Dancing Without Rhythm

So, I have this friend. She's my best friend, actually. She lives in another state, but we talk nearly every day. And even though our lives are one fascinating round of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cleaning up, after another---we somehow manage to find stuff to talk about for hours throughout the week. And we have a good rhythm. She can talk right through one of my battles with The Queen without missing a beat and I can talk right through her neighbors knocking on her door, her answering, and them telling her the most recent Southern Utah gossip. We're good like that.

In some ways, Jen and I are so completely alike. We got similar degrees in college. We served our missions together and had very similar approaches to what we did there. Except she ran at 5 in the morning by choice and I would rather have an un-anesthetized root canal. We're both tall. She's sassy, I wish I was. And we have very similar perspectives on life. And on people. All the people we talk about and make fun of in our long phone conversations. We both have red haired children.

In other ways, we couldn't be more opposite. She's very fashionable without really trying. She loves to shop. She has a beautiful home which she decorates beautifully and keeps immaculate. Need I tell you how I differ? I think not.

One major difference we have is the Internet.

I spent hours in the computer lab on campus when I was in college. Sometimes just staring at the web browser, in awe of all that it could do for me. I was one of those people who compulsively forwarded every forward I got. "This is SO funny" I would preface the most recent political joke that had already circled the entire planet 14 times before I read it. Or "If this doesn't melt your heart, you are cruel and heartless and in ten minutes your worst nightmare will happen." In the early days, they didn't give you the option of forwarding it to 27 people to save yourself. Those days were hard.

After college the only real expense I knew I had to have was high speed internet. Some days my refrigerator had one grapefruit, a bottle of ketchup and a jar of pickles, but I had high speed.

When J and I were married---this necessity was a given. Our only fights were over who's turn it was to play on the internet. With our high speed connection.

When J went back to school and we slimmed down our lifestyle extensively---high speed, our dear friend high speed, remained.

And now, I fill my days of being a SAHM with delightful interruptions at the computer reading blogs, online shopping coveting, and sending racey nagging emails to my out-of-town husband.

What more could a girl want?

And then there's Jen. For the past decade the girl has had DIAL-UP INTERNET SERVICE.

Sometimes when she'd call I would refer to something I saw on the internet, just moments before she called and suggest she check it out. "Send me the link, but not if it's too long, it will take too long to open my email. I'll check it out this weekend when my husband is home and has three hours to watch the kids while I sign on and check my email."

You can't imagine the pain this has caused me. The toll it has taken on our friendship. I have harped incessantly on this matter. "Come ON Jen, it's worth the $20 extra dollars a month, I PROMISE." She'd always reply the same, "You know how much joy I get pinching pennies, why deprive me of that joy?" And so we'd agree to disagree, for a short while.

Well, it appears that those small towns in Southern Utah are catching up with the times. A few weeks ago she told me she found a smoking deal that entailed long distance, other phone "luxuries", 142 channels of cable tv, and high speed internet service, all for one low price. She was going to take the plunge. I won't even tell you the countless conversations we've had where she "couldn't really watch that show because they don't really 'get' that channel" or how 43 minutes of her day were lost when she innocently answered the phone without knowing who'd be on the other end. Maybe another time I'll share my testimony of caller ID with y'all.

So, Jen got all the goods on Friday. I didn't remember, but I called her yesterday afternoon for a nice leisurely chat while I sat outside with the kids. No answer. I got my loyal, best friend butt kicked to voicemail. But it was voicemail. Not her 1982 answering machine that blared my message to the ever-living world. Like the time I called and accused her of screening my call like she screened everyone else's and how I couldn't believe I was finally one of "them" that she didn't care to talk to, etc. All the while, she was trying to conduct a presidency meeting 3 feet away. With a group full of past-screened people. :)

I can't say it didn't hurt, people. It did. I knew I had been passed up for the joys of endless internet browsing whilst talking on the phone to people she WANTED to talk to.
All these years, those "hellos" when I called, I thought they were willing.

Oh, don't worry about me too much. She called me back. After my accusatory message, she really didn't have much choice. And to add insult to injury she confessed, "I was on the phone, I got to see that it was you because I have caller ID WITH my calling waiting, and I decided not to click over."

Welcome to the 21st Century Jen. Oh yeah, this probably means she'll read my blog now and actually get a taste for what blogging means instead of saying, "Did you blog today?" like it's a close relative of a colonoscopy.

Posted by Angela on Tuesday, February 27, 2007 at 2/27/2007 | Permalink