I was on my way to the city to meet my friend Britt when something truly traumatizing happened. I'm barreling down a county road, singing along to Kate Voegele's new album (which you really ought to pick up) enjoying the drizzly rain when suddenly, I see something waddling across the road. It is a duckling and it is going as fast as it can.
I yelp and try to avoid it. I then feel my car go BUMP.
Yes. I just ran over a duckling. A DUCKLING.
Absolutely horrified, I grab my phone and dial Regan so she can talk me out of driving off a cliff for slaughtering a helpless animal. She doesn't pick up. I grip the steering wheel whimpering, "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God."
I suddenly hear "I'm Afraid of Americans", by David Bowie, my ringtone, and I grab the phone frantically.
Regan: Sorry, sorry! What's up?!
Me: I JUST KILLED A DUCKLING!
Me: I was driving a long minding my own business and it appeared out of nowhere and then I heard a sickening THUMP and I KILLED IT REGAN! I'M GOING TO HELL!
That was my day yesterday. How was yours?
Also, my dear Regan at The Snafu posted a few of our more memorable texting and tweeting conversations. She's not the only one who gets random texts and tweets so I thought I'd share a few. I think they'll give you startling insight into my personality and why my friends are friends with me.
Me: The most recent status of a guy who used to bully me in middle school: 'no matter how drunk u get...u can't throw up the weed u smoked!' I feel like this is a serious win for me.
Saul: (my younger brother) Congratulations. I can only hope this happens to me someday.
Regan: I was just at QT and the guy was all, 'Here, do you guys like movies? Have some free movie coupons! Here, do you guys like tongue tattoos? Have some tongue tattoos!' And I was all, 'Are you going to ask me if I like beluga whales next?'
Me: Who the hell would get tongue tattoos? I mean seriously, wouldn't that hurt like a *&%$#$@%$&*#$? And when would you show it off? You don't use your tongue to do anything except eat and make out and none of those are visual activities.
Me: If you buy the panda PJs, I'm buying the David Bowie PJs and then we're having a party.
Regan: How much are they?
Me: They're thirteen bucks. Do you think I can ask them to not include the thong? I feel like a David Bowie thong is too much.
Avlbane: If she wants to use her vagina like an ATM that's her problem.
Me: So the world's supposed to end tomorrow. I'm going to eat cheetos all day so when I get raptured I can have orange fingers and God can look at me and go, "Nice."
Saul: I'm totally going to do that and steal your thunder.
Me: That's a pretty bold assumption that YOU'RE going to Heaven.
Saul: Point. Okay, I'll do it for Satan.
Me: Well, Satan did invent cheetos.
Saul: And when Satan and God have their weekly poker game, they'll both bring it up and go, 'WAITAMINIT.'
Me: There is a rather crucial difference between David Bowie and the Backstreet Boys. Which is that David Bowie isn't lame.
Me: My professor's friend's son apparently used my essay as a coloring book. At 3 AM, I find this hilarious.
Avlbane: Wait a little while, and then JUMP ON HIM LIKE A LIONESS ON A GAZELLE.
*I stare at her*
Avlbane: You don't have to jump on him like a lioness...maybe be more stealthy. Like a jaguar.
Avlbane: He's so far in the closet, he's drinking tea in Narnia.
Me: Let's have BLANK's girlfriend fall in love with BLANK's girlfriend and then you and I can date BLANK and BLANK.
Avlbane: So your plan is to turn these guys' girlfriends into lesbians?
Me: Or bisexuals, I'm open-minded.
Regan: And WHY does Justin freaking Bieber have a book? I mean seriously, you're like ten.
Avlbane: I love the random-ass places your mind goes when you find something new to fangirl. It gives my life a sense of adventure.
Chester: Do you think Mr. Darcy and Hawkeye would get along?
Me: Mr. Darcy of Pride and Prejudice and Hawkeye of MASH? Somehow I doubt they'd interact much.
Chester: No, Hawkeye of Last of the Mohicans.
Me: Oh. Yeah, I still don't think they'd interact much. Why?
Chester: Just wondering.