I’m pathetically dependent on my cell phone.  It’s so bad I take it on walks with me. Which is a damn good thing. Look, I captured this picture of a dead snake that I was able to send to Matthew for no purpose whatsoever. I didn’t even need him to identify it. I mean it’s a snake. That is black. Ergo, it’s a black snake. Case closed. (Slightly interesting aside: A very intelligent fellow decided it was a copperhead. I decided that fellow was totally high and moved briskly right along past him while applauding his highness during prime daylight hours. Well done, sir, well done! You know dude was moving quickly to snack attack mode, and I did NOT want to be there for a possible snake consumption.)

Dead, black snake.

Dead, black snake.

If I hadn’t had the phone with me on the walk? Well, I don’t think I need to spell it out for you how tragic it would be if Matthew was unable to receive that pedestrian picture of a dead snake.

The other day I drove without my phone due to an incident with a large takeout cup filled with water too big to fit into my car cupholder + my insistence that I needed to exit the premises of an establishment immediately + the unfortunate location of my phone in a nice container device in my console.



I riced my phone (because I’m not a former scout member who has bags of silica laying around the house for just this type of emergency) and was forced to old school it until the damn thing dried out. You’d think I reinvented the pioneer days and roughing it with the way I acted all tough and YIPPEE-KI-AYing it  all over my 3-mile radius while blasting my Puddle of Mudd/Seether/Alice in Chains playlist with my wrist at the top of the steering wheel and my right arm all reclined and shit on the armrest because I was driving around without the safety net of my cell phone. So, if I had a flat tire? I was totally going to have to flag down someone. Or walk all the way to a business establishment. All the way. Across the street. Since I was never farther away than that in my travels on that trip. Total badass, y’all. I wish I looked exactly like this.


Danica Patrick? Yeah, I have never and will never pull that off. Never.

However, I looked like this.


Betty White is STILL more bad ass than me. Even in a golf cart.

Betty White is STILL more bad ass than me. Even in a golf cart.

I will NEVER be cool. Damn, that stings.

NOTE: Betty White actually is cool. So, how’s that for bitter irony?

Feed my skull resident...

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

For security, use of Google's reCAPTCHA service is required which is subject to the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.

I agree to these terms.

%d bloggers like this: