fail to plan & plan to fail

Herein follows a list of things I didn't accomplish this weekend:

Go to yoga
Go to the grocery store
Go to the eye doctor
Finish my book
Go to Italy
Do laundry
Return my Netflix
Return my email
Reconcile the conflict over the Gaza Strip
Make my bed
Paint a masterpiece
Buy a new cell phone
Buy a new house
Clean my car
Get a facial
Tweeze my eyebrows
Shower

In fact, I barely left the house. Which is a shame really, because I looked good this weekend -- skin clear and bangs bangin'. Also, since I've been back to yoga, I'm feeling all svelte now. Sure I've only been once, but it like flushes out your chakras or something which I hear helps with, um, bloat or something. (Whatever. I felt good. Shut uup.)

I did, however, spend an obscene amount of time on the telephone. Just ask my friend Genevieve. Or Vanessa. Or Monica. Or Laurie. Or Stephanie. Or Rich. Or Dean. Or Ann. Or Cathy. Or Margie. Or John. Or Pamela. Or Neda. Or Martha. Or Caroline. (If you called me, I'm sorry I didn't answer. I was on the other line. If you didn't call me and feel bad about it -- as you normally should -- you're forgiven because I was talking to other people who obviously love me more than you do.)

Truly, I love the phone. I think I almost like the phone better than face-to-face communication. It's more streamlined. More conducive to multi-tasking. I mean, if we're conversing at the coffee shop down the street, I can't also be washing the dishes or shaving my legs. If we're at your house, I can't be sweeping my floors, or throwing in a load of laundry or de-fleaing Fred. If we're on the phone I can make faces at what you've just said without offending you or at myself in the mirror to entertain myself or I can do wiggle-dancing down the hallway (only because you'd hear if I were tap dancing). This is why I believe video phones will never really take off. The truth is, I don't think we want people to see what we're doing when we're on the phone. Admit it, you don't want to have to put on pants to answer a call, do you? Isn't it bad enough that we have to remove our fingers from our noses when the doorbell rings?

Seriously, I spent a full work day and a half (at least) on the phone this weekend. A good twelve hours. When I did the math, I must admit I was shocked. But I also felt rather fulfilled. I'd conversed with people. Connected with family and friends. Shared moments. Solidified rapports. Which leads me to believe that being on the phone is my avocation, my passion. Not to mention my true talent. I've been searching for it for so long and there it's been, right there, on my shoulder and under my chin, all along.

So I've figured it out and here it is: I want to be a phone sex operator without the sex. A crisis-line counselor without the crisis. Because the first would creep me out and the latter would stress me out. I want to be a professional phone-a-friender. Callers phone to tell me about the goings-on in their lives -- their problems, their successes, their worries, their new flings, and I'll give general friend-type responses like, "Hey, have you seen the new Being Bobby Brown show on Bravo? Watch that. It'll without a doubt make you feel better about your life." Or "Oh my gosh, he's so totally in to you. He totally wouldn't have told you that your zipper was down unless he'd been looking you know, there." And then, I'll tell them about my problems, successes, worries and flings, because then they'll get the true "friend" experience and they'll feel better about themselves for having contributed to my well being, as well. And then they'll pay me.

List schmist. This was one productive weekend.