The miracle of text messaging has failed me. Several that were sent to me never made it into my inbox. Sort of important communications -critical, really. In that by not getting these messages I got mad at someone and behaved like a lunatic.
Then you say-"I never got those messages." And people think you are making it up because saying you never got an email or a text sounds a little too convenient.
Also-and this is really terrible-my phone has been dialing the last person I texted on it's own. Somehow the phone knows EXACTLY the wrong person to receive 8 phone calls in a row at midnight. It's never my Mom, or Coco-I am already stalking them. We talk all day. They would think its funny. No-it's always someone I barely know. Sometimes my phone will call someone and their answering machine picks up. It records long minutes of private conversations that I would rather not share-always with the absolute last person I would want listening to them.
"How does it know?" I think "And why does it do that to me? Is it like Ruby-I am not showing it enough attention so it's acting out?"
We all know that is impossible. I am constantly holding in my hand so it won't grow up to be neurotic like those Romanian babies who lay in their orphanage cribs all day never being picked up and held. Maybe my phone is just an asshole. Or it's jealous, trying to sabotage any other relationships that might threaten our bond.
I think it's becoming self-aware, like the SkyNet computer in my favorite movie Terminator 2, and communicating with my computer-which has been acting weird-sullenly refusing to go to certain sites but not others. I tried to turn it off and it wouldn't cooperate, like a toddler refusing to nap. I had to unplug it from the wall. It didn't want to die. Just like SkyNet.
"I thought yesterday that you weren't getting some of mine" said Trixie, when I called to tell her about my what we now call 'The Extremely Unfortunate Incident' "I thought that either they weren't going through or you were ignoring me."
We went back over the texts in my phone, matching it up with the ones in her message history and sure enough some were missing.
"GOD DAMN IT!" I yelled."Why does this shit only happen to me?"
"Remember when that guy you were dating had your blood type tested? Hitler? Maybe reincarnation isn't bullshit and it means you actually were Hitler in your last lifetime."
"No." I shook my head."If that were true then Jewish people would all be mean to me, without knowing why. And The Chosen People love me. We drink Manoschevitz."
(The blood type thing-I was dating this guy in December who was really into this thing the Chinese have about blood types. They believe its a compatability predictor like we do with astrological signs. He was 'O neg" or something. "I don't want to do that" I told him as he held up some piece of paper with circles he'd ordered off the Internet and a needle to prick my finger with. "I have to know," he said, waving the tiny needle pin thing at me. I backed away. "I. Am. Scared. Of. Needles." I yelled."Get away from me with that!" He began to circle me around the table as I walked backwards away from him. "It's a tiny prick, one drop of blood. We will smear it on the paper and in one minute it will show me your blood type. I need to know." We circled again and again around the coffee table til he caught me, held me down and pricked my finger. "You son of a bitch." I sulked. I was mad but then-of course- I HAD to see what it was. Pathologically curious. After a minute it showed purple on one of the circles. His head dropped in sadness. "A-Neg. Same blood type as Hitler." "What does this mean?" I asked. "Is it bad?" "It means we will never get married." Well, I thought, I knew that a minute ago when you held me down and stabbed my index finger with your crazy Chinese needle. Psycho. And I split. To go spend three hours looking up what A-Neg means. Blood type A stands for Blood Type Asshole. I could not find one positive attributes about A. And Hitler did have it. So does Brittney Spears.
That explains a lot.
I wonder what Hitler would do with a phone who kept betraying him, revealing his secrets,failing to deliver critical communications. If I really am Hitler reincarnated I would send my phone (and my computer-cause he was paranoid-like all Type A's) to the camps.
But I won't do that. Everyone needs unconditional love and understanding-even when they act out. Even if my phone is turning into The Terminator.
Trixie and I are starting to merge into a single high functioning being. Like how all those dead people inhabited that little girl at the end of 'Being John Malchovich" except (I think) there are only two of us.It's getting out of hand. Trixie is my business partner. For ten years I thought- I can never work with anyone. Mainly because- I tried it once and the girl ended up being psychotic and lazy. 2. I am a control freak about my business.
Or used to be. In the last few months I've realized that I've been in a slow decline of Burnout for a few years. "I could sew that dress." I think."Or I could watch Tyra." I love having a TV but it does interfere with my work. For seven months all I had was a tiny portable DVD player-the kind you can take in the car. The only DVD I had was The Bourne Identity because- like the sheets-I kept forgetting to buy more movies at the thrift store. "I love me some Matt Damon," I would think "But I am tired of watching him flip around in the air kicking people's asses. That German girl should totally dump him. Emotionally distant." I would analyse it like I was writing a thesis. had every word memorized cause I'd seen it 8,000 times.
Then I started hanging out with Trixie. She gets things done on time, doesn't ever procrastinate and lie about why the orders are late. "My dog died." I will say "It's going to be another week." "I didn't know you had a dog. Where was it when I came over for my fitting?" "In the yard." I say. "You don't have a fence." They frown. "He was a really smart dog."
Trixie doesn't do this kind of bullshit. And since we've become 50/50 partners-I don't do it either. Mostly because I am afraid of her.
"SUNNY!" I hear her yelling from the studio. "Shit," I think. "I must have left a snickers bar to melt in the fabric piles again. Maybe I can blame it on Ruby." I go down to the studio and she gives me this look. You know the one. The why can't you just be normal? one.
"Did you leave the door open? because a cat got in and peed on the carpet." she is very unhappy, but I want to laugh. I restrain myself. Because she might smack me. "Coco brought her cat over here one day and locked it in the studio." I tell her. Now the heat is off me. She's annoyed at Coco. "Who brings their cat to someone's house." she asks. I shrug. "She was drinking all that vodka. Maybe she was drunk." "Ok." she says. "Go upstairs and make the sales calls." And I do. Even though "Law and Order" is on and I don't feel like working.
Since she's not a man I don't mind the bossing. I kind of love it. It's not just fear that inspires me to be more responsible since Trixie has come along but love. I was burning out because I was getting lonely working at home. I don't have a husband anymore-and while I love being alone it can be a little much sometimes. Plus-ten years with no co-workers to go to lunch with. Ten years.
Now we finish each other's sentences and watch each others kids. She's like a sister to me. She calls me every five minutes about work bullshit and it doesn't annoy me. " We just got our business checks in! They sent them in a fancy binder!" She gets excited about this kind of shit, which makes me excited. "Awesome!" I tell her."I'm going back to Tyra."
The other day we were texting while I was driving to get a Red Bull so I could stay up all night to finish a deadline before Trish yelled at me for putting it off.
"Im turning into u. forgot to give you the money from the Japan order. u r turning into me cause u r remembering stuff lately." she wrote.
"We are merging." I wrote."Like Sigourney Weaver and the Alien. Don't lay your eggs in my chest bitch."
She is not afraid of me. "I will if I feel like it. Thats how i roll. Get used to it"
"I will go to Home depot and buy that fire blower things she torched it with in the end and burn you to a crisp while you shriek and writhe." I wrote "I hate it when people lay their eggs in my torso."
But she is smart. "I should rent that movie so I know what to expect and can plan a defense."
"We should rent them. I know the kids would like it. Ruby is four now after all."
"No." she wrote."I want to see The Bourne Identity. Have you seen that? It's good."
"FUCK.YOU" I wrote. But I was laughing. Because I would totally watch the Bourne Identity with Trixie. And not even get annoyed.
Sunny Haralson was born in a house of ill repute. After acing the first grade, she ran away to join the circus. At night, while the elephants slept, she learned how to spin and sew from the spiders. She made whimsical creations for the trapeze artists, who needed their outfits to be both beautiful and comfortable. Magpies brought her shiny objects to embellish the costumes with, if they sometimes accidentally brought an eyeball they'd plucked from some unfortunate, she forgave them and quietly popped it into her mouth. The circus, for all it glorious adventure, was often low on dietary protein.
When she tired of circus life she retired and set out alone to the desert in a stolen hot air balloon.
It's there, in a tiny FEMA trailer, that she writes her tell-all memoir. She steals ideas from the coyotes and writes them down with needles made from the giant cactus that guards her doorway. The UPS man never sees her face.