Archive for the 'Mistaken Identity' Category

The Kindness of Strangers

Tuesday, February 3rd, 2009

The following text message conversation took place on my cell phone. For some reason I always respond to people, even if they clearly have the wrong person.

Tyler: Hey Angela its Tyler “message in a bottle”, lol, where in phx do u live?

Me: No response sent

4 hours later…

Tyler: Hola chica, how was urban planning?

Me (annoyed while trying to drink coffee): Dude, you have the wrong number.

Tyler: Ight, take a chill pill women…I know I don’t have the wrong# I made sure with the dude who wrote that ghey note b4 I texted.. but ne ways good day to you.

Me: This is a guy, you need to revisit “Mack Lessons”

Tyler: I just coversate with ladies, the fact is if you get to know the person before engaging in the physical aspect, the bond between those individuals is much stronger, the physical side is the easiest, but you already knew that since ur such a “Mack Daddy”, peace playa…

End of text exchange.

If any of my friends want to take credit for those, I will buy you a milk shake at Sonic.

Horses, Jah and Soda

Sunday, February 13th, 2005

Mike, the upstairs neighbor is raising miniature horses. I am convinced of this. He is training these little prissy horses, leading them back and forth across the small expanse of his apartment, envisioning a day when his little champs will win a goddamn blue ribbon. Tiny hooves, clip clopping all night long. Mitchell, the neghborhood homeless rastafarian has moved into the enclosed area outside of my window. The other morning I was awoken around 4am. I looked outside and saw Mitchell, wearing a shawl. He was moving a pile of clothing into a suitcase. When I left for work I saw the suitcase, with his shawl draped over it. I think Mitchell should contribute something towards our rent. Perhaps a couple Mickey’s 40’s that he is so fond of. This wasn’t the first time a homeless person had been wintering in the small enclosed area outside of my window. The last gentleman who had spent time there was named Soda. He was friends with my old upstairs neighbor, who said he was a “sweet” man. My introduction to Soda occurred one morning after hearing a disembodied, death rattle like cough for a few hours. I thought one of my roomates was sick, and drifted in and out of sleep, awakening every once in a while to hear this disgusting cough. When I finally awoke I looked out of my window, and saw the filthy back of a man’s head. With the imposing Clintron as my back up I told Soda that he had to leave. He was apologetic and left. I can only assume that he found a quiet grove of bushes to die in, and ascended into heaven with the help of some angels. Did I mention that I was moving out in March?