First A Rant, Then the Good Stuff

Before I talk about how Phone Sex Guy called me again last night, I am permitting myself a selfish tirade tentatively titled, "Why I Am Not 'Wise'":

I might not spout off opinions about politics or activism like what I think of Bush nominating that woman for the Supreme Court or how I feel about the endangered state of those poor pandas, and I don't cry in my room wondering about the meaning of this god-given existence (often), and when I try to meditate I usually just start thinking about orange creamsicles, which are delicious. And I remember doing these things in the past; I was nicknamed 'a walking encyclopedia' throughout secondary school, close friends would tell me I was strong and well-adjusted and 'wise' beyond my years, that if these things happened to them that happened to me, they would have killed themselves already, and then eventually talking about such things either made me feel like a pretentious asshole or it gave me a headache or maybe, I had no need anymore to prove myself a warrior. Now, I make fun of myself (often) because I read crappy gossip magazines and look up my horoscope in them and watch brain cell-reducing reality tv shows, and I make many off-color jokes that people sometimes take seriously, and in life, I have made a lot of mistakes, and since seething with pain and anger exhausted me and living out of a suitcase stopped being a novelty and I, being the proverbial apple, had just fallen so, so far from the tree, there was nothing left to do but laugh and make more mistakes and laugh about those and wake up every morning to love the world all over again, no matter what it did to me the day or month or years before. And if people have problems and come to me about them, I don't regurgitate self-help advice from Deepak Chopra, I don't talk about my philosophy of the world and how we, as recently evolved creatures are trying to function in primitive responsibility and yet are testing new cognitive waters, that we carry the collective remembrances of 50,000 years and this alone is psychologically heavy, but I will listen, my heart bursting with empathy because suffering is suffering is suffering, but if nothing else, I have learned that this too, yes whatever it is, shall pass, and until it does, if you want me to be there to hold your hand or watch terrible movies or just to breathe quietly, then I will. But I do not presume to know how the world or you should function, and I will surely never tell you what to do--choice and freedom being beautiful unbound things. And if my silence is taken as ignorance or lack of depth or interest--which it has--then I am sorry for not having the ability to convey my thoughts. I am used to carrying them silently and have shortchanged myself in vocally expressing sentiment appropriately.

Okay, now THAT'S off my chest, onto the humor:

So Phone Sex Guy calls me last night, and I answer the phone because we don't have caller ID and I figured last month was the last I'd hear of him. How am I doing, he wants to know. He was just in a (presumably, sex) store the other day and saw a present (probably a vibrator or other accoutrement) he wanted to buy me. Okay... thanks? I quickly end the conversation, and an hour later, the phone rings again so I make Steens answer it.

S: "Valorie moved out."
PSG: "Wait, what? I don't understand."
S: "Uh yeah. Well, if she ever gets back for her shit, I'll tell her you called."
PSG: "But I just talked to her an hour ago!"
S: "
Well things have changed. I don't really know. I just got home, and she was being a bitch, and I told her I never want to see her fucking face again."
PSG: (very concerned) "Woah. Do you want to talk about it?"
S: "No I don't. Goodbye."

What kills me is not only was he so oblivious he didn't even hear me guffawing in the background, but while he is attempting to use me to unload on (ha, ha, get it?), he is welcoming my roommate to emotionally unload on him. So now I am waiting for Steens to get an Emmy for her performance, but the sex toy he bought me will probably arrive first.