First of all, never call Verizon on the phone to fix a problem. Because what their phone operators lack in empowerment, they make up for in incompetence. Since they were incapable of getting a supervisor’s signature two days in a row to ship me a phone they could barely discount in the first place, I went to the Verizon store on Michigan Avenue on Friday after work, where 1) the guy told me he could get me a big discount on a new phone at the end of the month when I reach some magical 20-month milestone on my contract, 2) he also told me the phone they were trying to sell me over the phone was a piece of crap that was guaranteed to break and then he showed me some seriously impressive new phones I was eligible to get in the store instead and 3) he gave me a used phone free that I could have until I hit my magical contract milestone in three weeks. In a matter of minutes, he connected the used phone to my account, restored it to its factory settings and sent me on my way. Woo-hoo!
I left the store, hopped on a bus and immediately texted the fiancé to let him know I was back on the grid, as the kids say. But when he texted me back, I got a popup saying my text memory was 90% full. Figuring the glut was messages I’d gotten when my phone was lost, I started scrolling through them … and quickly discovered I’d stumbled on a goldmine of racy texts the previous owner didn’t have the good sense to delete when she traded in her phone for an upgrade. Which to me is tacit permission to post them (at least the good ones) here. But with all names and identifying details removed. Because karma can still be a bitch if she's not thrown off the trail.
These texts aren’t part of one single conversation, but they sure suggest a healthy diet of … um … textual activity:
Guy #1: Mmm. Nice ass. I’ll think about it.
Guy #1: 2 bad u didn’t get a taste …
Guy #2: But I’ve already rubbed 3 out. I’m getting sore.
Guy #1: Well, have fun being a slut!
Guy #1: OK, sounds hot. What’s it take 2 get you up here in 45 min?
Guy #1: You haven’t had me. So maybe you’re just nervous.
Guy #1: Is your pussy feeling better?
Guy #2: Good morning, sunshine. Are you interested in going to the beach or do you want to see my bedroom?
Guy #2: My lord, slow down. I’m just going to shit and I’ll be ready.
Guy #2: Did you say smack my ass? Fuck yeah.
Guy #1: My gay friend left town. What are you doing 2nite?
Guy #1: My friend left some stuff at my place that I had to return. I don’t know if I can drink any more this weekend but want to check you out in a bikini.
Guy #1: Maybe I can get you out of whatever you’re wearing.
Girl #1: So Guy #1 got a bj huh? About time!
Whew! I need a cigarette. And maybe some Lysol to clean off my phone.
But my weekend wasn’t all about transcribing racy heterotextuality. The fiancé and I also managed to squeeze in a tiny training run on Saturday. The merest bagatelle, actually. A wee tiny 20 miles.
A 20-mile run on a potentially hot day requires an early start so we don’t melt in the August heat. Fortunately, our week of oppressive humidity transformed itself into six hours of blessed cool breeziness during our run. Here’s a shot of the sun rising over the cool breezy lake as we took off at 6:00 am:
The AIDS Marathon organization wanted us to all dress in red on Saturday so we’d form a huge red ribbon up and down the lakefront trail. Those of us who didn’t own any red shirts were encouraged to wear our yellow Aids Marathon shirts. My red shirts are all kind of hot and I find the yellow shirts to be itchy, so I eventually just went with my standard red pallor:
It’s hard to smile over your shoulder for a picture while you’re running. Trust me on this:
There’s a half-mile slab of concrete just south of Oak Street Beach where there’s nothing to look at but my middle-age waist jiggles. Fortunately, everyone’s arms and shoulders landed in just the right place in this photo to spare you from having to see them:
Here’s another picture on the same slab, with some of the same arms and shoulders performing their same civic duties:
Here's yet another picture taken a few minutes after the last one. Except this one's of some stranger we all thought had a nice … um … back:
Our 10-mile turnaround point was a celebration of icy wet paper towels, jugs of water and bags of pretzels:
And then sweaty, creaky runners trying to smile through their pretzel chewing:
Here we are heading back home a mile after the turnaround. I love this shot because it shows us enjoying the wide, runner-friendly sidewalk around the Shedd Aquarium and it showcases Chicago’s beautiful skyline, punctuated by the bright red CNA Plaza building:
Here’s our traditional final pose, after a few of us took cleansing dips in Lake Michigan. My sweaty bits and I didn’t want to be responsible for polluting the ecosystem, so we stayed on land and looked wet without any lakeular assistance: