I love the HELL out of texting.
See, given that I'm not really a "people person," texting allows me to keep in touch without having to deal with that pesky face-to-face business (or talking on the phone, which I hate for reasons I've yet to understand), but more importantly, it is a neverending source of inexpensive entertainment.
First example: my friend Margie.
Margie was bitching about the men in her life and her difficulties in maintaining intimate relationships, so I gently suggested she might want to investigate the amazing and non-committal opportunities afforded by certain battery-powered devices, especially if I could publish her experiences online. Her reply:If i cant hurt it & destroy its life i dont want anything to do with it. ergo no vibrators. blog that!
Much later (August, 2009) when we were talking about her giving me a ride home from the hospital after my cholecystectomy I mentioned I wasn't particular about what kind of transportation she had so long as it got me home and wasn't a van filled with naked men.
Van? we used 2 ride down broad st naked in a van & stop 2 fck on the top floor of the pkng garages. did u c me or smthng? that was a long time ago lol
Oh! And talk about your serendipity! As I was writing this I received another Margie-message:
Yea. i been dying to b blogged. u blog bout all ur future x wives cept me. im jealous
Well, here ya go, Margie!
But the Queen of Texting in GW-land remains my friend (and occasional fake-date) Sarah.
Back in December of 2008 she commented upon my prolonged absence from Super-Secret Support Group meetings:
People keep asking me if you relapsed. Can i tell them you spend your days shooting black tar heroin and impersonating lou reed in a motel bar by the airport?
To which I replied, sure, go ahead, build it up big, mention the new skintight black leather jumpsuit I've taken to wearing for days at a time.
Hell yeah.You're probably going to get some strange calls bc i'm not going to tell anyone i'm lying.
No one ever calls.
Really? What a bunch of turd burglars. so i guess they do just want gossip. I'm gonna tell so many lies. This is gonna be awesome.
Tell 'em I spend my spare hours posting sex videos on YouPorn and RedTube.
And We've joined forces to make newcomer (to Super-Secret Support Groups) porn. You went into seclusion, and that's why i had to come back to meetings. To recruit for the web site.
And these exchanges are immensely entertaining, but nowhere near as much fun as the random, unsolicited, infrequent, Twitter-like musings I receive.
--I'm at the fetish bar sitting by myself so my friends can make out in the other room. This is weird--i just drove. (a bad thing since she's got a couple of DUIs) I think i might be a lesbian, cause i really seem to want to be locked in a cell block with a bunch of chicks.
--Excuse me, sir. What would you think if you saw my butthole and it was...stainy? Would you come back for a second helping? (a singularly intense WTF? moment for me)
--my wristband from the irish festival says "live responsibly" on it. I think that's asking too much. i have a hard enough time with "drink responsibly"
--I'm watching "big". I once walked in on my little sister watching the movie from the middle. She said, "so this movie is about tom hanks kidnapping a child?" Oh wait, a retard that kidnaps a child.
--I walked to exxon around 3am last night and ran into a bunch of kids lost in church hill and preached to them about swedish pop.
A couple of years ago Sarah worked briefly for Cleaning With A View, a local maid service whose employees cleaned your house while wearing skimpy outfits. She recently asked if I still had one of her business cards (I did) and would I send her a copy. I mentioned that I'd saved the image files from her time there and did she want those as well.
Nice. I never thought people would be downloading naked pictures of me off the web.
--If It's possible for waiting tables to qualify one as a bad ass, i definitely am today. I'm beginning to wonder if i've died and this is some dante-esque hell.
And this is why Sarah is the Queen:
Neptune-king of the seas, and my boobs.
* It occurs to me I've just confessed to another deep, dark secret--I'm 54 with no children and know who the Jonas Brothers are. I also know about Hannah Montana, The Wizards of Waverly Place, and iCarly. Obviously, I need a hobby. Or therapy.
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