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
Showing posts with label telephOH-NO. Show all posts
Showing posts with label telephOH-NO. Show all posts
Friday, January 13, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
TelephOH-NO part un
It's been a good day. That is all.
Okay. I joke. Not about it being a good day, that is definitely for true. For some reason I can't just leave a mere sentence for you to read. I'm told that is uncool behaviour. And kind of sad. But yes, good day. Slept late. Walked Mutt backward up the street to return a library book. Sometimes it's nice to get a different perspective. Done did some writin' for my book. Got some errands done. Had tea with the Royal Jester. Delicious dinner with Boyfriend...What do you mean who is the Royal Jester? He's my imaginary friend, mind your business. What else happened? I did some readin'. Wrote a letter to my Granny caveman-style, taking a chisel to a flat rock. That took forever. Not sure how the postman will manage with the delivery, but that's not my problem. Had the all-mighty girls' pow-wow with Muse. Aside here: Congratulations to Muse's Hubby for knockin' her up... And to Muse for being brave enough to bear his child. It's always good to catch up with girlfriends. They remind you of things that you've pushed from your thoughts. Plus, I have so many thoughts, sometimes it's hard to keep track. I like to let them roam free, which explains why so many thoughts end up missing. I'll find them eventually. You know how I suffer from misplacement. Now where was I going?
Yes. Things I was reminded of with Muse. We like to travel down memory lane sometimes, and other times we wander up future trail. Today we did both, but screw the future, we spent more time visiting the past. She reminded me of our time together in school, how we were such bad students but managed to get pretty decent grades. Which led me to remember our accounting final when I had to pee really bad, but we weren't allowed to leave the classroom even for that. I wrote that final like I already knew the answers leaving Muse by herself in the classroom to wonder if I was a genius or she was the opposite. The reality is just my tiny bladder. I thought I had an overactive bladder once and went to the doctor to find out and he looked at me funny and said, "Did you listen to your answer when I asked you how much water you drink a day? What goes in must come out." Thanks Doc. Then Muse and I talked about the future (I mean, she is full of fetus, you can't not talk about it) and how things are hopefully going to turn out. Oh please. When does planning ever come true?
The final thing she mentioned that struck me with a memory was a conversation about her phone acting up. Her phone, much like mine, is definitely showing its age. Muse mentioned that it's been kind of an asshole to her by typing extra letters in her texts. There go any grounds I have for ha-ha-ing at any spelling mistakes she sends my way. Her phone crisis, nay, irritation, led me to think of two tidbits about Boyfriend and his phone:
TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un (That's Frenish. A language so romantic even Parisites are envious. That's what people from Paris are called, right?) Hold up. Is that why at Tim Horton's the itty bitty doughnut knobs are called timbits? Because it sounds similar to tidbit? Maybe tomorrow I shall go ask them. Not that the people behind the counter will know, they barely look me in the eye. Still. I need answers.
Where am I now?... TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un!
I may have said in past posts how Boyfriend is particular. No? Yes? Either way. I know with great certainty that he likes simple things (You, with the question marks all over your face: Read my last post, I'm not here to spoon-feed you details of past postings). Simple things like (you know what, forget reading my last post. Get out. Security will rough you up a little while they escort you to the figurative door) a hot summer day, eating the last of my chocolates when the She Hulk is at full capacity, a cell phone manufactured before the year 2000. The last one drives me clinically insane. Literally. Okay, no. Not LITERALLY. Not yet anyways. Almost. One day soon. Boyfriend's cell phone is the oldest, most outdated, nearly useless piece of technology in existance. Honestly, if I gave him supplies to send smoke signals to people he would be much better off. You know the big ol' two hander cell phones from way back when? Boyfriend has one marginally better. Marginally. As Boyfriend does, he likes it (Say Whaaaat?) because it makes no sense to the rest of the human race. About a year ago, his quality communication device bit the dust...this is where you gasp and scream out, "NOOOOOOOOO!"...go on. Do it. For those that followed my instructions, I'm proud of you. For those that just proceeded to read without engaging in audience participation, you are all asses. And for those of you that were in the latter group, but feel no remorse for ignoring my request and being called out on it: go away, you're no fun and I want you out. Let's get back on track. What was Boyfriend to do with a broken phone? A phone he bonded with, spent a tiring two minutes figuring out how to operate. That's time he won't get back. Boyfriend did what every man would do in the same situation: he went hunting. Vegetarians, relax. He went hunting around town for a replica of his formidable, top-of-the-line communication device. Store after store he searched, bombarded by salesmen that tried to get him to upgrade to a touchscreen, something that would go online, something with apps, an actual keyboard, anything. A-no. That was not what Boyfriend was looking for. And then, a beckoning from a Rogers store: they had one! The last one ever made that was on death row, waiting to be sent toward oblivion in an incinerator. Boyfriend ran like never before. This is where the triumphant music gets louder and Boyfriend sprints in slow motion, pushing ol' ladies waddling on the sidewalk into traffic so he, Boyfriend, can make it to Rogers on time to save that last phone from a hideous fate. We get a glimpse of the store clerk holding the outdated phone in his hands while he shakes his head, thinking, "what a piece of crap." The music gets more dramatic, and it seems as though Boyfriend won't make it before the phone gets destroyed. We go to a close-up of Boyfriend's face, he grits his teeth in determination, beads of sweat form across his brow, and his eyes are locked with the camera. And we, the audience, we know he's going to make it. We cheer him on...do it, cheer him on...The very last shot is Boyfriend grabbing that old piece of junk from the salesman's hands and throwing a handful of bills on the counter to pay for it. As he walks out, he says something cheesy, as one does at the end of such a dramatic scene, I'm going to call my girlfriend and tell her the good news. And then as he goes to press the buttons, Boyfriend realizes that he hasn't actually activated the phone, so it does nothing. The final scene is of Boyfriend laughing with joy because he's so happy to have another crappy phone to fulfil the legacy of its twin. Well, maybe it wasn't as dramatic as that, but how do you make a story about Boyfriend replacing a super old phone with the exact same one more interesting? You should've taken it as a hint when you couldn't find a replica at the first few phone stores Boyfriend. You have to upgrade sometime.
You will have to wait for TelephOH-NO part deux. I grow weary (In my twenties and I'm old, how does this happen?). One tidbit is enough for today. Stay tuned.
Time for tea,
K
Okay. I joke. Not about it being a good day, that is definitely for true. For some reason I can't just leave a mere sentence for you to read. I'm told that is uncool behaviour. And kind of sad. But yes, good day. Slept late. Walked Mutt backward up the street to return a library book. Sometimes it's nice to get a different perspective. Done did some writin' for my book. Got some errands done. Had tea with the Royal Jester. Delicious dinner with Boyfriend...What do you mean who is the Royal Jester? He's my imaginary friend, mind your business. What else happened? I did some readin'. Wrote a letter to my Granny caveman-style, taking a chisel to a flat rock. That took forever. Not sure how the postman will manage with the delivery, but that's not my problem. Had the all-mighty girls' pow-wow with Muse. Aside here: Congratulations to Muse's Hubby for knockin' her up... And to Muse for being brave enough to bear his child. It's always good to catch up with girlfriends. They remind you of things that you've pushed from your thoughts. Plus, I have so many thoughts, sometimes it's hard to keep track. I like to let them roam free, which explains why so many thoughts end up missing. I'll find them eventually. You know how I suffer from misplacement. Now where was I going?
Yes. Things I was reminded of with Muse. We like to travel down memory lane sometimes, and other times we wander up future trail. Today we did both, but screw the future, we spent more time visiting the past. She reminded me of our time together in school, how we were such bad students but managed to get pretty decent grades. Which led me to remember our accounting final when I had to pee really bad, but we weren't allowed to leave the classroom even for that. I wrote that final like I already knew the answers leaving Muse by herself in the classroom to wonder if I was a genius or she was the opposite. The reality is just my tiny bladder. I thought I had an overactive bladder once and went to the doctor to find out and he looked at me funny and said, "Did you listen to your answer when I asked you how much water you drink a day? What goes in must come out." Thanks Doc. Then Muse and I talked about the future (I mean, she is full of fetus, you can't not talk about it) and how things are hopefully going to turn out. Oh please. When does planning ever come true?
The final thing she mentioned that struck me with a memory was a conversation about her phone acting up. Her phone, much like mine, is definitely showing its age. Muse mentioned that it's been kind of an asshole to her by typing extra letters in her texts. There go any grounds I have for ha-ha-ing at any spelling mistakes she sends my way. Her phone crisis, nay, irritation, led me to think of two tidbits about Boyfriend and his phone:
TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un (That's Frenish. A language so romantic even Parisites are envious. That's what people from Paris are called, right?) Hold up. Is that why at Tim Horton's the itty bitty doughnut knobs are called timbits? Because it sounds similar to tidbit? Maybe tomorrow I shall go ask them. Not that the people behind the counter will know, they barely look me in the eye. Still. I need answers.
Where am I now?... TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un!
I may have said in past posts how Boyfriend is particular. No? Yes? Either way. I know with great certainty that he likes simple things (You, with the question marks all over your face: Read my last post, I'm not here to spoon-feed you details of past postings). Simple things like (you know what, forget reading my last post. Get out. Security will rough you up a little while they escort you to the figurative door) a hot summer day, eating the last of my chocolates when the She Hulk is at full capacity, a cell phone manufactured before the year 2000. The last one drives me clinically insane. Literally. Okay, no. Not LITERALLY. Not yet anyways. Almost. One day soon. Boyfriend's cell phone is the oldest, most outdated, nearly useless piece of technology in existance. Honestly, if I gave him supplies to send smoke signals to people he would be much better off. You know the big ol' two hander cell phones from way back when? Boyfriend has one marginally better. Marginally. As Boyfriend does, he likes it (Say Whaaaat?) because it makes no sense to the rest of the human race. About a year ago, his quality communication device bit the dust...this is where you gasp and scream out, "NOOOOOOOOO!"...go on. Do it. For those that followed my instructions, I'm proud of you. For those that just proceeded to read without engaging in audience participation, you are all asses. And for those of you that were in the latter group, but feel no remorse for ignoring my request and being called out on it: go away, you're no fun and I want you out. Let's get back on track. What was Boyfriend to do with a broken phone? A phone he bonded with, spent a tiring two minutes figuring out how to operate. That's time he won't get back. Boyfriend did what every man would do in the same situation: he went hunting. Vegetarians, relax. He went hunting around town for a replica of his formidable, top-of-the-line communication device. Store after store he searched, bombarded by salesmen that tried to get him to upgrade to a touchscreen, something that would go online, something with apps, an actual keyboard, anything. A-no. That was not what Boyfriend was looking for. And then, a beckoning from a Rogers store: they had one! The last one ever made that was on death row, waiting to be sent toward oblivion in an incinerator. Boyfriend ran like never before. This is where the triumphant music gets louder and Boyfriend sprints in slow motion, pushing ol' ladies waddling on the sidewalk into traffic so he, Boyfriend, can make it to Rogers on time to save that last phone from a hideous fate. We get a glimpse of the store clerk holding the outdated phone in his hands while he shakes his head, thinking, "what a piece of crap." The music gets more dramatic, and it seems as though Boyfriend won't make it before the phone gets destroyed. We go to a close-up of Boyfriend's face, he grits his teeth in determination, beads of sweat form across his brow, and his eyes are locked with the camera. And we, the audience, we know he's going to make it. We cheer him on...do it, cheer him on...The very last shot is Boyfriend grabbing that old piece of junk from the salesman's hands and throwing a handful of bills on the counter to pay for it. As he walks out, he says something cheesy, as one does at the end of such a dramatic scene, I'm going to call my girlfriend and tell her the good news. And then as he goes to press the buttons, Boyfriend realizes that he hasn't actually activated the phone, so it does nothing. The final scene is of Boyfriend laughing with joy because he's so happy to have another crappy phone to fulfil the legacy of its twin. Well, maybe it wasn't as dramatic as that, but how do you make a story about Boyfriend replacing a super old phone with the exact same one more interesting? You should've taken it as a hint when you couldn't find a replica at the first few phone stores Boyfriend. You have to upgrade sometime.
You will have to wait for TelephOH-NO part deux. I grow weary (In my twenties and I'm old, how does this happen?). One tidbit is enough for today. Stay tuned.
Time for tea,
K
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