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Let the Droid v. iPhone battle begin.

17 Aug

Disclaimer: this is pretty funny, but there are a lot of f*bombs:

About a year ago, I converted to the dark side and dropped Verizon so I could get an iPhone. I know there are studies that talk about the “consumer treadmill” and how new gadgets or shopping sprees provide but a fleeting moment of happiness. In general, I agree. But not when it comes to my iPhone. I love it.

I am as happy with – and as excited by – my iPhone today as I was when I first fetched it on that hot day last August. (Same could be said about Alan, with whom I’m celebrating the year anniversary of our first date today, but I didn’t exactly “fetch” him, so…)

I still marvel that one device has allowed me all the functionality of a laptop, iPod, cell phone, day planner, digital camera, flash drive, Nintendo DS… AND I can use it to check-in at the airport instead of printing a ticket. How awesome is that?

I’m thinking about my phone because Alan just got a Droid today. I’m already anticipating a blog entry from him that spews excitement as he claims his new phone can do pretty much everything under the sun, including rub his back and clean his kitchen. At least, that’s how I felt about my phone, and I’m only a fraction as excitable by tech toys as he is. (And honestly, I think I will do a backflip if it CAN rub his back and clean his kitchen.)

As an odd side note while I’m thinking about my  phone: I have only ever taken the cover off it once.

(Have I mentioned that I’m OCD?)

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Two tinkles to a flush?

26 Jul

My father is an ardent environmentalist, so I grew up accepting certain practices as normal, only to discover as an adult that most people do not, in fact, live that way. I’ve been away from home long enough that when I do go back, I am guiltily reminded of how far off the farm I’ve wandered.

I was on the back porch of my parents’ home in Michigan this last week, eating dinner with them, when the phone rang. My mom took the call and it was one of her fellow members from Garden Club. They talked for a surprising length of time since my mom is not a phone person, but even more surprising was what they talked about.

“Two tinkles to a flush,” I heard her proclaim. “That’s the only rule!”

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If I wanted to read, I would’ve rented a book.

24 Jul

The forecast called for rain, so my mom picked up a few movies to take to the cottage with us this weekend. Friday night we popped one in – a foreign movie set in Jerusalem. The opening credits rolled to music, but as the first scene started, subtitles appeared on the screen.

Dad: Anne, can you read that?

Mom squinted.

Mom: What are you talking about?

Dad: The words on the screen. This is subtitled.”

Mom: What?

Mom squinted at screen again.

Mom: Well I’m not going to read the whole thing. Piss on it.

Earlier, she had cracked me up on our drive to the cottage. She was telling my dad about someone in the community, but my dad couldn’t place the guy.

“Yes, John. You know him. Remember? He’s the guy who let his dog shit right next to Jim’s car?”

The thing is, with that description, my dad knew exactly who she was talking about.

She has a way with words, my mother.

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It’s pronounced “MY-lynn,” you dingdong.

22 Jul

People in DC often ask where I’m from.

“You have a nasal, midwestern, Fargo twang,” they say, just before guessing, “Are you from Minnesota?”

No. Where I’m from is infinitely more interesting.

I’m from a small town in Michigan called Milan, just south of Ann Arbor. It is  known primarily for two things: its prisons and its dragway.

Do you doubt me? The Milan prison was just in headlines this week, because former Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick got transferred there. Oh, and Milan hosted Lollapalooza in 1993. At the aforementioned Milan Dragway. See?

Are you starting to appreciate the cultural mecca that is Milan?

If you need more persuading, then you might want to pick up a newspaper, because Milan has definitely made the headlines for some interesting stuff. Such as:

Police Chases: Read this article and you will be surprised by a few facts, not least of which is:

  • ATVs apparently can go 100 mph
  • It is possible to outrun a cop with an ATV
  • In Michigan, it is apparently adequate to describe a perp simply as “white”

Jello Wrestling: Check out this article to see how we celebrate the SuperBowl in my hometown. I would like to give anyone – intoxicated or not – props for braving Michigan’s winter in a bikini. (And as a side note, I grew up going to the restaurant/bar referenced in the story and the family that owns it is very nice and didn’t deserve this bad publicity. They may, however, want to rethink the wrestling portion of next year’s party…)

Killer Babysitters: OK. I’m not supplying a link for this one because it’s not funny. A Milan woman who claims she was molested by her father took justice into her own hands and shot him. (If allegations were true, then I say good for her.) As it turns out, she was once my babysitter.

As a second point of clarification: a shocking number of people raised here have turned out ABSOLUTELY normal. In fact, the majority of my classmates have gone on to lead good and productive lives, and are NOT fleeing police on ATVs or spending every waking moment at the dragway. I know, it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.

So the next time someone talks with a nasal twang and you imagine their idea of excitement is cow tipping, think about Milan, factor in a bikini, an ATV and few hundred convicts. Then tell me if you find the midwest boring.

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Your dog sleeps with the fishes…

8 Jul

My mind works frighteningly well when it comes to revenge.

For example, the other day a friend shared a Facebook post with me via email that said, “What do i do with the cockroach i taped into the bathroom sink?”

My response (which was about as reflexive as breathing), was, “I assume you closed the drain and put tape over the overflow hole? In that case, I recommend you pour Dran-O down the hole, light a match, drop that down the hole, urinate into the hole  via a funnel, then send aphids down. Other than that, I’m at a loss.”

Alan’s response to that was, “Remind me never, ever to make you mad.”

That’s sage advice, because I come by this revenge thing honestly. It’s in my genes.

Growing up, we knew that the “I don’t get mad, I get even,” mug belonged to my mother. And if you used it, well… you could expect consequences.

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