not in my actual real life, and not by anyone i actually really know, but still. when you're an attention whore, anything will do.
i almost never pick up my phone. i hate it. i hate holding it up to my ear, i hate the way it gets all smeary from being next to my skin. yes, i'm oily. move on.
i glance at the caller id when i hear ringing, but really, it doesn't matter to me who you are. you would have to be calling at the exact moment all the planets and their moons were properly aligned, during the seventh month of the lunar calendar, after having properly placated an albino boa with a set of two headed lambs, all the while wearing this (and this) in order for me to even consider considering picking up the phone.
i don't know why this is. if you want to come over, i'll probably talk to you till you throw yourself off a balcony, but the phone thing just doesn't work for me.
that said, i do pick up 9 times out of ten when the number comes up "unavailable." i realize that's when most people are least likely to answer, but my parents are "unavailable" (this statement leading me to be the number one search result for bad parenting, which is probably true as i have a troubling fascination with the girls next door and a penchant for donuts and vodka) and so i pick up, calculating probabilities based on time zone disparities, wagering that it's them.
unfortunately, for some very strange reason, it rarely is. for a good three months it was numerous strangers inquiring on a daily basis about the boat for sale. because earlier this year, when i was having all that money trouble, wouldn't all have been resolved if i would just sell my fucking boat?
because i don't own a boat. nor do i know anyone who does. nor did i give anyone i don't know who may own one permission to PAINT MY PHONE NUMBER ALONG THE SIDE OF SAID BOAT* TO AID IN ITS EVENTUAL OWNER TRANSFERENCE.
i'm assuming that this situation has resolved itself, as i have not received a boat call in a while. that's ok though, as i am not lacking for interesting conversation. last week my phone rang and when i answered i was greeted by a pleasant sounding elderly man who introduced himself as Grandpa and asked if i was ok, since i had just called.
i convinced him i was ok before gently breaking the news that i thought he might have the wrong number. Grandpa was greatly apologetic. he was audibly flustered and and even after i had assured him that it was ok, i didn't mind, he seemed to linger on the line. i waited for him to say goodbye and hang up, but it didn't seem to be happening anytime soon.
i grew concerned. it was nearing dinner time. what was i to do? wait forever? press the end button? you can't just hang up on Grandpa! it's unseemly.
"well, bye," i said. "have a good night." and there it ended. (anti-climactic, i know. what did you want? for the old man to cry? you're just mean, and i won't indulge that.) then i ate meatballs. they were good.
most recently, i have begun receiving errant text and picture messages. who knows from whence they came??? well, i'm guessing the west side, as it's a 310 area code, but still. that could be anywhere.
the ones on saturdays are quickly becoming my favorite though, because that's when my newest fat-fingered friend incorrectly punches in his/her friend's number, but instead sends the pictures to me. without explanation.
i'm starting a collection. so far i have brown with brown, black, and brown with white. what? it's a good start.
i think the first one might be named leroy.
*sorry uccellina and uccellina's husband.