What Happens When My Phone Battery Dies

Because I am a glutton for punishment, last night I decided to create a Ginger Doodles Facebook page because I thought it might be an easier way for some of my friends to keep up with my posts (feel free to head over there and "like" the page if you want to follow my updates).  Anyway, what sounded like a good idea last night (before I fell asleep in my office chair) turned out to be a bit more labor-intensive than I expected; in fact, after once again waking early--in part due to the obnoxiously loud couple of birds outside my window--I spent the whole.freakin'.day. uploading all of my posts from here to the Ginger Doodle timeline, changing all the dates, and creating a cover photo.  You know, it seems a lot more impressive to blog (sometimes) on a daily basis when you're not having to move each one of those posts individually from one location to another.  Still, I finally finished updating them shortly before the hubs came home, after which I informed him that I was BORED from being cooped up all day and wanted to go see a movie.

I looked up the movie options which, as usual, weren't overly exciting.  I just don't understand why a college town has such limited movie choices.  Sure, I expect a few good adventure/blow 'em up selections, but the local theaters show surprisingly little variety.  It always seems like if a theater has 10 screens, 4 screens will show a movie, 4 screens will show the same movies in 3D and the other 2 screens will show obscure movies no one cares about.  But I digress.

Anyway, I printed out the movie lists and we jumped in my newly-cleaned van (vacuumed to better highlight all the carpet stains) and headed out to get a bite to eat.  I was mildly annoyed on the way over because while singing to the radio my voice was starting to fritz out, something that is never good news--especially right before a concert.  But I'm hoping a good night's sleep will help.  We ended going to Longhorn Steakhouse for dinner because it's close to the theater.  Shortly after being seated, I discovered that my cell phone was completely dead.  I found this odd considering I had just recharged it overnight.  On the one hand, the phone has been holding charges for increasingly less time.  This is not unexpected since it's almost two years old, but it's never drained in a mere 10-11 hours before, particularly not with any apps running (at least that I know about).  So now I have to figure out what's up with that.  So there I sat, across from the hubs, thinking "Oh, crap, now I actually have to talk to him!"  And that reminded me of this cartoon:

If the phone fits...

While he does that to me fairly often (usually he's playing Sudoku), I must admit that I do it sometimes too.  After 25 years there just aren't that many new stories to tell, even when your spouse isn't an Aspie with communication issues.  So I grudgingly set the phone aside and we ordered our food.  Without our usual electronic distractions, things rapidly got silly, starting with the mound of bacon piled on top of my loaded potato soup.  While slurping one spoonful, a bit of bacon went down the wrong way and made me cough.  I was fine, but the entire time I kept thinking of the cartoon I'd seen online earlier:

Six Degrees of Pork Products.

(Seriously--like anyone's gonna give up bacon just because of a minor choking episode.)

While finishing our soup, we started talking about random things.  I made a few lame observations, including the one about driveways vs. parkways.  This is how things shook out from there.

Me:        ...and why do we drive on a parkway but park on a driveway?

Hubs:     Well, that is a connundrum.

Me:        You can't even spell "connundrum."

Hubs:     C...O...well, that's what Google's for.

Me:        That reminds me of another cartoon I saw today:

Hubs:     Yeah, that sounds about right.

Me:         Then why didn't you use Google when you wrote "potatoe" on the grocery list?

Hubs:      That's what it said on those potato cups.

Me:         No it didn't...it said "potatoes."  With an "ES."

Hubs:      Wait--you're saying it doesn't have an "E" on it all the time?

Me:         No, Dan Quayle--only when you make it plural.

Hubs:      Are there other words that do like that?

Me:          Yup.  Like "volcanoes" and "heroes" and "dildoes."

Hubs:       I'm not touching "dildoes."

Me:          That's what she said.

Hubs:      Wait--I thought "dildos" didn't have an "e."

Me:         Well, technically it can be spelled either way. (Except not.)

Hubs:      That's stupid.  That doesn't make any sense.

Me:          That implies that half of the rules of English make sense in the first place.

Hubs:      Well, you have a point.

Me:          I usually do.

Hubs:      And look at this card--what's a "skinny" cocktail?

Me:         What, drinks come in "anorexic" now?

Hubs:     "I'm on a diet, I only want 'skinny' drinks..."

Me:        If you're drinking something that can be skinny, wouldn't that be cannibalism?

Hubs:     ::snorts, during which his hairline raises::

Me:        Dude--do that again.

Hubs:     What?

Me:        You made your hair move up and down.

Hubs:     ::succeeds in repeating the move after a few tries::

Me:        You know, that just makes it look like you're wearing a Beatle wig and making
               it shift back and forth.  You know your hair still looks like Prince Valiant's,
               right?

Hubs:     Why are you scribbling notes on that notepad?

Me:        Because my phone is dead and I can't use the notepad on it.

Hubs:     You're writing down what I say, aren't you?

Me:        What?  Don't you like starring in my blogs??

Hubs:     I don't mind, I was just wondering what you were gonna write down next.

Me:        Hey--I was nice to you!

Hubs:     Yeah, I know I was actually surprised.  I liked it being quiet.

Me:        I wasn't talking about your birthday.

Hubs:     Oh, I thought you meant my 50th.

Me:        Dude, I don't actually write about you that often, and if I did, you'd be
               screwed--and that's if I was being nice.

Hubs:     That's probably true.

Me:        Besides, it's kinda hard to be mean to you for your 50th if no one is around to
               help, and I can't exactly lob 50 of your computers into the yard if I have a
               pulled muscle.  If I could, I'd have taken a picture of it and sent it in to
               Redneck's Weekly.

Me:        Wait, that doesn't sound right.  Can computers even be redneck?

Hubs:     High-Tech Redneck? 

Me:        Possibly.

So would throwing computers out on the hill be "downloading" them?

 

Me:        You still haven't gotten your ketchup yet, have you?

Hubs:     Nope.

Me:        When's the freakin' ketchup coming?  (I did not say this loudly enough to be

               overheard.)

Waiter:   Did you need ketchup over here?  Here's a bottle.

Hubs:     Thanks.  ::opens bottle::

Me:        This is like when I asked last week why that person from Memphis had friended

               you months ago and not me, then less than 12 hours later I got a friend

               request from him.  Isn't it cool how I always seem to do stuff like that?

Hubs:     PBBBBBBTPTTTTT!!!

Me:        Not that.  Stop making the ketchup fart.

Hubs:     What are you writing now?

Me:        Your ketchup fart.  After spending all day transferring files from my blog to 

               Facebook, I didn't have time to think of something to blog about tonight.  

               It's a lame joke, but I need a post.

Hubs:     Well, there's always the extra-terrestrial bras search.

Me:        The extra-terrestrial CHURCH BRAS???????

Hubs:     No, the extra-terrestrial bras.

Me:        Why are you talking about alien church bras???

Hubs:     NO, alien bra search.

Me:        I have no idea what the hell you're talking about.

Hubs:     I was thinking about all your weird search terms and that something random 

               like "extra-terrestrial bras" could be one of them.

Me:        You know if you have to explain a joke it isn't funny, right?

Waiter:   Did you save any room for dessert?

Me:        ::makes a face::

Waiter:   Oh, your eyes lit up when I said "dessert!"

Me:         No, I'm full.

Waiter:   Okay, I'll get your ticket.

Me:        (to Hubs)  Because I always confuse looks of horror and consternation with 

              "Yum!  Dessert!!"  If I ate any more, something would explode from my middle.

               At least then there would be a reason for you to be talking about aliens.

Hubs:     I thought you'd think it was funny.

Me:        Do you even know me??  For example, do you even know what my favorite
               color is?

Hubs:     Blue.

Me:        Are you sure?

Hubs:     Yes.

Me:        Are you sure?

Hubs:     Yeeeeeeees.  You're not saying you've changed it, have you?

Me:        Well, sort of.  I mean, it's been 25 years, Dude.  Is it so hard to believe my
               tastes might change?  I still like blue, but my current favorite favorite shades are 

               probably aqua or teal.  Turquoise.  In the blue family.

Hubs:     When did this change?????

Me:        A while ago.  You weren't paying attention.

Hubs:     But they're all still blue, right?

Me:        You're kidding, right?  What color is that stripe on your shirt?

Hubs:     Blue.

Me:        And what color is my shirt?

Hubs:     Blue.

Me:        Are you saying it's the same blue?

Hubs:     No, yours is darker.

Me:        No it's not, yours is.  

Hubs:     This is why everyone uses the Pantone scale to define colors.

Me:        No, they don't.   But then you probably think there's only one shade of 

               every color.  Because you are a guy, and therefore genetically color-impaired.

Hubs:     No I'm not.  I know your shirt is a different shade of blue than mine.

Me:        So how many colors of blue are there?

Hubs:     Dark blue and light blue.  And maybe medium blue.

Me:        So what color blue is your shirt?

Hubs:     Faded.

Me:        That's wasn't one of the options.  Navy.  Your shirt is navy blue.  Mine is 

               royal blue.  Well, a little darker than royal, really.

Hubs:     I still say yours is darker.

Me:        No it's not.  Hey, waitress!

Waiter:   Yes?

Me:        What color is that stripe on his shirt?  ::points at hubs' shirt::

Waiter:   Well, it's, um, I don't know, this is hard.

Me:        Well, it is faded...

Waiter:    Blue.  It's blue.

Me:        What shade?

Waiter:    Navy blue.

Me:        And what color is my shirt?

Waiter:     Indigo.  With maybe a little bit of purple in it.

Me:        And is my shirt lighter or darker than his?

Waiter:     Lighter.

Me:        Ha!  I WIN!!!

Waiter:    Did you guys have a bet or something?

Me:        Something like that.

Waiter:    Okay, well have a great weekend!

Me:        See--she's objective.

Hubs:     No she's not...humans can't be objective by definition.

Me:        ::headtable::   I meant that she's objective because she was not biased

               about which of us had what color or how much light was reflected off of it.

Hubs:     Colors are just a large collection of names randomly assigned to a few shades.

Me:        Could we be any bigger nerds???

The problem with the girl's side of this chart is that it's making me hungry.

After dinner we waddled back out to the car, feeling as distinctly over-full as if we'd just finished Thanksgiving dinner and were sprawled on couches with our pants undone in the traditional American fashion.  We opted to save the movie for Sunday afternoon when we were less miserably full and might possibly not ralph at the first whiff of popcorn.  We got home, crawled upstairs, and watched episodes of Castle on Netflix instead.  No more random and nerdy conversations ensued, but that's okay because I still won.