An Android Army

Modern technology amazes me. Truly it does. I find it mind-blowing that for a diddly $200 you can buy a phone that not only tells you the date and time but delivers you your email, and provides "apps" for every whim a person could possibly dream of - from telling you who sings that song you can't remember to telling you where you are - to, I'm sure: wiping your own ass for you. This is so stupefying, considering a measly 30 years ago, your phone merely hung on the wall and dialed out to a solitary person.

The most flabbergasting quality in technological advancement, in my book, has become what I loving refer to as "Droids". Droids can be spotted everywhere. Droid detection has become a sad little game I play with friends.

My most recent sighting was while out to dinner with my husband [which is no easy feat, considering we have three small children]. Here we are, sitting at our table, holding hands and chatting light-heartedly about life and our days. We were taking time to bask in human interaction when low and behold...a few tables to my left were DROIDS.

By DROIDS in this instance, I mean: two extremely cute young "ladies" dressed as if they just rolled out of bed, complete in their pajamas; who rather than talking, these DROIDS were doing just what I've come to expect of them...they were (and let me say - FOR THE DURATION OF THEIR ENTIRE TIME AT THE RESTAURANT) completely immersed in their phones. Now, for clarity - the type of phone doesn't much matter, although if the DROIDS use a Droid, I find that worthy of a tee-hee instead of a haha. I think they were even texting each other! Sad.

So, for those of you like me...who wonders just *what* technology has done to us, I offer what I believe to be the same DROID conversation. Let's take my example from above and build upon it, shall we?

DROID 1: C that chick there?
DROID 2: Which 1?
DROID 1: THE 1 STARING!
DROID 2: Shut up!
DROID 1: U shut up, IDGI! OMG!
DROID 2: OMG! Stalker?
DROID 1: IDK. Leave now?
DROID 2: IDGAS...Our waiter's H-O-T!
DROID 1: YEAH!
DROID 2: YEAH!
giggling erupts from the table in question
DROID 1: TG, she stopped looking.
DROID 2: Yeah...creepy!

Clearly, I underestimated this high-tech machinery. Makes perfect sense for every stealth conversation I've ever had in my life...and the magnitude of this covert communications was evidently worth and justifiably important enough to have via phone while the recipient of said texts was close enough to whisper to.

OMG, my BFF Jill...nuff said.

The Wonderment of....Walgreens!

Ok, I'll admit it: I think Walgreens now has everything. Or, maybe it is that I have now seen everything...at Walgreens. How did I come to this conclusion you ask? 3 very simple words.

Fuschia
Padded
Bras

Oh, you heard me. Fuschia padded bras! Here, please...let me set the scenario. Last night while out with a friend for coffee, we opted to make a quick stop so that she could pick up a prescription. [Side bar: I could have waited in the car. Instead, I opted to accompany her. I'm a lookie-loo. I confess. If I hadn't of gone, how could I be expected to keep up on the current going rate for 24" chocolate bunnies, atrocious Easter baskets, the what is now surely 15 different kinds of filled chocolate eggs and other sundry that is housed in the middle aisle at a Walgreens?] Continuing...I meandered about the store. I lallygagged after my friend as she made her way to the back. I touched a few items here and there for nostalgic reasons I cannot begin to explain (think: Vicks Vapo-Rub).

And it is similarly here, somewhere between the vaporizers and the panty hose that I found it. A Fuschia padded bra. Complete with gold adornments. This bra shouted, "Classy". This bra called forth from the aisle on high, bellowing, "Femininity and Liberation!". This bra had Pizazz. I stood transfixed, and breath-taken. I quickly ransacked the shelf looking for my size, which; incidentally - is no small task. But hey; who wouldn't love a prettily padded pink unmentionable from Walgreens?!?

To my shock and horror...I discovered these lovely little gems were purely made for trolls. This could be the only explanation. There was one size and one size alone: Insanely, Intimately Insuffecient. Possibly gnomes. Maybe they could adorn themselves in these garments. Surely no human being could!

Maybe that is their brilliant marketing plan though: Walgreens, "Home of the Shockingly Small Skivvies! Appropriately proportioned for gnomes & trolls." Top that Cosmo! Walgreens has now bested you in the ungettable-get. Women from everywhere will stop eating for days, nay - weeks in their Herculean effort to fit into one of these pastel pasties. Thank you, Walgreens for making all of my unrealized wishes come true. I will never again drive miles and miles to assemble the perfect ensemble for that scintillating first date. Humbly, I'll only need to swing by my Walgreens on the way home from work, mosey on down the lane and purchase my perfectly padded pièce de résistance. Kudos.

Who doesn't love reading a newspaper?

Newspapers, I fear, are becoming a thing of the past. I remember, fondly, my father coming home from work to sit in his chair and read the paper every night (I also remember knocking on his paper until it completely crumpled, just to ask him, "Whatcha doin'?"). I remember when every family got the Sunday paper delivered. It is with extremely morose remembrance that I can safely vouch for the WHY of why newspapers are becoming extinct.

Newspapers once were associated with educated affluence. Everyone who was anyone read the paper. It was the way learned people stayed informed. Not so any longer. Newspapers have now become affiliated with imbeciles who drive Honda Civics. Honda Civics?!? Yes...Honda Civics. At least, that is what the boob in front of me was driving.

As.
He.
Read.
The.
Newspaper.

Mind you, he didn't have it opened and strategically folded so as to glance at a particularly amusing article or anecdote while stopped at a red light...Noooooo! He had it open, (I'm guessing to the Want Ads), in a sort of double truck fashion; spread completely across his steering wheel. Oh, and while driving down a highway at the speed of 70+ miles per hour.

I'll admit, at first I had him pegged for a driving texter the way he veered in and out of my lane. The imagination was stretched so far as to conjure elaborate stories about how he was a pepper mill hauler and was having difficulty keeping his sneezes under control. Possibly the rampant careening was due to having a precocious child in the back seat (those little things always make me laugh uncontrollably).

No, simply, he was reading the paper - while driving. The epitome of defensive driving! I cannot begin to conceptualize what could posses a person to read a paper while driving. It is now needless to say that anyone who passed this accomplished coachman witnessed the downfall of newspapers that gloriously sunny afternoon. Even Rupert Murdoch is reaching out from his obituary and rolling in his grave. Wait, he's still alive you say? Hmmmm: I wonder if he drives a Civic.