Good Thing He Doesn't Know How To Work The Internet To Find My Blog

I got a phone call last night. A call from one R. Dallan Bunce, who happens to be, I don't know, oh -- IN PROVO. So Ryan, Kristin and I piled into Ryan's car, toting Ghostbusters, and drove up to see him.

I miss smart boys.

We watched Ghostbusters, Kristin made a few unfortunate comments, Ryan almost destroyed the house, and Dallan, well, Dallan told The Stories. You know, the Dallan Stories, the ones people beg to hear over and over because they're hilarious and they're true and he intersperces them with quirks of the eyebrow and facial contortions and hand gestures and fluctuations in tone. Kristin and Ryan got to hear some of The Stories last night, and they doubled over laughing, and I think they understood why I got so excited when he called.

I miss smart boys.

After Ryan left, Kristin, Dallan, and I retired to a more intimate setting so we could dissect every infinitessimal aspect of our lives, implementing various philosophical, theological, ethical, and grammatical critiques. We also learned how to dodge kisses.

We finally left and I snuck into my apartment, trying not to wake my roommates. It was just a little too early for dawn, so I turned on the star lamp and collapsed into my down comforter.

I miss smart boys.

My favorite part of the evening was when Dallan casually and offhandedly made a comment that displayed his rather considerable knowledge of cars, and when I asked him to teach me...he said yes. Simple, but it stood in stark contrast to a few days earlier when I was talking to a friend who refused to teach me anything about web design when I asked him to. And it stood in clear parallel to the patience spent this summer teaching me what a motherboard looks like and how all the parts in a computer fit together.

I miss...well.