So over there on the left is my cellphone. It matches my car. It matches my iPod. It even matches a few pairs of shoes I'm pretty fond of seeing on the fairer sex. I'm really not all about color coordination or even accessorizin' (cause I never cared too much for the money, but I know right now, honey that it's in god's hands, oh but I don't know who the father is...), but seriously, I love this phone. It has a feature that nobody should ever be without - self-ringing speed dial.
Yes, that means that you can hold down one of the buttons on the side and the phone will ring as if a call were coming in. It even defaults to a pre-selected contact from your phonebook (I chose my Mother). Tonight, my cellphone saved my life. Specifically, this feature saved my life.
You see, I'm addicted to CraigsList, and I was ever-so-slightly hot and bothered after a near sex encounter with one of those special ladies in my life. CraigsList became my backup. I've been chatting up this gal I met there for awhile and I decided to relieve some stress by finally meeting up with her. I drive down to the little bar down the road from my house and look for this gal that's been sending me some really nice pictures of someone that I found out later was, most-assuredly, NOT her.
I ordered a beer at the bar, just like I said I'd be doing and up she walks (she got there fast). Turns out she's not even blonde, not all that busty, and either cleans up really nice for a boudoir photo or is some kind of lycanthrope that gets really not good-looking when the sun goes down.
Just so you know, I'm not completely shallow and a I was completely horny, so I decided to buy her a drink and chat her up - as if something cool would mysteriously happen or she was there to screen me for her actual hot friend that was waiting in the car for me. We open with a discussion of the weather and me establishing that I'm the most desirable male in the bar and that she's very lucky to be here without being insulting when it starts. Turns out she is the girl from the ad. Turns out she's coming off of a bad relationship and really just wants to fall into something. Turns out that she simply can't...stop...fucking...talking about said ex. Thirty minutes into this, I'm no longer aroused from my earlier exploits and I just want to escape.
So I hold down the .mp3 play button on the side of my phone through my pocket on the sly and "Woke Up This Morning" comes chiming through my jeans. I look at the front screen and, lo and behold, it's my Mother. "Well. I'm sorry. It's my mom. I have to take this." I step outside for a minute to get better reception and return a minute or so later with the sad news that my dog has died. I'm just sad enough to be convincing and I'm free from a night of finding out more than I ever wanted to know about just how much of a jackass some guy named Rob really is.
Thank you LG. I love you, your company, and the blessed and wonderful phones you create. You've got a customer for life.