sittin' in a box

Sittin’ in a box… sittin’ in a box… I’m Spot, and I’m sittin’ in a box, yeah baybee…

Layin’ in the sun… layin’ in the sun… I’m Spanky (also known as Gomer), and I’m layin’ in the sun purring my fool head off…

When I was sharing pictures of the stuff I bought in G’burg, I forgot my new favorite shirt! Cute, eh? Jest lahk me.

Know what gets all over my nerves and annoys me to no end? When the phone rings (no, that’s not it, though I’d probably be happiest if the phone never ever rang), and the person on the other end says "May I speak to Fred Anderson?", and I say "He’s not here, may I take a message?", and they say "Blah blah blah", and start leaving their message, and then pause and say "Who is this?"

You know what? IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS WHO IT IS. It’s the fucking person who answered the fucking phone, and since the person you want to talk to is either not home or pretending not to be home, LEAVE YOUR FUCKING MESSAGE, AND DON’T WORRY ABOUT WHO I AM.

One of these days, I’m going to say "The woman who ties him up and beats him, if you must know." Or "The hired prostitute." Or "I don’t actually live here, I’m just robbing the place." Or "Your momma, that’s who!" Or "His girlfriend. He’s not home, so I’m taking the chance to snoop through his house." Or "The dog. Woof!"

Back in my bad-credit days, I invariably pretended to not be me. "Is Robyn there?", the creditors would ask. "Nope! Can I take a message?" I’d always say. It always worked, of course – what were they going to say, "Yes you are! You are Robyn, you’re just lying about it!" You always know it’s someone you don’t want to talk to if they ask for you by first and last name, too. Or if they use your full name instead of your nickname.

Thank god for caller id, y’know? The phone rings, you check to see who it is, and if it’s not for you, you yell for who it IS for, so you don’t have to do that awkward making-conversation thing before handing the phone over.

"Oh, hi Robyn! How’s it going?"

"Fine, fine… And you?"

"…. Oh, just great. Just great." Long pause. "So, uh, is Fred there?"

"Sure, hang on…" Just easier to not answer if it’s not for you, y’know?

My friend Liz’s ex got pissy because I’d call and just ask for her instead of bothering with the small talk. "She never TALKS to MEEEE!", he’d whine. He had a very nasally, whiny voice. I hated his ass, I really did. He didn’t seem to understand that just because Liz was my friend, I didn’t necessarily love and adore him as well. Thank god she divorced his loser ass.

Man. I killed three flies in the computer room this morning (that’s what happens when you leave the door open for the kitties to play outside), and two of them are gone. I suspect one of the cats ate them, which is just gross when you think of how much time they all spend licking my hand. Gah.

But that’s okay – whoever it was will simply half-digest the flies and then barf them back up, most likely on the carpet. You know, the light-colored carpet. Next to the stains caused by half-digested barfed-up grass.

Thank god for Oxi-Clean.


—– Previously 2000: Am I not an ass-kicking WalkAerobics diva?]]>