I realized the other day that my iphone is rather wasted on me, as I rarely use it for anything more than texting and occasionally answering my phone. I’d rather use my head than a button to figure something out, and often find myself stubbornly refusing to google something just because I want to find an answer using methods other than a click.
I know, so utterly démodé, but I can hardly help myself. Pulling out my phone to google something sort of feels to me like using one of those paint-by-number things, I feel I have cheated myself out of thinking somehow, and it doesn’t sit well with me. I want a reason to open an old book or ask a question, or sometimes simply think. Meanwhile, I’m driving my friends crazy.
Just look it up Jen. JUST LOOK IT UP.
I know, I know. While the world is getting faster and more and more innovative by the second, I’m working harder to further simplify and quiet my life. On purpose. What is wrong with me?
Speaking of whats wrong with me, I did something rather ill-advised last week, but undeniably amusing.
It was the end of a long day and I had just arrived home after stopping briefly at the store for a few food items. Having stepped inside, I toss my things on the kitchen table (ah, there’s the ill-advised part), kiss each of my creatures hello and head straight to the hot shower I have been thinking about all the way home.
All is well until I hear a small…ok, large crash against the bathroom door.
Undoubtedly the Goob, I think to myself, and it sounds like he has something in his mouth. There is some sort of crinkling sound and maybe a box being tossed against something….
At this point I figure I should find out whats going on out there, but am decidedly not motivated enough to sacrifice my shower for it. I call Lo to the door, the one creature I know is smart enough to open it for me on her own. She does her job nicely and I peer out as best I can from behind the shower curtain.
At first there is no sign of him. I call. No response. Then suddenly a black and white blur comes flying from around the corner, grinning at me as he goes. There is something hanging from his mouth. I look harder. It’s a twinkie. Oh wait, not just one twinkie, two twinkies.
Generally speaking, Goob does not take things from off the table. Its bar height, and though he can most certainly reach it, it’s not his style on any normal day.
Today is apparently not a normal day.
I tell him to drop it, which he does, followed promptly by another ridiculous grin at me as he picks up where he left off and goes flying back around the corner and out of sight.
With the damn twinkies in his mouth.
I close the shower curtain and sigh. Lets pretend I didn’t see that. The damage is done, I might as well finish my shower, right?
Little do I know what damage is actually done. Five minutes later I step out into livingroom to find The Twinkie Massacre.
Dun dun dun.
Not only has he stolen two twinkies, he has successfully demolished the entire box and every thing that was in it. There is twinkie filling all over everywhere, including his smiling, goofy face, and it’s clear that the majority of them are now in his tummy, including the wrappers.
As a trainer, you might think this would have put me off, but I’m afraid it didn’t. I smile as I collect what is left of his little party and tell him how much fun it will be to watch how that all turns out for him later on. Dogs will be dogs, their mischievousness is part of why I love them.
Funny thing is, I rarely buy twinkies, it was sort of a random grab for me that day. Seems they were put to good use.