HP is one of those romantical people who used to read the “Shot in the Dark” column in the Austin Chronicle. You know, the one where people take out ads to find that woman they bumped into in the yellow dress in line at Wich Wich? I always thought that was a complete waste of head space to peruse those classifieds, then HP recently had this interesting encounter unfold…

So she met some chap at the Chicago airport on her recent trip to Austin. The conversation ended when she ran into a friend of ours. Next thing you know, she’s here in Austin and gets a Twitter message from a friend that goes like this: OMG KERRI! THIS IS ABOUT YOU!!! http://chicago.craigslist.org/chc/mis/1751486251.html.

I mean… what are the chances??? I want to say its cute and sweet and romantic, but I just cannot. It’s creepy and craiglist-y. There has got to be some other way you could track down this lost love… oh wait, maybe ask for her number when you are chatting her up at the bar? I am also wondering how Kerri’s friend found this post? I am sure there is a logical explanation that doesn’t involve her crawling for new dates on the scariest of websites, such as she finds the craigslist personals funny and amusing (there is some seriously good substance there) but again, WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?

The chances are slim, like lottery slim, that someone you met is going to read your craigslist personal ad. And then you shoot yourself in the foot twice because the chances of you actually being attractive to that woman after using craigslist to boost your love life are decreased significantly.

I told her she needs to respond to him, just so he knows it works and he doesn’t give up hope that sometimes you can beat the odds you are given. Hope is a powerful force. Not sure if she is going to follow my advice…  I wouldn’t.

On another note, Chicken Shit bingo? Well… its anti-climatic. In theory, it sounds like a really good time. And I am sure if I was as wasted as that gross dude from Dallas that kept groping HP and I, it would have been a good time. But Jesus Chrysler, birds can take a long freaking time to poop. I was remaining sober due to the work on my desk waiting for me to return, so I was firing on all cylinders and my senses were heightened. It was 107 degrees in there… and it smelled like, get this… poop (except for when Dallas dousche was close talking with his stale beer breath). We were all gathered around and super excited when they dropped the bird in the cage. Everyone was cheering when it would walk over their number. We were all pumped at the thought of going home $108 richer. Then it just got old. That bird strolled around pecking at bird seed and hot dog buns for 1.5 hours. One guy looked at me and held up his ticket number and said, “this thing is like a jail sentence. I’m stuck here now until that damn bird poops.” I wonder if they constipated it so we would stay and buy more beer.

We finally left, as did everyone except 2 people, to go sit outside for a bit. The band promised to holler when the shit fell. At one point, I went back in to check on how things were going and wouldn’t you know it? I was lucky enough to be one of the few that actually witnessed the pooping. And it was freaking nasty. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say that staring at the ass of a chicken when it actually drops a deuce is not at the top of my list of things to do.

Poop shy chicken

Will I go back? Yup. Why? Because I love dive bars. I love good ole Texas music. I love Ginny. I will just know better this time than to stay sober and stare at chicken butt for an hour. I’ll buy a square and put an intern on the poop watchin.