Wrong Number

For some reason, I often find myself in situations where I'm privy to weirdly private information about others.  Remember the Wild Tiger, Lion Heart note? 

Well, lately, I've been receiving some text messages that were supposed to go to someone else.  But because the writer of said messages does not pay attention to detail--or can't spot it when someone's giving them a fake number--I get to have some entertainment.

Last night I got this message:

Just so you know newman is an always will be my life.  I swear an i mean swear i never wanted to hurt him.  That man has saved me so much.  I love him an always will.

This Newman?

I'm not gonna lie to you: I thought it was pretty funny.  And I thought for about two seconds about texting back or calling the person to tell them that they have the wrong number, but I decided not to.

And then today I got this message:

You may not wanna talk to me because you think i lied to you well i didnt.  When newman started to hit me pull my hair an tell me he will kill me yeah i did something bout that.

Winona Thelma Feldmann!

And now I'm really torn about whether or not I should let this person know they've got the wrong number.  On one hand, I feel bad for them.  On the other, I think it best to stay out of this crazy Newman business.

What would you do?

Wild Tiger, Lion Heart

Above my dresser, next to the pair of jeans I hope to be wearing by the time I am 30 (damn you, cupcakes!), hangs one of the most hilarious pieces of writing I have ever read. It may be funnier than A Modest Proposal.

My take on this letter will likely reveal me to be mean or cruel, but I can't help it don't care. This thing is great.

On the Thursday before my wedding, my maid of honor, Caitie, and I stopped in Rite Aid because she needed a nail file. As we were walking toward the store, we passed a trash can that was overflowing, and papers were all over the ground around it. One of the papers had some writing on it.

I harbor evil curiosity, and can't resist reading the writing on random pieces of paper. So I picked up this pretty piece of blue paper that caught my eye.

As Caitie browsed Rite Aid's selection of nail files, I began to read it. It was golden. It was literature. I was laughing pretty hard, and Caitie wanted to know what it said. For fear that the author was herself in Rite Aid, I waited until we were back in the car to read it to Caitie.

Here are the contents of this literary masterpiece. It's some kind of journal entry, and it requires no literary analysis. It speaks for itself.

6-15-07
6:34

Called Irene.
Called Randy. Left message. So hard. What am I doing. Being honest & myself. Telling him I NEED HIM tonight. Just to hold me. And be there to keep me safe. And that I know how hard he's working, trying & succeding (SIC) in doing so much. But I know my needs & if he can't be there, I'm going out, going dancing, & I'm going to have a man's arms around me. Not going to be sleeping with him, but I need to be held. And that I still love him.
Called Irene. Told her I did it.

7:30
Randy, my wild tiger, my lion heart, called. He'll meet me at 9:30-9:45 at Safeway. He loves me and he responds to me. I love him so much. He said Don't worry, your man loves you and will take care of you.

It's probably catty and mean, but I can read this thing whenever I'm feeling down, and it will make me smile. Fortunately, Matt, my wild tiger, my lion heart, doesn't mind that I'm a little on the mean side. If he did, I'd be going out, going dancing. . .