Dirty Words and Smiley Faces…

The Postman just passed me by as I am parked in my driveway smoking . I would not want that job. All those people waiting on checks—especially in the beginning of the month. Oh Christ, he just walked over and to hand me my mail. Opening my window is much like the cloud of smoke that follows as Spicoli rolls out of his van.  Oh great my Blooms and Neiman Marcus credit card bills have arrived saying I’ve reached my limit and asking that I now pay up, or else. Getting a maxed out credit card bill feels a lot like getting dumped.

Hate that.

I got dumped for the first time last summer, August 2011. OK fine it had to happen. Did it have to happen by text?

{Apparently, the break up by text just happened to Charlie Sheen too}

Damn it, I had just realized how much I love to text! I hate the telephone and I love to write so it is perfect. I love that I am not committed to the conversation as I am on the phone. Shopping, cleaning, living—all can be done while texting.

I did like the phone as an adolescent and teenager. My first issue was long distance. I had a “boyfriend” in a city in a different area code. The phone bills kept getting larger and larger. Quite frankly in today’s dollar, the figures were astronomical. What the fuck could we have possibly been talking about? These days I am on the phone ten minutes TOPS.

Anyway, the original solution to the long distance problem was for Marie (single) to take the phone to work. 

{I had another–phone that is}

Next, she had somebody build a lock box around the phone.  I am sure I figured that out too, or more likely it became dangerous due to my brother possibly lighting a fire and us needing to use the ‘locked in a box’ on the wall phone.

As a young teen, I talked to boys on the phone. My favorite was my friend Pete. We went to school together, watched TV after school together. He would call me at night and I’d fall asleep on the phone. I wanted him to throw me down and take me, like they did on All My Children.

Pete was a year younger than me. Blonde, blue eyes. Silly. I loved our afternoons together. We would make out and watch cartoons.

{Sounds creepy now}

We would dry hump and he would scurry off to the bathroom after. We never really acknowledged any sort of boyfriend/girlfriend thing—it was just what we did.

I haven’t seen Pete in years. I hope time has been good to him and that he’s still cute enough to want to rub against.

But now instead of all that courting and petting; you meet a guy, exchange cell numbers, we sext a little, grab a coffee, plan a game of “scrabble” and fuck the night away.

I found out about text plans after a $600.00 bill came—just like old times! That was my first bad text experience.

Sext some more. Fuck on Thursdays for a couple of months.  Then, the day comes when you get a text saying they found someone better for them. Hmmph! Go figure. And I was having so much fun writing dirty stories. And taking and sending dirty pictures.

Then it happened again. The same guy lured me in with words…a little breakfast, a little more sweet talk and wait….

“BING—I don’t think this is going to work for me. You are amazing, but……….”

WTF!?! Worse than a post it! Atleast the post it has a little personality. It’s colorful and square. And highly marketable.

So to the dog trainer/part-time fireman, I will not let you tempt me with your dirty words and smiley faces. And, to all else, next time leave a pink post it please.

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