Alright. So I fixed my phone but apparently it was the duct tape variety of fix because it petered out on me again. Rebooted itself 3 times when I was trying to call someone last week, resulting what must have appeared on caller ID to be a psycho move.

I conceded. It was time to get help.

I zipped over to my non-neighborhood T-Moblie store with time I really didn’t have to spare and copped a ‘tude with the boy behind the counter trying to eat his pizza dinner…as only I can. If you’ve witnessed me getting to this point, you know exactly what I’m talking about and you feel really sorry for the guy and embarrassed for me. You also know that by the end of it I was fine and I had him smiling.

So my new/old phone arrived yesterday and when I swapped my SIM card I realized I was screwed, yet again. The worst part: it wasn’t even good for me. WHY can’t they program those stupid things to hold on to my address book? I imagine this will involve another visit to my new boyfriend…we’ll call him Mr. T (for T-Mobile, get it?).

Duck and cover, my friend.

In other news, my tusks are clean, my hair is cut, I have my final vaccination (for when I run away to South America), and, most importantly: I’m too sexy for my socks with Birkenstocks. Yeah c’mon.

feet ala Techwood “non-office”

Loosly related open letter to Santa - this is what I’d like for Christmas this year. I’ve been both naughty and nice, that’s got to be worth something.