yelling “Who want a postcard?! WHOOOOOOOOOOO want a postcard?!”, because that’s what I think of every time I type “Who wants a post card?!?!”
* * *
Last night I read for a little while after Fred went to bed, and then I turned out the light and snuggled with Miz Poo for a little while. I was about to drop off to sleep when I heard my cell phone ringing from the computer room.
I thought about getting up to run for the phone, but I was sleepy. The only one who would call me that late at night would be the spud, and if it was an emergency, she knows the home phone number and could call me on it.
I was again just about to drop off several minutes later, when I heard the chimes that indicated either a text message or a voicemail. Since the sound had jolted me awake, I decided I’d get up and pee, then check my phone to see what was going on. I expected that it was a text message from the spud, who’d decided she wanted to tell me something, but it wasn’t important enough to wake me up.
I got up, shuffled to the bathroom, then went into the computer room and grabbed my phone. To my surprise, it indicated that I had a voicemail, so I called to listen to it.
Now, I haven’t been drunk in perhaps 13 or 14 years (the very last time I was drunk, I was living with my sister on Goddard Street, I’d had a fight with Liz the night before she left for boot camp, and Debbie and I visited her friends who lived out in the country, and I got SHITFACED (the spud and her cousin were spending the night at their grandparents’ house)). But I remember very clearly that shitfaced feeling, when everything that’s going on around you fades into a white noise with the occasional word chiseling through into your brain, so that the next morning you wake up and think “Did someone say something about fuzzy trees? What the fuck?”
That’s exactly what listening to this voicemail message was like – a white noise of various sounds, with the occasional word breaking through. I listened for at least two minutes and the only clear thing I got out of the message was someone saying “Red velvet. Red velvet!” I hypothesize that someone was in a bar or at a party, tried calling a friend, and didn’t realize they hadn’t hung up the phone.
I sat and listened, but after two minutes it was starting to mess with my head – I was beginning to feel a little spaced-out – so I deleted the message and hung up. Then I checked to see the number that had called, did a reverse lookup to see who it was (someone in Alabama, but it’s either a cell phone number or unlisted), and then went to bed.
I should totally post the number here so y’all could call it, yell “Red velvet. Red velvet!” and hang up. I should, but I won’t.
(I’m no fun.)
I think we all know that if my life were a movie or a book, this would only be the beginning. This morning the cops would have shown up bright and early and asked me what my connection to Howie LeBlanc was, how I knew him, and “Lady. Don’t LIE to us. We’ve had enough of the bullshit. You had a five minute conversation with him!” and my “No I didn’t! It must have been a wrong number! I only had a voicemail!” protestations would have been met with “I think not. Who leaves a five minute voicemail for someone they don’t know? And how is it that fifteen minutes later someone shot Mr. LeBlanc in the head and no one saw anything? The last thing he did, apparently, was talk to YOU on the phone!”, and they’d drag me off to jail.
I would have used my wiles and intelligence – but more likely, pure dumb luck – to escape from jail, pursued by a cop-gone-bad, intent on getting me alone to find out just WHAT secrets Howie LeBlanc told me during that five-minute conversation, and that cop-gone-bad (but secretly only PRETENDING to have gone bad, he’s undercover, see? He’s really a good guy!) WOULD NOT REST until I spill the truth.
(And if the cop looks like
Neal McDonough and has to take his shirt off or something, well, that’d be okay with me!) (It’s okay, he’s on my list. And my list is
laminated!)
Then, after my manymanymany protestations of innocence, of not knowing Howie LeBlanc, I SWEAR IT, OFFICER, riiiiiight as the fuzz was on the verge of believing me, he’d stumble across some small piece of information – probably imparted by Fred, who cannot tell a lie – that blew my story WIDE OPEN and it’d come out that Howie LeBlanc was in reality my half-brother – my father’s son with a stripper, shhhhh, don’t tell Mom! – and he was taking money from me, threatening to tell my mother about his existence, and I was giving him hush money so she’d never have to find out.
And the code phrase for “Give me more money, bitch”, can you guess it? “Red velvet. Red velvet!”, of course.
Mister Boogers and I would have to go on the lam until we could prove that Miz Poo did it! In the library! With the candlestick!, but all would end well and I’d be back at Crooked Acres bitching about having to do the dishes before you knew it.
* * *
I guess it’s a good thing Fred and I have separate rooms – ’cause there ain’t no way two people and all these cats (usually Sugarbutt comes up and sleeps next to me for part of the night, too) would fit on one queen-sized bed.
* * *
Previously
2006: Ooooh, my blood pressure is rising just thinking about it.
2005: the line “I ate 212 almonds last night really fast and then puked them back so they were still kinda whole. I just washed them off and ate ‘em again. I’ve seen dogs do it.” made Fred shoot applesauce out his nose.
2004: No entry.
2003: “Hey, little kitty!” I said excitedly, as I am prone to dorkdom.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: I will.]]>
Good Morning Robyn!
I looove your wild imagination and creative storytelling!! I think we have watched too much tv!!!
That was such a funny story!! Gave me a morning laugh!
🙂 Kathy
Good morning Robyn, thanks for the eye opener. I had a 2am phone call one night a while back. When I picked up the phone , before I could speak, someone in a weird voice stated very loudly “I have come from Jupiter to eat all the monsters in your back yard”. I knew it was a punk of some sort, playing a prank. Being the dork that I am, I turned on the outside light. Needless to say I didn’t see anything, but it still un-nerved me the rest of the night. Cute photo, thanks, and by-the way, I happen to love cucumbers. Thanks for all the cat pictures.
You made me laugh so hard I cried. I almost, ALMOST peed my pants too.
Geez Louise! You are a funny, funny woman!
Very funny. You need to get back to that book you’ve been thinking about because I want in my greedy little hands!!
I can’t laminate mine. Numbers 3-5 change too often.
So do Spot and Spanky sleep with Fred? Does MaryAnn sleep by herself in the foster room or does she snuggle up with someone at night too?
You should have hired Susan Sarandon as your lawyer, to stand up for you and help get you out of your predicament (as in The Client), she’ll battle Tommy Lee Jones and anybody else who comes her way.
Aren’t those late night cell phone calls annoying? I assume you have a message on your cell, right, that when people call and LISTEN TO YOUR MESSAGE they would know it is a wrong number…. grrr. My father gets a lot of these calls on his cell. I even recorded a message saying “this is BERNIE’s cell phone. If you are not trying to reach BERNIE then do NOT leave a message!”. By the way, I had to share a rave with you, about a great product I heard about at Weight Watchers… powdered peanut butter! I got my shipment last night – and at only 45 calories per tablespoon it is yummo! Pure dried peanuts. It sure beats that 120 calorie count in regular peanut butter. Just do a websearch on powdered peanut butter, and the website comes up. Only downside is you have to order 3 jars at a pop (the ninumum order).
Dude, I’ve often thought about writing a novel starting with the premise of a wrong number seriously fucking up someone’s life. Bet someone rips us off now. 🙂
Lo: Susan Sarandon would have kicked ASS. She’s too busy over on Rescue Me, messing with Franco, to take my case, though.
Beth in LI: I’ll have to check that out!
Starr: I bet they do. Bastards!
who would play you in the made for tv movie though???
and do you and fred *ever* sleep together? hate to get in your shiznick (not) but if you have seperate bedrooms…is it an ode to the roaring ’40’s? except instead of seperate beds…
mmmmmm….Franco…..
For a couple of years some dopey girl was giving out our phone number when she was at the bars and (presumably) didn’t want to give her real number. The guys would call at about 2am asking for Susie, and then hang up when I said they had the wrong number. Then they’d call RIGHT back and ask for her again. I’d have to explain that yes, this was the phone number they were trying to call, but no, Susie didn’t live here. Then they would invariably ask “But….why would she give me your number?” I’d just let them kind of think about it for a minute, then you could almost hear the light bulb go on. They’d always apologize, but I’d feel like a witch even though I had nothing to do with the whole thing.
Please update your foster kitties pictures in the cast list. Because I was so sick, I’ve fallen way behind in reading you. I know I missed a few animals. I think I skimmed by a reference to a dog you had, too.
Received my Maine t-shirt this morning and loved it!! Wanted to thank you for it and all the other things I have received from the giveaway page. You are great. I love your journal and wait impatiently for it each day. Thanks again for the gifts. Love hearing about the cats!! I have seven and the oldest is 13. They are my babies and much loved. Don’t wear yourself out with the canning!!
(Jenn, I’m saving yours for Friday!)
Bozoette Mary: Amen to that!
Kathy: I would totally feel guilty if that was happening to me, too.
fabooboo: I haven’t updated the foster kittens pages in at least a year, and to be honest, I don’t think I can even remember them all. To see pictures of them, you can go over to Flickr and check out the pictures (I put each set of fosters in their own “set”)
Linda: You’re welcome! Enjoy it! 🙂
are maxi and newt on the cats/cast page yet?
To Mizrobyn and LO; Susan Sarandon played the nun in “Dead Man Walking” so Mizrobyn, I doubt she would do you that much good, other than to grease the skids as they walk you down the “Green Mile,” and strap you in to the CHAIR.
Do you remember the classic movie “Sorry, Wrong Number” with Barbara Stanwick? LOL!!!
Your book should be titled “Red Velvet, Red Velvet!”
I’ll happily send you a link to my journal. But I’m warning you, it’s not as interesting as yours.
Is that whipped cream on your bedside table with all those cats???? Looks like Redi Whip!