There are people in my life that I can only handle in small, diminutive doses. Like once every couple months/years or so. These people are not really friends, just people I hang out with on slight occasion. Pseudo-friends. At least that's the way I see things.
Nonetheless, a few of these people badger me to bloody death with phone calls. If I don't want to talk on the phone, I don't answer it. (I have caller ID so I won't miss anything important like The Rolling Stone Million Dollar Sweepstakes!) It seems to me that once I called someone who didn't pick up, I might leave them a message and leave it at that.
But, no. These people want to call back, over and over, until that damn Cingular Sanford and Son ring tone suffocates my eardrums. But what pisses me off even more is the question, "What if I were at a funeral? What if it were my funeral? Or what if I were on the other line with Rolling Stone Magazine?" Where's your respect, people? Where's your patience? Better yet, where is your phone company? I'd really like with speak to them.
I don't have the nerve to say, "Get off my damn back!" or "Lose my number, you blood of a bitch!" So I sit back and drown out the rings and delete 5 inane messages a day.
"Hey, girl! Damn! You don't ever answer your phone! Call me back-- I need to borrow some shoes!" (You're not getting my shoes! Invest in your own!)
"Misty, it's SoANDso. I was just wondering when you're going to hook me up with one of your stripper friends! Hook a brothah up!" (Even if I had "stripper friends" I would'nt point them in your direction.)
Thought of the day: "Do I need to introduce you to my nail-studded CLUE x 4?
Nonetheless, a few of these people badger me to bloody death with phone calls. If I don't want to talk on the phone, I don't answer it. (I have caller ID so I won't miss anything important like The Rolling Stone Million Dollar Sweepstakes!) It seems to me that once I called someone who didn't pick up, I might leave them a message and leave it at that.
But, no. These people want to call back, over and over, until that damn Cingular Sanford and Son ring tone suffocates my eardrums. But what pisses me off even more is the question, "What if I were at a funeral? What if it were my funeral? Or what if I were on the other line with Rolling Stone Magazine?" Where's your respect, people? Where's your patience? Better yet, where is your phone company? I'd really like with speak to them.
I don't have the nerve to say, "Get off my damn back!" or "Lose my number, you blood of a bitch!" So I sit back and drown out the rings and delete 5 inane messages a day.
"Hey, girl! Damn! You don't ever answer your phone! Call me back-- I need to borrow some shoes!" (You're not getting my shoes! Invest in your own!)
"Misty, it's SoANDso. I was just wondering when you're going to hook me up with one of your stripper friends! Hook a brothah up!" (Even if I had "stripper friends" I would'nt point them in your direction.)
Thought of the day: "Do I need to introduce you to my nail-studded CLUE x 4?