Telephone

“I should have left my phone at home ‘cause this is a disaster” – Lady Gaga featuring Beyonce, “Telephone”

Ever felt like flushing your cellular device down the toilet?

Yeah, me neither.

But, the last seven days have had me considering all types of evil things to do to my cell phone.  Flushing my blackberry down the toilet.  Throwing it against a wall so hard it breaks.  Changing my phone number.  In the last seven days one itty, bitty device has wreaked more havoc on my life than I have room for.  And for what?  Nothing.  Absotively, posilutely, nothing!

It amazes me, the kind of trouble a cell phone can cause a person.

I don’t know how others are about their phone, but my entire life is housed in that little device.  My calendar.  My contacts.  My emails.  My schedule.  But, should a person ever have the urge to go through my cell phone (whether I tell them to or not) – well, I got nothing to hide. There is nothing on my cell phone I wouldn’t show my momma (well, minus a few unsavory text messages, lol).  The point is, I got nothing to hide.

But, I’ve found, over the past few days, there are plenty of people who have something to hide. We’ll start with this guy I met on Super Bowl Sunday.  I can’t even give him a nickname for the blog because this will be the first and last time you ever hear about him.  I also can’t  nickname him because the only thing I really want to do is put his government name out there with his cell phone number and address.  But that wouldn’t be right.  So we’ll just call him the guy I met on Super Bowl Sunday (which, very well might be a nickname).

After our initial meeting, he and I began to hang out.  Going on dinner dates.  Meeting for drinks after work.  Hanging out on Saturday afternoons.  We were dating.  And not just a little bit.  A lot of bit. And I liked him.  Like liked him liked him.  Like thought this could go somewhere liked him.  Like invited him to the Beautillion liked him.  And all was good.  Long phone calls.  Sweet text messages.  Strong hugs.  Forehead kisses.  It was all good. Until it wasn’t.

See, last week, he was supposed to come out with me and my friends to my birthday party.  But, when he didn’t show up at my house at the appointed meeting time, my ATLien and I left, and I just called to leave a voicemail with the party details.  About 45 minutes later I get a phone call from him.  Except, it isn’t him at all on the other end of the phone. It’s a woman who I can only assume is his girlfriend (because, let’s be real, if you’re comfortable enough to pick up a man’s phone, scroll through the call log and call a number – you’re his girlfriend).   Side note: I want to call her a girl, but since I don’t know her and I feel like that might be low key disrespectful (and haven’t I disrespected her enough by dating her man, even though I didn’t know he was her man), we’ll stick to woman. She begins to ask me who I am and why I called.  But honestly, we both know the answer.  I was dating her man. She knows it and, now, I know it.

Am I mad?  Sure.  Pissed since I flat out asked the big four (Are you married? Are you engaged? Do you have a girlfriend? Do you have kids?) the day we met? Absolutely.  Annoyed that I let him hold my Norah Jones and Lupe Fiasco CDs? You betcha.  On the verge of throwing my phone out of the car and worrying about the consequences later? At the time yes.  Instead, I heed the advice of my ATLien and decide to “screw him,” get my drink and party on and keep it moving.

Fast forward to last night. After an especially long and rough week at the office, I’d decided Friday was low key.  A little babysitting of the niece and nephew and then home for bed.  While I’m getting my dream on my phone rings at 2:45 am.

“I need to ask you a question and you need to give me an honest answer.”

Umm hello to you too, Mr. Officer.  We’re not even going to discuss the fact that it took me a whole like 2 minutes to figure out who the heck was calling me and giving orders at 2:45 am.  I thought Forrester found my number for a minute.

“Did you take my phone, take phone numbers and start hitting up other girls?”

Umm what?  Did you really just call me at 2:45 am with the utmost foolishness? Really?  REALLY? What kind of ridiculousness is this?  And why am I on the phone defending myself to you?  Of course I didn’t do that.  I’m not sure how the other 12-year-olds play, but we grown-ups don’t have time for that kind of silliness.  I am 28 years old and stopped playing games like that a long time ago.  In fact, I never played that particular game.

First of all, I’m not inclined to go through any man’s cell phone, even my boyfriends. Voldy and I went through a phase where we did that (voluntarily on both sides) – and it was ugly.  I have no interest in going back there again.  If I can’t trust you, I don’t want to be with you.  Second of all, you aren’t my man (how many times must we beat this dead horse?).  So I have no rights to your phone.  And even if you were my man I’d still have no rights.  Third of all, your ish is password protected – what I look like trying to hack into your phone (that sounded way more ghetto than I am)?  I’m a grown woman.  And lastly?  Honey, I am just not that concerned. At 24 you should be dating other people.  I’m not going to stop that.  I’m not going to hinder it.  Yeah, I love hanging out with you, but it’s no secret to either of us that we’re dating other people.  So, why are we even having this conversation? I don’t understand.

Side note: After hanging up with Mr. Officer I did throw my cell phone, and nearly broke my jewelry box (my bad).

But here’s what I don’t get about Mr. Officer or old girl dating old boy I met at the Super Bowl.  Why deal with people you can’t trust?

If Mr. Officer doesn’t trust me, he shouldn’t be messin’ with me.  I mean, I thought after more than five months he’d know that kind of woman I am*. But if he doesn’t know the kind of woman I am, what is the point?  I don’t want to wake up and be accused of things that I didn’t do. I have no qualms about leaving my cell phone in the same room with him.  In fact, I’m tempted to print my phone records for him just so he KNOWS I’m not on that foolishness.  But, why should I have to prove myself to someone who doesn’t trust me?

And as far as old girl (OK, so I started calling her a girl) is concerned, she clearly had some sort of female intuition going on.  She didn’t need to call me to confirm he’d been dating me. She was going through his phone right?  Did she see that phone call to me at 11pm three nights in a row?  That text that says “I can’t wait to see you tonight.”  The other text that says “Dinner and the game were amazing, I love spending time with you.”  That’s all the proof she needed. Leave me the heck out of your messed up relationship.  Both my phone and I would appreciate it.

I guess, I just wish that people would stop letting their cell phones get them into trouble.  Either, be good enough about your dirt not to get caught. OR, stop doing the dirt (what a novel concept).

I don’t have any morals or epiphanies for you today.  And, I’m sorry about that.  I just don’t understand why people lie. Why people don’t trust one another.  And why people feel the need to throw me in the middle of all of this.  I don’t have the time, or the energy.

Signed,
I should have left my phone at home Barbie

*I am the kind of girl who doesn’t like to find info she doesn’t want to know.  So much so that I will mute Mr. Officer’s behind on Twitter if I’m finding out dets about things that make me uncomfortable.  Why on EARTH would I take his phone? I’m sure there’s all sorts of stuff I don’t want to find in there.

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~ by countryclubbarbie on March 19, 2011.