So, I would never claim to be a technology wizard. Not. Even. Close. But I try. You have to in my house. I’m married to a total Macman. Ok… he is so Mac he craps apples you know what I’m saying? He is so Mac, his name is iMark. Our kids names are Nano and MacMini.
I got carried away there, but seriously, it is hard to keep up with him.
In my non- PC way (and I mean Politically Correct, not the other PC, as if) I decided to refer to my lack of skillz as different forms of technical retardation.
Inability to navigate through my own blog….”blogtarded.”
Sending emails prematurely or to the wrong people…..”a total e-tard.”
Unable to get my avatar on friend’s blogs….”avatarded.”
Having my avatar suddenly errupt all over the place after a massive struggle…. “severely avatarded.”
Failed attempts to login, post, or ANYTHING on twitter…. “twittertarded.”
Unable to adapt from phone texting to blackberry texting to iPhone texting….Textarded.
And then there is the all encompassing “Techtard.”
But today I discovered that I had yet another…..technical deficiency. I’m at work, and out of nowhere I find myself feeling really ridiculous and giggly. Like a little buzz. Let’s just say I was on my lunch break, yeah, that’s it, and I decide to text my friend Jenny on my iPhone. She and I went dancing last Saturday with some friends, and during the course of the evening she and I each had a shot. I will not name the shot so as not to wind up in a search for one of “those” sites. (Buttershots and Irish Cream)
I’m joking with Jenny in my text that the shot was just now kicking in while I’m at work…hee hee. Hit send. The response is “hee hee, who is this?” Me, “WTF! Its’ me your VP (remind me to tell you about this VP thing)! “Response… still hee hee, no really WHO is this?” I think Jenny is just messing with me and I continue to text fake drunk talk to my friend who continues to….not….know…who…. I…AM!
I momentarily doubt myself…maybe this is not Jenny. My iPhone says Jenny. It MUST be Jenny. She’s just messing with me. Maybe she’s drunk…Monday…’round lunchtime.
Later after work I discover that my iPhone had somehow imported an ancient cell number of hers that was now in the possession of someone else who had become very curious about who I was. Too curious. I deleted the old contact and hoped they would soon forget about my nondrunkentexting.
What does this make me? You could say textarded, but it is bigger than that as it involves a failed address book import. It speaks more to my ineptness with the actual iPhone. Ahhhhh so I guess I am
(photo from photobucket.com, isn’t it just perfect?)