Angela Types

You can read the second episode here . And the first one here . All sentences in italics represent my internal monologue and should be read as such. Even this one. Also, if you see a word that appears in lime green  that means it's hyperlinked. 'Cause I'm fancy. Episode 3, "Text Message Rates Apply" EXT. JOGGING TRAIL - AFTERNOON. I am walking a slow cool down lap around the park at the end of my street. I have just finished a pretty miserable jog and am limping towards home to quickly shower and head in to work. My text message notification sounds. I read a text from an un-stored number. *some of these messages have been removed for privacy, editing, and laziness* TEXTER:  Hey are you going to the This American Life live event tomorrow? ME:  didn't know about it. sounds wonderful! Also, lost my phone so I don't have this number saved...can you tell me who you are? :) TEXTER: We can play 20 questions to see if you can figure it out :) That w

Here's Episode 2 of "Adventures in Un-stored phone numbers". You can read the first episode here , although the only connection is my phone number. In this episode you get a bit more internal monologue and a glimpse at how neurotic I can be. Especially on the subject of mothers.  All sentences in italics represent internal monologue and should be read as such. Even this one. Episode 2, "Are you my mother?"  INT. ANGELA'S DOORWAY - EVENING. I am unlocking my front door having returned from a day spent at a nearby cafe/coffee shop. I wrote a very short promo blog, submitted my resume to a few places and spent some time editing old pieces and mapping their future, so in other words I had taken it pretty easy on myself. I answer my phone as I enter my apartment. ME: Hello? HISPANIC WOMAN: Elizabeth ? ME: Um...yes?  Shit, no one calls me that. Is this a bill collector? Do I have a bill that needs collecting? No, I don't. This had better not be a telem

I have mentioned before that I have a really hard time taking care of small, delicate things. I have a propensity to drop them, and in my younger, more alcohol-infused days I had a propensity to throw them at anyone who irritated the hell out of me. Or anyone that was sitting where I wanted to sit. Or wearing a similar outfit to mine. But mostly, I just tend to epically drop things (epically = at least two stories of free fall, preferably onto hardwood or concrete) Because I annihilate cell phones so often I have become accustomed to answering un-stored numbers, because *most* of the time it's a friend. Every now and then I get a gorgeous gem of dysfunctional dialogue that is worth sharing. I present to you Episode 1 of "Adventures in Un-stored Phone Numbers" All sentences in italics represent my internal monologue and should be read as such. Even this one. Episode 1, "Lisa unintentionally oversteps her bounds" INT. ANGELA'S APT - EARLY AFTERNOON. I am sitt