Phillip and I are reduced to watching the Teen Choice Awards tonight. September cannot come fast enough, and not just because I am more than ready to have this baby. I have no opinion about the Jonas Brothers, I have cringed each time a starlet hikes up her strapless dress, I am feeling like Mariah Carey is too old to wear yellow hot pants, I shudder each time a too-old-to-play-a-teen star says something like, "This is KRAZY!" or "You guys are UN! BELIEVABLE!", I can't figure out what that judge from America's Best Dance Crew is wearing on her head, but Hannah Montana can do no wrong. I love Hannah Montana. SUE ME.
You know who's a cutie? Chris Brown. I realize saying that makes me about seven hundred years old, but you know what? I AM. I just like to see what the kids are up to these days, with their music and their dance crews and their speed-of-light texting.
Did I tell you about our cell phone bill? So Phillip and I have a family plan and for the last couple of years we were keeping my little sister in cell minutes as well, although now she is a Real Live First Grade Teacher and can probably swing her OWN phone plan but I DIGRESS. Anyway! Whenever we get mail that comes in a #10 white envelope with a plastic window my brain goes, "Ew! Bill!" and throws it onto Phillip's desk. I am the picture of Modern Woman, eh? But this last time I got sort of curious about who's been calling who (SNOOP!) and I opened it up.
The first number listed was Phillip's and there were about ninety-seven pages of calls. Okay, maybe not that many, but when you are an IT Professional and also the sort of person whose pillow has a special indentation where his phone sleeps every night, you seriously have nearly ninety-seven pages of calls. Borrrring.
My sister's number had a page or two of calls. And yes I tried to figure out who all those numbers belong to, but even I have better things to do. So I moved on to my number.
Where there was (AND I SWEAR) like, two inches of calls. TWO INCHES! I mean, I know I don't use my cell phone that often, but REALLY? That's IT? And those calls? Were all to Phillip. Or the one or two people who only call my cell phone (and then leave a message, because my phone is always dead, and then I have to call them back a week later when I realize my phone has been dead all this time and I feel bad.) How lame am I? I can't even justify owning a cell phone at this point, let alone nagging my husband to buy me an iPhone. An iPhone! What am I going to do with one of those?!
(Tangent! You know how I said I was seven hundred years old? You know who is REALLY seven hundred years old? BRIAN AUSTIN GREEN. Dudes! He looks like these kids' DAD. Speaking of David Silver, what do you think about this new 90210 show they keep promoting?)
Anyway. I am pretty much the only person I know who not only still has a home phone but refuses to get rid of it. Seems like most everyone we know got rid of their home phone long ago, but Phillip will pry my purple phone with the old school answering machine out of my cold dead hands! (Or, I guess, when he tells me that the budget can't handle both a home phone AND a blog.) I just can't imagine handling all our calls on a CELL phone. I don't want to be interrupted in the middle of all the important things I do for, you know, the nurse calling to remind me about my appointment in two days. I mean, I hardly answer the phone when I know who it IS. (Except for you. I always answer your calls.)
There are two people with whom I can bear to talk to on the phone: my mother, because she is the only person in the world who cares about the nap schedule (and even she might be pretending) and my far away friend whose name we are not using for New Baby because Phillip is stubborn and irritating. Everyone else gets maybe three minutes of phone time, mainly because I am Phone Stupid. I'm not as afraid of the phone as I used to be (ordering a pizza? TERROR!) but I prefer to see you in person. Or email! God bless email!
Man. The American Idol Davids are excruciating.
So! I am thinking I should take one for the team and get a prepaid phone. You know. The kind where the numbers are huge and the volume goes up to eleven thousand because the only people using prepaid phones are YOUR PARENTS.
I'm so sorry you guys. It was either this or another in the MOLARS ARE FROM THE DEVIL series. Hopefully something fabulous will happen to me tomorrow (I score the alternate position on the Olympic gymnastics team! The baby is born! Logan Echolls calls me AND I TOTALLY PICK UP THE PHONE!) and I will not have to write about TELEVISION. AGAIN. Cross your fingers!