Ring.

This morning I had 14 missed calls from Nick . . . which can't be right. Andy and I crashed pretty early, but not that early.

But anyway, sorry, Nick, for missing . . . a lot of your calls.

For everyone who gets on me about not answering my phone: it's true, I hardly ever answer. This is because I don't carry it around much and I don't know where my charger is, so at any given time my phone is probably at home, charging on Andy's kitchen charger, or just dead. And if I cut out while we're talking, probably the battery died. This happens all the time.

Or, if it's before 4:30, I'm at work and can't pick up.

Or, if it's evening, I'm likely either in the shower, on the phone with Sarah, on the phone berating Amish for his disgusting Marlon Brandonic obesity, passing out in the bathroom of some bar, digging for stuff in my car, in the midst of writing, or asleep . . .

It's not personal. I'm just lazy. But not as lazy as Andy, who fell asleep just after ten last night.

And if anybody ever realllllly needs to get hold of me and my phone's out, I prolly check my email more anyway...or this blog.

tim at bluestroom

OR

pharaoh at gmail

OR

hot adultery at that place where I meet your mom

I mean...not that last one...

ADDENDUM ONE:

Kathy: blah blah blah my son's going to a party blah blah

Tim: I never drank in high school.

Kathy: Yeah, but I think you're makin up for lost time.

ADDENDUM TWO:

Somebody with an UNAVAILABLE number is trying to reach me with the fervency and desperation usually reserved for men trying to pass kidney stones. I can't answer here, but if you read this and want to try around 12:30, I'll be on lunch.