Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board

Fun Friday Factoid! I am awesome at crank phone calls. None of this is your refrigerator running crap. I do accents. Bad accents, yes. Accents that make you wonder where the eff I’m from and if maybe I am just a little bit retarded and have a large popcorn kernel stuck in between my teef, but I never break character. If I’m retarded I commit to retarded. I can cry on cue and never let the laughter at the back of my throat bubble forth at the wrong moment. Back in the Golden Age of B*69 (Before *69, aka Pre-Caller ID) I used to make my friends pee in their jammies at slumber parties with my crank conversations and courageous calls to cute boys. What are you wearing, I’d whisper, and then, can I tell you about my fantasy involving a midget and a handful of Pop Rocks in an elevator while a dog barks and The BeeGees croon in the background? It may not seem funny now but coming from a girl wearing dots of white zit cream on her face it was hysterical as most things are when you’re all of fourteen years old.

Here I am, lo these 22 years later. On occasion I still wear zit cream to bed and my accents have not improved. However, telecommunications have been refined and crank calling is almost a thing of the past, a memory of a bygone era, like pagers and plastic triangle earrings, Clearly Canadian and walkmans. I have better things to do than pick up the phone to prank. Books to read, laundry to fold, a daughter to raise, The Hills to watch. Which is why I simply could not resist. This morning I saw on I Love to Watch that somebody had posted Spencer Pratt’s cell phone number. I could feel my lips tingling with anticipation, with, how do you say... bad accent? And so it was that this morning sitting at my desk at my very important grown up job I became for one short minute an Uzbekistani mankini waxer calling to confirm an appointment for anal bleaching, and did he also want to groom the vagina hair on his upper lip? Then I hung up and a minute later I was Heidi’s mother calling to tell him what an absolute douchebag he was to ever talk to me like that, then I became a hooker with a suspiciously deep voice, then LC calling to say I can grow a better mustache than he could. It was delicious and if there was a slam book I’d totally write in that, too. Spencer Pratt has a small blonde penis. Check this box if you agree, this box if you prefer your members (only) of the diminutive peach fuzz variety.


Am I mean? Yes, as only an inner fourteen year old girl can be. Are you mean? I don’t know. But here is his phone number: 818.854.2616. I double dog dare you to call before the number gets turned off. And then we can paint our toenails and braid each other’s hair.

TTFN! (Ta Ta For Now.)

p.s. Paige, if you don't call Speidi I'm totally putting your bra in the freezer.