Started off with a bang

I'm really superstitious about beginnings of months and years. I always choose a very particular phrase to say at the beginning of each of my new years (March 13. Send presents.) I make sure I say "Rabbit, Rabbit" at the beginning of each month, although I was recently informed that I'm supposed to say it FOUR times instead of just two. I also note all the mundane firsts of the new year, like the first song I sang, first drink I had, first time I started my car, and first person I spoke to. (Which, by the way, was my very own "Llama Song", diet ginerale, to the gas station and my friend Seth). So around 8 yesterday morning I was (abnormally) excited to listen to my first voice message. I had gotten the call at 1:47, but I was alseep by then. (Acutally, I was asleep by 11:15. Par-tee an-i-MAL!) It was Byron, sobbing hysterically into my voicemail. He was calling to inform me that he was going to jail, and that no matter what happened, he cared about me, and he guessed he would talk to me later.

Great. THIS is the first thing I have to do in 2005? Worry about Byron?

A pit bull has a better dispostion than pre-coffee Amber. The only thing worse is pre-coffee Amber worried. So I spent two hours calling the Danbury Police Department, giving them Ambertude, and then every police department in the surrounding area trying to find him. In between I called Byron's phone, which he wasn't answering.

Finally, I get a phone call from him.


Byron: "Huh?"


Apparently someone dragged him out of the club and the police gave him a talking to. Then his roommate came and took him home. He doesn't remember who got pissed off, what he did, or what happened to his glasses. He also doesn't remember calling me.

Moral of the story: If you're going to drunk dial me, don't make me panic. Byron, you owe me one. Hell, you owe me three. If this is forshadowing of '05, I'm screwed.