DrunkTel has better reception than SaskTel, but only if you're drunk-dialing your ex.

Oh cell phone, what do I even think of you? In many ways you make my life so much easier. I’m connected to everything everywhere I go and I love you for that. But my love for you is my issue, for when I have had a long talk with Mr. Jack Daniels, I love you too much. It may start innocently enough with a simple tweet like “Piñatas Rule Everything Around Me! #PinataClan.”

As dumb and innocent as that sounds, the frequency at which I tweet about piñatas is scarily approaching fetish levels. Sober, I love piñatas a totally appropriate amount. However, drunk me is starting to put that into question.

As the night develops, so does my love affair with my phone. Facebook is never touched though; one does not fuck with Facebook. But one certainly fucks with Twitter and texting.

Tweets range from my ongoing piñata obsession to when I suddenly remember I have emotions and feel as though I must, absolutely must, quote the likes of Sunset Rubdown or The National. Then I will text, oh, how I will text. All kinds of nonsensical awkward things are said — granted, usually not very well. Of course when I say all these glorious things and make all these deep proclamations, I always include a smiley face. If the TV show Boondocks has taught me anything, it’s that “bitches love smiley faces” and indeed many girls do enjoy the occasional smiley face.

But I feel as though I misunderstand the idea of context or appropriateness when I’m in the middle of making sweet love to my phone. When I send messages like “THIS WASHROOM HAS A GLORY HOLE!!! :)”, it might give the wrong impression, as I had no intention of using said hole in the wall, but had simply never seen one before. Unfortunately, in that particular instance, the smiley face wasn’t appreciated, especially since it somehow accidentally became a wink.

In some strange ways we live in a world run by emoticons, which is a terrifying thought.

I can safely say that not every late night affair with my phone has been as ridiculous as these examples. We all know that once enough liquid courage has been ingested, well, over-confidence doesn’t really cover it. My phone takes advantage of this any chance it can get when I say things to people that just really don’t need to be said. I think my phone sometimes sees me happy and brimming with confidence and just feels the need to take me down a couple notches. I’m sure it always enjoys me having to clean up the mess I made the next day by using my phone again.

Even though my phone abuses me, I can’t hate it — I’m just too used to being connected. In some ways I suppose I have a Stockholm Syndrome affinity for my phone, for when night falls, it causes me nothing but grief, yet I still love it.

Once in a while, when there is a real emergency, my phone becomes nothing short of a hero and saves my ass when I really need it to — redeeming itself enough to hold our abusive relationship together.

I often wake up after a night of irresponsible texting and tweeting feeling awful. It’s not a hangover, just feeling like I’ve been used, like I just had a one night stand with my phone — which is fine because I love my phone. I just hope it used protection.

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Graphic: Brianna Whitmore/The Sheaf