Remember in high school (or middle school in our tiny town), when they gave you a flour sack or an egg and told you it was a baby? And you had to carry it around for a week and NOT, under any circumstances break it? This was seriously the most difficult thing I had to pretend to do in my MS career. Apparently if you're a MS journalist under deadline and you stuff your stupid sack baby in a locker that you have temporarily named "the nanny" you're a bad parent. Half of the adults I know were raised by a locker called "the nanny" and they're just fine. I don't think I should have been marked off for child abandonment. But I did (allegedly) break the sack of flour by (presumably) dropping the (alleged) "kid" a bazillion times. So, I'll give 'em that. And how could this assignment prepare anyone for raising a child anyway?
I come by these butter fingers honestly. My mother once sat my squirming runs-away-all-the-time little brother down to open the door to our 2nd story apartment. I stood with my mouth open as I watched him crawl off the side of the balcony and hit the grass below. He was totally fine though. Which was the basis of my argument when I defended my grade to my teacher. For some reason she was never too hard on me for future assignments that I effed up. (Like the time I put 1 cup of salt instead of 1 teaspoon of salt in my banana bread baking assignment. She just said “mmm, so....savory!”
Actually, my mom might have benefitted from this flour sack baby thing.
I come by these butter fingers honestly. My mother once sat my squirming runs-away-all-the-time little brother down to open the door to our 2nd story apartment. I stood with my mouth open as I watched him crawl off the side of the balcony and hit the grass below. He was totally fine though. Which was the basis of my argument when I defended my grade to my teacher. For some reason she was never too hard on me for future assignments that I effed up. (Like the time I put 1 cup of salt instead of 1 teaspoon of salt in my banana bread baking assignment. She just said “mmm, so....savory!”
Actually, my mom might have benefitted from this flour sack baby thing.
So, naturally when I got a very real "baby" in my first cell phone I broke the crap out of it. My phones (and friends) have to be tough to stick around with me. I have never had a phone last longer than 8 months, with the exception of my Sidekick II. That phone survived more vodka drinks than I care to mention, a plummet down four flights of stairs (which popped the S key off the QWERTY keyboard. My me55age5 looked like thi5 for month5). So many drops, jangles and hurlings- it wa5n't wi5e to pi55 me off in 2004- the sidekick stings like a mother trucker if it's hurled at your face from across a bar. Just ask my best (worst) friend.
Last week my LG run of the mill flip phone had a brief encounter with an extra dirty martini and decided that the indignity of having a drink thrown in its face was just too much to bear. And it died of embarrassment. So, once again, I found myself in need of the "spare" phone I shared with my best (worst) friend. An old Nokia brick phone. You know the one. That sucker ALWAYS works. We have done our best to kill that backup phone, but much like Charlie Sheen's career- it.just.won't.die.
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| "What the hell is this?!" |
And while I LOVE that the old brick works-no-matter-what, its functionality almost killed me. I seriously thought that it might just be easier to be without a phone until my replacement arrived. I had to push the select button like 8 times to write a message- not including the painstaking letter-by-letter word building (sans QWERTY keyboard).
Kill me. But I'm back on the grid now with another run-of-the-mill-LG-flip-phone. Please, if you're a cell-phone-manufacturer-corporate-big-to-do flex your power and send this blogger a tough phone. If it survives 6 months with me you can put the "hot mess approved" stamp on it.
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