Sass in the Suburbs
Heartfelt opinions & anecdotes from the crazy girl next door
Bobo Phone Home
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One of my true loves in life has been disappointing me for months now. It is slow, huge and otherwise worthless. No, I’m not talking about the ladies at my condo association, I’m talking about my phone.

I fell for this device at a young age. For me the phone = not having to talk to the people you live with+ boys. What’s a an 11 year old not love about that combo? Throw in three-way calling, a swatch phone and TGIF TV and you have yourself a fine Friday night.

Unfortunately my love for the tele was not embraced by my (hater) family members. Was it really my fault that they had no one calling the house for them? My dad was too cheap to get call waiting so I had to “keep the line free, just in case” just in case what? I pretty much missed out on a ton of action in middle school because I couldn’t talk on the phone like all the other horny kids. Talk about out of the loop. Aren’t you paying a monthly bill for this phone, why can’t I use it for 4 hours at a time?

To top it all off, thanks to dial up connection, my dad would tie up the line for hours on fucking end downloading “games.” God forbid I accidentally picked up the phone in the middle of the chaos not only would I get scolded but the whole process had to start over. Again totally cockblocking his 14 year old. Thanks Dad!

My little sister also had it out for me and my phone time. Whenever I managed to sneak on she would get on the line and start acting like a lunatic for some odd reason, having a conniption. In her defense guys were actually calling her; I mainly talked to girlfriends and the occasional guys who just wanted to ask me questions about my hotter friends.

I have to give it up to her though, when it came to her phone sessions she was tenacious, she wasn’t taking no for an answer. Once when my dad took away our phones she actually found 2 old broken phones and Frankenstiened them into one functioning phone. Talk about your modern day Graham Bell, bitch needed to get her talk/swerve on.

The limited capabilities of my current beater phone (not being able to use it unless it’s plugged in, not having enough signal to get through to 911) are reminiscent of being a highschooler in the 1990s. The good old days when you could call someone and ask them if their refrigerator was running or if “Dick Hunt” were available without being tracked down and reported. A time sans caller id, *69, *66, *82 and *957 when a pay phone was the perfect place to call your parents from and reassure them that you, “Just made it back to Shelly’s house, about to watch a movie and paint each other’s toenails,” when in reality you were about to steal beer and go to a make out party in the woods.

Soon thereafter we were introduced to various degrees of tele-communication improvement. We were no longer held to the limited accessabilty of a cord, you could go the bathroom while chatting, walk outside or hide in the closet from your unsuspecting family.

And what if you weren’t home when you received the call from the suitor you’d been dying to dry hump? Sure you could get the message hours later upon your return but who had the time for that? Enter – pagers. According to my dad anyone with a pager was a drug dealer, therefore I wasn’t allowed to have one. What was your pager code? Mine was 18!

Next the car phone was all the rage with the overzealous baby-boomers, followed by the Zach Morris with its obvious sex appeal that had all the ladies wanting a big one, leading us to the nearly extinct flip phone, or what I like to refer to as my former BFFF (best flip friend forever).

My first cell phone and I went through A LOT together. It layed the groundwork for multiple hookups, crying episodes, verbal assaults, endless nights waiting by the phone, waiting for someone to call me up and tell me I’m not alone, leaving 100+ messages for aforementioned non-caller, drunk dialing, one handed texting and other endless battles of good vs. evil.

I’ll never forget the time my BFFF helped me out by allowing my drunk self to communicate with my drunk self (i’m a Comm major duh!) One evening as the clock struck last call, I realized that I would be going home alone. My ignorant, low self esteemed self pulled out my old faithful to pathetically call my ex-boyfriend. Of course I had deleted his number years ago therefore I had to dial his actual digits. I anxiously punched in the 7 numbers and when I did my phone informed me to “Don’t Fucking Do It!!”

Apparently I had made a judgment call last time I called him at 2am and he didn’t pick up; I programmed his name in as that to save myself the humiliation the next time around. I immediately hung up. Has Suri ever talked you out of making a regrettable booty call? I didn’t think so. My flip phone was not only “smart,” it was genius.

As I’m the brink of a new and improved fancy phone I am excited to enter the 21st century and experience things like going hands-free calling, Wi-Fi, sexting, apps for 1/2 off  a lobotomy, fake Scrabble, Shazam, picture mail, candy crack and reading a book at font size 4.

It takes me back to a day I fondly remember. I was innocently gabbing away about what would really transpire on the “senior trip to Kings Dominion” when I heard the sweet sound of “the beep.” Thanks Dad!

I recall being overcome with emotion and gratitude that I no longer had to keep the line free. I was no longer forced to deal with the present day communist rules of communication. I could now multi-task, juggle numerous phone calls and boys, make group plans to ditch school and smoke weed, discuss the best way to approach strangers and ask them buy us vodka and most importantly formulate a plan to lose my virginity without getting knocked up.




1 Comment to “Bobo Phone Home”

  1. shannon coffey says:

    my pager code was 333….and that blog was hil–arious!!

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