Tag Archives: google voice

Dec24

Thank God for Google Voice! Act III: Call Me a Cab

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Getting into a cab can sometimes feel like stepping into your doctor’s office. You know you may be faced with an embarrassing question that you’re not quite sure how to answer. I’ve been living in New York for nine years and the Cabbie Q & A, as I affectionately call it, kicks off with the same question every time…

Where is your husband?

Pretty painless. I know the answer to this one. I got this. “My husband? I don’t have one,” I say to the eyes floating in the rear-view mirror. A blink and a nod is returned to my response while a breath is drawn in. “Oh, well I am sure you have a boyfriend,” ninety-nine percent of the time comes next, which used to garner a, “Yes, I do,” out of me. Used to. The first time I quipped back, “Well, no. No I don’t,” I sat back, looked out the window and thought the interview was over. I was wrong.

Wow, I am really surprised a girl like you doesn’t have a husband or a boyfriend. You should be married. I am not married too. Would you like to marry me?

A cabbie proposal! I finally felt like a real New Yorker despite being born and semi-raised here. “You’re funny,” I say after a hearty laugh, only to realize there were no longer eyes in the rear-view. We were stopped at a light and he had turned around to look at me. Looking at me, waiting for my answer. My laugh melted like Frosty in Florida. A disappointed look was smeared all over his face as he explained to me that he was not kidding.

He was a forty-two year old man from Pakistan who had never been married. He said his parents had been putting pressure on him to marry a nice girl because, as he put it, time was running out. So he figured since I was unmarried and he was unmarried, we should marry. Creepiness aside, the whole thing sounded so apocalyptic. I got a mental image of us standing in the middle of Times Square after the world had ended. Light bulbs are flickering and shredded paper wafted in the air like Armageddon’s confetti. He is alone and I am too. Mankind depends on us to save the human race…

Pulling up to my house brings me back to reality. It is not the end of the world. He is not the last man on Earth and I am not the last woman, so I decline his offer. He pleads with me to think about it, cajoling me with free cab rides to and from work. These rides would provide us time to get to know each other. A riding engagement. Then we would marry and he would take me to Pakistan to meet his family, who would love a big-eyed girl like me. He would be all the husband I would ever want and I would be his queen. I again decline and he asks for my phone number so he can show me he is serious.

Now, I know you are thinking, “Just get out of the cab!”, but this man now knows where I live and it’s dark outside. And besides, the doors are locked. So, I give him my number… my Google Voice number, which he decides to test while I am in the cab. To his surprise, the number is not a fake and he unlocks the doors. “I hope I can get you to change your mind,” he says as I collect my things from the backseat. “And I hope you find the woman you’re meant to marry,” I call out as I close the door.

Thank God for Google Voice!

photo © Typhoonski | Dreamstime.com

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May29

Thank God for Google Voice! Act II: You Ain’t Slick

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Brunch is the best meal of the day. Bloody Marys and mimosas aside, ladies brunch for one reason only… the chisme! The setup is completely familiar and often involves a story about a guy. One of your girlfriends regales the table with the tale, everyone is nodding, inhaling “What?!” and exhaling, “Mmhmm”. The antagonist is on the receiving end of so much side-eye one would think he was sitting at the next table. Let’s pretend we’re at brunch and I’m telling this over Eggs Norwegian. Yum!

Act II. Jeff. Age Unknown. Occupation Unknown.

I met Jeff at my friend Amanda’s houseparty. When I arrived, he and Amanda were talking with a few other friends. Their closeness implied that they were together; maybe not boyfriend and girlfriend, but definitely more than casual old friends. Amanda, upon seeing me, greets me with a big hello and shows me where everyone is leaving their coats before scooting off to continue entertaining her guests. Then she disappears. Enter Jeff.

He introduces himself by name and then asks me how I heard about the party. Read: Do you know Amanda? I tell him Amanda and I are friends, meeting years ago when I was a freelance make-up artist. He suggests we swap information being that he’s working on a few projects and may need make-up. I didn’t feel he wasn’t flirting with or coming on to me at all, but something just didn’t feel right about this guy. “Sure, I’m always interested in hearing who needs make-up. My number is…” and I proceed to give him the Google Voice.

A few days later, while I’m on the phone with a newly 20 year old Jared (see Newborn entry), Jeff calls and leaves a voicemail message. Yes, I sent him to voicemail. Jeff was business and though I was looking to get back into doing make-up again, Jared was fun. In this instance, Fun beat the snot out of Business. “Hey, Kim! I was calling to see what you were doing this weekend. Um, when you get this, I guess you can give me a call back.” I return the call later that day, “I’m free this weekend. Is someone looking for make-up?” Little did I know, that call wasn’t about a shoot, make-up, or anything business related. “No. I was wondering if you’d like to get together for coffee or something.” It was the “or something” that didn’t sit well with me. I call one of my best friends (who originally introduced me to Amanda) to get the scoop on this Jeff.

“What’s the deal with Jeff?”
“He and Amanda and dating. Why?”
“He called me just now and asked if I wanted to meet up for coffee or something.”
“No way! Does he know you’re friends with Amanda? They are seeing each other. I don’t know if they’ve had The Talk, but they are definitely seeing each other.”

My friend suggests she tell Amanda being that she knows her better than I do and thank goodness she did. Amanda was pretty upset and embarrassed about the whole situation. Understandably so… your date tries to pick up one of your friends they meet at your party in your house? Trife. Did he think she wouldn’t find out? Did he not care? Whatever his thinking, or lack of, was doesn’t matter to me. He’s going to need a pretty strong make-up remover to get rid of the egg all over his face.

May15

Thank God for Google Voice! A Story in 3 Acts…

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Forget a new haircut.  A new pair of heels.  A new attitude.  The one thing no dating girl should be without is Google Voice.  My request for a GV number was answered a week into my new adventures in Singledom and could not have come at a better time.  Though I’ve only given out the number a handful of times, its endless worth is unmistakable.  Let me count the ways.

Act I. Jamal. 29. Internet Marketing.

Jamal approached me outside of Maoz as I about to cross the street.  “Excuse me,” he says, in such a tone that I thought he was looking to walk around me, not start a conversation, so I move to the left.  As we cross the street, he looks over and says, “That was an opening to talk to you.”  A wordsmith he is not. Once we cross, he formally introduces himself, chats me up a bit and actually gets a few laughs out of me. “You seem like someone I’d like to get to know,” he says and asks for my number. Awkward opening aside, he is upbeat, confident, the owner of a killer set of dimples. I oblige and give him my number. My Google Voice number.

It doesn’t have a local NYC area code which automatically draws a raised eyebrow from him. He clears his throat and sternly says, “Hold on, let me call you so you can have my number as well.” I know what that means… “This sounds like a fake number. I want to make sure your phone rings.” Phone to his ear, he’s studying my face for a trace of deceit, as if he had busted me. My rule is this: If I don’t know you and none of my friends know you, you’re a complete stranger. Strangers get the Google Voice number. Needless to say, my phone in fact does ring. “You thought it was a fake number,” I say upon answering. “Well, it didn’t sound like a New York number…”

Later that night he calls and boy was I glad I had not let those dimples sway my judgment. Gone is the easy-going cheerful guy I had met hours before. His tone is now accusatory, investigative. He asks me why I gave him my phone number, what I was looking for a in a man, and what I felt I had to offer. Jesus Christo, tranquilla papa! I felt I was being interrogated. I decide make the convo less SVU and more Sweet Valley and ask him what he does for fun, what his hobbies are. Simple enough question, right? “I like to think everything is fun. From working, to going to the club, to having sex. Even taking a shit is fun.” I laugh out a What?! only to realize he is completely serious about what he said. He then spits my question back at me with an air of “I couldn’t care less” in his voice. To make things worse, in response to everything I say, his response is, “Hmmm.” Hmmm? I’m growing increasingly annoyed. “What are you ‘Hmmm’-ing about?” I look at the clock… 11:30pm. “Oh goodness! I totally didn’t realize what time it was,” I say ever so sweetly. “I have to wake up early tomorrow, so I’m going to say goodnight, but it was nice talking to you.” He’s silent for a second. “Hmmm. Yeah, likewise.” Another Hmmm. I rolled my eyes so hard I gave myself a headache.

He texts me a couple of days later asking if I want to go out. I wonder, if I had texted back “No.” would he have texted back “Hmmm”? Oh well, if he decides to ring me again, he will be greeted with a recording saying that my number is no longer in service. Google Voice, you are a beauty.

Oh, and regarding what he said about my number not sounding like a New York number… it’s not. It’s a Florida number. Florida to reflect my sunny personality.