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There... Instant Dial Up Access

Issue Date: Tuesday, Jul. 25, 2006

Last night as Mister and I were eating dinner my cell phone rang. I hopped up to answer it because I thought it may be something important like Ed McMahon calling to give me buckets of money and to tell me that I am pretty. (Question: He’s not dead is he?) But when I got to my phone the number on the display was a 936 area code number.

I froze.

Did ya’ll know that Nacogdoches is a 936 area code? I know precisely two people who would call me from a 936 area code that I would be happy to speak to and they are married. To each other. (Confidential note to Jay and Brenna: I’m talking about ya’ll.) I know approximately eleventy people who would call me from a 936 area code that I would choose not to speak to if I had the choice. But for some reason, I pushed the answer button.

On the other line was a perky young thing that was calling from my Alumni Association and wanted $200.00 from me.

Honestly? I was sort of relieved.

As I hung up the phone (after laughing heartily at the Alumni Association girl for thinking that anyone who graduate from our college would have an extra $200.00 to donate to the collegiate programs) one thought occurred to me.

I am afraid of 936. I used to be afraid of 409 (not the cleaner) as it used to be Nac’s area code as well.

It was so amazing how much I loved the place when I was in school there and how I came to fear it as soon as I got out.

Little side story. I was talking to Stacey yesterday afternoon on the way home. That is the time of day I do my catching up.

If you want me to call you it will most likely be between 5:45 and 6:45 p.m…. Send me your number and we’ll chat.

Anyway, I was talking to Stace and she mentioned that she turned off her Comcast (cable) account and was waiting to get her Verizon account.

The very thing that popped into my head when she said that was a voice saying, “I can get cable in any room in my house, all we gotta do is runna phone line unner the house.”

Let’s go back about oh, ten years shall we? I was living in a 1976 Redman double wide trailer. There was one phone outlet in the house. The phone outlet was in the kitchen above the dishwasher. Handy? Sure. But to get satellite television to the living room an extremely long phone cord was run up the wall, along the ceiling, stapled in several places (and painted white to camouflage it from standing out from the white painted ceiling) and then run down the length of the doorframe into another room… it was then run around the periphery of the room, shoved under the carpet and plugged into the satellite box on top of the television.

When we got dial up access a year or so later I figured that my then husband would do the same trick to get the wire to the “office”.

Nope.

He attached a splitter to the phone cord that was hooked to the cable box and ran the wire out the window. He peeled off two sections of aluminum siding/skirting that went around the trailer and unpacked a 50-foot phone cord. I watched in abject horror and slight amusement as he got his bow and an arrow, tied the phone cord to the arrow and shot under the house in the direction that he was setting up the “office”.

After a few tries and several lost arrows and many uses of the word fuck, he made the shot he was looking for. He went around the house, untied the phone cord, threw it through the “office” window and then slid the window shut.

“There” he said… puffing up with pride…, “Instant dial up access.”

I SO wish I was kidding.

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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