Friday, August 6, 2010

Jim Morrison said it best: Touch me babe

Last week, I turned thirty-nine. Well, not really. I actually turned 273 since I age in dog years these days. And even though that sounds ancient, I never really thought of myself as old until yesterday - when I was walking out of work and my twenty-six year old colleague asked what DB and I did for my birthday. Instead of saying, "I'd tell you how we celebrated, but you have the right to feel comfortable at your place of employment," I was honest and said, "DB got me an iPod Touch and tickets to see Robert Cray, both of which I love."

After she asked who Robert Cray was, she added that she was heading out to see Lollapalooza, then proceeded to tell me what that meant. When I told her that I not only knew what it was, but that I loved Jane's Addiction and attended the first Lollapalooza in 1991, she looked at me like I said I'd been to Woodstock. In fact, I'm convinced that, had I stood there long enough, she would have asked me where I was when Kennedy was shot.

At any rate, to make myself feel better, I called TB on the way home and told her what happened. That's when my best friend in the entire world said, "She might be twenty-six and you might be old, but you've seen Siouxsie & The Banshees. That has to account for something. Besides, you don't look a day over thirty-eight." She always knows just what to say, including, "Do us both a favor this year. GET YOURSELF A NEW CELL PHONE. Love you, bye."

No really, it's true, I need a new mobile. See, a few months ago, I met her for lunch… and my phone rang… so I answered it. TB stopped talking... mid-sentence... and stared at me in horror. In other words, I needed to hang up RIGHT THEN! I immediately wrapped up my call and apologized for being rude when she said, "I'm not offended that you answered your phone. I'm offended that it's Tampax pink. You look like mid-life crisis Barbie... complete with texting. And here comes seventeen year old Skipper with our food. Put that fucking thing away before anyone sees you with it!" I tried to tell her that pink is the new black, but she called bullshit and reminded me that forty isn’t the new thirty either. Anyway, as always, though it drives her crazy, I felt obligated to explain.

Like most people, I work on a PC all day, every day. So about once a week, I like to tune in, turn off, and drop out. I call it "technology free time." The TVs, laptops, cell phones and yes - even my swanky new iPod Touch - get shut off and put away. That lets me hang out with DB and his kids, read a book or a magazine, and write in my journal.

The rule is simple, between those hours, I act like I'm Amish… minus the pony.

Anyway, there I was, sitting on the couch, reading National Geographic, when I heard this slobbery munching sound. My dog, who eats her own poop, WAS EATING MY PALM. I thought to my self, "Self, I know where her mouth has been, and now her mouth has been all over my PHONE!" In other words, now... Amish night has become more like German performance art (again, minus the pony). And what was supposed to be quiet, quality time has ended up as me… chasing my bat-shit crazy dog… around the house… trying to get my damn phone back. I assure you, at times like this, while there may be a few Kodak moments, there aren’t many value-added ones.

But I digress, and after thirty minutes of therapy-inducing, Kafka-like, stimulus-response games with the family pet, I managed to extract my black Palm from her disgusting, crap-filled, canine clenches… And even if I weren’t a complete germ-a-phobe, which I am, it was simply too mangled to salvage. So, the next day, I rearranged my calendar and went into the cell phone store, where I explained what happened. And while the sales guy was sorry, he informed me there wasn't shit he could do about it (no pun intended), EXCEPT… he DID have a pink version of my Palm, which he was MORE than happy to sell to me for $50 less than my black one, so I took it.

But, the second I’d saved fifty dollars, it was GONE, because he ended his sale by telling me, "You should really get insurance for this one. I had a guy in here last week whose dog ate his cell, but it was on and it was roaming." In case you haven't been paying attention to my life, God hates me. If ANYBODY is going to end up giving a dog a body cavity search, it will be me.

Needless to say, I have an ugly pink phone but a rockstar insurance plan for it.

But... I have to be honest. Like always, I’ve taken TB’s advice to heart, and I rarely use my phone in public. Instead, I now text on my Touch and listen to Robert Cray at the same time. Because if I have to look like something, it’s going to be Blues-loving, Vintage, Ann Taylor Barbie – complete with house, car and 401K, not mid-life crisis Barbie who needs a new phone and a boob job.

Talk to you next week after the concert!

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