Plathological

see spot, fear phone

Technically, I’ve been able to bare children since the age of eleven. Someone, please throw me a Rapid-Development party; I’m wanted by Shakespeare. My kind are more likely to acquire ovarian cancer, due, in most part, to our speed, our bodies’ need to house the next in line as quickly as possible. Move along. Out of the picture.

In other news, I was quite uncouthly terrorized last night, by a psychotic ghost from my recent past. I was terrified. I turned off all my lights and then denied turning off all my lights. I couldn't sleep until well into the dawn. I’m sorry, but hearing the phrase, I’m outside your house is probably one of the freakiest things I’ve heard in my short life.

But (!) Bulford’s prank calls to my ex’s house at three AM are nothing, but nothing short of brilliant. I’m actually in love with the fact that he just does them, on his own volition. I mean, I don’t even have to ask, and then I find out, almost a week later that he left this message, in his mock escort girl voice, saying his name was Tanya and that he can’t see my ex on such and such a date, because Tanya will be getting herself cleaned on that day! ahahaha! I don’t know where he gets it from. And I have to say again that I love how it’s this automatic (automaton!) reflex now to dial up Caroline’s Ex, randomly, and while drunk, and leave obscene messages. I don’t think I would have lasted the night without having that message played to me last night. Bulford, you’re a gem. The really freaky thing is, The Ex was CONVINCED that I had left the damn message (yeah, I wish I had that sort of effing gumption), because the voice sounded so much like me. And, it actually did sound almost, but almost exactly like me---tho, not quite! hahaha! There's something innately disturbing about this vocal correlation . . .but I haven't figured it all out yet. The man without a face, the woman without a voice . . .help me out.

Or maybe I did ask him to leave a message? I really hope not, it ruins the hilarity for me if I had. At the end of the message:

Xavier: "Come back to bed, Tanya!"
Bulford: "Stop beating me, Jim! Stop beating me!"

I was in a terrible mood until I had the opportunity to type all the brilliance out. I need to make a zine of these, well recorded.

Oh, god. Is there anything better than acting your age?

EDIT:

Wait. Wait now. I now think I MUST have asked for him to make that call. I mean, we had been dancing outside the parliament buildings earlier and I had been half making-out with some girl outside the gay bar. I think that warrants my being drunk enough to have the desire and wherewithal to actually request any sort of contact with that useless mother fuck.

Posted by caroline at March 24, 2005 9:23 AM