This text was sent at 8:43am on May 3, 2013 after I’d accidently called a friend, and left an awkward "sorry-I-butt-dialed-you" voicemail. Their response might be the best recorded text message in history.
Editor’s Note: Paragraph spacing and certain commas have been added for your convenience, as the words below actually came in one, long stream of consciousness thought.
"Butt dial? Butt dial on the iPhone… are you putting your butt directly on your phone? What? It needs skin contact. So this is my theory:
You were between that stage of being weird and crashing from the end of too much coffee, sweating but not hot, focused but could pass out, and you reach for your phone.
Possibly in a delusional state, you grab it just to feel something other than a keyboard and you start tweeting #fml, #omg, #nycwriter, #semihipster, #bittyfitz.
Then as you are tweeting you realize you need some sort of human interaction. You scan through your friends and family, but they would ask too many questions and your priorities are on entertainment and an insurgence of energy into your mundane, NYC late night writing sesh.
So you call yours truly for some entertainment, and I don’t pick up. You then freak out, throw your chair across the room (it’s not that big) and yell, “AAAHHHH!!,” and you begin to tweet, #AAAHHH!
After your rampage, the energy supply in your body is limited and you close up shop and leave for the day. Walking as if you were drunk to your subway, you stop, get a slice and move on.
Stumbling onto the train, you find a seat that doesn’t require you to make eye contact with a single person and you crash.
Eyes opening slowly, blurry views of black, tan, and brown emerge predominant, and you are in bed looking at your newly acquired One Direction poster wondering how you got home. What’s that in your pocket...!!??
To be continued..."
I’m posting this story because I decided it was way better than the one I was going to tell you this week.