I have a sad, bad history with cell phones. I love them, but I’m apparently too hard on them, and after a few months, they all escape me to take up residence in a halfway house where they use false names to keep me from hunting them down. As if I would. Hell, I’m on to the next one, son. I mean well, but something always happens to them, as though Fate doesn’t really care for my calling plan. Perfect example: I bought a Treo 600 on Ebay a couple of months ago, and I LOVED it. It was the shit — for 3 days. Then I stuck it in the front pocket of my jeans and sat down. Bad, bad move. People, if you have a phone or PDA with a large screen that’s not protected by anything, it’s a very bad idea to slide that puppy into the front pocket of your Wranglers. Broken LCD, total replacement, $100, thanks for playing. Since I had only paid $40 for it, I wasn’t about to spend $100 to fix it. It now sits in a box in my garage, beside another Treo I bought on Ebay in an attempt to fix the first one. Failure ensued. Buh-bye, Treos. Crack kills.

The reason I had switched to the Treo in the first place was because my then-current phone had more issues than National Geographic. Slightly cracked screen, an off button that wouldn’t work unless you applied pressure equivalent to an elephant doing jumping jacks on a jackhammer, and the annoying habit of spontaneously turning itself off, without warning, for no reason at all. Even during calls. Sometimes it just wouldn’t ring, and I’d end up with 3 or 4 missed calls. I hated that little plastic piece of bowel obstruction. But after the Treo debacle, I had to switch back to the Lucifer Phone until I got something better. When DWW got herself a nice li’l Chocolate from Verizon, I inherited her old phone — which was exactly like mine. At least the buttons worked and the screen wasn’t cracked, because unlike me, DWW treats her electronics with kindness. That was all well and good until somebody stole it.

Friday night we had a gig (which went pretty well, though we’ve had better). The phone was on my belt the whole time, all cozy in its snug little holster. After the gig I turned it on, just in case Donald Trump returned my text asking him if I could borrow $12,145,753.42 until payday (he knows I’m good for it), and returned it to the holster. After walking through the crowded club and loading the equipment into the trailer outside, my phone was gone. Phone, holster, all of it, just vanished into thin air like Madonna’s chances of adopting another African kid. I retraced my steps, looking everywhere and asking all the staff at the bar, but my phone was gone. And I’m sorry – it didn’t just fall off my belt. Someone snatched my shit, I just know it. Well, the surprise is on them, ’cause the battery was almost dead anyway, and even if they DID make a 30 minute call to Anchorage, it was already after 9pm, and therefore free. So suck it, thief. Can you hear me now? I doubt it.

On Saturday, I got a new phone. A nice phone. A sweet-ass phone. A phone for today’s modern pimp and playa. This, ladies and (oh, who am I kidding? My audience is about 80% female) any gentlemen who happen to be reading, is my new hotness.


Oh yes, I have a RAZR, and not just for my armpits. It’s…so nice. And no, mine isn’t pink, so don’t even ask. It is bad-ass. And I got the Bluetooth attachment so that I too can look like an asshole in the grocery store, all laughing and giggling while people stare at me like my prescription meds just ran out. While I was transfering my contacts from the Lucifer Phone (which, thank God, I had kept on the off-chance that I would destroy it later with my sledgehammer), I noticed some interesting things about the people in my phone.

  • I have 82 people in my phone.
  • 46 are female.
  • 24 are male.
  • 12 don’t count (doctors, daycare, etc.).
  • 10 are fellow bloggers.
  • 18 are either band or band-related.
  • 6 are work-related.
  • 9 are family.
  • 5 are in my phone for no reason at all, ’cause I never ever call them.
  • 4 are from college.
  • 4 are from high school.
  • 11 are people that I used to work with.

None of this means anything, of course…I just found it interesting. And my ringtone?

“It Takes Two” by M.C. Robb Base and D.J. E-Z Rock.

Holla.

Peace.

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