Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I'm a text machine
I'm a texter.
I actually get a little annoyed when I text someone a question, then they have the NERVE to phone me with a reply.
I'm awkward on the phone. I hate leaving voice mails. As soon as I say "hi" I immediately sound like a tool. And not a cool tool like a jackhammer ... more like the little allen wrench that comes with your Ikea bookcase. You know — the one you lose immediately after assembly.
I like face-to-face conversations, don't get me wrong. I even muster up the occasional interesting contribution. And, then there are the far off friends that check in every now and again ... which is appreciated ... unlike the crook in my neck that sets in halfway through the chat.
My boyfriend doesn't have texting on his phone. Not just, "he hates texting" ... which he does, calling it, and I quote "the constant abbreviation and degradation of the English language ... I hate that it is being bastardized for convenience."
(To which I replied "I happen to like both bastards and convenience.")
... but his phone plan won't allow him to receive or send them. So ... if I want to say "Hi, Toughguy" ... or, "I'll meet you in 20 minutes" ... or "we're out of scotch"... I have to CALL him. And have a conversation. EVERY time.
Horrifying. And you know my voicemail messages are retarded. "Uh ... hi, this is Sten ... just calling to say I'm a allen wrench and we should hang out later so you can make fun of me for stating who I am, even though we see eachother every day and you know what my voice sounds like. Uhh... bye! Um call me back, uh if you want ... oh crap hell dammit." click.
Now, on the other hand, I do like that he calls me. I like hearing his voice on the phone in the middle of a bad day. I like that I even know what his "phone voice" sounds like. There is something nice about a man taking the time to pick up the phone and call you.
I just wish I didn't have to take the time ... all the time.