Long time coming.

Can I tell you something? I hatehatehate making phone calls. I'm fine calling my mom or a friend or something like that, but calling to make appointments or get information from a business freaks me out. It makes me nervous in the same way that ordering food at a restaurant does (judge me if you want...I know it's a dumb thing to be freaked out by). People say that the best way to get over things like that is to take Nike's advice and just do it. That is false. For me in this situation, at least.

After three weeks and fourteen phone calls to the complex I was looking to live in next fall (to be fair, I didn't actually talk to a person each of the fourteen times), I still get all nervous while listening to the phone ring and ring (and ring and ring). I hate not knowing when the other person will answer the phone and, even though I rehearse exactly what I'm going to say each time, I always feel like I'm going to say something completely banal. 

So, I didn't conquer my fear. But I did get an apartment! High five for not being homeless!

And now for your Friday afternoon viewing pleasure, I present Mr. Oliver James, who inspired the title of this post and Elliott, who inspired the last sentence.