oliver twist

first of all, let me say thank you to those who actually read this thing and show interest in it from houston to amsterdam...this one's for you.

there are a few things i could talk about, as much has transpired in the two months since i last wrote. i went to dallas for the holidays; i refused to leave and missed my flight in protest; i realized i had to come back, if for no other reason than to get my car; i dragged myself back to work; i found out my ex is "dating" some girl with "short hair"; some dumb, ignorant, schizophrenic dipshit yelled at me in the grocery store on inauguration day; i bought an oven off an infomercial; went on another sparkless date that concluded with sparkless kisses; got passed over for a writing gig for someone with more connections and (probably) less talent; started a gratitude journal so that i can see the silver lining in all of the above.

and right now, life is...not where i want it to be (clearly that has not changed with the coming of the new year), but i'm trying to simultaneously be okay with that and change that by showing gratitude for the way things are. of course, this seems totally illogical to me (you have X and you want Y, yet you show that you're happy with Y, which would seem to perpetuate more Y, right?). furthermore, saying "thank you" for things that i don't like or want, things that hurt and ache, things that make me cry, things that seem to undermine my dreams...has been difficult to say the least, but it's gotten a little easier. it's necessary...i am told, and it feels like it's the right thing to do. the only thing to do. obviously, i don't have a fuck of a clue as to what is going on and what my next step is, so i just have to trust that the power greater than me does and show immense gratitude for that. it's the key my sanity right now, and hopefully it will reveal the proper path, a path that i hope involves a ranch in texas, taylor kitsch and his and hers ATVs.

enough of this seriousness. i actually came to talk about how this woman thinks i'm sleeping with her huuuuusband. it all started over christmas. one morning, my phone wouldn't stop ringing. i don't answer phone numbers i don't recognize, and eventually, the caller left a message. it went something like this (imagine taraji p. henson in hustle and flow talking), "um...yes. this is oliver's wife. he gave me your number. and i need to talk to you about you sexing my huuuuusband. don't you know he has a wife and THREE kids? you need to call me back! okay?" ha. i couldn't help but be amused. lady, i don't even have sex. and i'm certainly not "sexing" your huuuusband. i would never do a man named oliver anyway.

i figured she would realize that she had the wrong number and never call me back. and aside from when i sat on my phone and accidentally butt-dialed that number a few days later, i never heard from her or thought about her...until yesterday. so i'm at work, actually doing work, and i receive a text that reads: need to talk to you. i understand ur not at the galleria anymore. serg needs an update.
i have NO IDEA who this is or what they're talking about. i haven't worked at the galleria since highschool (10 years ago), and i have never known a serg (well, there was that boxer i met at a bar, but that was in hollywood and this is a dallas number). so i reply: i think you have the wrong number. 7 minutes later...

"no oliver says this is the right one." ah shit, i think. it's goddamn oliver again!! "need to talk to u about MY husband and his recreational sex habbits w/u." and yes, she spelled "habits" with 2 Bs. like rabbits. like sex crazed rabbits.

me: nope. i don't know an oliver. don't even live in texas. i think you called me over christmas. he gave you the wrong number. (i wanted to add, "see he's playing you AGAIN!!", but i ran out of character space.)

then homegirl texts, "no serg says its the rt #. I will c u @ hm on penelope." ooooh, snap. so she's trying to get it crackin' like that? she wants to roll up on somebody. i've never even heard of penelope street let alone lived there, but i feel sorry for the chick who does b/c it's about to be on.

in a last ditch effort to clear the air and save me from wasting texts on her, i call her. she answers, "hallo." yep, it's taraji.
"um, did you just text me?" i ask.
"yes, i did."
i'm doing my best preppy, private school impression, figuring that's certainly not who her husband was sexing. "um, you have the wrong number. i don't even live in texas."
"well this is a texas number, babydoll."
"yes because i grew up there, and i went to high school there, but i haven't lived there since then." a lie since i did go to grad school there, but i didn't feel the need to explain that.
"well, if i have the wrong number, i'm sure i have the right address, so i'll just see you at home on penelope. THANK YOU!"
"oookay."
click.

well, somebody was about to get their ass whooped, but it wasn't going to be me.
just out of curiosity, i mapquested penelope street. it's in the hood. yep. deep in the hood. i suspect a penelope street incident will be on the news in dallas or on an episode of cheaters in the near future.

and to whoever really is sexing oliver, i hope it was worth it. because his wife, and her roaddog serg and probably oliver's three badass kids are about to be on your front porch.

i am sorta glad today that i live in L.A. (and not on penelope).