If You're Reading This, Dump Him, Wanda.

With everyone having 764 “friends” online, will the word “friend” take on a new meaning in the dictionary? I mean, they’re not all really your friends, right? Or am I the only person with a couple hundred friends, none of whom I would recognize on the street?

We’re dependent on our electronics. I don’t smoke, rarely drink, never use drugs and have a bottle of Lortab somewhere that I never finished from surgery three years ago. (No, you may not buy it. I don’t even know where it is.) There are two things that I send me Jonesing: 1] chocolate (not Hershey’s, I don’t cut my chocolate with cheap ingredients like “vanillin” for Pete’s sake) and 2) the w-w-w-web. I must check it. I don’t care if I never see another phone or television. Everything I need is Netified.

In fact, I hate phones.

There was a time when I could leave the house and be cheerily separated from my phone. Now it’s tethered to me like a dog tag. If my child’s school calls and I’m not at the end of the line, ready to pick her up for some unforeseen mishap, I can practically hear the tsk-tsk and see CPS on speed dial.

So I don’t want to hear other people’s convos in public. There’s always one person who still has Headphone Syndrome, that is, when he has an audio device squished to his ear, he talks/sings obnoxiously loud.

Case in point, the Casanova in the coffeehouse yesterday.

I went to do some writing. Instead I was treated to half the convo of a seduction/baptism/trial. It sounds good…but wasn’t satisfying. A 5.79 combo meal where you get the apple dippers instead of fries.

“Oh, honey! I’m on my way out, I just calling to see what you doin’ now.”

*

“Yes…HMM MMM! OH If you and mine’s love gets together, nothing gonna stop us, BAM! Like a train! You see.”

*

“I want to treat you like the queen you is, an if I can’t do that, I got no business with you, you know what I mean, baby? But you see, you see. That’s why I tell you to trust me.”

*

“No, Wanda’s boyfriend did her WRONG, and I was there as a friend. You got to help your friends out, I would do the same for you, Baby.”

*

“But you ARE my baby, Baby.”

At this point he pulled out a Bible and flipped through it.

“Listen! Listen, listen. I got to read you the Bible, and, where…No, LISTEN! The Bible SAYS you gots to love your neighbor! I find it. Yes, now – here it is. (Quotes whatever passage). You see? The Lord grants…No, yes, no, I don’t know where she be. I’m coming to you. Open the Old Testament!”

*

“No, you don’t need to be talking like that. She your SISTER.”

*

Yes, that’s what I said, Baby, oooooh-weeeeeee! We got together for a reason, and the Lord knows it. Now the future is a mystery, but you can’t let your sisters ruin it for you.”

This went on for a solid forty five minutes.

No writing was done.

If I must listen to half of a cell phone convo, I don’t want to hear about garden variety Jerry Springer material. If you’re going to be broadcasting your business, please make it about leading the Sierra Leone rebels through underground tunnels while hyenas sniffed your trail as you hustled the 829 carat diamond. THAT is worth listening to.