ACTUALLY, IT REALLY ALL STARTED WHEN A BUTTERFLY FLAPPED ITS WINGS IN CHINAI don't know how it works in Oregon, but here on the East Coast we have to pay for text-messaging, so when
someone texts you, it's generally important, especially if the message is something like 'I'm so over it all,' and you're already a bit concerned because that certain someone had his dirty laundry recently aired in
his blog comments, and even though you think the controversy was
manufactured for attention, you're still a bit concerned, so you call the certain someone back -- long-distance, of course, and on your dime, at that -- and he's all, "Blah blah blah just kidding," and you're all, "That wasn't funny, I was really concerned," and he's all "Blah blah blah it's only 3:00 PM and I'm already drunk," and so you hang up on him, and that's when you realize that you have the phone numbers of far too many bloggers stored in your cell phone, and all of them live out of town except
him and
him, both of whom you knew before they blogged and therefore don't really count as bloggers, and so you seriously consider deleting their numbers...
...and then as you're scrolling through your stored numbers, you realize that you've spelled
BoiFromTroy's last name wrong -- his
real last name, not 'Troy' -- and you try to correct that before remembering that you're just going to delete it anyway, but while you have your phone open and you're playing with the phone numbers your boyfriend calls, but because you were using the phone his call goes right to voice mail and you don't notice that by the time you finally decide not to delete those phone numbers and close the phone, because you're distracted by the realization that you're missing
The Amazing Race, and you really want to watch it to root against Rob (not
him and not
him; the
other Rob) and Ray (not
him; the
other Ray), although you're perplexed that you don't hate their female partners as much as you hate them and wish they were on the same team so you could consolidate your hatred, and in any event it doesn't matter because neither were eliminated, which pisses you off so much you're snippy when your boyfriend calls you back after the show...
...and then he's all, "Blah blah blah stop taking your frustrations out on me," and you're all, "I'm just pissed about Rob and Ray," and he's all, "Blah blah blah all you care about are bloggers and
Amazing Race contestants, and if that's how you feel, I'm out of here," and you're all, "Fine, bitch!" and you hang up the phone, and then you realize that maybe you overreacted so you try to call him back but he's already blocked your number, so you decide to have a drink and calm down, but when you look in the refrigerator you see that your roommate has drank almost all the wine, leaving just a tiny little bit in the bottom of the bottle, and that pisses you off all over again because you know he only left that little drop of wine to avoid having to rinse out the bottle and put it in the recycling bin, and also so he has plausible deniability when you confront him about drinking all the wine so he can say, "Blah blah blah I left some wine in the bottle," and you decide that when your lease is up you're going to get a studio and live alone, and while you're thinking of that your roommate comes home -- drunk, of course -- and when you confront him about the wine he's all, "Blah blah blah I left some wine in the bottle," and you're all, "I want you out by the end of the month," even though you can't afford a two-bedroom apartment on your salary...
...and then you try to go to sleep, but you can't because your roommate is stomping around the living room and banging pots and pans and slamming cupboard doors, and you probably wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, because you're sort of upset about the fight with your boyfriend as well as the fact that Rob and Ray are still in
The Amazing Race, and also that bogus text-message that started the chain of events, so you toss and turn for hours until it's 3:30 AM and you think that maybe a shot of NyQuil will help you sleep, so you take a shot of NyQuil and then decide that
three shots of NyQuil will help even more, and the next thing you know it's 8:45 AM and you've overslept your alarm by three hours and there's no way you're going to be at work on time, because 'on time' means 8:00 AM, so you jump in the shower and while you're lathering up you remember you have -- er,
had -- a meeting scheduled with your boss at 8:30 AM, so you panic and start to rush, but then you slip in the shower and fall on your ass, and you think you might have broken something...
...and after you hobble out of the shower and dry off and cut yourself shaving and get dressed -- slowly and painfully, because something under or near your ass is probably broken -- and bleed a bit on your collar from your shaving accident, you limp out of the apartment building and decide you'd better take a cab, because you're already 50 minutes late for your meeting with your boss, and finally something good happens because an empty cab cruises by at that exact moment, so you jump in and say, "53rd and Third," and he's all, "Blah blah blah York or the Drive?" and you're all, "I don't care, you're the trained professional, go whichever way is fastest," and he's all, "Blah blah blah American attitude," and you're all, "Just get me to work," and so he takes you to work, even though he's pissed, but as you're getting out of the cab you realize you forgot your wallet back at your apartment, so you're all, "Um...", and he's all, "Blah blah blah theft of services, American idiot, I call a fatwa on you," and you're all, "What-
ever"...
...and by then you're more than an hour late for your meeting with your boss, and he's all, "Blah blah blah if you think you'd be happier in another position..." and you're all, "I'm really sorry, but this guy texted me last night..." and then the cab driver bursts into the office screaming about being ripped off and, when you squirm to get away from his fists, pain shoots through your broken ass and you fall to the floor, and your boss is just standing there watching the crazed Pakistani cabbie pummel you while you cry in agony and he's all, "Blah blah blah two weeks severance and we won't fight you on Unemployment," and the cabbie's all, "Blah blah blah nine dollar-feefty," and then you hear a tone announcing an incoming text message and when you look it's a
certain blogger texting you to apologize for sending you a drunk message the previous evening...
I'm not saying any of this happened. I'm saying that it could happen, unless people learn to use their phones a lot more carefully.
The End.
