Dingleberry Gazette

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…