Monday, July 13, 2009

No Texting Days 7-9: The Countdown Officially Starts

I think there has to be a point in everyone’s life where you go through something so brutal that you just want to do brutal things to other things. I think, although I may be a little extreme at this point, this non-texting experiment is that point in my life. No joke, as I type this intro to days seven through nine, my phone is actually vibrating. I’m sitting in Boarders, my down the street sanctuary to get away from everything, and like a dumb ass I brought my phone with me, something I usually don’t do. It seems as if the longer I go without sending a text message, the more violent the vibrations on my phone become. This flimsy table I’m sitting at almost fell apart. The vibrations are loud and aggressive to the point to where the two older women at the table in front of me both turned around to see what the ruckus was. “It’s just this damn phone, ma’am,” I said to the women who looked like the eldest of the two. I want to throw this shit across the room and hope to hit the obese gentleman who I saw earlier in the Health & Medicine portion of the store. Every text I get, especially the hilarious ones or the ones about sports, makes me want to take a kitten and throw it against a wall, or a chain linked fence. I sound like a drama queen now. Not texting is not a good idea.

 

Day 7

I just woke up on the day that will complete my first whole week of not texting, and woke up to a message that has been one of the hardest not to respond to. “I just saw the episode of family guy where the dude was like ‘I bet you can’t do this’ while he was shimmying in the mirror. Hahahahahaha.” Very few people know why this was so hard to respond to. A few years back, my sister and I were flipping through channels and came across this cartoon we had never seen before. As fast as we could ask what the hell the show was, we were in tears because Tom Tucker, the news caster on Family Guy was shirtless in the mirror saying, “I bet you can do this,” before he proceeded to shimmy. My sister and I joked about that scene for years and barely found out that it was Family Guy a year ago. I can’t believe I can’t text her knowing this is the first time either of us had seen that scene since the first time we saw it. It’s killing me that I can’t respond, however, life continues.

 

I just got a text message from Celia that says, “Mark Nessia was having a good day… until he got on the scale. Definitely not recession proof.” Mark Nessia was my photo editor who got on our nerves on the school newspaper (Celia was the sports editor). Anything about Mark being fat or someone or something not being recession proof is going to crack me up, the simple fact that she combined both in one text message is killing me with laughter. Speaking of something not being recession proof, we’ve pretty much been calling everything recession proof lately and laughing at people who claim to not being recession proof. The NBA just announced that the salary cap for the 2010 season is going to be lower than expected. If the NBA isn’t recession proof, you’re definitely not recession proof (© Celia Kelly). Needless to say, I wanted to come back with a joke of my own, it’s what we do. But I can’t. Sad day.

 

Day 8

I’m starting to realize that I’m glad that I didn’t commit myself to not reading these text messages because it would be damn near impossible. To be completely honest, I haven’t not looked at a text message since July 5. I’m interested in what people have to tell me. I guess if I had less interesting friends it would be much easier to ignore text messages, but I have surrounded myself with hilarious people who send hilarious text messages; well except for Dayshell, who happened to text me today telling me to tell Davion to call her. Why in the hell would I do that? He thinks she’s just as annoying as I do, but she calls him her brother. How corny is that shit? I’m not going to have some lame ass 20-year-old girl calling me her big brother. Dumb.

 

“Dude pitching for the Rangers right now is fat, Mexican and has a gray goatee. His money can’t be recession proof. Shit, the Rangers money must not be either if he’s playing.” What do I do if I’m not able to respond to shit like this? I play Kanye’s “Heartless” because that’s what Celia’s become sending me things like this. I mean, I appreciate the laugh, but it’s just not fun when you can’t comment back. Having a phone with internet, an MP3 player, speaker phone, games and a camera without being able to text, I assume, would be akin to dating Eva Mendez, but she’s not giving up the booty.  You get to be seen with her gorgeous ass (and touch it from time to time too), you know you’re living large because she has bank and all of your boys are jealous; but you go to sleep every night mad as hell. I don’t even want Eva Mendez anymore.

 

Day 9

At 6:54 a.m. I got a text message that started off with OMGOMGOMGOMG! There was no way in hell I wasn’t reading that (I have to be up at 6 a.m. every day to get to work on time, if I was sleeping in and got a text that early I’d throw a kitten at a brick wall). I just sighed, closed the message and went about the rest of my day. I think my spirit has been killed. I’m not even getting mad at getting not being able to respond anymore. If I were a POW and they were trying to get some information out of me, this is the day I would have broke and spilled all of the information. I’m not broken in the way to where I can’t take it anymore, because that would make me a bitch; I just don’t care anymore.

 

I thought I didn’t care until my sister sent me a text that just said, “coon.” If anyone outside of my circle sent me some shit like that, I would be forced to beat them to a pulp, but it’s hilarious coming from my sister. This text message is akin to me about to spill the beans as a POW and the guy interrogating me burning a cigarette on my forehead right before I spoke. There is no way in hell I’m helping out a dude after he burns a cigarette on my forehead just like I’m not going to be able to hold back my frustration for not being able to respond to these messages. I need to take shots back at my sister. I’m being bullied right now. I’ve officially began my countdown. Just five more days until I can respond. I’ll be back. I’ll be me again. I can’t believe I just typed those last two sentences. When did texting become “me?” Yikes. Either way, five days, Ashlyn. Five days. 

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