It's sad when getting on the internet is easier than adjusting the volume

Tuesday night I joined the 21st century and bought a phone technologically capable of doing more than just making phone calls. My husband even talked me into getting a cool Blackberry. I'm sure he thinks I'm going to get to work organizing my life with it. What he doesn't realize is that I'd just be happy if I could figure out how to adjust the ringer volume.

It's very fancy. For a girl who thought speakerphone was super exciting on her last phone, I'm sure you can imagine how dizzying all the features are on a Blackberry. Get this. I can type stuff into the phone and send it to people and then they get my message. Without me calling them. I know. Wild.

It's also got internet and takes pictures. All day it's been dinging at me to let me know when I get a new email. Instantaneous access to each and every one of the emails my mother forwards me with the cute kitty cat pictures and emoticons. I'd complain about some of the chain mail that woman sends me except she's literally the only person that ever emails me so I actually kind of like it. But let's keep that our little secret or she might start to think she needs to forward me literally every piece of correspondence she receives and, let's be honest, that might make me want to stab my eyes out.

Speaking of wanting to stab your eyes out, I'm pretty sure my husband's itching to do that by now. The main culprit this week is that I've been texting him my every movement for the last two days. At lunch. In a meeting. Out of a meeting. Walking out the door. Sitting upright. Breathing. I'm thinking about heading to bed now and I'm wondering where my phone is so I can text him that too. He's loving life.

Maybe I should get my mother texting. Then we could text all day. I'm sure she'd be way more appreciative of my play by play texts. Too bad she hasn't mastered voicemail yet. Looks like I'll have to keep harassing my husband. Right now he's about to run over to the grocery store to buy crap for school parties later this week and I'm thinking he's good for three or four texts while he's there.

And, seriously, on a total tangent, that man wouldn't be forced to go out to the store this time of night if the cult school could post the class party sign up sheets earlier than the Monday before the party. Call me a lazy good for nothing, but my grocery shopping got done Saturday and maybe your list should have been up before then. Doesn't make you a bad mother to find the idea of mid week grocery shopping exhausting. Whatever. I'd love to complain more but America's Next Top Model and Sylista are both on my DVR waiting patiently for me. And I think we all know I'm going to need to text my beloved to let him know I'm about to hit play.