I have now officially been the proud owner of an iPhone 4s, for the last 7 days…

and I haven’t broken/lost/annoyed it once!

*trumpet blast*

This is my very first experience owning a non-dumb phone.  I have watched, for years, all my smart phone carrying friends, through eyes hazed over by greed.

Do you have ANY idea how embarrassing it can be when you have to ask someone to “tag” you on Facebook, because your POS phone doesn’t have those kind of capabilities…and it’s 75 times worse when you don’t even KNOW the person you are asking…

and then it gets all awkward and shit… while you’re trying to yell-spell your last name, over the jukebox, at the bar….drunk

… and you’re yell-spelling the wrong damned name

and the person your yelling at KNOWS it’s the wrong damned name…. because, well… it’s your Mom

and she keeps trying to tell you that she’s your Mom, but your hearing it through intoxicated ears so you keep thinking that she’s stating her name is “Yermom”

and although, inside your head, you’re like…. “Damn, that is a funky ass name” You try to play nice because you really want this chick to tag you, on Facebook.

So, in the spirit of being nice… you buy her a shot, which she refuses…while reminding you that she is your designated driver and is here to pick you up…  you tell Yermom to stop being a pussy and take the damned shot….. because, I mean really?  This lady is gonna diss you after you just bought her a shot?  Who does that!?!  All you want is to be tagged on Facebook.

After hyperventilating in the bar’s bathroom, for fifteen minutes… you’ll emerge, slightly more composed (minus that toilet seat cover tucked into the back of your jeans)

The truth has hit you like a….ummmm, like something hard…. and fast

You must reason with the smart-phone carrying stranger, Yermom.

Inside your head, the exchange goes like this…

*You glide up to Yermom and ask to have a moment, with her.  She happily agrees and the two of you saunter outside, away from the rumblings of the bar.  You apologize for any profanities that you may have slung her way and quickly explain your non-smart phone/no bar tagging dilemma.  You even produce your non-smart phone from your back pocket and you both have a good hearty chuckle over its silliness.  You allow Yermom a few slides of the keyboard, for nostalgia’s sake.  Yermom admits her own love of the opportunity to “tag”  on Facebook and allows you to scrawl your last name onto her palm, with a used match stick.  She finds you, on Facebook, effortlessly and moments later… you’re tagged.  Life is good.*

that was lovely, wasn’t it?

Now, how often is life actually “lovely”

here’s the real deal….

*The decision is made, while in the bar’s bathroom… drying your face with the hand-dryer, that a civil one-on-one conversation with Yermom needs to happen.  You’ll collect the bottle of beer off the tank of the toilet  and head for the door.  After 2 minutes of fumbling with the lock, you’ll realize that your right foot is what’s actually holding the door shut.  You successfully exit the bathroom and make that familiar walk back into the bar. Yermom is in your sites…and you head towards her.  10 feet away, you manage to clip your hipbone roughly on a table that was apparently in your blind spot. The pain of impact makes the bottle of beer slip from your grasp… shattering on the ground.  As a bar back cleans your mess, they gaze at the remainder of the broken bottle… asking if you’d like another *insert funky beer name here*  EW!  GROSS! Totally not your brand! At all!  and you say yes… You can feel Yermom staring at you… and you are brought back into the moment.  Must be tagged…  You finally manage to approach her and ask to have a little chat outside.  She turns to your husband (who you just noticed was standing with her) and asks him what the hell you just said. Confusion clouds your brain.  Why is this heifer talking to your husband like she knows him?  You try to remind yourself of the task at hand… to be tagged before everyone who is stuck at home goes to bed.  You take a hold of Yermom’s forearm and attempt to lead her outside.  This doesn’t work.  Partially because she doesn’t comply and partially because she’s not invisible and is unable to walk through the table you just pulled her into.  Realizing that you are not going to be able to lure Yermom outside for the heart to heart like you had intended, you decide to go straight for the kill.  You extract your non-smart phone from you back pocket, attempting to slide the keyboard, while in motion. The keyboard slides out at the exact moment that your non-smart phone flies from your fingertips.  Your non-smart phone smashes into Yermom’s face at the exact moment you realize how much Yermom resembles your Mom.  You hear your husband shriek that you just pelted Yermom in face (again… HOW the hell does he know her???) at the exact same moment that your favorite song comes on the jukebox… and as havoc rages around you, you’re attempting your very best Beyonce booty pop move ever.  You will conclude the night by throwing up in the Jack in the Box Drive-Thru… where you will be tagged (with picture) by some chick you went to elementary school with.

Congrats, el drunko… you got your way

***this entry is specially dedicated to my friend, The Librarian.  She gave me hell… ABSOLUTE hell, regarding my possession of a  non-smart phone.  She would physically taunt me… making keyboard sliding thumb motions whenever she referred to my name and even had T-shirts printed that displayed a picture of me attempting to access the internet, on my non-smart phone.  This one’s for you dear… and YOUR iPhone 4.  I hate to tell you this, but I think you forgot your “s”

iPhone 4s 4 EVA!!!!  (or until the next model comes out)