My new text message ringtone goes HA-LLE-LU-JAH! in a shiny way each time it pings, and this is very amusing to me, because I can almost see the clouds parting and this one giant finger reach down and touch my cellphone, but more often than not it's someone offering me this absolutely incredible plot down near the Noida golf links, and not what I want to see, which is very simply, "Hey, dinner on Saturday? I'll pick you up at 8." The good old fashioned date. The date where you perfume the back of your knees, and wear your nice underwear, even though you shouldn't, because wearing nice underwear will undo any chance you have of playing hard to get and leaving with a cheek kiss. I'm terrible at the hard to get thing. I'm trying though. I haven't texted any one (and I mean boy anyones) first in the longest time. In many ways, the yoga I've been doing for the last two months is sort of helping me be all calmcalmcalm and zenzenzen but then since this is still me, who should really change the title of her blog to The Compulsive Obsessor, I lay my phone next to my laptop and gaze at it, like they teach you in yoga, to concentrate on one thing and I whisper to it, "Message."
I don't think this is what my instructor had in mind. Clearly, my amazing mind control powers still have some way to go before they develop.
(OH MY GOD, JUST AS I TYPED THAT, MY PHONE WENT HALLELUJAH.)
(I will now Live Blog about checking it.)
(Don't get too excited though.)
(Stupid smart phones are so fucking sloooooooooooow.)
Argh. This from Mother's Pride, a school that has been sending me spam for the longest time, and that I will now NEVER send my children to. They've opened their 41st branch. Yay. Rah-rah. Hmph.