Lady GaGa Sang “Telephone” Quietly in the Background

I used the last of our Coffee Mate yesterday.

This meant that when I got out of bed today, on Day Seven Thousand of nothing but rain, I pulled on a happy yellow sweatshirt, waved at the Cullens, who have moved in next door, made enormous plans to finally stay at home for a while, and then!

There was no Coffee Mate in our refrigerator.  I contemplated throwing the boots on and heading out to buy some, but then I knew the truth.  If I took the time to pull the boots on, I’d be going through the drive-thru at Starbucks, and I probably wouldn’t have ventured out into the sloppy weather to cross the parking lot of the local grocery store.

So I had a cup of hot chocolate, which screamed in my face, “I am not the cup of Coffee Mate that you wanted.”  I’m pretty sure that hot morning beverage mocked me today, which threw some irritation into my life because I had to settle for the third-string drink choice (starting Varsity being Starbucks, and first back-up being Coffee Mate).  I was grumpy.

And then I sat down at my computer to sort through my emails, and there was the news.  More Fatal Tornadoes Strike.

Suddenly my lack of Coffee Mate was such a trivial thing.  I read the news this morning and looked at the pictures and CRIED, people, because someone’s three-year-old toddler is missing in the wreckage.

I was just fine after that with my hot chocolate.

In other news, the phone situation has been remedied.

On Sunday morning, while I was getting ready for church, I tried to put my new FREE, FREE, FREE phone into the pocket of my jeans, and I somehow missed.  And that free transition phone from AT&T slid very quietly down my pantleg and landed, with a very soft, very gentle TING, on my bathroom floor.  Because I have dropped phones out of the Suburban onto our concrete driveway with more force than Sunday’s phone-dropping episode and had them survive with nothing but minor scratches on them, I wasn’t at all worried.  And then I flipped that free phone over and picked it up, and low!


And I had invisible glass shards all over the place, which rendered bare feet on the bathroom floor a major, life-threatening hazard.

On Monday, Hubs and I went into the local cell phone dealership, where we realized that we were thirty-seventh in line to visit with a real person who knows phone plans and who could answer my burning question of, “Which phone should I go with?”

I am anything but decisive, because I’m the June Cleaver of the techno world.  I simply wear my apron and my pearls and insist that nothing will replace the old rotary dial.

Because listen, people.  The iPhone has been on the back burner of my mind for quite some time, and Carrie and Katie and Michelle keep telling me these words in regards to their own handheld Apple telephones:  Joy, Smiles, Easy, Wonderful, and A LITTLE PIECE OF TECHNOLOGICAL HAPPINESS.

And really?  Who doesn’t want a piece of THAT?!  Plus, Carrie kept whispering, “Starbucks App,” over and over, and I have to admit, I was attracted to that like Cat 1 to the catnip ball.

But then the rational part of my brain said, “Mama, an iPhone is 99% MORE phone than YOU need, Sweetheart.”  (I always call myself Sweetheart, which makes me feel better about being unblessed in the area of all things computer-like.)

What I NEEDED was nothing more complicated than an old bag phone that was roughly the size of a full-sized bottle of Dawn dishsoap in a suitcase.  And I needed to be able to text.  And being able to play Words With Friends was my first choice of fringe benefits.

The couple in front of us was buying a new phone, too, because SHE had been coerced and tricked and bribed into learning how to text by her son.  Hubs and I knew this about them, because she spoke rather loudly, because I’m not sure her hearing aid batteries were fully charged.

What’s interesting about this couple is that they had to be in their 80s.

Their LATE 80s.  And that, I think, is being rather generous, because HE may have already crossed the line into his 90th decade.  She kept insisting that her son wanted to be able to send her text messages, and so she was bringing in her old cell phone (which was about the same size as a thick loaf of French bread, which she’d gotten in 1997), and she wanted the iPhone, which her husband stated cost more than his first car did.  The knowledgeable employee was first showing her HOW to text, and then they did several practice runs, until she had the hang of it, and then Hubs and I laughed out loud, because the elderly husband asked, “Can you just write all those steps down on paper, so that I can remember how to do them when I get home?”

(I didn’t laugh too hard, though, as writing steps down for all things technical is actually a coping mechanism which I frequently employ.)

And then, they signed a two-year contract on the phone, and I thought, “Whoa!  Once you’re this close to celebrating a centennial birthday, shouldn’t you just be allowed to sign WEEKLY contracts and call it good?”

At this point, I was still picking up all the display model phones and asking Hubs, “How about THIS one?”  And Hubs was still busy saying, “I really don’t care WHICH phone you get; I just need to get back to work, because all this rain and flooding may shut down some computers, and I need to check that the EOS is going strong.”

I hate when Hubs uses acronyms.

He had to explain to me that the EOS is the Emergency Operating System, which is a computer system that will take over if the sheriff’s office loses computer service during a major thunderstorm.  I think it’s safe to say that Hubs plum lost me at “I just need to get back to work.”

In the end, I picked out the new, white iPhone.  And then Hubs informed me that I WAS getting an ugly rubberized casing to put around my phone, which I fought him on.  And then he looked at me and said, “Go get a little flip-phone that doesn’t play Words With Friends then; I’m not paying for another one if you break it.”

This coming from a man who has lost six pairs of Oakley sunglasses since I’ve known him.

So now my cute, sassy, white iPhone resides in a lavender-colored, rubbery nest, which causes it to be the size of a bottle of Dawn dishsoap.

The only thing missing is the suitcase.

After we left the cell phone dealership, I drove to the school to pick the boy and Kellen up, and they both POUNCED on my phone when they loaded themselves into the Suburban, as they shouted things out like, “We just cleaned up your icons for you!” and “I took this off, because you don’t really need it.”

The boy and Kellen are my own personal and friendly IT guys.

And now, two days later, I just realized that my phone is loaded with all kinds of pictures of their goofy, adorable faces, as they took turns posing by sticking their tongues out while I was driving.

But the good news is simply this:  Texting on the iPhone is a DREAM!  The keypad is so easy to use, I just tripled my texting speed overnight.  I’m pretty sure that I can keep up now with any fifteen-year-old kid out there, and would like to find a Speed Texting Competition to enter myself into just to prove it.

And after realizing that I could now be a Texting Ace, I pretty much threw the phone across the room in frustration, because I could NOT get my old user name back for the Words With Friends games that I was plum smack in the middle of before the Great Phone Breakage of 2011.  Thankfully, Hubs rolled his eyes, picked up my discarded iPhone with the lavender-colored crib around it and went to work.

Forty-four seconds later, I was back in the WWF business.

And that’s not the kind of WWF which involves glittery costumes and me pile-driving someone in the rink.  I played my first WWF word on my iPhone.  It was VIRTUES, and I giggled as I pressed PLAY WORD, because come on, people!  VIRTUES!  I figured it was good for 120 points.  Imagine the let-down that I felt when the game gave me a whopping 13 for it.  Apparently the only thing it had going for it was the V, because I hadn’t played on any double-letter or triple-word squares.

But then I imagine that June Cleaver would have just said, “Oh, honey, I don’t even know what Words With Friends is.  I’m just going to pop this beautiful meatloaf in the oven and call the boys in for dinner.”

Which is exactly what I did.

Minus the meatloaf.

My apron is for decorative purposes only around here.

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