This photo epitomizes the love hate relationship that's evolving between me and my new VZ Motorola RAZR. Although, I'm sure relationships with inanimate objects are probably something my shrink would consider regression as opposed to pro-gression, I'm being sucked deeper and deeper into this co-dependent downward spiral. And given the fact that wooing the RAZR required considerable outlay on my part, I doubt I'll be dumping it soon, even if it refuses to put out.
As you can clearly see, the camera just plain sucks. This is a nightshot in front of the Bellagio and, of course, nightshots in general are very often sucky...but...the dayshots aren't much better, all wiggly and looking like someone snapped them after a Dunkin Donuts spree, gulping down all nine delicious turbo-hot coffee flavors. Of course, I have considered the fact that the Camera Suckiness Factor 10 could be due to user error, but if on the slight off-chance that it actually would be due to user error, then the user error would in turn be due to the War and Peace sized tome of a user manual that came with the thing (in my world all user error potentialities come with indemnification clauses). It took three days for me to assimilate the whole "answer the phone" process flow.
And since we've brought up the subject of answering the phone, that's what got me sucked into this dysfunctional relationship in the first place. It's silly to say that answering the phone is not one of my favorite activities when the truth of the matter is it's NOT ONE OF MY FAVORITE ACTIVITIES. This isn't my fault though, you can't condemn me without taking into consideration the fact that I'm duct-taped to my desk chair all day five days of the work week with my headset duct-taped to my head, forced to BE ON THE PHONE.
I thought that if I got myself a new cell phone it would cause an immediate attitude adjustment, a total quick fix, you know. A cool new cell phone. Like the coolest out there right now. I figured at least part of my phone phobia was due to the fact that I'd been carrying around the same Motorola StarTac for the last five years. Yes, five years. Plus, I so wanted the pink metallic RAZR, like...bad. Like when I was in college and like wanted pink stuff like a pink '67 mustang and like pink bedroom furniture and totally like pink hair (which never worked since being brunette, bleaching my hair to dye it pink only results in day-glo orange).
But I didn't get the pink metallic one 'cause VZ Wireless was in-between limited edition pink metallic phone offers, and now I have a serious case of phone envy because my girlfriend just got the last one in stock on the first day of the new promo. I'm busy hating her pretty little pink RAZR. If I can't have it NO one can have it! I just know I'd be on it all day long answering calls from the worthy, the semi-worthy and even the unworthy.
I'm tempted to get some of those cool little sparkly sticky things and make myself a design out of pink sparklies. But every time I go to Best Buy and try to purchase some I get all panicky and shaky and can't actually bend over and slide the little package off of it's metal bar home. Committment issues. Having my RAZR and living with my RAZR is one thing, giving it my heart and soul, imbuing it with my creative essence...I'm not sure I can go that far. I'm not really the glamour ghetto fab type anyway...Gwen Stephanie and Queen Latifia have that look cornered, I'd never meet those sorts of expectations. Besides, I doubt it would go over very well as a corporate fashion statement the next time I'm in a meeting with the grumpy ole VZ execs. They might be the Devil but they certainly don't wear Prada.
etting witty, rave reviews from restaurant critics and discerning foodies alike.
to wrench the plate from your clutched fingers as you beg on your knees for more. The entree's are elegantly yummy. And, best of all, you won't have to take a trip to Carnegie Deli in New York to experience to-die-for cheesy creaminess (or mastermind the management of their famous 2lb. pastrami sandwich). So's own cheesecake is a trip to the Big Apple right at your table. Pinky swear! I've had both tastes of heaven and they are parallel cheesecake universes.
