I’m talking about mosquitoes here, ladies and gentlemen. They piss me off. Bad. Why must they exist? The only thing worse than the sticky, stifling humidity during these hot summer evenings are the swarms of blood-sucking mosquitoes. They’re like miniature airborne vampires. Just hearing the high-pitched whine of an approaching mosquito drives me mad. I begin to flail about, screeching like a lunatic, waving my arms around in a sort of hallucinogenic tribal dance until the offender has flown away. I wish they didn’t exist. If any bat families nearby would like to move into my neighborhood and swarm in between 7 and 10 pm to “take care of business,” consider yourself welcome.
Today is the day that I am finally eligible for a new cell phone upgrade. Am I old-fashioned for using the term “cell phone” instead of “smart phone?” I feel like I’m saying “automobile” instead of “car.” Anyway, my pre-historic Blackberry functions slower than a 90 year old in a nursing home. It’s outdated. I’m rolling around in a horse and buggy while everyone else is cruising in a Rolls Royce. It sputters, freezes, time-outs, makes noise when it’s not necessary, doesn’t make noise when it is necessary, and is overall a worthless piece of shit. Don’t even get me started on the inefficiency and slowness of the internet connection on it. I may as well be using dial-up. A carrier pigeon could deliver a handwritten message more quickly than I can send an email on that thing. It needs to be replaced.
The million dollar question remains:
Do I get an iPhone4, or a Droid X?
This is your invitation/request/plea for input. I need reasons. Don’t just say, “iPhone!!” I need hard facts and comparisons. Go.
The choice is intimidating me. Choosing a phone nowadays is more complicated than choosing a toothbrush (have you BEEN down the toothbrush aisle lately? There are more varieties, styles, and options than there are species of birds in the Amazon). The pending decision is going to give me an ulcer. All I really use my phone for is taking pictures and video, a lot of text messaging, word games, email, internet, and….that’s the meat of it.
In other news, today is Trent and I’s one year wedding anniversary. We made it 365 days without stabbing one another. We spent the weekend in Farmington, Pennsylvania between the Summit Inn and Nemacolin Woodlands Resort. If you ever get the chance (or win the lottery), you must all visit Nemacolin Woodlands. It is one of the ritziest, nicest, most elaborate resorts I have been to yet. We enjoyed a relaxing couples’ massage, laid out by the pool (I finally got some pigment in my skin—well, at least the front half of me), had some drinks. We ate at a restaurant called Aqueous, and it would not be outlandish to claim that I had the greatest, most intoxicating food there that I have ever eaten. Scallops, wild mushroom risotto, heirloom tomato and house garden salad—I died. So delicious. They served me a piece of chocolate cake the size of a Smart Car with a piece of chocolate on top that had “Happy Anniversary” printed on it. Unreal. Amazing food, attentive service, delightful time.
Later tonight we will be busting out the cake topper from our wedding cake in celebration. That top layer of cake was frozen at my parents’ house in Iowa for 11 months, and then rode in the back of my brother’s Jeep in a cardboard box for two days halfway across the country to Pennsylvania where it was re-frozen in my own freezer until today. We’ll see how it looks. Probably not great. But that’s not what matters. It’s going to taste like a slice of heaven.
It blows my mind how birds build nests. Can you imagine having to build your house with your mouth? Unbelievable. The mud—how do they carry and paste that mud with those beaks of theirs? Impossible.
Girls, don’t wear high heels if you can’t walk in them without looking like a newborn baby giraffe with corns on its feet. Staggering around without bending your knees is not equivalent to a confident, sexy, stiletto strut. You look stupid. And drunk.
Speaking of giraffes, what an unusual and exquisite animal. I mean, just look at them. They’re huge. They’re like dinosaurs. The modern-day brachiosaurus. And boy do I love their pattern.
WELL, I’m off to plunge into that wedding cake. I’ll let you know how it goes down.
B: It’s one billion degrees. That pool and I have a hot date. I hope there are no pubes, diapers, or bandaids floating about.
J: Last night was swinger’s sex night in the pool but the filter has been running so it should be fine by now.