Tag Archives: relationships

iPhone? More like iCry. iHateYou, iPhone. iReallyDo.

I’ll be heading left if you need me. Just follow the trail of bitter tears. (Photo credit: ukhorseracinganalyser.com)

Today, a recent poll from coworkers within my department who also have iPhones revealed that I am the only one stupid enough to regularly (attempt to) update my phone’s iOS software. Always a catastrophe and never an over-exaggeration, the process of updating this software equates to a lifetime in an endless abyss of faulty Internet connections and blank-staring Apple support personnel.

I approach these updates grimly, especially after the first time updating the phone took more than two hours. Nowadays I take care to fit updates into my schedule only upon making peace with the fact it will mind-numbingly erase a few hours out of my life to do so. Today, I’m going for the world record of one whole day! That’s right, bloggers – I haven’t had my phone for almost an entire day. And I’m still functioning. Muahahaha!

Don’t look so scared; maniacal titters are how I always laugh…

It’s honestly unnecessary to back away slowly like that. I’m fine. I’m fiiiiine!

I know I’ve  become overly reliant on technology when I forget how to use old methods of communication. Scarcely will I call anyone, even Clayton (Why should I when I get to hear “Just Another Night” by the Real McCoy if I hold out until he calls me?) when texting is available, and you mean to tell me there’s an actual website for Pinterest and not just an app? Ah, but I have to be near a computer. And here I was thinking all dinosaurs were extinct.

What do dinosaurs and Apple have in common? They’re both dead to me. (Photo credit: geologicresources.com)

Some (all) say I’m on my phone too much, as was the case when we went to South Dakota last weekend. On the drive there, Clayton looked at me cautiously as if approaching a newborn baby before gently (with terror flooding his facial features) saying, “Now, when we’re on this vacation, I don’t want to see you on the phone the whole time…”

Cue my response (“Of course, no problem!”) as horror drained all blood from my face. Quickly looking away, I had to refrain from tucking and rolling out of the car right then and there.

Back to present day. My updating woes began again yesterday when I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. When more than one app has a red dot (or is it a star, oh, GOD, I’m already forgetting!!!) next to it, I slowly drive myself crazy not being able to update, especially if an iTunes connection is needed and I’m nowhere around a dinosaur. Now I know what you’re thinking: Drive yourself crazy? Girl, you hit crazy five paragraphs ago.

Well, then.

Maybe.

If so, that craziness is justified as my latest update went horribly wrong and my phone was unable to connect to the computer long enough to finish before going into an emergency shut-down. I lost everything. EVERYTHING. Cue my fairly reasonable, dignified response: falling to my knees, hands reaching dramatically upward, cursing the sky.

Still I kept my cool (really, I did) and decided to restart the computer and phone, plug them back in and see what the next day brought. I woke up to no alarm because of course it’s on the phone, which no longer provided me anything more than a conveniently flat skipping stone just begging to be thrown into the nearest lake. As we got ready for work, I made certain to passive-aggressively tell Clayton (within earshot of my phone, still pathetically attached to the computer):

“You know what? No, I don’t even want it anymore. That’ll show it. Ya hear me? (slyly glancing in the direction of the phone) Don’t connect with the computer for all I care; you’re nothing to me! Nothing!”

“Is it working?” I whispered to Clay out of the corner of my mouth, pretending to slip on heels without a care in the world, humming cheerfully, even.

“Nope!” he replied back, joy in his eyes but also…was that fear?

I flounced from the room. “Good. Excellent. Why use a phone when I have a computer at work?” I said. “I DON’T NEED YOU!” I shouted in the direction of the phone while viciously attacking my hair with a brush in the bathroom.

Clayton began to look worried.

Taking stock of the situation, I  realized that the relationship I had with my phone constantly fluctuated between a horrible domestic relationship and a parent/child relationship.

“Try getting three bars of reception from the bottom of this lake, jerk! We’re so over!” (Photo credit: catalogs.com)

Here’s why:

Horrible domestic relationship

  1. I’m in constant denial. I often find myself thinking I can change it, or that updating is going to be different this time. This frame of thought quickly turns to self-doubt. (Is it something I did? Did I not plug it in tightly enough? I can change; I swear!)
  2. I’m pretty sure Clayton thinks it’s the “other guy” in our relationship, which is fair enough because sometime I sneak off with it so he doesn’t see I’m using it so much.
  3. Trying to work on the relationship (update the phone) ends with a bad connection every time.
  4.  Over-emotional yelling and crying mixed with obscenities and empty threats have become standard.
  5. So has immediately forgiving and forgetting once things go back to normal.

    There, there – we’ll get you all patched up. (Photo credit: ecohomeresource.com)

Parent/child relationship

  1. When my phone refuses to “talk” to my computer, I have to remind it to play nice.
  2.  I stay with it when it’s down for the count and unable to update, holding it steadily to the port like a mother would hold her child’s hand when he or she is sick.
  3. I say encouraging things to it even though I know it’ll never be good at soccer.
  4. As it gets older and stops obeying my commands, I constantly find myself crying “What do you want from me?!”
  5. Like a mother sends her kid to school for the first time, I decide the phone will be ok updating itself too early, only to find it won’t ever do so unless I’m in the room. Finally, I find myself making the “stay” motion with both of my hands, cautiously and carefully, desperately trying not to disturb it before saying “I’m just going into the bathroom to do my hair and make-up. If you need me, I’ll be here in a second!”
  6. After it’s been bad and won’t update, I tell it defiantly that “No, we are not stopping at Apple now, and no dessert for you!”
  7. If Clay tries to approach the phone when an update is in process, I hush him before whispering, “It’s very shy – shhh, you might scare it!” When Clayton says he can fix it, I then tell him that it will update when it’s ready.
  8. With my computer ready to crash any day, I’m convinced my phone is hanging out with the wrong crowd.

I’m glad this is a three-day weekend, because I’m sure I’ll be spending at least another day daring, betting, praying and begging that iTunes progress bar to make it all the way to “Finish.”

Until then, I better wrangle myself up a fashionable straight jacket.

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Wave your scissors in the air like you just don’t hair

Hey, speaking of bad hair stylists, check out what happened to me Tuesday. You know how when your regular stylist goes on maternity leave, it can seem more like eternity leave? There’s an inescapable process of thought that occurs throughout her absence that breaks down the most resilient of us.

You start off thinking, Hey, I’ll just wait for her to get back. No problem.

Then, after a month or so, slight worry sets in. Events you need to look presentable for pop up just like that cowlick that appeared two days ago. You’ve never had a cowlick before. Suddenly, hair you assumed would grow evenly stops growing altogether or grows like a weed. SIMULTANEOUSLY. “Enough hair product will calm this down,” you whisper to yourself, nodding in assurance. This is still doable.

Wedding invites pile up. Your bangs stubbornly decide they don’t want to be a part of your face anymore and revolt by sticking straight up, like they’re about to be mugged (They know before you even do). Lunch dates and vacations are planned. Panic increases as free time decreases. Oh, I’m fine going to anyone – it’s just a trim, after all. You make the call and agree to a woman named Paula. She has lots of vowels in her name. She sounds nice, competent, and like she knows her way around Words with Friends, of which you have recently taken up.

P-R-O-N-E – Used in a sentence: Even as a child, Paula was prone to receiving a check minus on her report card for art class due to her inability to cut a straight line on construction paper. (Photo credit: androidfreeware.net)

Now, switch out “you” for “I” and give thanks that you are indeed not me. Although I tend to wear my naivety blatantly on my sleeve alongside my heart, a bad haircut is still much more noticeable. My former positive outlook on the situation, however, was positively nowhere to be found.

Process, process, process.  

After the deed was done, I found myself looking into a mirror only to discover a wild-eyed, paranoid freak unable to stare back because she was too preoccupied studying her head at every possible angle for the slightest of discrepancies.  

Sure enough, an uneven, ragged trim job stared back at me, daring me to make a move. It was on. First, a frown. Deeper. Deeper.  Then, a slow tilt of my head slightly to the right. And, there! The back of my hair came to a perfect alignment, falling uniformly across my shoulder blades. I could angle my head like this for the next three months and no one would ever know! I thought. That’s when I realized I am officially a cheap ass. Well, I’ve never said I was good at solving immediate problems.

A word of advice – when your stylist says you would be fine going to anyone at the salon? Do not believe her. She is a lying conniver. And sure – it’s not her real nature but more likely the pregnancy hormones doing the talking. Even so, although it is not technically her fault, I am warning you now that you will be pettily determined to think her baby isn’t as cute as everyone else says it is when you finally see pictures at your next appointment. This a side effect of your bad haircut that will recede in time.

On the bright side, she’ll never have to buy a helmet. (Credit: tvrage.com)

My fate that Tuesday should never be duplicated. One horrible haircut in this batty world is enough, but two is just unforgivable. Charlyne Yi’s character on House – I’m talking to you. But honestly – isn’t cutting hair evenly the first thing they teach you in beauty school? I work in the electric industry as a communication specialist, and that would be like me misspelling “public power.” (Ironically, we have had a number of people forget to put that little “l” in “public” from time to time. Yes, as a matter of fact it is always hilarious.)

There’s something oddly familiar about this picture… (Photo credit: lol.world-wide.com)

As irony would have it, I couldn’t bear the idea of going back to my fill-in stylist to correct her problem (I am very much an avoider – why do you think I have this blog?), so I made an appointment with someone I had never met at a different salon across town. (I also don’t learn from my mistakes) This next stylist more or less fixed my hair, and by that I mean she informed me the middle was still shorter than the rest and that she didn’t want to mess with it.

Fantastic. Now I’ll have to walk with my head tilted ever-so-slightly up. Making eye contact with people. Heaven forbid…

I let it go, mostly because I was running out of money.

You see, the relationship between ourselves and our stylists is very fragile at first. Trust must be built and mutual respect striven for. In many ways, this relationship is not so unlike the bond we create with our significant others. Here are a few reason why:

  • You consult them for big life decisions.
    Bangs are one of life’s biggest mistakes decisions. Trust me.
  • You use the term “we” like you’re the next Brangelina.
    I found myself telling the fill-in stylist that “we were growing out my bangs” last time we met. Like my regular stylist physically stands next to me, cheering them on. Like she wishes really hard and they magically grow. Like she was the one taking the prenatal supplements that strengthen your hair and nails, thus making them grow faster. Actually…
  • You seek their approval.
    When the fill-in asked me what I wanted to do with my hair, I desperately wanted to check in with my normal stylist. “I want a trim, but can I just call her and ask if it’s all right first?” The fill-in then recommended cutting my hair dry. Well, I don’t know if my stylist would approve of that…I thought uncertainly. I am going to get in so much trouble when she comes back. 
  • You feel lost when they’re gone.
    The pangs within my heart are very real. And very sad. Mostly in a pathetic way.
  • After you’ve been seeing them awhile, they want to spice things up.
    A part on the right side of my head? No. No, that won’t do at all. Have you lost it?! Let’s keep it on the left side. We’re comfortable with that. We know what we’re doing with that. Besides, my hair looks good from that angle. 
  • You can tell them everything.
    They lend you an ear because there’s a good guarantee they’ll tear yours off when they snag your earrings combing through it. This really doesn’t have as much to do with your significant other as much as it is a cold, hard fact.
  • After a long day at work, they soothe you with a head massage.
    Sure, you have to pay for it, but that’s to be expected in any relationship. In the courtship of your significant other, it’s called “sex.”
  • You trust them.
    Know how I know my hair stylist is the one for me? I can tell her, “Do whatever you want” and I’ve never been led astray, left crying, or hating men – even once.
  • They want what’s best for you.
    That’s why they push the $25 product at the end of your appointment. Right? …Right!?

    The real question is, who DOESN’T look good in this much beige? (Photo credit: supershopsite.com)

  • They won’t let you leave the house like that. A good hair stylist will gently sit you down and explain why they won’t let you get “chunky” layers. Because it would be as deplorable as your boyfriend leaving the house in pleated khakis.

To close out, how about some hair puns directed passive-aggressively toward my fill-in(s)?

  • How hair she!
  • She must not hair about me…
  • It’s not hair (the hair is in July)!
  • She must be hard of hairing
  • Man, was she missing an hair of confidence
  • My style is now worse for the hair