Fire Trucks and Bridges
It seems like a same-thing-different-day situation, that work thing. Human behavior doesn’t surprise me, rarely shocks me anymore. I’m still at it, still having fun. Thank god summer is here; work has been sorta mundane. The sun is bringing the goonybirds back out, and I’ve been watching… Read the rest of this entry »
Talkin’ Out Yo’ Ass
Butt… Butt…
I have been butt-dialed.
Yesterday morning as I tried to sleep, my cell phone went off. It wasn’t either of the usual ring tones, instead an unfamiliar one, like Brazilian fiesta music. WTF? I looked, and it was a ‘Blocked ID’ call. Mmmkay. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you if you’re worthy of my attention, etc… I heard no alert for voicemail, so I rolled over to go back to sleep. After five minutes, the voicemail alert went off.
Really? A five minute voicemail? Now I’m curious, so I sat up, dialed and listened.
I could pick out voices, but they were muffled. It sounded like two women driving as service faded in and out. At one point it sounded like they were feeding a baby to a bobcat inside a blender. Once I determined it wasn’t some form of horrible bad news, (see previous post) I saved it for dissection when I had free minutes. Upon further review:
It was two women discussing animal care. One was moving to a new space, and they were concerned “Doug and Nancy” may not be animal lovers. “Hi, roomie! Meet my pitbull Maggot!” (Actually it sounded more like an old cat they were discussing.) These random bits went on for 4:48 before my machine cut them off or the gal with the phone noticed and hung up.
I have an inkling who this might be. My cousin Misty in North Carolina has a new iPhone, and I called her a few days ago. Could she have shaken, bumped or rotated the phone in such a way that it called me back with Caller ID blocked? I don’t know, but I’m going to e-mail her this and see if it rings any bells.
If anyone knows a Doug or Nancy who just got an animal-loving roommate with a pleasant voice, please point out that carrying their phone in a back pocket is not only hard on the instrument, it disrupts the natural curve of the gluteus maximus. In other words, it makes your ass look bigger.
Help me out here, folks. Otherwise I may have to go to South Park and hire the Hardly Boys.
I’m sure they’ve got a clue…
The Big Sound of a Small Voice
Sometime you just have to sit back, take a deep breath, and thank the powers that be.
Mizelle and The Frenchman have talked of moving to France for the past couple of years. His family owns a vineyard and he is the heir-apparent. We met for dinner last week, hung out like always, had a lovely visit. They hadn’t decided if they were going as a family, or if The Frenchman would go alone and Mizelle and baby would follow. Lily is a year old now, sporting three teeth and walking, albeit like she’s consumed a jug of burgundy. It’s a juggling act timewise, and they were still putting things in order. I’ve known this was coming, and while I would miss them terribly, it wouldn’t be the first time Mizelle has wandered off for years at a time. I would make do. All I knew is she may or may not go, but The Frenchman had to leave around the first of the month.
I awoke to “Breaking News!” this morning. An Air France jetliner had disappeared off the radar after leaving Rio de Janiero. Authorities expected the worst. No word of any Americans on board.
I didn’t think too much about it. Certainly there are lots of flights to France; what would the odds be? Regardless, I was a little worried, so I sent Mizelle an e-mail: “Indulge my inner Grandma. Let me know y’all are okay?” I threatened to flood her voicemail box if I didn’t hear something soon.
By early evening I had heard nothing, so I took a break from work and called. Mizelle picked up. “Well, hello. What do you want?”
“Oh nothing. Just checking up on you…”
“What, you think we were on that plane? Nah. Thank you though, for thinking of me as such a jet-setter. I’d love to go to Paris via Rio someday.”
“So everyone is fine, everyone’s in town? You’ll call me if you’re around this weekend?”
“Of course I will.”
“Give the baby and the old man a hug for me, will you? Gotta get back to work.”
“Will do.”
We rang off, and I told Pan and Whitney that all was well. (They’d hung around in case the news wasn’t so good.) Finally, I could focus on work. As I was about to get to it, my phone rang. Mizelle was on the Caller ID.
“Hello?” I responded.
I heard a “Blah-blah-blabbity blab blab,” and realized Mizelle had called back and handed the phone to Lily, who was giving me a lecture about being a silly old man who worries too much about things I can’t control. Then she told me goodnight. (At least that’s what I took from all that “Blah-blah-blabbity blab blab.”) It was a sweet gesture, and made my night.
I can’t help feeling like I dodged a bullet, and I’m so glad I checked up on them. It’s times like these I feel so small, then I think of the even smaller one whose tiny bits of baby-talk were like screams of happiness in my ear.
Big hugs to all of you tonight.
