I have been in blog purgatory. This is the holding pen for those of us not quite able to get to writing. It’s not that I haven’t had things to say, oh, I always have something to say, it’s just that I’ve been technologically unavailable.
First, I had to have a new car. I was happy with my old car. I liked it so much that I bought three of the exact same cars in a row. Then my last baby turned 16 and it just made sense to my family for him to rip my beloved car away from me and for me to get a new one. Well, they don’t make the old kind anymore. Shopping for a new car made me angry and confused. The Goose complained, my kids offered useless advise by continually asking if I’d driven a Maserati. Finally, I actually did go test drive a Maserati and this made me grouchier than before because I found that I WANTED a Maserati. I realized I was TIRED of driving a mom car and, by golly, it was about time for MY midlife crisis since the Goose has already had two. Of course, he is older.
When I finally chose my cute convertible, a cheaper, slower, more trailer trash cousin of the Maserati, I tried to settle back into life, but I still didn’t feel like myself. My car wanted to converse with my phone. My daughter, Cricket, set this up for me and, though I didn’t understand it, I accepted it. Sometimes people call me and they speak to me through the radio and I’ll have to confess this freaks me out. I saw a lot of scary movies as a teenager. Now it’s happened, they are heeeerrre. I just shout back into space and hope someone can hear me.
The next trouble came when my children declared my comfortable old green phone a dinosaur. A veritable covered wagon of a phone. A brick. It’s true that it no longer did everything I asked of it, but I understood, feeling much the same about things myself. There is much I’m asked to do that I just don’t feel like doing anymore. Still, I went forth and bought the most up to date, space age phone known to mankind. Because I don’t understand the phone, I am still unable to do everything, just like before, but I have the added bonus of constantly being afraid I’ll break it.
Tired of this tech hell and feeling dazed, I came home and curled up with my sweet little white Mac, writing, emailing, Facebook stalking and, low and behold, my phone of the future cannot talk with my computer of 2008. WTH! That’s okay. Just breathe. I’m good with that. Except, oh yeah, my wonderful little laptop, who has traveled with me and been by my side for years took issue with having the space age phone try to initiate foreplay with it and sent me the black question mark of death. Thus, I traveled BACK to Apple and just handed over the deed to my house to them for yet another purchase. Oh, you want another little white laptop? Guess what, DON’T FREAKIN’ MAKE THEM ANYMORE! Wake up, lady, we’re all stainless steel now, just like the dishwasher you had to replace last year and the stove that is a bitch to keep clean even though you never use it.
I can’t keep up with technology. I just want to get something, stick with it and have it work on some basic level. I don’t need my appliances to converse with me or each other. In fact, I’d prefer they wouldn’t. That little song my washer sings when it’s through? I don’t want my refrigerator singing something back. They could be talking about me.
Washer: Did you see the giant ass in these jeans I just washed?
Refrigerator: No duh, she’s in here every 10 minutes.
Dishwasher: I can’t keep up with all these wine glasses!
Oven: I feel so unloved. She never even glances at me!
While my old car is out there, sleeping in the driveway, saying nothing because it can’t. It’s just a car, like it’s supposed to be. This is the age of the rise of the machines. We should all be very afraid.
Great writing! I find myself looking more and more forward to the next blog!
Iwas in someone’s house-can’t remember who and thier washer played a song and it totally freaked me out-sorry but I can not do singing dishwasher, next thing you know the fridge will REALLY say-“You do NOT need that cream cheese…”
My last washer from hell played a song. This one just rings a chirpy bell and, somewhere, a dry cleaner gets his wings.