Meet Nate

So, Aquaman and I joined the 21st century...or possibly just the late 20th century...and got a real live cellphone. It's part of an effort to keep me and my extrovert tendencies connected to the world outside of our northwoods city. Namely, to keep me connected to Balabusta and Bee.

The problem with my GLORIOUS iphone is that Sprint was a leedle bit hasty in reassigning a used number to me. Enter Nate, stage left.

Nate used to have my cell phone number. Nate gets texts from needy, overemotional girls who have, like, so much homework and are feeling, like, super stressed and really, really would appreciate it if Nate could take their shift at the Pizza restaurant. (I don't like whiny girls, so they're on their own to get that shift covered).

Also, the stone cold girls who I think are gunning for Nate. As in, they may be the reason Nate changed his number. These girls sound like they are looking for Nate after a less-than-happy parting and want blood. I wish they'd text because their cold, emotionless voices scare me.

I also know what Nate looks like. Someone texted a picture to Nate that they've found his twin.

This is why all the girls are calling.

 

 

There's the random friend who I guess plays Marco Polo via text message? At least, that was what I was figuring when someone texted:

 

Marco?

 

Marco?

 

(Because I can't handle the thought of adding in Marco to the mix, please tell me it was a game of Marco Polo).

 

 

I was also invited to a poker game. Or probably it was for Nate, but it felt nice to feel included, and like I was making friends in the far north. But the game started at 10pm (hardcore poker) and I would have to bring a nursing baby. I wasn't sure what all the guys would think about that, so I passed.

 

And then, then, last night. Or this morning really. 1:51 am I received this gem:

 

 





 

(I don't know why the phone says 9:52, I got this at 1:51 when I was up with the Lion Cub)

 

Thankfully, Bee was up in the middle of her day on the other side of the world so we were able to discuss the dark turn Nate's life was taking. And to google what a 20 bag is.

 

 

 

 

 

Alas, Balabusta's not an easy woman to impress. When Bee filled her in on our

special naivete + math smarts, she assumed we were idiots trying to make meth and not able to read the recipe. Warm fuzzies all the way around.

 

And now, I may be off to text Nate's friend from Saginaw and tell him I don't know where he can score a 20 bag, but I'd be willing to pray with him and refer him to some treatment facilities.

 

--Kae--