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Last April my Dad generously added my sister and me to his cell phone plan. Chuck and I had cut back to only one phone so returning to two made us feel quite luxurious. This is the good news.
The bad news is that my new phone number came from a shady source. The previous owner not only had multiple debts (as noted by all the calls I get from collectors) but she was also either a prostitute or drug dealer. These are the only logical conclusions given the patterns of calls I receive. (Hmmm...apparently selling your body and/or drugs does NOT pay! I must remember to tell my Young Women.)
What's happening is that about once a month, I'll get a series of 15-20 calls from a few different phone numbers within a very short time period. Sometimes I'll answer the calls and tell them to stop calling me. Sometimes I just let them go to voicemail. Either way, it's annoying.
I don't understand why these calls come in waves. The only scenarios I can create are (1) someone is giving out my phone number as a joke. You know, boy meets girl in a bar and girl gives fake number. But then why is that number passed around to so many people? Or (2) maybe it's given during drug deals. I don't know why this one makes sense, but I like to think it's true.
Another thing I don't understand is that these people sometimes leave messages. Do they not listen to the voicemail recording that says, "Hey, you've reached Erin..." Uhhh, ERIN, not Brenda, nor Sophie, and certainly not Chad. I'm pretty sure my voice is girly-enough to not be mistaken for a Chad, right? But alas, that's happened.
I've since changed the voicemail message. To those of you who call me on purpose, I apologize for the semi (okay, really) rude intro, but hang on and you'll be quickly returned to the nice version of me.
a. My husband's sweatshirt: a token of his devotion to a team that (sorry chuck) sucks.
b. The tree behind us: some leaves are green while some are not. What's up with that?
c. The dry sidewalks: I mean, we've had straight rain since Wednesday afternoon, why should Mother Nature stop now?
Answer: C. It has, no exaggeration, been raining (and record-setting cold) since Wednesday afternoon. I thought it would never stop. I thought I'd have to run in wet, squishy shoes for the rest of my life. I thought I'd be stuck inside my house with a toddler until Rhett canoed himself to kindergarten. I thought wrong. Thank goodness.
Which fictional TV character's life would you most like to have?
Although many were tempting, for some strange reason we both thought about characters from Seinfeld. I think I could definitely handle Elaine's life and Chuck would enjoy being Jerry. Others that we tossed around were Pam from the office (for me). I would have to be old Pam though, before she was a salesperson. I would love being a secretary, and working with crazy people would give me such good stories. Chuck thinks he'd also consider being Alex P. Keaton. I think he could pull it off.
...you lie in bed in the morning thinking the following:
"I know that hot dogs come from pigs and steak comes from cows. But where does sliced turkey come from?"
Seriously. I did this.

And yes, I realize this picture has nothing to do with the origins of sliced turkey, but I don't care. I like it.
What does he know?!
I wish I had a better excuse for my lame posts this week, but truth is, my life has been pretty lame. I'm having one of those weeks where I wish my life wasn't my life, you know? I saw this "Intervention" the other night about an addict from Salt Lake and I was almost crying (alright, I was crying) at how much I miss Utah. There was snow on the ground and the mountains looked beautiful. It just made me feel sorry for myself.
Then I remembered: I had a baby. Honestly, how different do I think my life would be if I was living in Utah right now? Considering my status as a mom, I don't think it would be that different. I couldn't be taking my desired backpacking trips in the Winds or the Tetons. I couldn't be skiing all the time (can't afford to). I'd probably still be taking trips to the library, running, and waiting for Chuck to come home. With the exception of occasional dinners at my parents' house instead of Chuck's parents' house, honestly, my life wouldn't be that different. I'd just have a better view and less humidity.
So now I have to stop feeling sorry for myself. It's a little easier when I look at this little guy enjoying his very first pillow. He seems to be getting the hang of it. (And yes, we really did wait 18 months to give him a pillow in his crib. He has yet to get a blanket, however.)

Cousin Emily, I hope this is honest enough. I don't have it in me to reveal nine more things. Forgive me, please?