There were five email messages in my mailbox this morning, all from the same unknown sender. The first one, received at 12:48 AM, was without a subject line. My mouse hovered over the delete button ready to dispense with the supposed junk mail . . . until my eyes locked onto the subject line of the second email.
Oh crap.
I cautiously clicked on the link to be greeted with:
So, im in manhattan gettin fuckin drunk and ur not here! Wtf is ur problem? I just dont get it.
Cue stunned disbelief followed by me blurting out, "Because you are a fucking lunatic!" Susan, who was sitting next to me and flipping through an old copy of Bon Appetit, looked up for an explanation.
Yes my ex-girlfriend -- the one that I broke up with back in 1999 and didn't speak to for four years -- drunk emailed me from her cell phone five times last night. The last and rather touching email arrived at 5:06 AM:
Look its late and all night ppl tried 2 tell me why u wont talk 2 me, and i just dont undersunders
. . . .
I hate that my ex-girlfriend's stalkerish fixation on me has overshadowed a lovely weekend. Susan and Michelle came up from Washington on Friday for an anti-Valentine's weekend. We had a great night out bar hopping in the Lower East Side. Our route took us from Local 138 to the Luna Lounge and Dark Room, dinner at Inoteca, and dancing to 80s music at Girlsroom. Saturday night we kept things closer to home in Brooklyn -- Spanish tapas at Zipi Zape, a couple drinks at the Greenpoint Tavern, and more drinks at Kings County.
With an alarmingly depleted wallet, I sent Susan and Michelle off to the Port Authority to catch their bus back to DC. Like I said in a previous blog entry, it's always a little sad when I send my friends off for home. Good thing Signe and Kathleen are coming next weekend, but can my bank account handle it?
1 comment:
I think you should have shared the rest of the phone e-mails as well. :) Always entertaining!
Post a Comment