DDR

Barb tells me that one of his friends is performing some sort of musical number at the eBar on Thursday with DDR mats. That's right people, Dance Dance Revolution.

Where will I be, you ask?

Working. Like a sucker! I never thought I'd work at a place where I'd be glad that there was a sheet of glass and a couple of locked doors between me and the people in the building. Did you know that bus drivers in England have their own little glassed in area? I think they do everywhere, but at the very least, this particular bus line in the East Midlands where we were working did. As a frequent taker of buses now, I wouldn't want to drive without a solid barrier between me and the crazies I was chauffeuring around.

Barb will be there at the eBar, drooling over the DDR mats. He's a fiend. One time we went to a movie, Lady in the Water (which sucked a big nutsack), I believe, and after it was finished we had some time before we could catch the bus back. Barb decided he should probably bust a move on the DDR in the arcade area of the theatre which was, as ever, occupied exclusively by the prepubescent. And ardent DDR lovers, apparently.

Some old lady stood there and stared at him while he went at it like a fiend (amazed by his talent, Barb claims) and there was some little girl crying in the corner as this red-headed monster danced his hairy little heart out.

That little girl was probably me. True story.