Ain't got shit on Alexander Graham Bell

There are all sorts of ways to break big news to the important people in your life--the classiest and most reliable method being the face-to-face variety. However, since I'm never home for so much as a happy hour, I rely solely on modern technology to keep me in touch with the rest of the world.

There's one little setback to this scenario, however:

Ever since that night that Lauren's parents went out of town and we decided to treat ourselves to a little jacuzzi fake-cation, I haven't had the dough to replace my cell phone.

Of course, that was two years ago. And, of course, the phone didn't actually get dropped into the jacuzzi... by some inadvertent feat of amazing unintended aim, it delicately plunked itself down into the fluted throat of a vessel containing a beverage known as the 'White Russian' as I was removing myself from the hot tub.

The rest is history.

So, phone-less, I have soldiered on into a long-distance relationship with a very tormented but devoted fellow that sometimes sees an entire workweek pass without so much as a text message, let alone any indication of what city I'm in ( It seems even worse written down!) We originally fell in love by seducing one another via myspace messaging (after having met of course--I'm at least THAT respectable!), so you'd think we'd be champion letter-writers, but I guess we used up all of our best material in that first year and need some time to restock.

Anyway, today I emailed Jonathan about my decision to move to Austin, and he was anxious to get a hold of me since it was the first he'd heard about it. I am always eager to hear his raspy squeal whenever I can, but the craggy tumor of built-up anxiety inside my head had been turned over so many times, it was as slick as a river stone. Both of the girls in addition to Christopher recieved a mass text promising fifty dollars to whomever would let me call Jonathan right away. No one accepted the money, but for two hours I paced in the alley outside of a club while they drank Lone Star.

Having to explain to someone you love deeply that you have made a concious decision that will completely jeapordize your relationship is pretty much the shittiest position one can be in. Despite all of my relative confidence that I am on the right path and doing what I need to do with my life, I faltered in a big way when I heard the hurt in his voice. It didn't take much time for the hurt to take a sharp turn, and within twenty minutes, tipsy passers-by were looking past their shoulders to see where that sound of screeching metal was coming from.

Things were still heated when my friends came wandering out of the bar, so we agreed to adjourn our emotions until I could get home to a computer. The car ride was quiet, except for a light side-hug from Christopher. When we got home, I went straight into my sleeping quarters and logged on to find that Jonathan had already emailed me, so we commenced 'Project Gmail Chat.'

An hour later, after trying every stupid chat service available, I just signed up for AIM and set it up to text messsaging because his browser is worthless. Eventually, everything boiled down to a fiery text-fight, which, for the record, is the BEST way to have an argument ever because every single thing that is said is documented right there before your eyes for reference. You can quote your opponent verbatem and be Johnny-on-the-spot with evidence to support your claims!

Now that the sun is coming up, I will conclude by simply saying that if love can traverse 500 miles, then god damn it, why not 1500?