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From one of our best friends (shhh, you. We have friends). We'll let his email speak for itself:

So I'm walking into Starbucks near the office about 20 minutes ago, mainly because I'm exhausted and needed to throw some crap out of the car.

Sitting outside the coffee house, curled up in a chair like a little kid, is some girl in huge, Jackie Onassis shades. She looks like Nicole Richie. I don't pay her much attention.

Rather, I'm looking at a girl in a red top who's walking into Starbucks ahead of me. She leaves my field of vision and I idly check out Jackie Onassis, who now has her head slightly turned towards me. She looks in my direction for a moment, then returns to her book.

I might be mistaken, but she looks familiar.

I'm halfway into Starbucks when I realize who she is. Periodically, I run into this chick at the bar near my house; about my height, square jaw, long hair, very cute. I'd be lying if I said I didn't dig her a little. I didn't recognize her because of the dopey shades.

We idly flirted once, last month perhaps, but she was with some angry girlfriend and left before we could talk. I've been meaning to run game on her ever since, but the opportunity has never come up.

But now, now she's sitting alone outside of a Starbucks, and she's reading a book. I buy my coffee, duck into the bathroom, check my hair, fix my shirt, adjust my belt, make sure I'm presentable. There's no time for anything else, I'll just have to wing it. Hopefully she'll glance up when I leave, and I'll have a chance to run my mouth.

I grab my coffee and head out, looking in her direction as I do so. Except she's not looking anywhere near me. She's still reading
the book.

It'd be so very awkward to walk over to her -- "excuse me, do I know you?" etc. etc. -- and so I pause for a moment, balancing my coffee, standing there, waiting for her to glance up. Stalling. She doesn't. The whole thing gets way too uncomfortable and so I retreat to my car. Maybe next time, I think, although that probably won't ever happen.

In the car, I'm furious at myself -- I should have just said, "hey, don't I know you" and simply ran the game from there. It would have been easy, and yet I didn't do it. I curse and I fight and I argue with myself all the way to the office, and by the time I leave the parking lot, I'm livid.

But then I glance down and I notice it.

My zipper is wide open. Apparently, when I left the Starbucks bathroom, I forgot to zip up my damn fly.

Whew, I think. So maybe it wasn't so bad, after all.

We used a calculator

While this reminds of a joke we like to tell about a woman and a broken watch, we do have to give the ol' shout out, as the kids say (do they still say this? They do? Good), to Michelle Wie.

When we were 16, we were finally hitting a growth spurt and two years from scoring a perfect 10 on hole nine of the Lawrenceville Golf Course.

Lucky for us, we had our trusty physics calculator to help tally the strokes.

Wie is 16, and well, you go girl.

(Do the kids still say this? They don't? No? Huh. How about dope? Is she the dope? Nothin'?).

42C

We have a theory about planes, and it's not the one about everytime we step on one we think it's doomed to disappear into the Atlantic. Or Pacific. Or Idaho.

It's about sitting near the wings.

See, when we booked our trip to Deutschland four months ago, we thought long and hard about where to sit. Can we fly the plane? No. Huh. Can we kick it first class? Not yet. Can we sit *in* the aisle? Perhaps but probably maybe not.

(Now, the night before we came home, we dreamt that we did. All we had to do was hug the seat beside us and everything was just peachy).

But we digress.

We could sit *on* the aisle, and near a wing. We decided this because of one simple reason: if the wing started to break apart, we could push the fat lady next to us out of the way, gently relocate her *hot* German daughter, punch our way through the window, and start flapping.

Flapping.

Our big theory was if the plane were to crash, we would keep it alive, single-handedly, with our dainty flapping can't-straighten-anyway arms. Brilliant.

Or we could take a half a Xanax, drink a beer and watch a God awful movie.

***
Currently listening to: Nirvana's Rape Me demo.

To the boy and girl at the gym licking each other's faces and blocking the women's locker room and making the treadmill codgers uncomfortable

Don't.

We don't wanna. And we do wanna, but we don't.

PISCES: Whoa! Slow down. What you've done so far is much more than anyone expected! Sometimes, it's wise to give 99 percent of your efforts -- and save that last (one) percent to really wow them next time. Be scrupulous about the effort you put into things right now; there is a strategy there that you need to consider. You are capable of making major changes happen overnight, but sometimes changes are better if they happen slowly. There's no rush -- so slow down and enjoy the process.

(Did we mention we hate exclamation points?). Whoa!

(Did we mention we like 100 percent, but have been doing 67, tops, for *years*?).