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Nov. 27th, 2007 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cblj_backupConsidering that without moving from the couch we can text, phone, email, and blog-of-your-choice-comment to each other, how come people miscommunicate so badly so quickly? Honestly.
Here's how it went down. See if you can follow.
R's Girlfriend texted me this afternoon and said, "When are you getting home?"
I texted back and said, "About 5:30, want to hang out? I taped a movie you and R might like."
She texted back and said, "I'm coming over anyway, see you then!"
All seems well in the land of R and Sam and R's Girlfriend.
I get home and R is on the couch, watching TV. "Is Girlfriend here?" I ask.
He looks perplexed. "No..."
I look perplexed. "She texted me that she was coming over."
(note: This is the point where ALL OF THIS becomes my fault for saying anything about anything.)
He picks up his cellphone. "I gotta make a call."
He calls her and, according to him, says he'd rather go over to see her at her place. She replies that she thinks that's a bad idea, because her place is a mess and her cat is sick (this is an excuse because she's confused since he's NEVER wanted to go to her place before).
They hang up.
She calls ME on MY cellphone and says, "I said something stupid to him and he's not picking up. Can you give him the phone?"
I pass R my cellphone. "It's Girlfriend, for you."
This time, apparently he tells her that he needs a few days to himself, she takes offence, they battle it out, and she says "Fine, I'll come over and get my stuff. Be there in half an hour."
R emerges from his bedroom. "So, Girlfriend's going to come get her stuff. I'm going to the blues club so that there won't be a scene. See you tomorrow."
I prepare for a long evening. "Didn't you bolt off to the club the last time you two talked relationship? What if she's here for hours?"
He replies, "I really don't think that's going to happen."
He leaves.
She arrives.
I make tea.
Five minutes of ranting I can understand because he HAS been kind of an ass to her in some respects. While she is ranting, my phone beeps. It's a text message from R. "Can you look up the location and phone number of this blues club in Evanston?"
No, R, I can't, because the girlfriend you just caused to be emotionally messed-up is HERE. I did not write this to him. It would have taken too long to make all the caps.
She looks at me and says, "Is that him? Can I use your phone?"
She texts him. She does not tell him it's her. She says "We need to talk, and I want to see you face to face. You should come back here."
Then she says to me, "Here. Eat this rice krispy treat I brought you. Do you have a pen and paper? I need to write him a letter."
Inbetween writing her letter to him, which I can't see, she alternately weeps on my shoulder and uses my computer to look up the definitions of words. During a break, I manage to text R the phone number of the club he was looking for, because I'm not a total bastard.
Finally she signs the letter. Relief in sight!
"I'm going to read it to you, because it's awesome," she says. "He's going to think these are some awesome verses."
I see the notebook. There is free verse.
While she gets herself a glass of water, I cry my sorrows to the internet.
She returns.
The letter is read. I alternate between trying not to wince and biting the pillow to keep from hysterical laughter. She does not notice. It's not a bad letter, in its own way. Underneath the free-verse crazy there is an ounce of common sense.
"It's a good letter," I say. She places it on his pillow. Under another rice krispy treat.
"Can I play a song for you? About his relationship to me?" she asks.
It is Feign's 1-2-3-4. I die a little on the inside.
"I should copy that out," she says. I make more tea while she copies out the lyrics and adds them to the opus on the pillow.
"I should go home," she says. "But I'll text you!"
She leaves. Elapsed time spent in our flat: three hours.
During the time it took me to write this, R called. He seemed very confused. "Did you text me?"
"No, she did, then I did."
"So you don't need to see me?"
"No, that was her."
"But it came from your phone."
"It was a thing. Listen, you left me alone with her, I have no pity for your confusion. Did you find the blues club?"
"Nah, I went to the southside instead."
"Well, preach the blues and I'll see you tomorrow."
We hang up. I consider moving to the wilderness and severing all ties with the human race.
Instead, I sit down and finish writing this. :D
Here's how it went down. See if you can follow.
R's Girlfriend texted me this afternoon and said, "When are you getting home?"
I texted back and said, "About 5:30, want to hang out? I taped a movie you and R might like."
She texted back and said, "I'm coming over anyway, see you then!"
All seems well in the land of R and Sam and R's Girlfriend.
I get home and R is on the couch, watching TV. "Is Girlfriend here?" I ask.
He looks perplexed. "No..."
I look perplexed. "She texted me that she was coming over."
(note: This is the point where ALL OF THIS becomes my fault for saying anything about anything.)
He picks up his cellphone. "I gotta make a call."
He calls her and, according to him, says he'd rather go over to see her at her place. She replies that she thinks that's a bad idea, because her place is a mess and her cat is sick (this is an excuse because she's confused since he's NEVER wanted to go to her place before).
They hang up.
She calls ME on MY cellphone and says, "I said something stupid to him and he's not picking up. Can you give him the phone?"
I pass R my cellphone. "It's Girlfriend, for you."
This time, apparently he tells her that he needs a few days to himself, she takes offence, they battle it out, and she says "Fine, I'll come over and get my stuff. Be there in half an hour."
R emerges from his bedroom. "So, Girlfriend's going to come get her stuff. I'm going to the blues club so that there won't be a scene. See you tomorrow."
I prepare for a long evening. "Didn't you bolt off to the club the last time you two talked relationship? What if she's here for hours?"
He replies, "I really don't think that's going to happen."
He leaves.
She arrives.
I make tea.
Five minutes of ranting I can understand because he HAS been kind of an ass to her in some respects. While she is ranting, my phone beeps. It's a text message from R. "Can you look up the location and phone number of this blues club in Evanston?"
No, R, I can't, because the girlfriend you just caused to be emotionally messed-up is HERE. I did not write this to him. It would have taken too long to make all the caps.
She looks at me and says, "Is that him? Can I use your phone?"
She texts him. She does not tell him it's her. She says "We need to talk, and I want to see you face to face. You should come back here."
Then she says to me, "Here. Eat this rice krispy treat I brought you. Do you have a pen and paper? I need to write him a letter."
Inbetween writing her letter to him, which I can't see, she alternately weeps on my shoulder and uses my computer to look up the definitions of words. During a break, I manage to text R the phone number of the club he was looking for, because I'm not a total bastard.
Finally she signs the letter. Relief in sight!
"I'm going to read it to you, because it's awesome," she says. "He's going to think these are some awesome verses."
I see the notebook. There is free verse.
While she gets herself a glass of water, I cry my sorrows to the internet.
She returns.
The letter is read. I alternate between trying not to wince and biting the pillow to keep from hysterical laughter. She does not notice. It's not a bad letter, in its own way. Underneath the free-verse crazy there is an ounce of common sense.
"It's a good letter," I say. She places it on his pillow. Under another rice krispy treat.
"Can I play a song for you? About his relationship to me?" she asks.
It is Feign's 1-2-3-4. I die a little on the inside.
"I should copy that out," she says. I make more tea while she copies out the lyrics and adds them to the opus on the pillow.
"I should go home," she says. "But I'll text you!"
She leaves. Elapsed time spent in our flat: three hours.
During the time it took me to write this, R called. He seemed very confused. "Did you text me?"
"No, she did, then I did."
"So you don't need to see me?"
"No, that was her."
"But it came from your phone."
"It was a thing. Listen, you left me alone with her, I have no pity for your confusion. Did you find the blues club?"
"Nah, I went to the southside instead."
"Well, preach the blues and I'll see you tomorrow."
We hang up. I consider moving to the wilderness and severing all ties with the human race.
Instead, I sit down and finish writing this. :D
