I am a Giant Pile of Retarded or How I Broke my Phone

I dunked my phone in a glass of water today, much as I would imagine one would dunk a cookie in milk, though I have no actual experience with the latter. Now, you would think I would grow used to these kind of idiotic occurrences by now, having experienced many, but lo' and behold they still catch me off guard.

This one started Thursday night when I ran out of Coke and went to the store to buy some. There I saw a sale consisting of two monster-sized energy drinks for $3, and figured "what the hell." I drank the Sobe that night, and sat up playing Mario Sunshine since my 10 a.m. on Friday was cancelled. That left me with an amped(R) just sitting in my fridge, until Friday night when I decided to drink it for no real purpose. Jimmy, mooch that he is, asked for some, and on my way to get him a glass I spotted his Jager shot glasses and decided to pour us each one amped(R) of those instead. My shot glass ended up in my room, and while ADDing that weekend I found that it fit my phone perfectly, serving as an excellent, though admittedly unnecessary, stand.

Yesterday, as already chronicled, I burned my finger via electric shock. Being the giant Nancy that I am, I ended up dunking my finger in a glass of ice-water to cool my burned flesh. Well, the ice eventually melted, yielding one glass of plain water on my desk, next to my Jager shot glass. If you don't see where this one is going yet, you might want to seek help.

So, James went to the library to study tonight, and since my printer blows, I asked him to print stuff for me while there. I picked up my phone to text him about how I was sending it, then thought better of it as texts aren't in my plan. Since I was currently occupied at the time with something or other I can't recall all of an hour later, I just reached to my left to return the phone to its mount. It was about 2/3 underwater before it dawned on me that bad things were afoot.

Over the past hour I've watched the screen flicker then black out, the beeper go off at random, and ultimately, watched it perish. My only hope is that I can get the screen working enough to transfer my newer numbers to my old phone which, ironically enough, I just found a few weeks ago after thinking it lost, and had just used to update my new phone with numbers I hadn't gotten again since losing it.

I'm afraid my phone will no longer serenade me with the theme from Zelda, or that song from the Mos Eisley bar in the first (well, fourth) Star Wars movie. You served me well for your few short months phone, fair thee well.

Hello, My Name is Bobby Ingram, and I am a Jackass

Generally speaking, I don't ask for much in life. I would actually be pretty content with my life if I could just go about it without looking like an asshole on a regular basis, because I'm one of those people that cares way too much about what everyone thinks of him. You know the guy I'm talking about. The pathetic little guy who, with the right of way in his favor, will wave three cars in a row on, just so people who will likely not even throw a courtesy hand will think he's a swell dude. That guy's me. So yeah, just not looking like an idiot daily would make me extremely happy. Unfortunately for me, I'm Bobby, so that's just not the case.

Today's adventure in Bobbydom came as a result of my broken laptop. While the screen on it had been mysteriously red-tinted for a month or two, it still caught me totally off guard when the screen went dead on me. For a smart guy, I'm not that bright. After finding some help on the ol' interweb, I set about to fixing it today, only to promptly find my progress halted by those little screws with the ungodly small indentations for the screwdriver. Without the aid of a mini-screwdriver I was fucked, and so I took a trek down the road to Shop Rite to pick me up an eye-glasses repair kit. Cost: $1.92 post tax. Now, it bears mentioning that I spent last weekend in Atlantic City for Jim and Dan's fights, and when they pay you in AC, they don't exactly do it in whatever's convenient for you. They pay you in as few bills as possible. That's how I found myself standing in the checkout line with two bills in my wallet, a $1 and a $50.

As I watched the woman in front of me in the express line start pestering the cashier about something or other, I weighed my options. What made me less of an asshole. On the one hand, I can be that douche who charges a minuscule little item. Personally, I hate that guy for holding up the whole line with his purchase of one bag of Cheetos, and I'd imagine a lot of other people do too. Option B was to pay for my $1.92 repair kit with a $50 bill. Now I'm that dickhead with money who likes to throw it around and show how rich he is. Given that, paired with the $100 sitting in my drawers to give to Joe for our next utilities bill, that $51 was all the money to my name, it wouldn't exactly be an accurate perception, though one I could see people coming to none-the-less. In the end, I went the charge card route, if only to improve my personal low-charge record from its prior mark in the mid $2s.

So, I returned home, trusty repair kit in hand, and went to work on my computer. The whole process went pretty smoothly for awhile. I got the cover of the laptop off, got the broken part out, even fiddled with it for a bit to see if it hadn't just come loose. As it turns out, fiddling with parts of a computer while it is A) turned on, and B) plugged in, is not a good call. I actually managed to catch the laptop before it hit the ground, granted this is after I let out a girly shriek and spaz tossed it, but I call that a push. Now though, I do have a nice, self-cauterized, painful-as-all-fuck electric burn on my left index finger where the laptop used it as a circuit wire as a reminder to not be so much of a fucking idiot.

On an unrelated note, as I sit here watching Let's Go to Prison, it is beginning to dawn on me that the whole Unrated edition decision, while usually technically sound when it comes to comedic DVDs, may not have been the best call given that it is a movie about guys in an all-guy prison. I frankly don't see where they can be going with this beyond the horror that is Dudity.

If you're still reading this, you're probably wondering what the hell it has to do with you, and why you should care. Honestly? Nothing, and you shouldn't. I'm just trying to stay on the whole "writing every day" thing, and after writing a full chapter yesterday didn't feel like working on my totally kick-ass novel, thus, blog time. Oh well, you've already read it and there's nothing you can do about it. Unless you're actually Nicholas Cage in that movie he's coming out with, in which case there are probably better places to apply your power than my crummy blogger page.