I Don’t Actually Own a Phone


When I hear someone give a compliment, I say thank you- even if it’s not meant for me. It often confuses the compliment-giver and makes them say, “Oh, I meant I like Laura’s hair”. But yours looks good too.” Then I actually end up getting a compliment. Sha-BAMMM.

I finished my Chelsea Handler “My Horizontal Life” book today.

It is my book because I purchased it for $14.95 [minus the discount I got for my sister being a Barnes &Noble club member] My sister wasn’t with me, I instead asked the cashier if I could give her my phone number to look up the card. She said, “sure”.

A couple months ago, I was at the register paying for things at the drug store and said, “Can I give you my number?” The woman looked at me and said, “What?!”, in a high pitched scream. She was a big-set woman.
“Because I forgot my CVS card,” I told her. She seemed confused. I then looked towards the front door and saw a “Walgreens” sign.
“Oh”, I said as if I just realized …
“Yes, Ma’am this is a Walgreens,” she replied, “You can still give me your phone number though.” She winked.
“I actually don’t own a phone number,” I told her and left.

I had mixed feelings about Chelsea Handler’s “My Horizontal Life” A Collection of One-Night Stands. A small part of me [say my foot] thought it was over the top and vulgar, but a bigger part of me [say my torso and head] was inspired by it, interested by it, and laughed out loud about four times while reading it. I give a writer props if their book make me laugh out loud- props that include a candle from “Beauty and the Beast” on broadway, or a Morocco from “The Lion King” on Broadway, or say an alien light beam from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” put on by FU [Fairfield University] Theater.

Today was the first day the barista at Starbucks looked at my face and remembered my order.
“Tall iced chai tea, light ice”, she said to me holding a marker close to the plastic cup.
“Yes”, I said, with a quiver in my voice, “you remembered.”
I stepped away, turned my back from her, and cried for three minutes.

My sister visited me at work yesterday. She got off the elevator, looking like an angel sent from up above.

She arrived to me with a slightly scared look on her face. I reassured her that yes, it was me, her sister. I took off the cat mask I was wearing and brought her into my office. By “my office” I mean my bosses office. My boss was gone for the afternoon the first time my family first visited and I somehow convinced them I got promoted and was the Director of Production.

I brought my sister to lunch to our cafeteria. It’s our cafeteria because I purchased it for seven hundred thousand dollars. I had leftover sushi [a love roll] from the previous night. It wasn’t horrible, but I wouldn’t eat sushi the next day again. Maybe I will. Who knows what the gods of fate have in store for me. I’m not saying I’m a polytheist, I just like the phrase “gods of fate”. I realize you probably don’t know what kind of sushi a “love roll” is [unless you’re bridget, emily, kate, mary kate, or kristen etc. or an avid lover of Nakata] I don’t even really know what’s in a love roll.

I’d like to think my sister had a good time visiting me at work. I think she’s obsessed with me. Not only does she have pictures of her and I from all different ages of our life in her room and cooks dinner for me sometimes, but she called me today asking for my phone number. I had to tell her “I don’t actually own a phone.” Which doesn’t say much about her, because we were talking on the phone in the first place. Shoutout sistah.

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