mr. monkey took over my third world phone and got himself a new number with a third world plan* to match and allegedly gave the number to nobody. within two days he got two text messages. one was a poetic sidereal declaration of love, rife with misspellings. the second seemed to be a mangled marriage proposal. i certainly hope they were random: i'd be severely disappointed if mr. monkey had a thing going with some chick with poor spelling. (fake tits** and bad spelling would be unforgivable in my book.)
we attempted to reverse look up the number and got nothing. we called using our gtalk phone and got the voicemail of some guy. oooh..kay. (mr. monkey, is there something i should know?)
today, i have just received this text "come down to mr. mike's" by a mystery person to which i replied, understandably, "?"
their answer: "the bar at the hotel"
oh, ok. that makes it all clear. i have no idea who it is i would be meeting, in which bar, in which hotel, in which city, or even in which country. but hey, i'm taking the cold cream off my face and rushing out the door.
reverse phone number look-up? nothing.
(ok, i just googled it and it could be in duncan, coquitlam, red deer or detroit. so, whaddya think? should i? the closest one is only 45 minutes away from here and i'm certain the wine has already worked its way out of my system.)
by the way, if you have been texting me anonymously to invite me to mr. mike's for a drink, and are feeling ignored and unloved, i'm sorry.
*a bowl of rice a week and all the muddy cholera-riddled water you can fit in a rusty can
**not that i can tell from a text if someone has fake tits, but i would be extra disappointed to be abandoned for a pair of silicone hooters.