In some circles, my behavior could be considered a bit excessive when it comes to phone etiquette. But actually, I think it’s rather simple: If I give you my phone number, I expect you to use it. Preferably, you should use it at a regular interval, not once every time Halley’s Comet passes. And unless I give it to you under a specific business proposition or similar situation, don’t use it to call me as just a resource, like for help with your homework or remembering who got the silver medal in the long jump in the 1980 Olympics. (By the way, it was Frank Paschek of East Germany. There.)

If I call and leave you a message, do call me back. Last time I checked, clairvoyance wasn’t on my list of superpowers. With 24 hours out of the day, a two-minute phone call wouldn’t hurt.

And really, that’s about it. Sure, it varies from case to case, but that’s pretty much the standard thing. Of course, when it comes to my mother, none of this really ends up applying. For the past month or so, I hadn’t called her. And actually, for good reason — whether it’s her calling to let me know that she’s having grandmotherly pangs and realizes I won’t be giving her any man+woman made kids or just overall kvetching about how I should be doing better, she never calls with good news. She never calls and is all “Oh I’m so proud of my only law-abiding son” or anything. No…it’s not that.

It’s all bad.

But again, back to me not calling her in the past month. The last time we talked, she kinda dropped the whole “you can’t come home so long as you’re gay” bomb that frankly, I’ve been waiting for since I moved away seven years ago. I’ve wanted my “and don’t come back now, you hear” papers, and they’ve finally been served.

I don’t have to go back home again…maybe this will be a happy new year.

[tags]phone nazi, telephone, phone etiquette[/tags]