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Call Me Stupid

Recently I’ve talked to someone twice over the telephone, and twice my side of the conversation has flowed in a manner such that outvies Dasani’s cell-to-cell Arnie Grape impersonation with me. I don’t even really understand why but both times I uhmed and awhed and errr-welled my way through the exchange with the other party as if I’d slurped down a jug of Maladroit, no doubt giving the man that very impression of me yearses before disconnect.

I’m thinking, with these types of ring-ups, he who has all his, ah, ordure together in advance is potentially going to have the upper hand -- like I believe I had with Dasani and I’m certain my debonair out-of-the-blue caller had with me.

In my case with Dasani, though, I know he’s not a moron because I have a bursting supply of other means to judge him by. This new character whom I’m referring to doesn’t in effect have that with me. So when I meet with him (date already determined), he’ll probably expect me to be a sad reincarnation of Rosemary Kennedy.

What does any of this have to do with JADE? Uhm, awh, errr… well, I’ll have to get back to you on that.