So Rad...

In light of my disdain for improvements in technology, I have resigned myself to hooking up a landline phone.  I might as well anyhow since I have recently smashed both of my cellys, which I'd like to add that I did NOT lose any sleep over.  So here I am back in 1993.  I love the fact that when I leave my home, I am untracable.  Nobody can complain or even ask why I didn't "pick up the phone" or "return a text".  No more!  I am forcing anyone who wants to be in my life to actually make a half assed effort to treat me like a human being and not a text messaging robot.  Honestly, it has been nice.  Phone conversations are really a thing of the past and I'm going retro.

Death Of A Cell Phone

Why can't technology be as easy to use as a goddamn Buick?  When I was in high school...  (Well, first of all, let me mention that I am one of the least superficial broads around.  The only thing that I purchase and care about when it comes to brand names is ice cream.  That and high heels.  What do you expect?  I do have a vagina, so the estrogen had to make a cameo somehow.)

So when I was in high school, I got a free Buick.  This beastly fortress of a vehicle was named (by me of course) The Titanic.  ...The Titanic...  While the other little lads in my school had parents who loved them, I was gifted with this monstrosity to shlep around town.  Was I embarrassed?  I'll be honest.  Not really.  I'll take freedom on wheels in any form EXCEPT for an El Camino.  Don't even get me started...  Besides it being free, I think that the best thing about The Titanic was that once you got it up to speed, you could take your foot off the accelerator, rig the steering wheel and hop in the back seat for a nap if you wanted to because the sheer weight of this tank kept the bastard rolling for miles.  I would drive down the highway in the summer with one foot out the window, a cig dangling from my mouth and all the windows down while other more fortunate and cuter chicks cruised by in their Beemers that their parents bought them.  Who cared though?  Unlike the name, my car was indestructible.

Its best feature? Its durability and the punishment that my babe could withstand.  My car was like a fat assed beastly whale of a bride and I was her abusive suitor.  When I got angry I could kick the shit out of her side panels and my puppies wouldn't even leave a dent.  I'd sit on her hood at night and smoke as the sun set, just like a formal date, and she wouldn't even cave under my weight.  Cars these days?  you look at them wrong and they crumble under that horseshit fiberglass they are made of.  People have become accustomed to paying more money for shittier products.  And why am I even bringing this up?

Lets see here...  Because in less than a week, I have broken two cell phones.  (Side note:  If you have Sprint, get rid of them as a carrier ASAP.)  My phones have been bearing the brunt of my freakishly erratic hormonal sessions as of late.  Currently, my phone is on the counter in pieces.  After being disconnected over six times this morning, I had a quick softball flashback and practiced my fast pitch.  Sadly, the phone smashed against what I thought was regular sheet rock, but what was really concrete.  Oops.  Had my phone been constructed like my Buick, this bullshit could have been averted to a more understandable ending between my cell phone and I.  Too bad.  So sad.  I've got to go write some letters...

Can I Still Sue Steve Jobs If He's Dead?

                                                                                   
                                                                (For my sister...)

5am and I cant sleep.  I feel like the air in my lungs has been stolen by the Apple company.  If Steve Jobs were still alive, I'd show up at his front door in my pajamas with a Pick axe and a shovel.  That devious beast had it in his mind to really throw people's lives in a ringer when he created ipods.  I am completely and utterly miserable right this instant.  Nothing could make me feel better right now.  Nothing.  In. The. World.  How did my misery begin?  Quite frankly, if I were to trace it back to the culprit, it was when Steve was born.  But, most recently, it was when he created the ipod, leaving human beings with no other choice but to shamefully discard their cassette tapes and CDs.  Records and record players were still novelty items that gave people a slight edge, but cds were mocked and outdated.  I was the last of my people to conform to the new standards of "cool"...

....In the middle of one of my sessions one day, I was berating my favorite slave, George.  He was a blind schmuck that would do anything to keep me happy.  Working as a Dominatrix had it's perks.  I was never physically violent with George, but always verbally and emotionally manipulative.  This session though, I carried a bit of anger from unknowingly running out of my favorite cereal that morning.  The verbal abuse just wasn't enough and so I decided to take it to another level.  So there I was in mid swing.  My backhand was making its way to George's face and he was cowered over like an abused child after years of punishment. 

"Sophie, NO!"  (he insisted on calling me Sophie, although my Mistress name was Sophia.)

I saw the fear in his eyes; he saw the insanity in mine.  When I get that way, my eyes open a little larger and glaze over.  Nothing really gets me out of my trance, but for some reason, I only hit George once instead of the onslaught of pain that I intended.

"Sophie, what did I do?!  What do you want, Sophie?!"

All that I wanted was to re-up my cereal, but for some reason, I said:

"I want an Ipod!"

So to save the sordid memories that might cause me to drift in an ever further depression and to make a long story short, just know that I got the ipod that day.  I called over the house slave that did the laundry at the dungeon and George gave him the money to go to the store and purchase me an ipod.  I left work that day with an ipod that I kept in the package for the next few weeks.  I didn't have itunes and really didn't know how to manage an ipod, so I just threw it to the side and continued with my cds.  When I finally got the gumption to fill my little space-aged boom box, I sent it to various locations (Los Angeles, Virginia, Iraq, New Hampshire).  When I finally got my ipod back in my paws, there were over 25 thousand songs on it and every genre that you could think of.  My ipod became by best friend.  It pumped me up in the morning, rocked me through the day and soothed me to sleep at night.  If I was in any picture in the past two years, my ipod was in it as well.  Last night?

My ipod erased every single song that was in it.  EVERY SINGLE SONG.  The worst part about it?  I don't have a backup for ANY of it.

I know that this sounds kind of arrogant and rude to the Heavens, but I even considered asking my devoutly religious father to rouse everyone affiliated in his church's prayer chain in the wee hours of the morning just to pray to God that I get back all of my music, unscathed.  ...yes, God, even Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden...

I really feel like I just fell down a spiral-staircase littered with shards of my old CDs glued to each step, pointy side facing up.  I'm being mocked by inanimate objects for Christ's sake!