted to that, easy.
She minimized the window displaying the day's appointments and who they belonged to. Typed the URL. Her e-mail address.
1 minute. Good God.
NEW MESSAGES!
NEW COMMENTS!
NEW FRIEND REQUESTS!
NEW EVENT INVITATIONS!
NEW BLOG SUBSCRIPTION POSTS!
15 minutes. Maybe. She clicked the first link, and scrolled down. Nothing worth reading, as most of the subjects were:
"Damn UR fine."
"Add Plz"
"FWD:"
And none of the senders were people Meg recognized. Fabulous. She clicked on her comments. One from Mal, insisting she update, one from her brother, saying he loved and missed her. One from "Damn UR fine.". She clicked home. Idiot.
Friend requests: Denied. Denied. Denied. This was why Myspace served no real purpose in the life of Meg.
Meg clicked home once again, and clicked on her event invitations. After signing up for myspace, Meg registered to be informed of shows in her area by Myspace Secret Shows. She usually struck gold, as far as shows in her area went. She was in Chicago. Everyone loves Chicago.
"The Sounds"
"Armor For Sleep"
"The Early November"
"Fall Out Boy"
She clicked on each. Ontario. Los Angelos. Dallas. Meg sighed. She went to open the last one, not counting on anything.
I think I need to clear up why Meg was interested in show consisting of music. Melodies. Voices. All things she couldn't hear.
For Mal. Mal could hear, and although she was fluent in sign, she spent most of the day speaking, not signing. Meg would purchase tickets, send them to Mal. Tag along. Always observe. Never listen. Mal learned to sign for Meg's sake, then made a career out of it, hiring Meg as a lip-reading instructor. This was Meg's thank you to Mal. Fair trade.
As the page loaded fully, Meg noted the pictures at the top of the message. The boy with the hat. His glasses. Patrick. Her Latte. 20 minutes. She smiled. Meg sipped her lukewarm coffee. So, maybe it would be kind of excusable if he didn't show. A flick of the wrist, a click of the mouse.
"Thank you, Meg, for purchasing tickets with us. See you Friday, December 2nd, 7:00 at The Metro."
30 minutes. How about...a nap, maybe?
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