Um, like, I'm not very good at leaving concise voice mails. Ever. I rely heavily on being able to erase and re-record. So I was just leaving a voice mail for Rock Star on Tour and said something particularly dumb in the middle of it but then kept going just to practice. At the end I hit pound and was all set to re-record when I heard "Your message has been sent. Thank you for using Cingular Wireless."
Well, you're fuckin' welcome.
(Although considering that at our upcoming fundraiser we'll be requesting that our contestants leave date-oriented voice mails for their intended as part of the competition, it is only fair that I sounded like such a git.)
...
1:50PM
AUGH!!! He just called back and I totally silenced my phone because I'm such a big scaredy-loser.
Crap. Now I'm in danger of having to leave another message.
...
1:55PM
Okay, I just listened to his message and let me just say, I'm not the only one.
That's the phrase my brain woke me up with this morning.
It's my second day of volunteering here at KEXP. I have to admit, I really love pledge drives. I get all sappy and excited during them. "Oh, we really are powerful! Oh, music does matter! Oh, free food!"
I am the opposite of a Stepford Wife these days: data entry at the radio station, lace stitching for In Flagrante, planning a fundraiser, and working with the leaders of tomorrow (I got the best bouquet from a seven-year-old boy who was playing a wolf).
I balance it all out by filling my mouth with curse words and whiskey. And I left a black bra in the living room.
(I'll let you determine the pledge level for those donor benefits.)
I am a 40's housewife.
So far today I have swept and mopped the floor and stairs, washed the bedding, put the cradle in the attic, hoisted mattresses, assembled a bedframe, dusted the banister, and stitched lace yardage into seam tape.
I have no children; my husband has left me.
It is probably because of this new-fangled computer.
Yes, the computer. That or because I am wearing pants.
I shall ponder this as I brew coffee, brew coffee in my pants.
Dear Ida,
Tonight, when you think about stabbing your eyes out with a needle because it takes for freakin' ever to gather up all that lace, when you are wondering if it's okay to wait two more months until you call the doctor, when you take a break to clean the overgrown bathrooms, when you categorize the difference between "scary" and "enchanted", when you forget to eat your dinner, when you finally do the math, I want you to remember that the six-year-old chubby kid wearing the same car-racing shirt as you asked you if you would like to see the wasp's nest he found in his back yard and even let you touch it.
Best regards,
Ida