Without them, I would fall apart. They are the reminder to me that I'm not a bad person, not mentally unstable, not a problem. And they like to send text messages.
This past year, like many gays, I bought an iPhone. Unless cleared out, the messages remain in the phone forever. In fact, I have messages from the first day of ownership. Below are some of the messaging exchanges from the last six months:
EB: Hi.
MO: It lives!
EB: It's dead inside however.
MO: Moisturize.
EB: It did.
MO: Does it work late?
EB: No, off to Splash.
MO: Splash?!?!?!
EB: Not really.
MO: Detox was swellegant.
MO: I keep typing retox and silly phone keeps changing it.
DH: Phone is run by mormons.
MO: But isn't the apple a sign of temptation or devil or ???
DH: Sin!
MO: Time change bullshit. Fuck the farm kids!
DH: I'd gladly fuck the farmers.
MO: Ugh ... Couldn't wake up last night. Sorry for flaking.
DP: No worries. You only missed the most awesome night ever. That's all.
MO: I'm allergic to awesome. It makes my pancreas fidget.
DP: That's your hepatitis.
MO: Let's utilize as many media as possible to communicate.
DP: Without actually talking to eachother in real time. Good idea. Nonconfrontational.
MO: It's the white thing to do.
DP: I love it when you make christmas a race issue.
MO: No one ever dreams of a yellow brown or black christmas.
DP: I had a yellow christmas once because of my hepatitis.
MO: Bring me some snacks. I'm stoned and it's cold outside.
DH: Am baking cookies, but fucked my knee up hard so not going anywhere. Sorry.
MO: Ah, Booger! I'm so sorry.
DH: Hope you are well. Do you watch Dirty Sexy Money?
MO: Nay. The gayest thing just happened. My new teapot just whistled for the first time!
DH: Obama drinks tea in public.
MO: Does he keep his pinkie finger aloft?
DH: He really might as well.
MO: I teabag in public.
DH: I cobag in public.
MO: I pay per bag.
DH: My bag is half full.
MO: My cat is in the bag. Please do not let her out.
DH: Tyra to Alicia Keyes, rapping: "I thought we were a family, me, you and kimora lee."
