deeply committed

Well last month we finally did it. FI and I decided to say f-it and take on the most binding contract that two people can share. The kind that you look back and remember with both excitement and fear. Our life as we knew it was forever changed. Sure we've invited guests for July, but this could not wait. We needed to just take that big step and get it over with. We signed on the dotted line and have now subjected our purest love to a revolving two year service agreement. Yes folks. We are now sharing a cell phone plan [dun dun duuuuun].

Back story: We knew this eff'ing crazy guy called Dave in grad school [who hopefully doesn't know I have a blog]. So anyway, good old Dave [who was actually quite cute minus the crazy] was always jonesing for a girlfriend/potential wife. Every time he would find a lovely anorexic young co-ed - you guessed it - he'd lock her in with a cell phone plan. Sprint, Nextel, Verizon - they were all his proverbial wingmen in the sea of slutty singles. Being the commitaphobes that we are, FI and I thought this protocol to be absolutely nuts! What about that $175 termination fee? What if you lose your number in the break up? What if she takes all of your contacts? What if in his post-breakup rage he texts all of your shared friends that you have a miniature clit that can only be seen with an electron microscope? These are not risks we were willing to take and actually from this fear we coined "sharing a cell phone plan" as the last step in the castration of singledom.

I saw the AP released a story today about cell phone jail which basically talks about how reasonably-minded consumers in our capitalist society can be turned into total retards by Dave's wingmen. It's like you're carrying their baby.... for life! People feed into this every day!! I am sure tonight when I go to the grocery to pick up whole wheat pitas but stop to stare at the bagel bites there will be someone in the frozen food section with the freezer door open, TALKING TO THEMSELVES. Yes folks - the guy with the blinking cicada on his ear is, in fact, not talking to you. He is physically, emotionally and financially bound to that teratogenic flashing piece of shit on his face! How did he get like this? He should be ashamed. We all should. So the next time you call up your friendly provider - tell them to eff-off and give you free text messages or you will keep calling back until some idiot on his first day waives your cancellation fee!

...and for a real kicker- to accurately diagnose just how far grocery-boy's ballsac has been stuffed back into his body [or his girlfriends purse] you could simply walk up to him and ask, "do you by chance have a share plan?" [if his name is Dave the answer is undoubtedly...YES]