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Landlines, Hoodsies, and Bitches.

18 Jun

I bet the title of this blog lured you in. Well, be prepared to be disappointed because I’m not going to talk about Hoodsies or bitches. Just landlines. Hoodsies and bitches just remind me of the glory days of landlines. Back when our phone numbers started with 479, 472, 471, 328, 770, or 773. Back when life was easy and people ate ice cream in cups with wooden stick things because we didn’t give a fuck about splinters on our tongues. Hmm, guess I am talking about Hoodsies. What of it?!

hoodsie

Anyways, Ryan and I went to Best Buy tonight after finding out we have landline capabilities on our internet/cable package. Why not? Plus I’ve always wanted to have an answering machine that states “You have reached the landline voicemail of Molly, Ryan, Boba Fett, and Baby Mama. We aren’t available to answer your call right now because Boba Fett and Baby Mama are parakeets and Molly and Ryan are humans and humans don’t give a fuck about their landlines. Leave a message and we probably won’t listen to it until we are drunk and remember we have a landline sometime in 2015.”

So we get to Best Buy and ask where the landlines are located. We are told they are located in the way back corner of the store where all other relevant technology is located. Right next to Zack Morris’s cell phone, probably.

zackphone

We pick out the landline of our dreams: a ZTech with answering machine capabilities…cordless (duh!). Originally I picked out a white device for 20 bucks because fuck spending any money on a landline, but Ryan pressed for a more masculine and futuristic model in a slate gray color with black trim and lime green back light for an extra 15 bucks. Nice! as we walked away from the landline section, we started to feel kind of old in our 26 & 27 years. So old that we immediately decided we needed to cancel out our time travel to 1994 with the purchase of a brand new MacBook Pro. Some would say that we are big timers, I would call it frivolous and/or irresponsible, but at least Michael Cera’s doppelgänger who rang us up got some commission.

I have to say the landline experience has been daunting so far. We learned our phone number began not with a 471, 472, 479, 328, 770, 0r 773…but much worse: a 405. What does that even mean? I don’t want to know. After that first devastating blow we learned that our connection wasn’t even set up. Comcast had lied to us…and this wasn’t the first time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on you again. Fool me 8,765 times and I’m throwing the modem out the motherfucking window. Just kidding, that would be an overreaction. Instead I will crack a beer on a work night and blog about it.

All this talk of landlines got me to thinking about the 90’s when things weren’t so complicated, and modem was just a word that mean “more them” in ebonics. Mo’ dem’. Remember when you didn’t have a cell phone to text your friends to go out to play? You just called them up, their mom answered, to which you shyly asked “Is so and so home?” and they hollered “SO AND SO!!!! PICK UP THE GODDAMN PHONE AND MAKE IT QUICK! I’M TRYING TO GET ON THE NET!”. Once on the phone you’d say “Wanna go out and play?”. Then you’d make shitty plans to meet at a trash can somewhere halfway between your houses and ride your shitty bikes around until dinner time. If your friend lived closed enough for you to not care about walking home you could just fuck the phone call and yell to mom “HEY MAAAAH! I’M GOING TO CALL FOR SO AND SO!” and let the screen door hit you on the way out.

Nowadays you can’t even get a solid 479 number. I can’t complain too much. For I will be devastated the day that I am no longer a 617 area code. At least I still have my 617.

Namaste.

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