This Is The Story Of The Boys Who Loved You, Love You Now And Loved You Then...

The Decemberists - Red Right Ankle


So I get a text today at around noon, a text from my friend informing me that a mutual friend of ours has been killed in a car crash.

Naturally, I'm distressed, and I text her back, asking for details. I get no reply. So I spend all day being totally miserable. I yelled at my roommate for daring to question me when I told him that in the movie Lisence to Kill, James Bond was played by Timothy Dalton. He tried to tell me it was Roger Moore (and just for the record, I was right). But I freaked out on him. I'm fairly certain I threw a sleeve of crackers at him.

So the day goes on, and I do my best to study, and I'm failing miserably, as I can't focus on anything. But I'm determined to not whine about my feelings to anyone, so I'm keeping it in, minus the occasional violent outburst.

Then, about 45 minutes ago, aka 12 hours after I replied to my friend asking for more information, she responds. In this text she informs me that our friend has surgeries up the butt and will be out of commission for a long time. Now, I am confused, because as far as I know, they do not perform surgery on dead people, and they're generally out of commission permanantly.

So I call her up, wondering what the dealio is:

"Oh," she says, "no she's not dead. She was in a terrible car accident, but she's fine. I might have said she's like dead."

"LYING WHORE!!! YOU TOLD ME MY FRIEND WAS DEAD!"

"Like dead."

"DAMN YOU!!"

So apparently, my friend was in a horrendous car accident and basically the lower half of her body is shattered, but the doctors say she's going to be fine.

As for Ms. EvilTexterFriend, the jury is still out. She may or may not have various oddly rectangular bruises all over her body soon (screw pistolwhipping. the cellwhip is the newest craze).