For years I waged a war against cell phone ownership. With my last job I had to carry a pager so The Man could keep me down on my days off, and that was as easily contactable as I was willing to become. Eventually everyone hopped on the cell phone train and informed me that I just had to have one too, but I wasn't falling for it. The way I saw it, the people who carried cell phones were wankers who wanted tangible proof that they were someone people wanted to talk to. These were the same people who used finger-guns when they talked, and there was no way in hell that was a club I was going to join.
With my current job a cell phone is part of the package. I guess that's just as well because the only people who still carry pagers are skate punks who want to look badass but whose parents won't pony up the dough for a phone. But while my employment contract stipulates that I carry a cell phone, it doesn't say anything about using it. Oh, I kid. If it rings, I answer it. Eventually. It usually takes me a several seconds of "What the hell is making that noise? Did I accidentally start the microwave again?" before I clue in that someone is calling me. I am a total moron where that phone is concerned. It beeps at me for no reason, takes pictures of the inside of my purse, and tries to sell me ringtones of Ludacris songs. (But if I can find Who Let These Hos In My Room I'm totally buying it.)
[On an unrelated note, I think the dude on Survivor just said, "If I'm dead at the finish line, precipitate me!" Does he want people to wee on him when he's dead? R. Kelly, is that you?]
Every once in a while I'll find myself in a situation where I wish I had a camera. After approximately five years, I remembered there's a camera in my cell phone. A few weeks ago I set out to learn how to use it. That did not go smoothly. It was like a two-year old trying to operate an electron microscope. I'm nothing if not stubborn though, so guess what you guys! Pictures!!!
I took this hard-hitting action photo in my office at work while I was waving the stupid phone in the air trying to figure out how the camera feature worked. Unfortunately you can't see the sweet downtown view out the window. I get such a good view of LP Field that I can see Pacman Jones assault hapless passersby on his way to work!
I took these tonight. It's hard to tell exactly what they are, because my skills at photography are on par with cell phone-ology. But that's Davey, back on our freaking roof. That little turd has returned despite all my friendly and loving attempts at relocation, and now I'm afraid we're going to have to resort to more drastic measures. Apparently he's found a different route to his crib. He's obviously quite fond of it, despite the condition of the gutters.
So there you have it. I have faced my camera phone, and it is now my bitch. As a result you have seen these provocative shots of my office and our roof. You may thank me later.
With my current job a cell phone is part of the package. I guess that's just as well because the only people who still carry pagers are skate punks who want to look badass but whose parents won't pony up the dough for a phone. But while my employment contract stipulates that I carry a cell phone, it doesn't say anything about using it. Oh, I kid. If it rings, I answer it. Eventually. It usually takes me a several seconds of "What the hell is making that noise? Did I accidentally start the microwave again?" before I clue in that someone is calling me. I am a total moron where that phone is concerned. It beeps at me for no reason, takes pictures of the inside of my purse, and tries to sell me ringtones of Ludacris songs. (But if I can find Who Let These Hos In My Room I'm totally buying it.)
[On an unrelated note, I think the dude on Survivor just said, "If I'm dead at the finish line, precipitate me!" Does he want people to wee on him when he's dead? R. Kelly, is that you?]
Every once in a while I'll find myself in a situation where I wish I had a camera. After approximately five years, I remembered there's a camera in my cell phone. A few weeks ago I set out to learn how to use it. That did not go smoothly. It was like a two-year old trying to operate an electron microscope. I'm nothing if not stubborn though, so guess what you guys! Pictures!!!
I took this hard-hitting action photo in my office at work while I was waving the stupid phone in the air trying to figure out how the camera feature worked. Unfortunately you can't see the sweet downtown view out the window. I get such a good view of LP Field that I can see Pacman Jones assault hapless passersby on his way to work!
I took these tonight. It's hard to tell exactly what they are, because my skills at photography are on par with cell phone-ology. But that's Davey, back on our freaking roof. That little turd has returned despite all my friendly and loving attempts at relocation, and now I'm afraid we're going to have to resort to more drastic measures. Apparently he's found a different route to his crib. He's obviously quite fond of it, despite the condition of the gutters.
So there you have it. I have faced my camera phone, and it is now my bitch. As a result you have seen these provocative shots of my office and our roof. You may thank me later.
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