My cell phone went missing about 48 hours ago. Since I could care less about anything technological, this didn't bother me. A bit.
Mike, on the other hand, became the dialing fiend. He couldn't help himself. Where is that phone? Have you checked the car? The other car? Your purse? Are you sure it's not at the bottom of your purse?*
"I don't know." "Yes." "Yes." "Yes." "I'm positive. But you are welcome to check again."**
No dice.
I finally called the stupid thing myself. And it went straight to voice mail. When I told Mike, he said he knew because he had called it*** early in the day and it was ringing multiple times then, in the afternoon, it changed to going straight to my message.****
At this point, I had a pseudo-funeral for the dumb thing. No chance I'd ever find it without being able to follow it's pre-designated, non-annoying ring. I figured it was lost at sea and needed a proper burial.
That was, until this morning, when I was moving over a load of laundry Mike started yesterday. And like a rabbit out of a magician's hat, the phone appeared. TA-DA.
The screen looked a little like windows in a car that is occupied with a horny teenage couple. Not good.
The "ON" button didn't seem to like me pressing on it. It kept belching water.
The battery was in similar shape. If I were Superman, I'd be able to see right through it to the corrosion which had already started.*****
The only thing standing? The SIM card. In all its plastic glory. Just waiting to be transferred to yet another phone.
I'm walking, not running, to the store to replace this thing.
I think I owe it to Mike, with his now pre-arthritic hands due to over-dialing. If I don't get my hands on a new one, STAT, he may feel so disconnected from me that he might implode.
And, being that he works within eye shot of me, I'd really hate to have to watch THAT.
Much less, clean it up.
*Stuff mysteriously falls into the rabbit hole from Alice in Wonderland when it goes into my purse. I intentionally bought one I thought was going to be shallow enough that this wouldn't happen. My next model will be about 6 inches deep and about a foot wide.
**That statement was really pretty redundant, considering he was ALREADY digging through my purse.
***Read: thousands of calls.
****At that point, I blamed him for running the battery down by calling the dang phone so much.
*****I'm not Superman or woman. However, I have a vivid imagination. Can you tell?
Showing posts with label cell phones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cell phones. Show all posts
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Friday, November 27, 2009
"...When the Bee Stings, When I'm Feeling Bad..."
These are a few of my least favorite things:
1. Receiving a "Thanks for being our new customer" email, from a company I just placed a first-time order with less than 24 hours ago, offering me free shipping and $10 off on my NEXT order when I just paid $6.99 for shipping and full price for the product. News flash: the REAL thank-you would be to simply deduct the $6.99 for shipping and the $10 off the order I JUST PLACED and send me an email telling me so.
2. Calling any company that loops gosh-awful music while I'm on hold and inserts a message like "Our representatives are busy helping other customers. Thank you for your continued patience." I'm not sure they realize, but by the time I've heard the song fourteen times and the message about thirty, I have NO PATIENCE and I hate anything remotely related to music.
3. Being in public during this phone call and "talking back" to the message. But not realizing I'm saying "I'm sure they're helping other people but I've been on hold since the Reagan administration and I have NO PATIENCE LEFT" in front of someone I don't know, who doesn't understand sarcasm or lack of patience, and has their thumb on the emergency, call-911 button on their cell phone because they think I'm about to go postal.
4. The same phone call, when I finally win the "waiting lottery", and, during the transfer process, my calls gets dropped and I hear "beep, beep, beep, beep, beep". There should be an option when I call back to press #7 and be immediately connected. They should refer to this as "Press #7 if our transfer process just screwed you".
5. Chicks who are anything less than a size 2 who have the audacity to complain about their butt size. If I scooped someone in a size 2 pair of jeans, I could get both cheeks in one hand. Please complain about something else. Those of us in sizes above 8 are easily frustrated and often turn to food in our time of need. You aren't helping.
6. People who enter the back of a church, after the service has started, talking into their cell phone, completing a conversation about lunch after the service. People! With the only prospect of food in our immediate future being a tiny wafer and a tablespoon of wine, your phone call just reminds us we were woefully late getting out of bed and had an inadequate breakfast. Double whammies on you if I hear you are going some place that doesn't have a $1 menu.
7. Cell phones going off at a funeral. I will let you pass ONCE at the movie theater, a restaurant (as long as I'm not paying over $30/plate), or as we taxi in on the red-eye flight. But, a FUNERAL? Have you ever heard of respect for the dead? The vibrate button? There just isn't enough stink-eye for you.
What I learned from this exercise, is that I don't much like phones or email. Or really skinny, whining girls.
I'm more of an "in-your-face" kind of gal. Old-fashioned, you might say. I like my conversations in person and girls who have a little curve and meat to them. When they complain, we share a Twinkie to take the edge off. I like that in a gal.
Maybe I'm just being pulled, by my hair, into the age of technology.
All I know is that I am going, kicking and screaming, like a fifty-something man going in for his first colonoscopy.
It isn't pretty.
1. Receiving a "Thanks for being our new customer" email, from a company I just placed a first-time order with less than 24 hours ago, offering me free shipping and $10 off on my NEXT order when I just paid $6.99 for shipping and full price for the product. News flash: the REAL thank-you would be to simply deduct the $6.99 for shipping and the $10 off the order I JUST PLACED and send me an email telling me so.
2. Calling any company that loops gosh-awful music while I'm on hold and inserts a message like "Our representatives are busy helping other customers. Thank you for your continued patience." I'm not sure they realize, but by the time I've heard the song fourteen times and the message about thirty, I have NO PATIENCE and I hate anything remotely related to music.
3. Being in public during this phone call and "talking back" to the message. But not realizing I'm saying "I'm sure they're helping other people but I've been on hold since the Reagan administration and I have NO PATIENCE LEFT" in front of someone I don't know, who doesn't understand sarcasm or lack of patience, and has their thumb on the emergency, call-911 button on their cell phone because they think I'm about to go postal.
4. The same phone call, when I finally win the "waiting lottery", and, during the transfer process, my calls gets dropped and I hear "beep, beep, beep, beep, beep". There should be an option when I call back to press #7 and be immediately connected. They should refer to this as "Press #7 if our transfer process just screwed you".
5. Chicks who are anything less than a size 2 who have the audacity to complain about their butt size. If I scooped someone in a size 2 pair of jeans, I could get both cheeks in one hand. Please complain about something else. Those of us in sizes above 8 are easily frustrated and often turn to food in our time of need. You aren't helping.
6. People who enter the back of a church, after the service has started, talking into their cell phone, completing a conversation about lunch after the service. People! With the only prospect of food in our immediate future being a tiny wafer and a tablespoon of wine, your phone call just reminds us we were woefully late getting out of bed and had an inadequate breakfast. Double whammies on you if I hear you are going some place that doesn't have a $1 menu.
7. Cell phones going off at a funeral. I will let you pass ONCE at the movie theater, a restaurant (as long as I'm not paying over $30/plate), or as we taxi in on the red-eye flight. But, a FUNERAL? Have you ever heard of respect for the dead? The vibrate button? There just isn't enough stink-eye for you.
What I learned from this exercise, is that I don't much like phones or email. Or really skinny, whining girls.
I'm more of an "in-your-face" kind of gal. Old-fashioned, you might say. I like my conversations in person and girls who have a little curve and meat to them. When they complain, we share a Twinkie to take the edge off. I like that in a gal.
Maybe I'm just being pulled, by my hair, into the age of technology.
All I know is that I am going, kicking and screaming, like a fifty-something man going in for his first colonoscopy.
It isn't pretty.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Marriage breakers
So have you heard the Terminator did his best to terminate his sex life this week?
It seems that Maria was driving in California and broke state law by talking on her cell phone. Of course, had she been any other Mom in America, this wouldn't be a big deal because nobody would have taken her picture. But gross TV hags TMZ shot pictures of her and now she's in hot water with THE ARNOLD.
For his part, he tweeted, "Thanks for bringing her violations to my attention. There's going to be swift action."
Dude. Why not just take a pitchfork to your tenders? You'll take "swift action"? NO. I think your wife will.
Two issues with this:
1. Maria wasn't caught by the law, so there is no basis for legal action here. Yeah, she broke the law but she wasn't CAUGHT by them.
Is Maria in the "right" here? Absolutely not. But, it's like the times I fly through a 35-mile-an-hour zone going 45 without getting caught. Not right, but if I manage to avoid the law, my infraction goes unpunished. Even if TMZ used a radar gun to nail my butt, Mr. Police Officer is just going to laugh in their faces.
2. Doesn't Arnold realize wife-Mom types are the only one who CAN handle driving and a cell phone?
Come on, man. We are the ones who can simultaneously wear three-inch heels and a nice dress, breastfeed a baby, and stir the macaroni and cheese on the stove for the toddlers to enjoy, while waiting for the babysitter to show up so you can take us out on the town. And, when we arrive at the restaurant? No milk or cheese stains on our Sunday best.
It is on an every-other-day basis that I'm glad we have the good sense to live in Texas, where I can carry a gun AND talk on a cell phone at the same time.
I just won't try to use them simultaneously. THAT might cause my driving to go a bit on the erratic side.
It seems that Maria was driving in California and broke state law by talking on her cell phone. Of course, had she been any other Mom in America, this wouldn't be a big deal because nobody would have taken her picture. But gross TV hags TMZ shot pictures of her and now she's in hot water with THE ARNOLD.
For his part, he tweeted, "Thanks for bringing her violations to my attention. There's going to be swift action."
Dude. Why not just take a pitchfork to your tenders? You'll take "swift action"? NO. I think your wife will.
Two issues with this:
1. Maria wasn't caught by the law, so there is no basis for legal action here. Yeah, she broke the law but she wasn't CAUGHT by them.
Is Maria in the "right" here? Absolutely not. But, it's like the times I fly through a 35-mile-an-hour zone going 45 without getting caught. Not right, but if I manage to avoid the law, my infraction goes unpunished. Even if TMZ used a radar gun to nail my butt, Mr. Police Officer is just going to laugh in their faces.
2. Doesn't Arnold realize wife-Mom types are the only one who CAN handle driving and a cell phone?
Come on, man. We are the ones who can simultaneously wear three-inch heels and a nice dress, breastfeed a baby, and stir the macaroni and cheese on the stove for the toddlers to enjoy, while waiting for the babysitter to show up so you can take us out on the town. And, when we arrive at the restaurant? No milk or cheese stains on our Sunday best.
It is on an every-other-day basis that I'm glad we have the good sense to live in Texas, where I can carry a gun AND talk on a cell phone at the same time.
I just won't try to use them simultaneously. THAT might cause my driving to go a bit on the erratic side.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
My husband's evil ways
Somehow during my childhood I was deprived of one of the most beloved little ditties of all times. I had heard it before, just never knew the words or how to properly execute it. That is, until my husband started teaching the boys this song:
"Jill, Jill bo bill
Banana, fanna fo fill
Fee fie mo mill
JJJJIIIILLLLL"
Then he proceeded to go through all the family names, youngest to oldest.
Now, I have to add a little bit to the post by telling you where this was going on and why.
See, at that point we were at about day 2,135 in our remodel* with only ONE bathroom amongst all of us. Turned out, Mike had to use the facilities, I was putting on make-up and, true to form, a child HAD to get into the bathroom to ask a question.**
So, there we were, three of us in a bathroom clearly designed for someone the size of a Smurf. At first, because I was putting on make-up and didn't want to end up looking like a Picasso painting, I refrained from joining in. But, the boys were having SO MUCH FUN, that I threw caution to the wind. And started singing right along.
When we all finished with the family names, Mike looked directly at me and said "Let's do DUCK."
Having now done this annoying song exactly twice in my life, I didn't catch on that I was traveling down the road paved with good intentions that ends up in a twisted pile of wreckage outside the range of cell phone coverage. So, on I go...
"Duck, duck, bo buck
Banana fanna fo _______ "
OH MY GOODNESS. I almost dropped the "F" bomb in front of my, scratch that, OUR kid. And Mike encouraged it?!
In all honesty, Mike thought I KNEW what I was doing and figured I'd just smirk at him and say something pithy. In all honesty, I had NOT a clue. I was just glad I caught myself.
The bruise on Mike's shoulder, should you care to know, has faded quite nicely.
The child in the bathroom with us? Still trying to figure out what came next.
*A wee bit exaggerated, but close to how it feels.
**There is no such thing as privacy in a bathroom once a child learns to walk. It is completely mind-bending for a child to imagine you wouldn't WANT them in the bathroom with you for the entire three minutes it will take to get the job done.
"Jill, Jill bo bill
Banana, fanna fo fill
Fee fie mo mill
JJJJIIIILLLLL"
Then he proceeded to go through all the family names, youngest to oldest.
Now, I have to add a little bit to the post by telling you where this was going on and why.
See, at that point we were at about day 2,135 in our remodel* with only ONE bathroom amongst all of us. Turned out, Mike had to use the facilities, I was putting on make-up and, true to form, a child HAD to get into the bathroom to ask a question.**
So, there we were, three of us in a bathroom clearly designed for someone the size of a Smurf. At first, because I was putting on make-up and didn't want to end up looking like a Picasso painting, I refrained from joining in. But, the boys were having SO MUCH FUN, that I threw caution to the wind. And started singing right along.
When we all finished with the family names, Mike looked directly at me and said "Let's do DUCK."
Having now done this annoying song exactly twice in my life, I didn't catch on that I was traveling down the road paved with good intentions that ends up in a twisted pile of wreckage outside the range of cell phone coverage. So, on I go...
"Duck, duck, bo buck
Banana fanna fo _______ "
OH MY GOODNESS. I almost dropped the "F" bomb in front of my, scratch that, OUR kid. And Mike encouraged it?!
In all honesty, Mike thought I KNEW what I was doing and figured I'd just smirk at him and say something pithy. In all honesty, I had NOT a clue. I was just glad I caught myself.
The bruise on Mike's shoulder, should you care to know, has faded quite nicely.
The child in the bathroom with us? Still trying to figure out what came next.
*A wee bit exaggerated, but close to how it feels.
**There is no such thing as privacy in a bathroom once a child learns to walk. It is completely mind-bending for a child to imagine you wouldn't WANT them in the bathroom with you for the entire three minutes it will take to get the job done.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Cellular Hades
Saturday mornings are supposed to peaceful. They are supposed to be leisurely. They are NOT supposed to include copious numbers of phone calls.
But, I get ahead of my story.....
This morning I gave my cell phone to one of my sons, who was going to the end of the block. The reason I gave him the phone in the first place was that he had just returned from a friend's house and left his other brother there. Other brother was sitting on the porch of this house waiting AN HOUR for his friend to return.
Now, as a Mother, I think this is patently uncool. If there was a kid sitting on MY front porch for an hour I'd feel guilty and, simultaneously, obligated to invite him in for crafts and cookies*.
So, I sent son skipping up the street, cell phone in hand, to retrieve his brother.
I know, from past experience, when one brother tries to tell the other brother something Mom said, the conversation goes like this:
Brother one: "Mom said blah, blah, blah, blah. And come home."
Brother two: "I don't have to."
Brother one: "YES YOU DO. Mom SAID so."
Brother two (head moving like a fishing bobber in a monsoon): "No I DOUGH-OH-N'T."
Brother one (practically reduced to tears): "But Mom SAID SO."
Brother two: "I don't care."
At this point, Brother one runs home, crying, and reports conversation. Now I have to take my portly butt up the street and drag Brother two home, by the ear. This inconvenience is the VERY REASON I sent Brother one in the first place.
But, I digress. Back to our previous scheduled post: With cell phone in his hot little hand, I figure "I'll reason with Brother two via phone and I won't have to exercise a bit! Brilliant." And, it seemed this plan was going to work, as a phone call indicated that porch-waiting-worthy friend had come home early and everyone was playing peacefully.
My phone, however, soon became an instrument of irritation. Every few minutes I got another phone call. Nice strategy, dipthong.
Phone call one: "Mom? He's torturing me." (Resolved by threatening other brother with an entire day of time-out.)
Two minutes lapse.
Phone call two: "Can I have the (name of latest DS game)?" (Yes, if it is age-appropriate, Daddy also wants this game, and you've saved enough money.**)
One minutes lapses.
Phone call three: "Mom, if he gets (name of latest DS game), can I have a dog?" (Yes, son. When you own your own place. Doug, the indoor pooping machine, and Tex, the semi-stupid dog, are enough for your Mommy right now.)
When I received phone call number four, a scant two minutes later, I couldn't take it anymore. I demanded the phone come home.
About five minutes passed and I again became possesser of a quiet cell phone. Serenity had returned!
Except that it was 11:30am, I was still in my pj's, and brother one announced that a contractor had just exited his car.
GREAT.
*Of course, they'd be low on sugar and gluten-free and this friend would NEVER want another cookie from our house again.
**Sorry. I don't want games in my house that include any of the following terms: WWF, mature, parental guidance, or Sponge Bob Square Pants.
But, I get ahead of my story.....
This morning I gave my cell phone to one of my sons, who was going to the end of the block. The reason I gave him the phone in the first place was that he had just returned from a friend's house and left his other brother there. Other brother was sitting on the porch of this house waiting AN HOUR for his friend to return.
Now, as a Mother, I think this is patently uncool. If there was a kid sitting on MY front porch for an hour I'd feel guilty and, simultaneously, obligated to invite him in for crafts and cookies*.
So, I sent son skipping up the street, cell phone in hand, to retrieve his brother.
I know, from past experience, when one brother tries to tell the other brother something Mom said, the conversation goes like this:
Brother one: "Mom said blah, blah, blah, blah. And come home."
Brother two: "I don't have to."
Brother one: "YES YOU DO. Mom SAID so."
Brother two (head moving like a fishing bobber in a monsoon): "No I DOUGH-OH-N'T."
Brother one (practically reduced to tears): "But Mom SAID SO."
Brother two: "I don't care."
At this point, Brother one runs home, crying, and reports conversation. Now I have to take my portly butt up the street and drag Brother two home, by the ear. This inconvenience is the VERY REASON I sent Brother one in the first place.
But, I digress. Back to our previous scheduled post: With cell phone in his hot little hand, I figure "I'll reason with Brother two via phone and I won't have to exercise a bit! Brilliant." And, it seemed this plan was going to work, as a phone call indicated that porch-waiting-worthy friend had come home early and everyone was playing peacefully.
My phone, however, soon became an instrument of irritation. Every few minutes I got another phone call. Nice strategy, dipthong.
Phone call one: "Mom? He's torturing me." (Resolved by threatening other brother with an entire day of time-out.)
Two minutes lapse.
Phone call two: "Can I have the (name of latest DS game)?" (Yes, if it is age-appropriate, Daddy also wants this game, and you've saved enough money.**)
One minutes lapses.
Phone call three: "Mom, if he gets (name of latest DS game), can I have a dog?" (Yes, son. When you own your own place. Doug, the indoor pooping machine, and Tex, the semi-stupid dog, are enough for your Mommy right now.)
When I received phone call number four, a scant two minutes later, I couldn't take it anymore. I demanded the phone come home.
About five minutes passed and I again became possesser of a quiet cell phone. Serenity had returned!
Except that it was 11:30am, I was still in my pj's, and brother one announced that a contractor had just exited his car.
GREAT.
*Of course, they'd be low on sugar and gluten-free and this friend would NEVER want another cookie from our house again.
**Sorry. I don't want games in my house that include any of the following terms: WWF, mature, parental guidance, or Sponge Bob Square Pants.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)