I Can't make This Shit Up

When I was about 9 years old, I discovered the joy of prank phone calls. There was no one with in my area code that was safe. I was ruthless, impish, if you may. I called married couples, and informed the wife that her husbands Playboy subscription was running out. I called the poor gentleman name Harry Butts on a daily basis, to prove to friends and neighborhood kids that there was in fact, a man named Harry Butts, and I was no stranger to the old "Is your refrigerator running" prank.
The reason that I am telling you this is not to reiterate my last blog post about having naughty tendencies. It is not to prove to you that at nine I had bigger Kahunas than Aaron Carter (did anyone see him cry on Dancing With the Stars?). No, the reason that I am tattling on myself about my prankster history is because I believe that it may be the reason that I have a phone curse on me now.
In the last year, as in 12 months, 365 days, I have lost 2 phones and surrendered one to the Toilet Gods. That's right, I dropped a phone in the toilet.
Because of one phone mishap after another, I have paid for phone services for at least three months in which I was completely phone-less. So, about a month ago, I came to the conclusion that I was not destined to have a cell phone. On days of extreme self pity i even convinced myself that I didn't deserve one. I did however, need to have a connection to the outside world beyond Facebook (teenage girls reading this are bouncing their heads from shoulder to shoulder right now, saying HUH?).
I made up my mind. I was going to step back in time and have a land line installed (older generations it is your turn to have a duh moment. What does she mean by land line?).

How could she go wrong with a land line?, you are asking yourself.

Silly blog reader, have you no knowledge of my capabilities to F something up? Have you learned nothing about me through these pointless rants and raves that I post? If there is a phone out there, be it touch tone, rotary, cordless, cell or i, I will find it. And then, I will F it up.

I am getting to the point. Last night was like any other random week night. I came home, changed into lounge wear (that destroys fantasies), poured myself a glass of wine and began tending to Little Man's feeding time needs. Much like many nights, Honey called to explain why he was not home yet. Putting glass of vino down, to give getting fed up with excuses my full attention, I completely ignored the fact that wine glass was on the edge of the table, dangerously close to motem, in which land line is plugged in. Long story short, or less long than it could be, wine and motems do not go together like peanut butter and jelly. More like, they ruin each other, much like Whitney and Bobby.

I had not even had my home phone for an entire month. The spilled wine destroyed the motem, which left me both phone-less and Internet-less, and that is not a pretty world. I was forced to live like the Pioneers and do nothing but watch high definition television on my flat screen. It is a sad fate that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

The moral of the story is not what you think it is. It is not 'don't prank call people whose parents are jerks enough to name them Harry Butts'. It is not even 'make sure you buy insurance on your phone'. No. The moral of this story is 'Do not underestimate my keen ability to F up the Un- F- up-able.