TelephOH-NO part deux

For Christmas, Boyfriend got a backwards clock from my Ma. You know, where if you're dyslexic it'll really mess with you because when it's 7:00 it looks like it's 5:00. It's interesting, but I have to say it makes me want to do two things: 1) Sing "If I could turn back time" by Cher (check that one off the ol' bucket list), and 2) Go insane Tell-Tale Heart style. When I notice it, the ticking drives me mental. If genetics don't make me go mad first, this clock will do the trick. Don't get me wrong, it's a neat clock, but it really gets me in touch with my psycho killer side...poor Boyfriend.

That being said. Welcome to TelephOH-NO part deux. We're happy to have you. Except for you with the caterpillar moustache. You're excused from the blog. Don't get upset with me lady, just go. I really need some better imaginary friends.

This story takes place many moons ago. Probably in the ballpark of...eight times thirty...two hundred and forty moons ago. Give or take. Oh please. We all know I have no concept of time or truth, it could have happened yesterday. No matter. The month the story takes place is of no consequence. It is time of day that is important for this tale. But I'll get to that.

Boyfriend and I are awesome, according to a very reputable source, me. My opinion of awesome probably isn't the best way to value our relationship...meh. Whatever. We work hard for the money (so hard for the mon-ey) and sometimes our relationship. Since I only see him conscious on average about twenty minutes a day we have to communicate via text while he and I are at work. Let me explain our average workday: He gets up early and wakes me before he leaves to A) Say that I'm beautiful...I think, the first moments after being woken up are always unclear and hazy, B) I think he asks me what I'm doing for the day, and C) We tag team to drug the dog. After this, I go back to sleep and he goes to work. When I get up a few hours later I text him to say g'mornin', and thus starts our texting. I then go about my meandering, writing, taking the Mutt out, shopping, slipping into lunacy from the constant ticking sound (If I could turn back tiiiiiime), Starbuckary (aka getting my sip on at Starbucks), and pretty much anything else I can do to shirk responsibilities at the shoebox-sized apartment. Eventually, I get ready to go to work, slap on the face and the work costume and I'm out the door. Not long after I leave for work, Boyfriend gets home and starts his meandering, something to do with one or all of these four things: NFL, NHL, writing me love letters that he's hidden somewhere because I have yet to actually receive one, and boats. Sometimes our paths cross on days he gets home early or I work later, but that seldom happens. Though, today he stopped by because he forgot something, so that was a nice extra two-minutes we got to spend together. Le crap, I forgot I was making myself a beverage. As my Granny would say, "Mind like a sieve." One moment please. Ah, that's the stuff. Now you have my full attention, we'll be lucky if it lasts for more than eighteen seconds. Yes. Okay, back on the trolley. So I go to work and sometimes I get home before Boyfriend goes to bed, but more often than not I get home and he's passed out on the couch. Which is good too, for reasons explained in my blog post about what he and I do when he's passed out on the couch (generally when he's been drugged with neo sicktron). Even as I wrote that last sentence I knew it sounded like there was a nasty implication there. Not what I meant. If this is our usual day, you can understand why we text throughout the day to keep in touch, and also why I still don't know his middle name, or birthday, or criminal history...

The point in the story where I She Hulk: As I said, this tale takes place many moons ago. I was working late, and as usual texting Boyfriend. Also, as usual, the later it got the more he stopped responding to my texts because he likely passed out from sleepiness. That's fair. I don't like to be bothered when I'm sleepy, drugging the dog aside. When I get home, I see his phone on the hall table. Boyfriend is done for the night and has managed, this time, to get himself to bed rather than sleep on the couch. I get into my late night routine, and when I'm brushing my teeth, I hear it. That little doorbell sound that his phone makes when he gets a text message. I spit in the sink and meet my own gaze. The She Hulk is awake and jumping to conclusions. Who the hell is texting Boyfriend at two in the morning? If it were an emergency, whoever it was would have called. Two am is what everyone knows as the booty call hour. That harlot! That Jezebel! Steam filters out from under my collar, but the She Hulk does have boundaries. She won't snoop in his phone, she'll just ask tomorrow, in an undercover human state, who was texting him at such an hour. And, if the She Hulk doesn't get a reasonable answer, she may then tear off his limbs and use them as firewood at a camp out. The She Hulk can be rational. Somewhat.

Morning comes and the She Hulk asks Boyfriend, Who text you at two in the morning? I heard your phone when I got home. Boyfriend checks, You did. I will rampage and kill...What? No fool, I heard the text come in. Why would I text you when I'm already home? Boyfriend turns the phone so I see the screen, See? There it is, a text that I sent him around 10:00, received at two in the morning. I HATE YOUR STUPID FLIP PHONE FROM THE STONE AGE! It makes a mockery of me, and now the She Hulk is riled up and can't justify taking out her anger on Boyfriend. She does what any rational She Hulk would: She goes to the wine rack, grabs bottle after bottle and starts breaking them on the living room furniture as though she is christening a ship. Merlot, smash. Pinot Grigio, smash. White Zinfindel, smash. She Hulk, smash. Okay, no. That part didn't happen, Boyfriend would call it alcohol abuse. Seriously though, if Boyfriend had a better phone, one that got its messages on time, this conundrum could've been avoided. Also, if the skanks of the world had a better witching hour, that would have also saved another She Hulk moment. Stupid, stupid phone.

Time for tea,

K