==
October 15, 2002
4:11 p.m.
Yes. I enjoyed the conference.
Yes. I told you this already.
Okay?
Maybe next year,
DH
==
October 17, 2002
6:57 p.m.
Yes, I meant it. No matter how much alcohol you claim I consumed. (I still contend that there was no sixth shot of vodka. You must have mistaken me for the other angry trace technician who you dragged to a bar.)
A three-page diatribe on how you don’t want me lying is very high-school-chess-team-captain of you, Sanders. Chill out. And stop clogging my e-mail box. Ever hear of work? You know, that thing people sometimes do, and get monetary compensation for?
Yeah. I’m trying to do it.
Cut it out,
DH
==
October 21, 2002
9:05 a.m.
I’m sorry. I suppose was supposed to know you were the high school chess team captain. I must have turned off my mind reading abilities.
And by the way, I did not say I wanted to have sex with you. You are making that up. I may have had a lot to drink that night, but not enough to say that. I was inebriated, not clinically insane.
And I still contend the panel on fiber analysis was the worst,
DH
PS – No.
==
October 21, 2002
8:37 p.m.
That’s both unsafe and unsanitary.
Stop e-mailing me all the time,
DH
PS – Oh, in that case…
No.
==
October 24, 2002
11:14 a.m.
Work, Sanders. Do you do it? Have you ever tried it? When we met at that conference, I was somehow left with the uncanny impression that you were… What did you call it again? A dee en ay technician? I forget. Big science terms were involved. Whatever the case, if I’d known your technical title was “sit around and e-mail people I met at conferences in California,” I would have given you the e-mail address of some poor Alaskan Inuit.
And you could talk about fish.
DH
==
October 25, 2002
2:21 p.m.
Yes, Inuit have computers.
No, I’m not making this up.
DH
==
November 2, 2002
3:47 p.m.
As much as I appreciate your offbeat humor, sending me a link to a porn review site has not won me accolades with my boss.
DH
==
November 2, 2002
5:09 p.m.
Stop laughing.
DH
==
November 2, 2002
5:23 p.m.
Seriously.
DH
==
December 12, 2002
12:52 a.m.
Sorry I haven’t replied in a while. Proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan, and I’m out with the morning trash. Long story, but apparently, having a brain is optional when you work at a crime lab. Who knew?
I’ll be working at a burger joint for the rest of my natural life. And I thought divorce was bad.
DH
==
December 13, 2002
2:19 a.m.
It’s not nice to jerk around a man on the unemployment line, Sanders.
DH
==
December 14, 2002
4:22 a.m.
There’s seriously a job there?
I’ll check it out. I hate California, anyway.
DH
==
December 20, 2002
1:38 a.m.
Yes, the interview went well.
Yes, I enjoyed meeting your friends.
No, I will not date the fingerprint technician, no matter how desperate you claim she is.
DH
==
December 20, 2002
1:55 a.m.
Why?
Because she’s terrifying.
DH
==
January 9, 2003
8:13 p.m.
Should I be worried that Dr. Grissom took my blood and put it in the fridge? Is this some sort of hazing? And who is the tall woman who keeps glaring at me? Should I fear for my life?
DH
==
January 9, 2003
10:38 p.m.
…I think I’m more disturbed now that I know the blood-letting is normal.
What have you gotten me into?
DH
==
January 10, 2003
12:16 a.m.
Sure. Breakfast sounds great. If I survive.
DH
PS – I’ve been called “New Guy” twelve times. Can I kill someone?
==
January 10, 2003
12:47 a.m.
Please?
DH
==
January 11, 2003
7:28 p.m.
Breakfast was excellent.
(If you send me three pages about not lying, I’ll douse you in chemicals.)
D
==
January 11, 2003
9:15 p.m.
Oh. Four pages. Lovely.
D
==
January 15, 2003
10:34 p.m.
He is not hot. Stop asking me that.
D
==
January 19, 2003
11:54 p.m.
Look, it was just another breakfast. Don’t be reading so much in to everything. You go to a conference with a guy…
D
PS – Picture a tongue-out smiley at the end of the statement. I don’t want you crying to Dawson that I was mean to you. Again.
==
January 20, 2003
12:23 a.m.
Why don’t I use emoticons?
I think they’re evil, pointless, and the work of the devil.
Happy?
D
==
January 20, 2003
12:41 a.m.
No. Not cute, Sanders. Evil.
Though I can see how you’d confuse the two.
D
==
January 27, 2003
4:17 a.m.
If you ever call me effeminate again, I will kill you.
D
==
February 2, 2003
2:46 a.m.
Yes. Blue paint.
It’s got to be something kinky.
D
==
February 8, 2003
4:12 a.m.
Yes, Sanders. I was lying. The shirt with the psychedelic swirls is, in fact, not the ugliest shirt I have ever seen.
(Last week’s lime green…thing…beats it by a mile.)
D
==
February 17, 2003
2:31 a.m.
Catherine will never sleep with you. Stop trying.
D
==
February 17, 2003
2:58 a.m.
I’m sorry. I don’t know how to be “jelos.”
D
==
February 17, 2003
3:07 a.m.
Oh. Jealous. Why didn’t you say so?
D
==
February 19, 2003
10:41 a.m.
I don’t believe you told Bobby Dawson about that. You really are evil.
I blame the hair.
D
PS – I told you, I was drunk.
==
February 19, 2003
11:03 a.m.
No, it wasn’t funny.
D
PS – Very drunk.
==
February 19, 2003
11:29 a.m.
Archie, too?
Great.
D
PS – Not crazy, Sanders. Drunk.
==
February 22, 2003
4:06 a.m.
I hate you.
D
==
February 23, 2003
8:14 p.m.
Yesterday’s statement retracted.
D
PS – Apparently, I am crazy. Who knew?
==
March 10, 2003
9:12 p.m.
< 3? What is < 3?
2?
1?
A negative integer?
D
==
March 10, 2003
9:18 p.m.
…oh.
D
==
March 10, 2003
9:24 p.m.
In that case, you too.
D
==
April 5, 2003
8:32 p.m.
Greg –
Stop sending me pornographic content from the fingerprinting computer. I can see you giggling. Yes, you. Right next to Jacqui. In case you haven’t noticed – and I can see how you would have missed it – these rooms? Have glass walls and are thusly transparent. I know this goes against everything you’ve ever learned in school, but this means – ready for this? – I can see you.
Do I need to remind you what Ecklie did last time?
Didn’t think so.
So cut it out, or you will never get the real-life equivalent of any of those things again.
D
==
April 5, 2003
9:05 p.m.
Yeah, we’re still on for dinner tomorrow.
Which, by the way, has two Ns.
Less than three (because I still think emotes are evil and you will never change my mind on that fact),
D
