"Her last name is worth 3 grand. And free rent on one of my properties."
We were playing Monopoly on new years day. New year's Eve was a boisterous night and I was seated at my best friend's kitchen table playing the game of ultimate tycoonery. At the table are Matt and Tara, sitting across from me, and Scott. Scott is winning the game by a long shot and it somehow comes up that Scott has a 2:8 ratio of remembering the names of girls that he's hooked up. He looks over at me and across the table to Tara (his best friend) and says, "Um. 1 to 8."
She badgered him for a few minutes and I just looked at him and said, "I know your last name."
And I did. I also told him that I new everyone of my hookups last names. And that he's a wretched person (I was kidding on the last part. We had only known each other about 26 hours, there were people who knew me for months before knowing my name was anything but Hey.) And then he offered to buy my name from Matt. It started off at a grand and steadily increased until the two were playing phonetic hangman and Matt was trying to coax Scott into figuring out the options for a hard z sound. At the one arm point, he got it.
The next day I was thinking about it and I realized that I'm a dirty fucking liar. I'm 4:1. I didn't remember one's last name. It made me start to wonder why it matters to begin with. All the absence of a last name is an assurance that you won't be looking them up in the phonebook anytime soon. And if you aren't really friends (or even just casual acquaintances) why cares?
Apparently I do, I did a call around and racked my brain and finally, after about 3 days, remembered it. Good for me. I'm five for 5.
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