Common Courtesy is Really Hard!!!!!!!

The other day I made a call, but when the stranger answered, I realized I had a wrong number. Having nothing to say to this stranger (after all, Momma said never to talk to them) I hung up.
Ryan informed me that this is an incorrect way of dealing with the wrong number situation. As it turns out, one should tell the stranger her dialing mistake. I don’t see why it’s MORE polite to waste MORE of this person’s time, but he insists it is. Perhaps he doesn’t like the thought of some poor guy out there wondering who is mad at him, who is stalking him, who changed his or her mind about talking to him. I don’t really know.

But since Ryan is making and effort to pronounce “orange juice” correctly (yes darling, you must take the time to say both the ‘ge’ sound at the end of orange, and the ‘j’ at the beginning of juice. They cannot just share!) I figured I could give this “talking to the wrong number” thing a shot the next time it happend.

Thursday was the day.

I made a call from my work line. I was attempting to call Ryan BUT the guy who answered was clearly not Ryan at all and since no one else ever answers his phone I began to replace the reciever out of habit but I stopped myself.

Seconds passed as I had the following internal debate:

“My work has caller ID that says my name, this guy will know it was me!...well this guy doesn’t actually know ME per se anyway, but he WILL know my name and where I work…ok ok…it’s rude to say nothing so go…and go..say something for hell’s sake”

Finally I spoke. I choose my words carefully. I said, “uh.” Actually it was “uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..” and I followed it up with “ummmmmmmmmmm.” If you think I am exaggerating, or making this up for humor’s sake, or anything like that, no, I am certainly not.
Those were my exact words.

Until he said, “Hello?” again.

I found the courage to ask, “Is this 123-456-7890?” (only I read the number my little screen on my phone said I dialed, I did NOT just count for him or anything).

“Yes it is.” He said.

“Oh.” I don’t know what people say after they say that “is this this number?” part. But I was sure, certain, totally positive that it was Ryan’s number I had called. So I said, “Well that’s weird.”

He did not say a thing. He didn’t agree. Disagree. Ask why his number was weird to me. Nothing. I had no sign of what he might be thinking. But then, I am learning men can be pretty closed off about their thoughts and feelings sometimes, so maybe he was being macho or something.

Although I think this was appearant to both of us at this point, I informed him I had reached a wrong number. The entire conversation was rather pointless for me, as he was no help after I told him my dilemma.

And now Ryan, there is some guy out there just wondering what is so weird about his telephone number.

Frankly, I don’t see how that’s better.

January 24, 2009

I bite my nails.





I make rash and unusual decisions when I drive.





And I can’t park.





I am a genu-INE dork.





I make him ask for weird special orders in the drive thru.





I eat gross food.





I listen to country music, no I ROCK OUT, to country music all summer long.


I don’t get sports, I don’t like sport, and when sports announcers talk…I just think it sounds dirty.





I talk to the computer like a maniac when I am on it.





I am oversensitive and I get mad about the dumbest things.





I am lackadaisical about: house keeping, spelling, dinner, putting children to bed, turning off the lights, measuring ingredients in dishes I prepare, making children turn off lights, walking dogs, homework, being on time to things, telling embarrassing stories to the wrong people, and about making comprehensive lists; this one should go on and on.

Still, I am a very, very lucky (and very, very happy) girl.





I have a perfect little ring, for my stubby little finger (that looks a bit stubbier due to the jagged nails), and I get to marry this guy:














And he's pretty lucky too. Cause I promise never, ever to make him dress like that again.