A series of voicemail messages I listened to a year and a half after they were sent because I don’t know how my phone works:
Yvonne: Argh. This lady at the drugstore just coughed H1N1 all over my daughter. Call me in 4 months when you actually get this. I’m sure we’ll still be friends then. Probably.
me (leaving myself a message when I couldn’t find my journal to write in): Why don’t people use “let’c” as a contraction for “lettuce”? It would save time. This is me, by the way. Not future-me though. Just regular me. Hope we’re doing well.
My sister: Hey, someone in our family died but I’m not telling you over voicemail because that would be weird. But you’re never going to get this because you never listen to your voicemails. It’s like I’m sending a time-capsule into space that no one will ever find. I though you were supposed to be the responsible one.
My sister again: It’s mom’s birthday today. I’m calling to remind you. You owe me.
me again: Hi. This is just me pretending to be on the phone so that I don’t have to make eye contact with the crazy lady on Main who’s always talking to herself. Except that technically I’m calling myself to leave myself a message so I’m basically doing the same thing. Fuck. I bet this is just how the crazy lady got started.
My sister again: It’s daddy’s birthday today. I’m calling because you said that I didn’t remind you about mom’s birthday even though I totally did. Does this phone even work?
My sister again: Hey, did you know it’s your birthday? My guess is “no” since I didn’t remind you.
me (leaving a message to myself again): If dead people want to wear open toed shoes in their caskets do the morticians give them a pedicure or are you just stuck with however your feet looked when you die? Do you have to pay extra for the death pedicure? I should get a tattoo on my chest that says “Put me in feetie-pajamas when I die”. That way I’m warm and I’m saving money.
me again: Okay, I just remembered that I don’t have any feetie-pajamas and it would suck if right before I died I ballooned up to like 500 pounds and Hailey was all “HER DYING WISH WAS TO HAVE FEETIE PAJAMAS” but they can’t find any in my size and so she spends all her time looking for enormous feetie-pajamas when she should just be taking care of herself. Now I’m all depressed. Forget the tattoo. The tattoo was a terrible idea.
Victor: WHY DON’T YOU EVER ANSWER YOUR PHONE?
me (leaving a message to myself again): I was calling to remind you to write something funny about birds but then I got distracted by my own voice on the answering machine and now I don’t remember what I was going to say. It was about birds, I think…? Crap. I lost it. Way to go, us.
my sister again: It’s mom’s birthday today. Honestly, I don’t even know why I try.
Laura: Okay, why do you even have a phone?