Return of the Farter

I hate voicemail.  I think it’s the one thing I can honestly say I hate more than anything in this world.  Sorry, I’m not sorry, don’t leave me a voicemail.  The chances of me actually listening to it are very slim.  Not to mention you stating on the phone, “Hey, it’s me, call me back,” is a waste of my time and a waste of a voicemail space on the phone.  Someone else could have something actually important to say.  I have seen that you called.  I can read your name in the phone; I don’t need a frigging voicemail that says, “Call me back.”

Needless to say, I don’t check the voicemails ever. 

That is until about 2AM this morning, I am kind of bored, I’m watching a movie on the computer, I see I have 2 voicemails and I am curious as to which ass hole is leaving me messages.  My friends should know better by now not to fuck with me and gay ass voicemails.

I get one from my uncle asking me a question; that’s legit.  The second one is from the Farter.  Now, if there is any confusion as to who the farter is, please, go back through the blogs and find him. 

I will sum him up.  Long story short, my mom tells me she has this man for me.  Cool, whatever, I am excited, I love men.  Nope!  He is a fucking midget (not literally), drunken ass, blind dog having, weirdo.  Zero sex appeal, dirty looking.  Just a beast.  Thanks mom!  You’re awesome!  I love being introduced to people that have alllll of those qualities!  I’m sure he has a nice personality.  Oh wait!  He has a drawl.  You’re from New York!  How do you have a fucking drawl!?  Moving on, I am getting nauseous just recanting this entire story.

Welp, this voicemail goes something like this, “Hey, this is ****.  I got your number from your dad.  Just letting you know that I will be at your house to do some work on the fuse box.  I should be there at 6:30?  Maybe 7?  See you tomorrow.”

Now, there are a lot of things wrong with this entire situation.  Let’s discuss shall we?

 A:  Dad!  You’re smarter than this!  Don’t, for the love of Christ, give my number out to people. I don’t care if they are your friends or not.  I don’t think its cool to deal numbers out without consulting the number holder.  So thanks for nothing!  You’re just as cool as mom at this point!  (143).

B:  6:30/7AM!?!?  Get the FUCK out of town.  No one in this town is awake that early.  Especially not me!  I have a night sleeping issue; I go to bed at 4 or 5!  Killing me!

C:  Just UGH!

So here I am sitting on my couch listening to this horrid voicemail with the fucking drawling mans voice coming through the other end like a fucking tornado warning.  He might of well have said, “I’m gonna see you tomorrow, and, ugh, you know, be weird and gross and yeaaa…  Rock it.  Blaa.”

I set my alarm for 6, 6:15, 6:30.  Which means I get to have 4 hours of sleep!  Joys!

It goes off as soon as I close my eyes.  Snooze.  Second alarm. Snooze.  Third alarm.  Snooze and open my eyes.  Ugh.  Horrible, horrible.  So as I am trying to hoist myself out of the bed knowing that this fucking idiot is going to be here in 15 minutes or so I throw on some pants and a shirt that will conceal the fact that I am not wearing a bra.  I don’t need this fucking creep looking at me.

Oh wait, it gets better!  Why wouldn’t it right!?  (FML).  He doesn’t show up here until fucking 8AM.  8AM!!!  I could have slept for another hour and a half!  Now I am pissed off.  First you fart on my mom, you fall all over my house, you drawl like some king of fucking hick, you leave me voicemails, and now your late!  I am done.  Just done. 

Knock knock on the backdoor.

Fuck you.  Loser ass.  Clown.  Late bitch.

“Hello.”

“Hey how are you?” he asks.

“Fine, the basement is unlocked.”

Now he leans in the sliding door frame trying to be Rico fucking Suave and you know, as sliding doors tend to do, it fucking slides on him and he moves about a foot to my left with the door.  Pathetic.  I am so disgusted by this dude that I am just rude.  I am an ice block.  I don’t care if he tattles on me to my dad. 

“Anyways, how have you been?”

“I said I am good.  The basement is open.”

Finally I think he catches the hint that I am A. Tired because you were supposed to be here almost 2 hours ago, and B. I think you’re a bag of filthy, hot garbage.  So please, go to the basement like the other trolls and work on my fucking fuse box.  Bye now.

Well of course 10 seconds later he is back at the sliding door, or as I like to call it, “the scene of the sliding crime.”  He asks me why the back door won’t open, so I grab the keys and tell him that I will just go down and do it.  Have no fear, a chick is here.  And isn’t it weird that I can open a REALLY tricky lock?!  Unfathomable.  Then I think, ‘wait, it this a ploy?’  Fuck, I think it could be. 

Let just say this; I watch a LOT of Law and Order: SVU.  (Namely for Stabler, but I digress).  So now I know how people think and shit.  I am onto your little gay ass games.  I also watch Psych, so I therefore think I am in tune with things, and I see everything.  Not to mention I know when one single thing is out of place!  Don’t mess with me man!  The USA network is my life source!!

I have to walk into the basement to remove the key which is touchy (shhh) and he blocks the door and does the whole, hands over the head on the top of the frame thing and leans down into the basement where I am totally aware of the situation while fidgeting with the key.  Blocking the door is a tactic to get someone to stay where they are right?  He clearly doesn’t know me.  I am more of a ‘mess with the bull you get the horns’ kind of chick. 

“So what the fuck happened the other night?”

“Excuse me?”

         “When we were here drinking, what the fuck happened?”

         God, you are such a fucking creep.

         “Noting happened.”

         “Oh, well, I know that.  I don’t usually get that drunk.  But I was fucking hammered.  I don’t know…”

         Now at this point I am even more grossed out and he is still blocking the door.  So I look right at him and walk under his arm.  No one puts baby in a corner.  Especially the corner of my own basement. 

         “I know you were.  No worries.  See ya later.”

         I thought about being a complete ass hole, but I figured being short with him was more heart wrenching HAHA.  Bitch that I am.

         Well, now, at this very moment, he is sitting out in my yard talking to yet ANOTHER friend that has stopped by to have a fucking chat.  Listen guy, this isn’t YOUR frat house, its MY frat house.  Do what your supposed to be doing.  That would mean, working in my basement fixing my god damn fuse box. 

         I guess life is like a sphinx riddle.  There are zero decent men out there, and the ones you come across are either douchers or farters, or just plain creeps.  I don’t have any idea as to how to go about achieving this dream of finding someone to love (if there is such a thing) and willing myself to have a family and grow old together.  People, like this toolbox, come around and I think I would rather piss razor blades than ever see him or heard that awful drawl again.