As I left work this evening, I noticed that I had received a text message from a number I didn’t recognize:

Sender to Me: Have fun trying to help Tony out you are a stupid bitch and I hope you are happy for what you have caused.

Huh. Like I said, I didn’t recognize the number (it’s a 636 so it’s local, but no one I know or have recently deleted from my phone would be texting from that area code), and I don’t know anyone named Tony. Well, I know a couple of people named Tony, but certainly not well enough to speak to them on the regular or help them out in any way that would merit this kind of text. So I responded:

Me to Sender: I think you have the wrong number, though I wish you and Tony the best during this apparently difficult time.

This was about an hour ago and I haven’t received a response, which is sort of disappointing. I would have settled for an apology or a more enraged accusation. Either one would have made me happy, because both would have been totally absurd.

Speaking of absurd, I’m going to see Jason Webley tonight as part of his farewell tour! Unless someone among my friends decides to take a chance on a gypsy busker/circus performer show or Graham shows up after work (which I doubt, considering he never gets out of there on time and probably doesn’t want to spend $8 on a ticket, anyway), I’ll be the weird girl sitting off to the side, smiling to herself over the accordion music. I was going to say that this doesn’t mean you should approach me if you see me, but decided that a) who even knows who Jason Webley is? and b) this show will be so fucking filled with hipsters that no one is going to openly acknowledge anyone else’s presence.

OR – hissssss – there will be hippies there who want money for songs (which is fine if you’ve got or are making an honest effort at making a record, but beyond that I think you should stick to just stealing your cigarettes instead of begging to people like me), which could be considered absurd, too, just not the kind of absurd I like.