Things I Hate, Volume 2

Dear Matt Smith,

To start with, here's an update on some things I hate:

1) Public displays of affection. If it's not my hand you're holding/lips you're kissing/butt you're grabbing, I don't want to see it. So stop it. Now.
2) Stupid people. I must admit this is not a new addition to The List, but it's a sentiment that bears repeating. Stupid people should not drive, walk, talk, procreate, or eat. That way, they'll die off and leave the rest of us alone.
3) Phone calls. Whether incoming or outgoing, the phone is old. Old as in, write me a letter. It'll last longer and annoy me less.

On the subject of phone calls (now that we're on it), there's a new, special person in my life that you should know about. I don't know his name. I know his phone number: 412.441.6871. I hesitate to write it here, but as I know that you and Anne Brannen are the only two people on Earth who read this blog, I know it won't be used for harm.
You're wondering, how do I know this man? Well, I'll tell you. I don't. I don't know him, and I probably will never know him. Mr. 412.441.6871 calls my phone on a regular basis -- usually on the weekends, most often Friday nights. Here's the kicker, though: I've never actually answered the phone. I just let the voice mail pick up. So the man leaves messages. Not for me. For Bob.
Whoever Bob is, he must sound awfully effeminate, as the Guy Looking For Bob never catches on to the fact that my voice mail message is ME and you know, MY VOICE, saying that I -- MEREDITH -- am sorry that I -- MEREDITH -- can't get to my -- MEREDITH'S -- phone right now, but to leave a message and I -- MEREDITH!!! NOT BOB!!! -- will get back to you. He leaves the messages anyway, ranging anywhere from "why don't you call me? I haven't heard from you in a while" (no kidding? I wonder why he hasn't called. Could it be that Bob's not getting the messages???) to "You should go see this really good movie. The good scenes are really... good."
I suppose someday I should do the humane thing and actually answer the phone to tell him that he has the wrong number, that there's no Bob at this number, and please stop calling. But, I just can't. It's too surreal... and yes. Entertaining. So for the time being I just added him to my Contacts List in my cell as Guy Looking For Bob.

Oh. And for Anne's sake, I should say that I'm moving to Minneapolis. Next Saturday. And I have no apartment. (All the cool kids don't have homes. It's true.)

Love,
Meredith