Sunday. Bloody, Sunday.

Yep, I think that about sums it up. How did two days manage to pass so quickly? Especially since nothing particularly exciting happened (Besides Gibson’s cameo in Cute With Chris Live. See previous post for details.) The Mulders did not have their baby. Kevin and I did not buy a house. We did not win the lottery. Mostly we ran errands, we cleaned (somewhat) and I fell asleep early both Friday and Saturday nights. Despite all of this, it has been fun to hang out with Kevin. Even if we did mundane things like “go to the mall” (complete with a stop at the Sweet Shop!) and “return items to the library”.

In addition to the above, Kevin and I also had a chance to be home when the mysterious “Zbarskiy, S” called us.

Who is this “Zbarskiy, S” you might ask? We wish we knew. For the past 3 years, we’ve been getting phone calls. Rhe beauty of caller ID is being able to see who is calling, when, and how frequently. It also gives us the freedom to screen our calls–anyone we don’t know rings to our machine.

So it began with Zbarskiy. The first few times, our machine recorded hang-ups.
We’ve since discovered that this Zbarskiy person is a little old (woman? man? we’re not totally sure) someone who does not speak english and apparently gets really mad when whoever it is he/she thinks she has actually called doesn’t pick up or return his/her calls. He/she has a voice like the dirty old man on “Family Guy” and sounds like a record being played backwards. He/she is scolding. Constantly scolding. We are frequently not at home when he/she calls so it was a rare opportunity to pick up mid answering machine message and let Zbarskiy know he/she has the WRONG number. According to Kevin, he/she said “Hello?” when he picked up the line, scolded some more, and abruptly hung up. Good times.

I’m sorry, I’m rambling. More on the fabulous new book I’m reading and all of the scandalous things it is getting me to consider doing. I want to see if the excitment lasts past page 48…


2 thoughts on “Sunday. Bloody, Sunday.

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