The Creep, the Conversation, and the Kitten

Some creep keeps calling my cell phone. At first I was willing to forgive him. Maybe he's slow, I thought. Maybe he really does think he has the "right" number. This is also the phone work pays for, so I'm usually feeling generous whenever I answer it. What's worse is that it's tough to screen. Caller ID is useless. It just says, "Caller Unavailable" or "Private Number" for everybody. And it being a fairly new phone, I figure there's an adjustment period where Joe Q. Public remembers to update his address book.

This morning alone I had three wrong numbers. The first was legitimate. It was a woman who had just misdialed. The second two calls were from the creep. He first called a couple weeks ago and I told him the number was wrong. Now I'm recognizing it's the same voice, over and over, asking the same questions. The third time he called back however, he asked if he could, hey, talk to me for a minute. That caught me off guard. I said, "This is a place of business. Is this regarding work? If not, the answer is no."

It made me angry. Why does this stranger keep calling my cell phone? I've noticed several random missed calls which I think were from him. He never leaves a voice mail. And now he wants to get to know me better? Well, fuck him. If there weren't a chance I might browbeat a legitimate caller, I'd love to start answering the phone with a rousing round of creative expletives.

And now I've wasted all this time ranting about the creep. Time I will never get back.

On Friday night I went to see Tony Kushner in a conversation with Jeff Bridges. I can tell you about both men's opinions on politics, but I can't tell you much about Kushner's approach to playwriting. I can tell you about the stupid rambling questions the audience asked in the post-show Q&A, but I can't tell you any concrete details about Kushner's upcoming work. I couldn't even convince myself to stay long enough to get my copy of "Angels in America" signed. It's all about managing expectations. Mine, unfortunately, were playwright-centric.

Saturday morning I drove to San Diego to see my family. My parents are incredible cooks who always serve too much food. I ate and drank and ate until I thought I was going to die.

Drove back on Sunday. Stopped in LA to see the kitten we hope to retrieve in two weeks. She's gorgeous, grey, and 4 weeks old. BF and I took turns playing with her for a couple hours, then we bottle fed her and put her back in her cage. It was hard to leave her behind. But assuming all goes as planned, we'll be introducing her to Vash soon enough and dealing with the fall out of kitten energy.

I keep remembering little details about Vash -- notably his refusal to let us sleep through the night without drama. But back then I was unemployed. I had all the time in the world to indulge his kitten fancies (and dementia.)

I foresee wacky hijinx in our immediate future with a high chance of sleep deprivation...