The Bloggess

Conversation with Victor after the 40,000th time I failed to answer my phone:

Victor:  I AM GOING TO STRANGLE YOU.  WHY DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING ANSWER YOUR PHONE WHEN I CALL YOU?

me:  I didn’t hear it because I was too busy yelling at some idiot who claimed that you weren’t the most understanding and patient husband in the world.

Victor:  I…don’t even know what to say to that.

me:  You should probably just say “Thank you.”

 

The 40,001st time I failed to answer my phone:

Victor:  AAAAH.  IT’S A PHONE, JENNY.  JUST ANSWER IT.

me:  *mumble mumble*

Victor:  What?  What are you saying?

me: *mumble mumble*

Victor:  WHAT?

me: That was me practicing what it would sound like if I was gagged and bound and finally answered the phone with my nose to tell you which abandoned warehouse I was stuck in.  And you failed.

Victor:  WHAT?

me:  Because maybe that’s why I wasn’t answering my phone.  Maybe it was to make this drill seem more realistic.  I can’t just reach my phone immediately if I’m tied up.  IT TAKES FINESSE.

Victor:  You’re killing me here.

me:  It won’t always be a drill, Victor.  Get your shit together.

 

The 40,002nd time:

Victor:  YOU HAVEN’T ANSWERED YOUR PHONE IN HOURS.  I’VE BEEN WORRIED SICK THAT YOU’D BEEN MANGLED IN AN ACCIDENT.

me:  But I wasn’t.  I just turned the ringer off accidentally.  You must be very relieved.

Victor:  RELIEVED?  I’M PISSED.

me:  Well, that’s really the very opposite emotion to have when finding out that your wife is less-mangled-than-expected.  I think maybe you need to re-prioritize and call me back when you’re less confusing and ready to apologize.

 

The 40,003rd time:

Victor: HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF THE ROLES WERE REVERSED?  WHAT IF I JUST NEVER ANSWERED YOUR CALLS?

me:  Hello.  I just found this phone.  I’m not Jenny.

Victor:  I FUCKING KNOW IT’S YOU.

me:  The girl who dropped this phone is inside a flaming building saving orphans. She told me to hold her phone for her in case you called.  How are you?

Victor:  Seriously, why can’t you just answer your phone?

me:  Why is the sky blue?  Why can’t they just make orphans fire-proof?  Frankly, we could ask these questions all day, but the main point is that your wife is a hero and you should probably bring her some egg rolls on your way home because I bet she’d like that.

 

The 40,004th time:

Victor:  AAAAARGH!

me:  You know, at this point it’s sort of your fault for expecting me to answer the phone at all.  It’s not like I haven’t set a precedent.

Victor:  JUST ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE.

me:  Technically if I answered right away the first time you called it would be totally out of character and would probably be a sign that I was being held hostage or something.  We should have code words so that if I ever need to talk to you in front of kidnappers you’ll understand me.

Victor:  I already don’t understand you.

me:  That’s why it’s good we’re having this conversation now.

 

The 40,005th time:

Victor:  I’m going to duct tape your phone to your ankle.

me:  That would make it very hard to talk to you.  I’m not really that flexible.

Victor:  But at least you’d answer the phone.

me:  Technically the doctor would probably answer the phone.

Victor:  What?

me:  Because I’m allergic to the latex in tape and I’d probably have a massive reaction and then I’d have to go the hospital and then they’d call the police because normal husbands don’t stick poisonous tape to their wives like some sort of deadly ankle-monitor.  And then you’d have to explain that to the police.  Who would be talking to you from my ankle.  Which would just be weird for all of us.

 

The 40,006th time:

Victor:  WHAT IF I WAS DEAD?  WHAT IF THIS WAS THE POLICE CALLING TO TELL YOU I JUST DIED?

me:  Well, that would be very depressing.

Victor:  Yes, but you’d never know because you never answer your phone.

me:  You can’t begrudge me a few extra hours of blissful ignorance.  Why are you in such a hurry to make me grieve for you?  It’s not like you’re getting any less dead, Victor.

 

The 40,007th time:

me:  OH MY GOD, DON’T YELL AT ME.  I DIDN’T EVEN HEAR IT RING BEFORE.

Victor:  Um…this is actually the first time I’ve called you today.  You actually picked up the phone the first time I called.

me:  Seriously?  That’s so weird.

Victor:  I know.  I’m so shocked that you answered that I don’t even remember why I called anymore.  My mind has gone utterly blank.

me:  Awesome.  I think we just switched bodies.

 

********

On an entirely personal note, this week has been sort of shitty, and if things keep going the way they have been I suspect that by Saturday kittens will go extinct and I’ll have my face eaten off by horses.  But just when I was feeling really sorry for myself I got a note from my editor telling me that my book (Let’s Pretend This Never Happened) has been on the NYT best-seller list for the last three months.  Which is insane.  And amazing.  And completely thanks to you and your fantastic support.  So I’m doing another give-away as a small way to say “thanks”.  Leave a comment (about anything) and I’ll randomly pick a few winners to get signed copies of my book.  Or, if you already have my book I’ll just give you the $15 and you can buy something by Neil Gaiman.  That guy’s amazing.

Texts to Victor…

me:  Hey, guess what?  I finally found the perfect barstools!

Victor:  Wow.  That had better be a half-assed attempt at a joke.

me:  You’re terrible at math.  It’s at least two asses full.  Plus, we’ll look like centaurs from the back.  SO AWESOME.

Victor:  I’m canceling all of your credit cards until you’re responsible enough to not shop for furniture at places that have dirt instead of carpet.

Conversation with friends at a bar & grill this week:

me:  Oh my God, you guys.  You wanna see a completely fucked-up picture of what you see after you go to the bathroom here?

Maile:  No.  Not at all.

Jason: I’m pretty sure we do not want to see a picture of that.

me: No, you totally need to see it.  It’s completely baffling.

Victor:  For the love of God, put your phone away.

me:  No, seriously.  This is what I saw immediately after going to the bathroom:

Maile:  Huh.

me:  Exactly.  That’s what you see in the mirror when you’re washing your hands.

Victor:  So, you were in the men’s room?

me:  NO.  I was in the women’s room, but I just assume they wrote “BOYS” on the other side of the door just to make me feel much more drunk than I actually am.

Maile:  Or possibly you’re so drunk that you were actually in the men’s room and just assumed that doors were intentionally playing tricks on you?

me:  Oh, holy shit.  I’m never going to the bathroom again.

This has been the shittiest week ever and so instead of publishing a real post today I’m just sharing a video of my cat (Ferris Mewler) who is currently practicing rolling over.  Because cats doing dog tricks make me feel less stabby.

FERRIS, ROLL OVER:

Also, spellcheck just tried to autocorrect “less stabby” to “less shabby“.

Oh spellcheck, it’s like you’ve never even met me.

 

This cat = me trying to actually get work done.

This weasel = my brain trying to destroy me:

Me:  I have work to do.

Weasel: You should check the internet because  remember yesterday when that one person on the internet was wrong and it made you so mad, but not actually mad enough to register to leave a comment.  Go see if someone else left a comment calling them out.

me:  No.  I don’t care.

Weasel:  LIAR.  And check your blog because there might be a secret comment from Doctor Who asking you to go time-traveling with him.

me:  That’s not...possible.

weasel:  You hesitated.  You totally think it’s possible.  Quick – check twitter.

me: No.

weasel:  Just once.  And check your replies.  And check that girl you hate.  And check that girl you want to be more like. And check that girl who used to be on that show who’s totally crazy now and is posting insane shit that you can’t look away from.

me:  No.  I don’t remember her name.

Weasel:  Then IMDB her.  And then IMDB all the Anchorman quotes.  And then go look up all the trivia on the Mythbusters site.  And then go see if you were right about how many times the Vulcan mind-meld was used in the last movie.

me:  I already know it was two.

Weasel:  Victor says you’re wrong.

me:  UGH.  Fine.  I’ll just look that one thing up, but then we work.

**FIVE HOURS LATER.**

Weasel:  And those are all the ways in which you can die in a Disney park.  Now let’s wikipedia the most unusual ways to die ever.

me:  NO.  I HAVE REAL WORK TO DO AND I HAVE TO-oh my God, someone died from being smothered in cloaks?  Is that for real?

Weasel:  WIKIPEDIA IS ALWAYS RIGHT.  NOW CHECK PINTREST.  SUPERHEROES DOING FUNNY THINGS.  CATS IN BOXES.  OPEN YOUTUBE.  SOMEONE IS FALLING IN A FUNNY WAY AND YOU’RE MISSING IT.

me:  SHUT UP.  SHUT UP.  I NEED TO WORK.

Weasel:  What if someone just found a Sasquatch?  Quick – check the news.

me:  STOP IT.

Weasel:  Checking the news is mature.  It is immature to not keep a news website up all the time to keep up with breaking news.  WHAT IF THERE IS A FIRE MADE OF OGRES?

me:  You have a point.  Sort of.

Weasel:  Breaking news.  Someone called Kim Kardashian fat.  See if you think she looks fat.

me:  I DON’T CARE IF SHE LOOKS FAT.  I’VE NEVER EVEN SEEN “THE KARDASHIANS”.  I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THEM.

Weasel:  You should probably see if their show is on netflix.  That seems like a big pop culture reference you probably need to know about.

me:  NO.  NO MORE TV.

Weasel:  Knowing pop culture is part of your job.  Just bookmark it for later.

me:  FINE.

Weasel:  Ooh!  There’s a new “Bob’s Burgers”!  If you don’t watch it it will go off the air and it will be all your fault and then it’s “Arrested Development” all over again.  Just leave it running in another window while you work.

me:  No.

Weasle:  It’ll be one thing you can check off your to do list.

me:  FINE.  But I’m only doing it while I answer emails.

Weasel:  Your computer just froze.  You can’t run that many things at once.  Go watch regular TV and eat a bunch of cake with your hands.

me:  No.  This is a sign that I need to stop watching tv on my computer.  WORK, DAMMIT.

Weasel:  You sound stressed.  You totally need cake.

me:  I DON’T HAVE ANY CAKE.  SHUT UP.

Weasel:  You should get some cake.   Can you order cakes like you order pizza? Is that a thing?

me:  I have no idea.  But it should totally be a thing.

Weasel:  OMG, THAT SHOULD BE OUR NEW BUSINESS.  GO BUY “IWANTSOMECAKELIKEYESTERDAY.COM”.

**FIVE HOURS LATER**

me:  What am I doing?  I don’t even know how to cook.

Weasel:  I think it’s called “baking” when you do it with flour.

me:  I’m pretty sure it’s called “cooking” no matter what.

Weasel:  You should look it up on the internet.  Hey, did you know it’s 3am?

me:  I hate you so much.