Chickenshit
The scads of you who like to read this blog may find it interesting to note that PDawg and I, having known each other for 3 years, only recently mustered up the courage to speak to each other on the phone. "Recently," meaning within the last couple of months.
For three years I had no voice in my head to go along with the miles of electronic communication between us (AIM, e-mail, text-messaging). Well, I did, but it sounded sort of like Bea Arthur...on crack. We always threatened to call each other, but neither of us had the cojones to do it. We even went so far as to dial each other’s numbers and hang up after just a couple of rings, to "scare" one another. It worked. Then, one day before Christmas, I received a text-message that said, "I just left you a voicemail at work."
*gulp*
I dove for the phone.
What I heard absolutely floored me. PDawg’s voice was so shockingly normal and disproportionate to the pictures I had seen, that I had to replay the message several times just to convince my brain that my ears were hearing what they were reporting. And, what was even more funny, was that it was apparent that she had called with some sort of script in mind as to what she might say to me, but became flustered by the sound of MY voice so much that she just rambled for several minutes.
This was the first example I had of the sound of PDawg: "You’re a freak with a freak voice..." She also accused me of sounding way more mature than she had imagined. What the heck is that supposed to mean?
Still too chicken to actually speak to her live, I made her promise that night to turn off her cell phone so that I could respond to the accusations. The next day, she waited until I left the office and retorted to my voicemail. This ridiculous game of voicemail-tag went on for a couple of weeks before we actually worked up the nerve to speak to each other LIVE.
Yes, friends, we are THAT retarded.
For three years I had no voice in my head to go along with the miles of electronic communication between us (AIM, e-mail, text-messaging). Well, I did, but it sounded sort of like Bea Arthur...on crack. We always threatened to call each other, but neither of us had the cojones to do it. We even went so far as to dial each other’s numbers and hang up after just a couple of rings, to "scare" one another. It worked. Then, one day before Christmas, I received a text-message that said, "I just left you a voicemail at work."
*gulp*
I dove for the phone.
What I heard absolutely floored me. PDawg’s voice was so shockingly normal and disproportionate to the pictures I had seen, that I had to replay the message several times just to convince my brain that my ears were hearing what they were reporting. And, what was even more funny, was that it was apparent that she had called with some sort of script in mind as to what she might say to me, but became flustered by the sound of MY voice so much that she just rambled for several minutes.
This was the first example I had of the sound of PDawg: "You’re a freak with a freak voice..." She also accused me of sounding way more mature than she had imagined. What the heck is that supposed to mean?
Still too chicken to actually speak to her live, I made her promise that night to turn off her cell phone so that I could respond to the accusations. The next day, she waited until I left the office and retorted to my voicemail. This ridiculous game of voicemail-tag went on for a couple of weeks before we actually worked up the nerve to speak to each other LIVE.
Yes, friends, we are THAT retarded.
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