Touch Phones

So, as you probably already know, there's this weird hype nowadays about touch phones. Everyone in the world just has to have one because they're so much cooler than pushing buttons. But I'm telling you now, they're not all they're cracked up to be and I will explain why.

The creators of the Droid might tell you that it is designed to guess which word you meant to say for your convenience if you spell something wrong or type a word it has never heard of. I'm telling you that touch phones are defiant pranksters who take this privilege way too far. And my Droid Eris is a perfect example of this.

1) It changes the word 'text' to 'redress'.
Do these two words look alike? No. Do they sound alike? Not really. Do they have the same meaning? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Still, Droid found it necessary to correct. Imagine my horror when all I meant to say was "I texted your mom." ....Yeah. Not funny, Droid Eris. Not even a little bit.

2) It changes the word 'and' to 'Spongebob.'
Either my phone is possessed or the creators of the Droid have a seriously funny sense of humor. Either way, it is really hard to get mad at your phone when you're just so dang proud of it.

3) It changes the word 'iMovie' to 'Unicorn'.
Not sure why a mythological creature is even part of my phone's vocabulary, but I can't blame droid, here, can I? Obviously the word unicorn is very customary in most common text messaging conversations. [/sarcasm] Oh, Droid. I'm really trying to think of a time where it's necessary to text someone the word unicorn, but I just can't. For any situation. Period.

Priorities, Droid. Priorities.

I have to say, I can't really be mad at Droid for this. It makes for some funny stories and good times.

I just wish my friend's mom would understand this and drop the charges already.

Charitable Harassment Ahead

So, I was peacefully driving down the street today, admiring the change in my little change drawer in my car, when I saw it.

The sign.

The sign that causes you an internal panic attack.
The sign that makes you wish you had tinted windows.
The sign that keeps you praying the light stays green.
The sign of doom:

Now, I'm not trying to say that I am against giving to charity. That is not the case at all. I'm just trying to say that I don't like giving to this charity for three reasons:

1) I have no idea what in the world the charity is even for.
2) I feel as if I am giving out of obligation.
3) I really, really need my toll change.

I mean, really people. Referring to point #2, the sign is even scary in itself. It's not friendly, or warm, or welcoming. It's warning you to get the change out and ready while subliminally threatening those who don't with those scary, bold, black, condemning capital letters of doom.

And the people collecting money are waiting at the red lights! How uncomfortable is that? It makes me pray to God that the light stays green or that I had tinted windows or something. Because once you're stuck at that red light, you're caught. The people are standing there, staring you down with their bucket filled of obligatory guilt-change and there's no turning back at that point. Especially if you're caught at the very beginning of the red light. Not giving these people your money will be the most uncomfortable 2 minutes and 42 seconds of your life. And you've gotta time yourself just right. There are people standing there for every 100 feet to make sure you don't get away with just sitting there keeping your change to yourself.

I'm just saying. It's scary. And the only way to get out of it is to give those people your money to a charity of who knows what, or you look like a jerk.

For not giving to some charity you're not even aware of.

I think next time I'm going to roll down my window and donate my two cents.

And I don't mean the copper kind.

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes?

The other day I was making my bed and a song popped into my head: A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes. Has anyone ever heard this beautiful, heartwarming Disney song from Cinderella? If not, check out this snippet below:



After going over the lyrics in my head, I briefly zoned into dreamland as I thought about how beautiful the words are. I did, however, quickly zone back in as I realized how messed up this little theory is. A dream is a wish your heart makes!? I don't know about you, reader, but if this is the case, my heart is pretty messed up. Let me tell you why. Brace yourselves here, people:

The other day I dreamed that I was late to work because I was ordering food at Taco Bell.

So here's the conclusion I'm coming to. If this little hypothesis of Cinderella's is true, I honestly, truly, don't know whether to be proud of myself or feel downright pathetic that during my peaceful slumber my heart wishes to play hooky from work and eat some nasty takeout instead. I mean, it could have at least been lobster or filet mignon whilst on a date with a handsome man, or something to that extent. But my heart wishes for $5 takeout from the Taco Bell drive through?

 Let's see you sing a heartwarming, inspiring song about that, Cinderella.

My Name's Not Monica

By nature, readers, I am usually a very patient person. I am a substitute teacher to children whose soul purpose in life is to torment me, and I am a babysitter for little children who like to get into things. Never once have I lost my temper with these kids.

Maybe it's just adults that I can't stand.

Five times this week, readers. Five times I have gotten a call on my personal cell phone from the same man asking for me to put Monica on the phone.

There is no one in my family named Monica.
I have never even met anyone named Monica.
My birth certificate definitely does not say Monica.

Yet this man continues to believe that my name is Monica.

I explain to him every time he calls that my name is not Monica, and I've gotten to learn that he does four key things before he hangs up.

• Step one: Man giggles, embarrassed.
• Step two: Man confirms that my name really is not Monica.
• Step three: Man apologizes and tells me he thought this was Monica. 
• Step four: Man thanks me, then says "God bless, sweetie." 
• Step five: Man hangs up.
• Step six: Man repeats steps one through five in approximately 24-36 hours.

 I'm not sure if he's doing this on purpose, but if so he's got some weird social problems. How you make the same mistake five times, I do not know. If you really want to talk to me that bad, be honest with me and say "I prank called you five times just so I could hear your voice." That way, I'll be creeped out just enough to file a restraining order. Right now I'm just confused.

I'm really starting to believe that my name might actually be Monica.

.

Holding the Door: Polite Gesture or Unpleasant Hindrance?

So, the other day I was walking up to a door and I was a fair distance away from it. The man about 40 or 50 feet ahead of me was just walking into the door and I was praying to God that he would not hold the door open for me. I was too far away. Sure enough, the man walks up to the door, looks way back at me, somehow decides that he'll still hold the door open anyway, and sure enough follows through.

This is nice and all; I really do appreciate when guys do this for me. It's very chivalrous. But come on, there's a point where you have to make your best judgment: Is this courteous or just plain painful for the two of us? I am about to make a statement that everyone I come across needs to know, memorize, and live out:

When I'm walking up to a door and I'm more than 10 steps behind you, please for the love of God, do us both a favor and do not hold the door open for me.

I end up having a mini panic attack when someone's waiting too far away from me with a door! A million thoughts go through my brain.

"Oh, no! He's holding the door. Crap. I'm about 50 feet away and there he is, just standing outside in 23 degree weather, holding a door open...just for me. I can't walk at a normal pace, or it might look like I'm taking my precious time while wasting his. I can't walk too fast or run because that's more work which negates the convenience of holding the door in the first place! I suppose I will just walk my normal pace, act like I don't know he's there, and then--once I finally arrive--I'll look up, completely surprised! Oh, wait. Now I have to brush up on my acting skills. What if he realizes that my performance is phony? Then I'll just look like a jerk. Dear God, please help me solve this problem."

And after dozens of times of this happening to me, I still have never once come up with a worthy solution.


So please, as wonderful and gentlemanlike as it is, if I'm too far away from you please spare us both the stress and let me open the door myself. If it makes you feel any better, I'll trip and fall once I get inside, and let you help me up. It's bound to be less embarrassing than the aforementioned situation.

Yours truly,
AJ

Be Kind But Don't Rewind
lovelymittens.blogspot.com

Things that don't make sense

Sometimes, late at night, I ponder things. Things that no one else probably ponders. Lately, I've come up with a few things in this world that lack sense. I'm about to share one of them with you in hopes that you can clear up my confusion.

Glasses make people look smarter.

Why is it that when I pass a person in the street and they're wearing glasses, I automatically assume they're smarter than the average person? Really, glasses are for people with bad eyesight. There is absolutely NO correlation between smart brains and bad eyes. None. Whatsoever. It's not like God decided to bless those cursed with bad eyesight and make it up to them in the brains department. I don't think He works that way. In fact, maybe we all have it wrong. Maybe those with bad eyes should have eaten their carrots at a young age. Maybe we should start to associate people with glasses to the type of people who disobeyed their mommies and daddies when they were little. Next time I see a person with glasses I'm so gonna prejudge him or her as a rebel child. It will give dorks a much better name and the whole world will turn around and be a better place. Guaranteed.

And by the way, I am almost positive that this blog will one day solve all of life's problems.

My Cat Rudy

This is going to be short, sweet and to the point. Basically, I'm trying to figure out what goes through the mind of an animal and I think I've hit the nail right on the head.

The other day I was driving down the road and I saw my cat, Rudy. Or, should I say my "former" cat, Rudy. You see, we adopted him and saved him from getting put to sleep. Well, apparently he didn't like our house too much because one day he walked out the door and never came back inside. Of course, we still see him from time to time because he still lurks around the street on which we live. This brought something to my mind. Sometimes, I wish we were like cats. If I left my house and decided to live outside on the same street, I'd feel incredibly awkward every time a family member walked outside and saw me. What exactly is that cat thinking?

"Hi, um, I know you saved me from getting killed and all that, but...okay, your house just didn't fit my standards. The people who live there are just off their rockers. I mean, I enjoyed the free food and all, but as you can see, I'd rather get rained on, snowed on, and beaten up by the neighborhood cats than move back into that crazy loony bin which you call a house. So, thanks, but no thanks, psychos."

Haha, dumb cat. Why would you give up the warmth and protection of a wonderful home where there is free food and shelter, two ginormous dogs, a screeching parrot, and six slightly insane individuals who insist on singing every chance they get?!

...I wonder if he's got any extra room for me underneath that car he uses as shelter.