That Chick
| idk, my bff Jason? |
|
|
|
| Written by That Chick | |
| Saturday, 15 March 2008 | |
|
Much like Zack Morris on "Saved by the Bell", I toted my phone with me everywhere and thought I was so awesome.
Seriously. That's how lame I am. Now I have a cell phone that’s so small I’m sometimes afraid I will swallow it while I’m talking to my sister. It’s shiny and red and skinny and does a myriad of things like take pictures, play songs, and probably if I asked nicely enough and pushed certain buttons in just the right combination, complete and file my taxes. Although my phone is really cool, I am not. Therefore I do not understand text messaging. I mean, I get it. I know how to do it. But I don’t understand why it’s cool or fun. To me, it seems like work, what with all the typing and having to remember acronyms and whatnot. The other night, my husband received numerous text messages at around 3am from someone who was obviously drunk. And, um, obviously got the number wrong because my husband doesn’t hang out with guys who think his name is Shauna.
He’s not cool or fun either, apparently. We laughed and laughed and laughed some more about that and then finally my husband sent the guy a text back explaining that no, he did not want to see a picture of the guys penis and/or balls. The guy sent back a picture of him with no shirt on. Which was less pornographic I suppose, but still didn’t do anything for my husband. Or me, because that guy? Really hairy moobs. I mean, we're talking Kenny Rogers hairy. We're talking he takes off his shirt at the pool and someone says, "Aren't you hot in that sweater?" hairy. It was so, so wrong.
I, being heinously uncool, sat and thought for a moment. “Okay, you got me,” I said. “I know OMG. I know LOL. But what is AOOA?” And he replied, and I’m totally not kidding, “Ay-Oh! Oh-Ay!” I was unable to speak for approximately two minutes and then I said, “From WHO’S THE BOSS? This is what we’ve been reduced to?” “It’s texting!” he proclaimed, gleefully. “Except we’re talking instead.” And see, really? That’s why I don’t get texting. Why not just talk instead? But what do I know? I’m so freaking uncool.
            |
I got my first cell phone for Christmas in 1993. It was approximately the size of my car and it came in a big, black zippered case. It had a cord. 
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|
