Everyday during the week Frappy calls me. She likes to keep me updated on all things important... like trouble with the Internet in her apartment, what her assignments are, what grades she got on assignments, her need for ideas for papers, and when she misplaces things... like her bag of nail stuff. I love listening to her but... there always comes that point where she wants me to talk.
Talking on the phone is so utterly frustrating for me. Sometimes I can get through it and it isn't too bad. Most of the time, however, it is torture. I have answered the phone before only to have the person on the other line tell me I need to speak up... and have been hung up on many times. By. people. calling. me. So... I rarely answer the phone.
So, Frappy calls me. Got an A on something. Yay! Crabs about her Internet and how it is really inconvenient... then comes that point.
Frappy: So what are you doing?
Me: I need to take a shower.
Frappy: Why do you take showers so late?
Me: I've been cleaning.
Frappy: You just don't want to talk to me.
Me: Talking on the phone is hard.
Frappy: That's always your excuse.
Me: Sigh... (Ok. I am going to try to talk about something) Fly Boy's parents went up to see Fly Boy and (interrupted)
Frappy: Wait! What?!?!
Me: Fly Boy's parents went up to Hattiesburg (interrupted)
Frappy: Who? Who went up to Hattiesburg? To see Chai?
Me: This is exactly why I don't like talking on the phone.
Frappy: No, just tell me.
Me: Call your sister, she'll tell you about it.
My family can figure out what I am saying unless I have something new to say and then it is the same scenario. It sucks.
I haven't been doing the blog thing. I get behind on other blogs and then stress about getting caught up... And then, there is facebook. What a collosal time suck that is! It is soooo cool though. I can "talk" to people on there and have reconnected with so many people.
Off to shower. Gotta pick Double Shot up. Let me tell you, he is pure joy in the morning. He was not happy at all this morning. Much more so than usual if that is even possible. He didn't want to come downstairs until Mr. Macchiato opened the front door... cause, you know, those extra 60 seconds sitting on his bed complaining about summer school are very important.
Mr. Macchiato: Get down here now!
Double Shot: Ugh. I am. What's your problem?
Mr. Macchiato: I'm not waiting around for you.
Double Shot: Stomps out door making unintelligible sounds.
Mr. Macchiato: (then outside) What the %$#@ is your problem?
Double Shot: I'm sick of summer school! Do you have to swear?
Mr. Macchiato: (yelling... and I've told y'all that he can be heard states away) Yeah, well you shoulda thought about that last spring when you wouldn't do your homework!
Double Shot: Geez Dad! Do you have to make a scene in front of the whole neighborhood?
Mr. Macchiato: (head spinned around and popped right off) actually... I can't repeat what he said.
Oh hey... will you look at that? I'm going to be late picking Double Shot up. Bummer.