If you’re like me, you’ve relied on Google Reader to aggregate all of the blogs you follow into one long list. With the recent (horrible) news that Google Reader is going away, I’m switching over to Bloglovin. Maybe you’ll want to do the same.
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, forget you ever read this.
I’m kind of a late bloomer. I was born 2 weeks after my due date. I didn’t kiss a boy until it was shocking that I hadn’t kissed a boy. I still don’t know any rap songs.
But this week, finally, years after everyone else, I got an iPhone.
And it’s the most amazing thing ever.
I fought it for so long, telling myself that I didn’t need the bells and whistles, that I could plan in advance and MapQuest directions and write them out on a a Post-It note, that I could text just as well on a Samsung.
But an opportunity came along, as opportunities are wont to do. And I’m not too proud to admit when I’m wrong.
I was wrong.
But now? I am so, so right.
I mean, look. I can use Instagram to make my sad, empty apartment with an ugly air conditioning unit look so… charming and wistful.
I know – effortless evocation. Aren’t you so jealous of how awesome and romantic my homeless life is?
[Once again, I make my case for a Sarcasm font.]
What will become of me? I already tracking my calories, and Facebooking on the go, and playing (and winning) Scrabble. What’s next, geocaching?
Let’s not get crazy.
My cell phone plan is with Verizon – because yes, I can hear you now.
The best phone I’ve ever had is the LG 8300 – the flip-phone of GLORY, that’s what. It was perfect – curved naturally to the shape of my face, easy to find at the bottom of a bottomless purse, navigable.
No, it wasn’t as cool as an iPhone. Sure, I had to text my name “2 – 66 – 66 – 444 – 33.” Yes, I felt like a loser when I had to ask what an “app” was.
But the LG 8300 was like my 1990 Honda Accord in that, although brokeass and jankety, it never let me down. I loved it so much that I kept it for 4 years – longer than I’ve ever had a boyfriend or an apartment or a job. But this summer, it started to freak out, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before it died completely. So in September, I threw a hissy fit, prayed the Serenity Prayer, and drove myself to the worst place on earth – the Verizon store – to get a new phone.
People. I have no words to describe how much I hate my new phone.
It’s a Samsung slab of horror.
I hate it more than I hate peas, more than I hate Nashville summers, more than I hate superfluous exclamation points. I don’t hate it as much as I hate animal abuse, or, you know, WAR. But it’s up there.
This phone is to me as Toby is to Michael Scott.
The buttons are tiny and hard to press. The font on the screen is ugly. Anytime I want to do anything, I have to press two magical buttons to “unlock” it. It has horrid ringtones. Anything I try to do, it does the opposite. It’s too skinny to find in my purse. Sometimes I accidentally hit a button on the side and it starts talking. The fact that it even exists makes me want to scream.
And, well. That’s all.
I guess I’ll go to work now.
Yesterday, my co-worker Molly got a text from an unknown number that said, “I know where you live.”
I have no patience for creepy shenanigans like that, so I had her give me the phone number. A quick bit of internet/phone sleuthing later, and I discovered the anonymous texter’s identity – a pre-adolescent boy in the Bay Area, most likely pranking random numbers to freak people out.
So I suggested what any gracious human being would: that she write back, “No, Patrick: I know where YOU live.”
So. Awesome.
And So. Creepy.
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Now feels like the right time to publicly declare how much I love and appreciate my co-workers. I am the only person from my team out in Denver, so I spend the entire day corresponding with my teammates through technological means (IM, video chats, conference calls). And every day, without fail, I find myself silently giggling at my computer screen.
These people are wonderful. They make me laugh so hard. And one of them was in “Ernest Scared Stupid” – I’M NOT EVEN JOKING.
I feel so, so lucky to be a part of a team of people who care so well for each other, who approach each day with a positive attitude, and who keep me thoroughly entertained every single day.
I just got back from the DMV, i.e. The Worst Place On Earth.
Actually, I experienced another place this weekend that would rival the DMV for that title: Micro Center.
I took my fritzy Macbook to the Apple Store on Saturday, and the self-assuredly dubbed Apple Genius told me that yes, I needed a new hard drive, and no, I should not have it replaced in house. I appreciated his honesty, since his recommendation wound up saving me a couple hundred bucks.
But still. He sent me to Micro Center.
What is Micro Center? This horrible, horrible store full of electronics and screaming children. It’s located in a terribly depressing section of Denver called the Tech Center – a place where every building looks the same, and the only signs of life are a 7-11, a Mexican restaurant, and, well, Micro Center. They had what seemed like 75 employees, all walking around doing “things,” but I still had to wait in line for close to an hour. Eventually, I made it out – with a new hard drive, and a desperation for flora, fauna, chipmunks – anything but technology.
I spent most of my weekend coaxing my Macbook back to life. Just like an episode of “Rescue 911,” the process was harrowing – touch-and-go – and there was that crucial point when the music got solemn and uncertain, and I didn’t know if resuscitation was going to be possible. But as of today, thanks to my trusty backed-up files, we are back in business. My iPod overfloweth with Lady Gaga and Ke$ha.
I know. Just… I know.
Because I hadn’t quite gotten my fill of spending a lot of money on things that aren’t fun to spend money on, and I am also quite fond of torture and anguish, I headed to the DMV this morning on the frozen roads. $21 later, I am in possession of a wimpy piece of paper that doubles as my “temporary license.” Next up: Colorado plates.
Few things are as joyless as doling out sweet cash for things that bring you no happiness whatsoever.
I am spoiled, and I am the first to admit it. Why, you ask? Well, among many other reasons, I have two identical black Macbooks – one personal, and one for work. Let’s be real: that is just ridiculous. More than anyone could ever ask for.
But last week, my personal Macbook went kaput. It’s broken – broken like… searching for a simile… broken like… my toe? Except my toe has a fighting chance at mending – and I really don’t think that the computer will be resurrected. I turn it on, and it pulls up a white screen. That’s all. It’s like the moment after Juliette hits the bomb with the rock, except it never skips to the credits. Eternal nuclear uncertainty.
Get over it, Annie – right? I mean, I have a WHOLE OTHER COMPUTER. But my personal laptop held all of my iTunes, all of my pictures, all of my super secret documents that no one is ever allowed to see. Most of it is backed up on an external hard drive, but I don’t want to put it on my work computer. So there it will remain – locked up forever.
Mostly this is bad because I want to sync my iPod to my iTunes to get my new music and podcasts. And not only can I not put them on my iPod, I can’t even access my iTunes at all. I am SOOOOOOO BORED with my current selection of songs (I only have ninety million or something). And Ira Glass is saying things that I might never get to hear – which makes me panic.
IRA!!!! I NEED YOU!!!!!!!!
I had recently downloaded Sara Groves’ latest, “Fireflies and Songs,” but have no way of hearing it again. Lady Antebellum has a new album released today. The Handy Graham recommended Sarah Jarosz – and since he was the first one to tell me about eastmountainsouth, I trust him – not that it matters, since I can’t get my grubby paws on these songs.
Today, I have India Arie and Phil Collins on YouTube. It’s all I have left.
This weekend, Facebook really chapped my ass (a phrase that I have recently decided is very worth using). I tried to upload pictures from the JAM House Christmas Spectacular – at which we had a fantastic time and packed our home with more people than we ever imagined – but the old ‘Book translated my vibrant images into dull, grey-toned disappointments.
See?
Why?? Facebook has let me down. People need to know that my dress was not forest, but EMERALD.
That said, those two gentlemen flanking me? The one on the left is my new friend Matt (SHOUT OUT), and the one on the right is Paul – or PZC, as he is known on this here blog. Paul – besides being one that I outright avoided a goodbye with last night because it would have made me cry way too hard and so it was easier to pretend that none of this is actually happening – is the one who made a makeshift vocal booth for me in his closet when we recorded a song back in October.
Now, that song is finished – listen!
That’s Matty Rineer on lead vocals – isn’t he great? Actually… I’ve never met him, just recorded backup vocals for this song that he wrote and had already recorded the lead parts for. So don’t take my word for it – he could be a psychopath. And didn’t Pauly do a fantastic job with the recording and mixing?
On Saturday, multiple strong and manly gentlemen showed up at the house to help me load my pod. Let me just say, I highly recommend the ABF ReloCube – as well as having generous and rugged man-friends. In one hour – ONE HOUR – my entire life was packed into a 6’ x 7’ x 8’ box.
Day after tomorrow, I leave. Ice storms are in store. I hope the Honda makes it. I hope I make it. I hope I don’t spend Christmas morning in a ditch.
*via Carl – hi, Carl!
I know that I have mentioned that I despise the winky face. And it’s true – the winky face makes me barf. End of story. Forever.
But there is another thing that has been weighing on my mind, and that is the smiley emoticon.
:)
See? Ugh.
Now, I use the smiley in email communication – but only in it’s purest form: the sideways simpleton. To me, it brings to mind an ironic, closed-lipped side-smile, à la Jim Halpert.
: )
Even that isn’t an accurate representation, because I had to put a space in between the “eyes” and the “mouth” just to prevent WordPress from hijacking my style and creating a monster.
Because if there is one thing that really irks me, it is when my simple, sideways symbol is – unbeknownst to me – translated into a big-toothed, yellow-faced, sphere-headed, body-less imbecile. It makes me look like a moron.
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In other news, in response to an unexpected surge of administrative prowess, my friend PZC recently called himself “an organizational Jason Bourne (kicking ass but unsure where it came from and still not sure where I’m headed).”
I thought that was delightful.
On Saturday afternoon, just after discovering some sort of maggot larvae undulating in my bottle of cumin (do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for the opportunity to use the word “undulate” – and how this horrifying experience totally wasn’t worth the satisfaction?), I deactivated my Facebook account.
I am trying to give my spirit a fighting chance at being still. It’s amazing to me how unaccepted that is in today’s culture. But Facebook felt like it was adding to the noise and clutter in my mind, and is, thus, worthy of a hiatus at the very least. That’s about all the explanation I am willing to give.
I am just now realizing that this means no one will get a reminder that my birthday is coming up.
WORLD: MY BIRTHDAY IS COMING UP.
I know that I’ll reactivate it sometime relatively soon(ish), but until then, if you want to find me, you know how.
