an introduction to the H-BOMB (cont.) (cont.)

i deliberate on my next course of action. a more direct means of communication seems to be in order. find out what the hell she's smoking?

i call the H-BOMB...

ring... ring...

the hairs rise on the back of my neck...

ring... ring... ring... ring...

(voice mail picks up)(the H-BOMB's staccato voice) "you have reached... the home of... Heather L. Bomb, addicted... to using... my brain. please leave a message... and i will get back to you... as soon as... humanly... possible."

uhh... addicted to using my brain? what the hell does that mean?

i leave a message -

(pleasant and chipper; in complete contrast to the H-BOMB) "hello! this message is for Heather Bomb! this is jamie at cheap joe's art stuff! i was calling in regards to a problem with your order! please give me a call back when you can at... "

the next day we speak via phone. i, nor the H-BOMB, make reference to any previous communique. no mention of the psychotic / schitzophrenic emails or voicemail. she sounds relatively normal over the phone. no mention of "the little man" or "can-openers" or "solid gold toilet seats." we resolve whatever problem there is with her order, i think? hang up completely confused and... intrigued.

maybe me and the Deathcab will make a little visit to Heather L. Bomb?...