*****MASSIVE GENERALITY ALERT*****
Deaf people have no phone manners.
Well, not all of them. But I just got a Relay call. For those of you who are uninitiated to these, it is a system for people with hearing impairment to be able to use the telephone. They type messages, and a Relay Operator (probably another copyright) reads what they "said". Then you respond, and they type it back to them. It is a good thing. Unless the hearing impaired person is a butt face.
I was asked if I had any computers for sale. I responded with "I'm sorry but this is a private residence. I think you have the wrong number" (you are supposed to respond as if you are talking directly to the person who is on the other line, not say "tell him / her that I said...). There was silence for a while, then the operator told me that the person had hung up. No apology, no "okay", no NOTHING.
I have invited a few guys over tonight to hang out, since Wifey is still away and we are not going to be able to have our usual Christmas party. I figured I would have a "Guy's Night In", poker and beer and whatever. I don't know who is showing up, but if it winds up just being Larry the Upstairs Neighbor and myself, we can easily watch a bunch of episodes of The Wire and either cook something or order a pizza / wings. So I am going to enjoy my evening. But last night at the ol' Bullseye I noticed something that has been occurring for a while now.
Wifey has been away for the last 3 weeks, and for the vast majority of the last month and a half, living in NY and rehearsing for her show there (did I not fill you in? I cannot remember). Well, it has created a positive conundrum for me. It is positive that she got cast in a show up there, and that she is getting a chance to prove herself in NY. It sucks that I have been home alone (excepting the animals, which just don't count), working extended holiday hours to come home to no human. And I have been very lonely, especially in the marital duty department. Yup, like Eddie Murphy in 48 Hours, every time the wind blows...
Well, last night I realized that for some length of time (I cannot pinpoint the exact genesis of this phenomenon [doo-DOO-doo-doo-doo]) every woman I see has been moving up that mythical scale that all (okay, 90%) men use to rate women. A 5 has become a 7, and so forth. And when I couldn't stop staring at this random woman's chest last night (she seemed to like the attention enough to display them even more prominently to me until she noticed my wedding ring), I realized that my needs are no longer being met by the interweb and cocoa butter (yes, every guy does it, no matter how much he is getting. It is one of those base, from the primeval time instincts that we just cannot control. Lately I have been one flux capacitor and 1.21 gigawatts away from travelling through time, with my Johnson taking the place of the DeLorean).
Wifey comes back tomorrow at 10:30AM for a brief stay before heading back either Wednesday or Thursday, and from then she won't be back until late January. So on the off chance my boss at Bullseye Inc. reads this, if I am late for work tomorrow, DO NOT CALL ME. I will get there eventually, but sometimes other things take precedent. And if I do not take care of this precedent, I will not only be unable to walk upright but I will also be an extremely grumpy son of a bitch. Not what you would want working 2 days before Christmas. You have been warned.
And to all of you, don't expect any communication Tuesday afternoon / evening / night either. We are going to my sister's for brunch, then we are going home. And for the rest of the day, we do not know you. Deal with it.