The Adnostic

Back in April, I attended a very hedonistic bachelorette party and lived to tell the tale (not that the events which transpired will ever be recorded on this blog). During the course of activities, I met a guy who seemed nice, if not a little too preoccupied with his own coolness. We exchanged saliva and phone numbers, and I never really heard from him again. So, I deleted his contact information, like any smart girl should do unless there is a possibility of stalkage. In such cases keep the number for all eternity because you never know when that guy you blew off for good reasons wants to reminisce.

Two months later, I received a text message from someone not in my address book with a 617 area code with the following message:

We have unfinished business.

I knew that 617 is a Boston area code, because I've had a crush on Zack from the Kings of Nuthin' for the past two years and his number stored in my phone since their last West Coast tour (he's dreamy). But I knew it couldn't be him, because I have his number and he's far too much of a gentleman to leave me a message that ambiguous. So now I'm scared of either spammers or stalkers with Southie accents who didn't care much for my review of Mystic River.

After deleting the message and proceeding to give my attention to other matters, I suddenly realized that the texter was the guy from the bachelorette party and was a day late and more than a dollar short. I found his number on an old cell phone bill and texted him back letting him know that I thought our business was over and that two months was way too long to wait for a follow up call.

We must have texted back and forth at least ten times, before I got sick of it and wrote him to "Quit dicking around and call me." He never did.

Three weeks later I get another text message asking if I could go out two weeks from then. This was my response:

Learn to use the phone.

This was his response:

What's that?

I am officially over texted by the Boston Texter. He gets no date.