I logged on to my Facebook account the other day because, for once, I did have something on my mind, which is what Facebook is always tries to coax out of me every time I log in.
I had been eating a bowl of Alpha Bits cereal and discovered the letters M-I-L-K floating in the very substance that was turning those four letters in to a texture similar to wet cardboard. The irony of it all prompted me to head straight to the social networking site and share my discovery with my 158 friends.
I didn't see it right away but as I was readying another digital board of Scrabble, the friend request in the upper right-hand quarter caught my attention. Intrigued, I clicked on the link to see who was looking to be my latest friend.
Her name was JoBeth Anderson and, from her picture, she was a football fan. Her golden locks spilled around a what appeared to be a Tennessee Titans jersey. Her toothy smile and smokey eyes implied a free spirit with a dash of mystery and a hint of danger.
"Hi!" read her message, bubbling with personality, "I thought we could be friends!"
I did a quick check of her profile: 20-years-old, a communications major at the University of Tennessee (Go Vols!), who had just posted her top five "Dog Breeds I love and owned or want to own!" list. She had chosen a Bull-mastiff as her No. 1. Whatever.
I accepted her friend request and, almost immediately, a chat box appeared at the bottom of my computer screen.
I won't bore you with the inane pleasantries and introductions but I asked her if she was a football fan.
"I sure am!" came the typed response. You could almost hear the southern drawl in her keyboard strokes.
She explained the Titans are her "most favorite team evah! lol!". She had seen just about every game last season and was optimistic of the team's chances this fall.
"OMG! I can't wait 4 the season to start!"
Her enthusiasm struck me as odd. I don't know many people to get that excited about the Titans, not even Titans fans.
"Hey, is that you at a bar? Is that your girlfriend?"
She had started checking out my photos on Facebook. There's a shot of my wife and I at a bar a couple of years ago. I'm toasting the camera with a pint of Heineken, a pack of smokes clearly evident in my shirt pocket.
"No, it's my wife. Why are you looking at my photos, exactly?"
"Because I can, silly!!1! lol!! Oh, man, I LUV Rock Band!"
This was getting strange but then it got abstract.
"You're a pretty big guy to play a WR. Have you ever thought about playing as an offensive lineman?"
I didn't really know how to respond to that. I don't even play football, except for Madden.
"You really should. There's plenty of teams out there who could use a little help up front. Far too many QB's getting the stuffing knocked out of 'em because of a poor blocking line up front."
"Listen, I'll be on here from time to time. You wanna' talk football, possible contracts, you let me know."
"I mean, thanks 4 chatting! hahha! :)! C U laterz~!!"
And so ended my chat with JoBeth Anderson, if that was her real name.
I took a bite of my Alpha-Bits which now spelled the words F-R-B-L-D-T-K, a jumble of soggy confusion, mimicking exactly how I felt.
I removed JoBeth from my Friends list, dismissing what appeared to be a bizarre attempt at recruitment. I mean, really, the Titans? I decided it was best to just finish off cereal before it got any more disgusting than it already was.