Entries in text (3)


Happy Snaps

It’s been an interesting week.  Lots of fun events, a stack of meetings and a few things that went wrong.  Work is busy as always, the weather is cold and wet, there’s a weird energy in the air.

Thursday started off with early morning meetings (my idea of Hell as a Night Owl) including a WIP with my boss, the best dressed man in our office.  It was a good chat, as usual, and we nailed a few things that I needed sign off for.  I left  his office feeling a sense of achievement.

I made a coffee and as I was walking back through our open plan space, I noticed six text messages on my phone.  Six messages is a lot.  That tends to mean a family emergency or something has gone to shit.  I hit the tiny envelope button to find one was from Speccy Beccy, currently traveling through the bush with her parents.  Can’t wait to hear how that’s been going.  I miss her.

The other five were from The Train Driver, a guy I went on three dates with at the start of the year.  I quite liked him.  We talked a lot, drank some wine, texted back and forth in between.  Then we had dinner and he ranted about not wanting a woman to change him and how wife was too dominating.   After I paid for our curry and pad thai (my turn) I kissed him goodbye and never saw him again.  We both agreed that something had changed and the spark wasn’t there.  And now here he was.   I wondered what he wanted now.  

I clicked on the bundle of messages, expecting to see a funny note about trains or my VIP life – a private joke.  But no.  There was nothing funny in his message. 

I saw a giant penis with a man’s hand wrapped around it.

And then a second photo, but from a different angle.

Both shots up close.  Both torso only, no face.  Both graphic and real.

Hey Tan, can I ask you a question?” yelled one of my staff as I walked past her desk, jolting me from my shocked senses.

Ohmygod, I’ve got two dick pics on my phone in clear view of everyone.  WTF.  I tried to hit the close button but the shots would not disappear.  I could feel someone walking up behind me.  I turned my phone over and tried to look casual.

I answered her question and she walked off.   I should say I think I responded properly, because all I could feel was a red glow on my face and the vision of someone’s hard penis.  Burnt into my memory. I wandered into the safe refuge of my office to try and work out what was going on.

I read the messages again. Slowly.  Trying to make sense of it all.  

Hey babe, do you still have today off?           Smiley face.

I’m up if you want to hang out.                     Winky smiley face.

((Shot of man’s shaft with hand wrapped around it.))

((Second shot of same penis (I’m assuming) with hand wrapped around it.))


SO SO SORRY.                                             Embarrassed smiley face.

Please delete!!!

Was that even him?  Had someone hacked his phone?  What was going on?

I turned my phone off and stood, shocked at my desk. 

It’s only 9.30am.  I haven’t even had my first coffee yet.   Who the f*ck sends a dick pic at this time of the morning?

At first I was grossed out.  Did not need to see that at this time of the day.  Or any time of the day.

Then I got angry.  Why do guys think that sending a girl a shot of his throbbing manhood is going to get her in the mood?   Like I’m going to stop eating my Vegemite on toast and jump in the car to come see you and your hard on.  If you can wait that long, as we all know how bad peak hour traffic is.

After that, I was disappointed.  I really didn’t think the Train Driver was like that.  I thought he was a nice, normal guy.  Hmmmm. 

Then I felt violated.  To receive a graphic photo like that – unexpected – unsolicited – it turned my stomach.   It was imprinted on my brain.   I felt dirty and tainted.   It was not okay.

I texted back.  Please remove my number from your phone if that’s how you communicate with your current partner so I am never subjected to that ever again.  Ever. 

He still hasn’t replied.  I’ll never find out how or why I got a photo of his morning glory.  Part of me hopes he accidentally sent it to his whole phone book.  

Imagine how bad his day would be after that.       



I’ve become addicted to my phone.  I hate that. 

A few months ago I weaned myself off my phone and the need to be on it all the time. I trained myself to leave it in my bag when I was out.  I stopped taking photos of my food.  The need to share my life on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter subsided.  I had control. I was in the moment. As much as I loved my Samsung and all it’s cool features, it was just a phone.

Now, I’m checking my phone all the time.  Constantly.  Every few minutes.  When the blue light flashes my heart skips a little beat.  Someone wants to tell me something.  Talk to me.  Share things with me.  I am needed. Wanted.  I have friends.  I’m not alone.

If my phone is inactive for a while (three minutes) I touch the screen to bring it to life.  My heart lets out a deep sigh when I see there aren’t any icons alerting me to something.  Anything.  I put it down and try to go back to whatever I am doing, hoping that soon, something will pop up to engage me. 

Finally I hear that familiar noise.  It’s like my favourite song on high rotation on the radio.  Smiling, I glide my fingers over my phone. 

Massive anti climax.  There’s no text message waiting for me.  It’s not even a Facebook or Twitter alert.   It’s an app update.  Annoying.  No, I don’t want to download the new version of Flipboard. I hardly ever use it. Stop using up my valuable battery power. 

My demise into the world of phone addiction started off as a joyous experience.  It began innocently, swapping texts with a great guy I met online.  We moved quickly from long essays on email to funny text messages.  Every time my phone beeped, I’d smile, knowing he had sent me an sms.  He was thinking of me.  Wanting to reach out to me.  He was into me.

He’d text me every morning when he woke up.  We had private jokes.  Hashtags were added to funny messages.  We’d swap weird photos of cats and sloths.  All day long, we’d text back and forth.  At night, he’d text me before he fell asleep.  My phone became a connection to another human being.  Someone that made me happy.

I became a living version of Pavlov’s Dog.  My phone would beep, I’d feel joy. 

After a heavenly two weeks of perfect dates, he ended it. Without warning.  I didn’t see it coming.  I’m still a little shocked.  And yes, he did it via text.

Now my phone lies dormant.  It sits silent. Mocking me.  No flashing.  No beeping. No public displays of affection from a hottie.  A useless piece of metal and plastic that makes me feel bad.

I pick it up.  I swipe my hands across the screen.  The cursor flashes at me requesting my passcode.  I punch it in quickly.  My phone comes alive.  It has nothing to say.

I put it back on the table.  Three minutes later I check it again.  Still, there is nothing.  I am tempted to scroll through old messages.  This is a bad idea.  I talk myself out of it like an alcoholic on the verge of a whiskey shot.  Don’t do it.  It will just make you feel bad.

It’s not my phone’s fault.  It did nothing wrong. It just got caught in the crossfire of my short lived romance and a guy who (I thought) was totally into me – and then he wasn’t.  I need to make peace with my S4.  I want us to be friends.  Life is better when it’s around.  Like all good things, I just need to learn to enjoy it in moderation. 

Which is why you will find my Facebook feed flooded with motivational posts.   Instagram has become a picture book of each and every meal I eat.  Twitter is filled with non stop crap as I tweet constantly about the nothing in my life.  Spare moments are spent texting friends to say hello and find out what’s going on. My phone is busier than before.  In fact, my phone bill just arrived.  720 texts in four weeks.

It’s fine.  I’ve got my addiction totally under control.  #totally


Instant Textification 


I need to stop my text obsession according to my friend Twin Kat.   I had apologised for not messaging her back straight away after she asked how I was after a big week at work.  “Mate, texting back straight away is for urgent questions and emergencies, not general chit chat.  This bullshit idea of people catching up over text is ridiculous, Call if you wanna talk to someone, otherwise return their text whenever you want.  If it was urgent, you’d pick up the phone.  Texts don’t have to be replied to straight away.”  

She has a point.  I am guilty of two things when it comes to texting:  1.  Texting someone  back straight away so I don’t keep them waiting – and 2.  Getting upset / depressed when someone (usually a man) doesn’t text me back within a certain amount of time.

We’ve all been there.  You send an SMS to someone you’re keen on, and if they don’t text you back after say, 30 minutes, the mind games start.  He’s just not that into me.   He’s with his girlfriend.   He’s with his wife.   He’s read the message, rolled his eyes and put his phone away as there’s no way he’s replying to your stupid semi flirty text.  Silly girl. 

If hours go by with no reply the following scenarios may also pop into your head:  He’s had an accident.  His battery is flat.  Your message didn’t go through (check phone immediately).  The network is down.  His wife found your message and is currently throwing his clothes into the street.

Let me just point out that you didn’t know he had a wife.   You’re not a cheating mole, you’ve  been hoodwinked by a married man who doesn’t know how to delete your messages.  Or return them.

Twin Kat’s comments made me think about the way most men text as opposed to women.   Men write short messages with basic info and abbreviations.   Women are chatty and add all the niceties you’d expect in a phone call.

Girl Text:  Hey hon, how are you?  It’s a beautiful day! Thought we could go to the Smith Hotel for a few drinks.  Invited Rach and Jase too.  How is 2pm for you?  Let me know. Ta! Xxx

Boy Text:  Wanna grab a beer?  Smith Hotel – 2pm?

The word efficiency of men texting is akin to the word count on Twitter.  Once you work this out, you’ll avoid being upset when he sends you a super short message and you misread it as him being abrupt and therefore disinterested.  He just doesn’t want to press more buttons than he has to.

Most men also don’t feel the need to reply to a text straight away.  When Sports Buddy and I would spend days together on the couch (watching sport), his phone would beep all the time with messages.  I wanted to jump up straight away and see who it was and what they wanted, but he’d stay planted on the couch, only getting up to check them if he needed a toilet stop or another drink.  I now know that when I text him, he’s not going to reply for a few hours – maybe even the next day.  Do I like that?  No, not really, but at least now I don’t freak out when I don’t hear back from him (or other boys) straight away.  And when we do finally catch up, it’s all fine.     

 Actually, it’s been three days since I sent him a text.  If that bastard’s married, there’ll be hell to pay.