Gainesville Ramblings

This is a blog, and thus it barely qualifies as writing, let alone formal writing, so I'd not let it bother you.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

No, I am not Kinesha

For the past year, I've been getting lots of strange phone calls on my cell phone. For a while, I think my phone number was very close to the number of a parole officer. I would get weird messages on my voice mail that were usually pretty incomprehensible, but usually mentioned 'Officer' something-or-other and the fact that person wouldn't be able to make their weekly meeting. I felt kind of bad for a little bit because, usually, if you don't meet with your parole officer, that’s violation of your parole, which means you go back to jail. Then I realized that it’s their own fault. If they had left a number, I would have called them back to let them know, but as they didn't...well, sucks for them.

Recently, it’s been a very different class of calls. They usually occur between 7 and 8AM, which make them the best kind of wrong number you can get. And it always is a guy asking for a Kinesha. A few weeks ago, a guy called me, asked for Kinesha, and hung up when I told him he had the wrong the number. Before I had time to put the phone down, he called again. This repeated for three more iterations. At the end, he was actually arguing with me, saying that this had to be Kinesha's number.

This leads to one possible reason for all these calls: Somewhere in Jacksonville, a woman named Kinesha must give out my number to guys she doesn't really want to call her. The fact that they call at 7 or 8 in the morning implies to me that she probably spent the night with them, and they were calling because they left something at her apartment, or to make sure she made it home from their apartment all right.

What I'm saying is that Kinesha is a slut.


At 2:00 PM, Anonymous Alice said...

For a time I was getting calls from different guys (who generally didn't remember a name and were trying to hide the fact that they didn't-although once one asked for Alice) claiming we had met at a bar or that he had mysteriously found my number in his phone. Knowing that I don't give out my number, and I'm always out with my boyfriend, I deduced that someone (possibly one of my friends) was using my number (and possibly my name) as a decoy. That, or in a drunken frenzy I wrote my number on the walls of Balls. Not sure which.


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