Posts Tagged ‘iphone’

Being a super busy, always on the go and devastatingly handsome young professional, *cough*, I tend to overlook the daily nuances and hassles that regular non-busy and non-handsome folks have to think about. Did I feed the cat? Did I put on clean underwear? Did I forget to wash my hair in the shower? When is the last time I changed the furnace filter? Did I leave the dog in the car on a swelteringly hot day for hours and now he’s dead? You know – stuff like that. I chalk it up to my adult-onset ADD and the fact that I lived near Love Canal when I was a baby. True story.

Anywhoosies, there I am, pumping gas into my empty tank (yeah, I tend to forget that automobiles need gas. Luckily, I haven’t run out of gas while driving. Yet.), when I happen to glance at my inspection sticker on the windshield. Two months overdue. Yikes. And with my track record of being pulled over and hassled by The Man, I was lucky to have not yet been given a ticket.

I immediately pulled out the ‘ol iPhone (shameless Apple plug in the hopes that they’ll send me a new MacBook Pro) and began searching through my contacts to find my shop of choice, the Saturn dealership. That’s right. I drive a Saturn Ion. Shut up. I’m a practical man. Leave me alone. It’s a good car. I scheduled the inspection for the following day and – what the hell – let’s throw in an oil change because I’m about 8,000 miles past the recommended service mark.

Feeling like I accomplished a big adult-esque task, I decided I would reward myself by going home and taking a nap. Being responsible is tiring. Fortunately, a fellow gas pumper threw himself in front of my idling Ion before I could speed away. He yelled something about me forgetting to remove the pump from my tank. Oops. Thanks, buddy. Good lookin’ out.

Then next day I woke up extra early to take my babe magnet Ion into the shop. The Saturn dealership shop may be a little more expensive than going to the JoeSchmo auto shops, but they’re quick and have a nice waiting area – complete with pissy coffee and expired pre-packaged muffins. After handing my keys over to Sal (his name is totally Sal), I took my place in the waiting room. I’m sitting in a faux-leather (fancy!) chair across from the TV. Old people, mothers with children and a smelly guy with a big glasses and suspenders abound. Guess I’ll get out my extra-awesome iPhone (wink wink, Apple) and surf the twitterz. Maybe listen to some musiOH CRAP. I forgot my headphones. Well, at least there’s quality morning television programming to watch, right? Wrong.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus, it’s CBN news. You know, the Pat Robertson show with all the white people and subliminal messages of hate and intolerance? Whatever, I’m not discussing the merits of the show or the batshit craziness of those who watch it in this blog post. To each his own. It’s a free country. Worship as you will. Especially you, smelly fat guy in suspenders and extra large glasses. Matter of fact, why don’t you take this seat RIGHT NEXT TO ME when there are about 15 available chairs which are not right next to me. Good lord, sir. You smell like salami and Aqua Velva. Maybe if I bury my nose in my book I can shield some of the stench froOH CRAP. I left my book in my car, which is now hoisted up on one of those car-hoister thingies. A “Lift”. That’s the word I was looking for there. My car was on the lift.

Well, I’m certainly not going to sit next to Mr. Lunchmeat McAftershave, so I casually do one of those go-stretch-my-legs-oh-hey-look-at-this-thing-over-here-wow-pretty-cool-okay-now-I’ll-sit-somewhere-else. From my new vantage point across the room, I see a good portion of the customers intensely watching the God Hates Obama Show. They’re nodding along to some of the most insane stories, for example, there was a story about injecting God into the G-20 summit and how all the world’s problems would be solved if the crazy Muslims and Jews would embrace Christianity. Simple! Um… that type of attitude may actually be the CAUSE of some of the world’s problems, but whatevs. Again – I’m not talking about it here.

Admiral LargeGlasses SuspenderStink is mumbling. No, wait. He’s praying. Yes, he’s praying. I can tell by how he’s raising his hands toward the TV. Aaaand now he’s kneeling. Eyes closed. Arms raised. Palms open. Mumbling something about “world leaders coming into your light”. Gotta go stretch-my-legs-oh-hey-look-at-this-thing-over-here-wow-pretty-cool-okay-now-I’ll-go-stand-outside.

All this happened in less than 45 minutes. Not bad, eh? You know what? That Saturn dealership is on point! An oil change, inspection and tire rotation in 45 minutes. Free muffins, too! Booyah.


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Dear Past Me:

Hey fatty! It’s me, You. You know, from the not-so-distant future? I bring tidings of employment and prosperity, as well as the iPhone 6G[q] with mobile holographic conferencing technology.

Remember when you were unemployed? Ha! What a loser you were with your depressing blogs and homemade haircuts and eating tuna from the can. It wasn’t even the solid white Albacore tuna! It was that gross fishy kind that tastes like cat food! What a tool. A stinky, unshaven tool.

Well guess what, tubbtubb! You eventually get a job! So stop your whining and put down that can of Purina.

Things are really frickin’ cool in the future. First of all, you have this redheaded kid named Stinky Joe. He’s kind of silly and uncoordinated. You should see the faces this little Lardo McGee makes when he tries to throw a baseball. All scrunched up like he’s constipated. Then he gets frustrated and stomps away, pouting. Hey, he’s got your genes, so don’t get your hopes up on him making any sort of athletic team. Sorry, but you’re not getting rich riding this kid’s coattails. Your lovely-as-ever wife has another one on the way, so maybe this one will be a little more, shall we say, profitable.

You live a modest house with a decent-sized back yard for cookouts, lounging and passing out when you get locked out for partying with the fellas too long when you have a pregnant wife at home.

You’re not driving anything fancy. The family vehicle is a hybrid Fiat Caravan with a built in digital video library of The Wiggles that Fatty Jr. blasts on full volume repeatedly during long trips to grandma’s underwater apartment (yeah, some people live in the ocean now). There’s enough room for the whole family, including your jerk dog.

That’s right, pudgy. Dog. As in the same pain in the butt you have now. Yes, he’s still around. Like I said, this is the not-so-distant future. Besides, with advances in veterinary medicine, he’s probably going to outlive us all just to spite us with his seizures and his couch-chewing.

Anyhoo, this letter wasn’t to tell you about all the cool stuff you have in the future, like a voice-controlled shower or a robot that makes sandwiches or a fridge that actually runs quietly and doesn’t sound like a freight train when it kicks on. Rather, I want you to be aware that your life – your, umm… situation – is going to change for the better. As a matter of fact, it’s going to get better for you very soon. I just wanted to let you know to be on the lookout for a great opportunity and to have the smarts to recognize it and the cojones to go for it – whatever it may be. I can’t tell you what it is because that’s kind of a no-no when you write letters to the past. You know, the whole space-time continuum thing. Really, all I need is for you to step on a bug and ruin all the important stuff I got going on right now.

So that’s it, chubbs. Future you is happy, so keep doing what you’re doing. You’re on the right path. Keep applying for jobs. Stay focused. Stay positive. Stay determined. Go for a run. You’re due for a heart attack in a few months. That’s one future event you can alter, space-time continuum be damned.

Your friend,


P.S. One day, an old lady with a bristly mustache will ask if you can help her carry some groceries from her car into her house. Say no. Dear God, just say no. So bristly, that mustache.

This is Day 82, folks. Heeding the words of future me. Looking for opportunities. Going to pounce on any promising chance that crosses my path. Really looking forward to owning a robot that’ll make me a sandwich.

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I took the advice from Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg and have been chilling ’til the next episode, and I think the next chapter of my unemployment is about to begin. The next episode is here, dear readers, and it’s freakin’ scary.

Truth: After our wedding, we compiled a small amount of savings to which we contributed if we ever had an extra few bones lying around after our fancy dinners at Mexican restaurants and our exotic and extravagant weekend jaunts to Buffalo. It wasn’t much, but it was a start to what I hoped would one day become a down-payment on a home or at least a super big TV. Whatever that money was destined to become, I’ll never know. Instead, it became rent, car payments, insurance payments, credit card payments and groceries. It’s almost gone. In about a week, it will ALL be gone. Nothing. Not a dime.

Truth: Some bills will not be paid this month. Sorry, but I can’t. I don’t have it. I would gladly offer you another form of payment, but last time I checked, you don’t accept a pillowcase full of dog hair. I have to decide which bills to pay and which ones to forego. I suppose I’ll skip the ones that will have the least negative impact on my credit. Like the electric bill. Heh… don’t turn me off just yet, Dominion Virginia Power. I need the internet so I can write blogs and apply to jobs. And speaking of the internet, I’m sorry to say, but that’s next on my cancellation list – which is hard for me to swallow because I use it for some freelance writing gigs (that obviously aren’t paying enough for me to keep the service).

Truth: My wife and I each have an iPhone, which was a stellar and affordable choice this time last year. However, I’m embarrassed to pull it out of my pocket now. I feel like one of those people who are buying their groceries with food stamps and claim to not have enough money to feed their babies, yet they have professionally manicured nails, designer clothes and drive an Escalade with big shiny rims. How the hell can I afford the service plan for our phones, but still risk having the power turned off? Well, I can’t afford it. But we’re under contract. I’m not sure if I can swap out our phones for a basic phone with a minimal plan, but I need to look into it. But, by golly, I’m going to miss this phone if I ever have to give it up. They’re gonna have to pry it out of my hands with a shoehorn and try to stifle my public screaming sobs.

Truth: I have an interview tomorrow morning. Yup, it’s true. I awoke to an email inbox that had a couple responses to some of the résumés I sent out recently. One of those responding companies offered me an interview. We set it up for tomorrow at 11am. So wish me luck. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t skeptical, though. In truth, most people who have been responding to my emails have represented some sort of scam or door-to-door sales job. Maybe it’s just me being cynical, but I approach all of these potential job opportunities with a high degree of caution. But at the same time, I need a damn job with a paycheck. So I’m gonna get all suity-suited up and put on big smile and find out what deal is with this company. Maybe it’ll be great. I hope it is. I’m telling myself it will be. It will be. Right? Cross your fingers for me.

This is Day 70, folks. I know I seem upbeat and hopeful and cheery and fun and silly and optimistic. For the most part, I am. That’s me. That’s my natural personality. But come visit me at 3AM when I’m laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering when our lives will get back on track.

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Unemployed, Day 63

I would totally move to Atlanta, just so you know. I mean, I know nothing about Atlanta. I don’t like the Falcons or the Braves. I’m really scared of anything more “southern” than Virginia. But I would still move there.

There are a lot of job opportunities in this sprawling urban mecca of business and media. I’m talkin’ real jobs that are modern and seem profitable. Social Media Coordinator? Duh. I could totally do that. What I’m doing right now? This blog? It’s called coordinating my social media-ness. Communications Journalist? Again – what do you think I do all day long? I communicate and I jounalisticate. Lead Online Marketing Manager? Puh-leeze. With. My. Eyes. Closed.

Digital Media Director? Web Content Editor? Viral Marketing Manager? Yes, yes and yes. All these and more, in the fine city of Atlanta.

So why aren’t these companies calling me back? Is there a certain keyword I’m missing on my résumé? Are they put off by the Virginia address? I guess I just don’t know what else I can do to make my résumé stand out, other than include a cover sheet of a shirtless Carrot Top lifting weights.

The main point I’m trying to make here is that I will move to Atlanta for the right job. I have no qualms about packing up my life and moving across the country. Not just Atlanta, either. I’m talking to you, Chicago, Los Angeles, San Diego, Portland, New York, Tampa, Phoenix and Denver. I’m talking to all of you. Offer me a great job, and you’ll receive a great employee. My wife, on the other hand, may take some time to get used to the new surroundings. But she’ll be fine. Don’t worry about her.

In the meantime, I’m off to the mall job to sling cargo shorts and polos down the throat of well-to-do shoppers who have real jobs and can afford them. True story: the other day I had a male customer say to me, “Aren’t you a little old to be working here?” I replied by explaining to him how I need extra money and am doing whatever I can to get by until I find a job. Mid-sentence, he cuts me off and shoves a pair of chinos at my chest and says, “Whatever. I need to try these on.”

This is Day 63, folks. Also just updated my iPhone to 3.0. Should come in handy for the next few weeks before it gets disconnected because I can’t afford to pay the bill. Already digging the Voice Memos app – great for logging twitter ideas while driving. Copy and paste will be useful, too.

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