engender

So, I've cleaned my apartment and I'm just sitting here waiting for my friend Dave. He's driving up from North Carolina, and I haven't seen him in in almost six years. He doesn't have a cell phone, so I can't call him. He didn't call me when he left, so I don't know when to expect him. And I'm hungry. Really hungary.
The best part his I have him my address and phone number, but in the south, apartments are easily recongizable as something distinct from a house, or at least a small house. With these damn huge townhouses, I'm afraid he won't even recognize that this is an apartment complex.
Q:What to do?
A: Neurotically check my email and post a journal article on suicide girls for the first time.
So, I think this is my second on-line journal posting. The first was about three years ago, when "blogging" was just beginning to catch on. I really thought I could write something that I would update all the time! Imagine that, starting something and sticking with it. . .
So, my land line just wrang and there was no one on it. To my knowledge, no one has my land line and Dave should have my cell phone number . . . but maybe he forgot my cell phone # and got my land line from 411. Argh! That's kind of bizaare that the phone rang . . . maybe a bad sign? Okay, back to checking my email neurotically . . .