Yesterday night, I went to check my phone messages, and realized that I had two. This is an odd turn of events for me, since I really have no life outside of the boards, and nobody knows my cell-phone’s number. Still, I check my messages fairly religiously, since the cell-phone box told me to. (I’m highly suggestible).
One message was the usual ranting and raving by my Mom from a few days ago, so I listened to that one and delete it.
The second message, however, was different. It was from a Mr. Glen Cunningham, who assumed that I worked for “Rylum Products Company, Inc.” According to Mr. Cunningham, I recently sold him a “product which was soluble for work with wood mulch.” Apparently, I did a damn good job, since Glen was now calling to tell me that he needed my business once again. This time, he needs something soluble in Budalt (I have no idea how this is spelled) Acetate, and he needs it in both red and black. He leaves me his number, says “Thank you,” and hangs up.
“Okay,” I think to myself, “The moron had the wrong number, and thought I was somebody else.” I save the message anyway, since it’s kinda funny, and go about my business.
Then, while online last night, I am IMed by a certain Ms. “Lancesangel,” who uses considerably bad grammer and AOL-shortened speak to tell me that “Sarah, Ian’s Ex,” has the hots for me. Hmm. Since I do not know either Sarah, Ian’s Ex, or the reason that she would have the hots for me, I ask my new friend who in the bloody blazes she is. She doesn’t say, but proceeds to inform me that my name is Jody Alexander, and I live in Illinois. Hmmmmmm. I take the time to inform her that I am not, in fact, Jody Alexander from Illinois, and she must be mistaken.
“Oh, shut up, Jody,” she tells me. “You can’t fool me.” I take a few more minutes to argue with Lancesangel, to no avail. Suddenly, I am e-mailed by yet another teeny-bopper airhead. This one, “GoGurl8,” is just as vacant as her assosciate, and also believes me to be Jody.
Now I’m scared. Lashing out, I begin getting a bit harsh with my new friends, since nothing I say can convince them that I have no idea what they’re talking about. Argument ensues. Really stupid insults are used on their parts; the word “crack-baby” is used on mine. Finally, I got frustrated, and signed off.
Now, these two incidents may not seem connected, but while laying awake in bed last night, my sleep-deprived brain came up with an interesting thought. Perhaps these three people, moronic though they sound, know something I don’t. Maybe I’m not who I think I am. Maybe all of these vacant airheads are right, and I’ve been living a lie. After all, I have been feeling a bit out of place lately, and I’ve also been pretty damn tired (proof that I’ve been out at night living an alternate existence).
I have come to the one and only conclusion that makes sense, given the circumstances.
I am not Jester. I am Jody Alexander, Teeny-Bopper Queen of Solubility at Rylum Products Company, Inc.
Move along, good citizens. Nothing to see here.