A lot of people have many layers, like an onion.
I am no different.
Asshole, by the way, is a layer unto itself.
Its healthy, in a way, to embrace the asshole within.
Let him out on occasion, let him piss on the grass, decompress.
Some of us need that decompression, for the safety of the general public.
Trust me on this, the last thing ANYBODY needs is me all twisted up.
Its not pretty, and thats just looking at it from this side, God knows what it looks like from your side.
I’m a mess, but thats ok, I have accepted it.
There is a certain feeling of dread that runs thru you when your iPhone falls in the toilet.
Its an ass pucker of 9 out of 10.
Even if you snatch it out immediately, you have no idea of how bad or good it is at this point.
So you wash your hands immediately while muttering the F-word under your breath.
I tapped my phone in my palm for lack of anything better to do.
And the little bit of moisture that comes out is not reassuring in any way.
So, I googled it.
According to several websites on the subject, Turn off the phone immediately.
I didn’t know if it was off or on, so I held the button on.
Shit, the boot up white apple logo came up.
It was already off. Great.
The main screen came on, but I shut it off anyway.
It has been in a ziplock of white rice for 24 hours.
I thought about using brown rice, but I wasn’t sure if glycemic rating played a part.
I stared at it for a solid 5 minutes.
Can you see water evaporating?
I finally broke down and went to Fry’s Electronics and bought a cell phone dry bag.
For those not in the know, it is a high tech ziplock with 2 large gel bags.
Larger versions of those toxic gel packets you find in a new pair of shoes.
I keep staring over to the counter where the iPhone sits in its high tech drying bag.
Water damage is not covered by warranty.
Being an idiot is rarely covered by warranty.
So for the next 24 hours, the iPhone is locked in its bubble.
And tomorrow I get to find out if I dodged a bullet or did I cost myself a ridiculous amount of money to fix my stupidity.
And I am pretty sure my ass cheeks will not unclench until then.
And the bad thing is, I know in the back of my head, that it is just a cell phone.
Except that it isn’t.
Its an addiction, plain and simple.
Between email, Facebook, Twitter, and an embarrassing slew of stupid apps, the phone is up there with crack, but has the apparent acceptability of coffee.
Which is an addiction of a different sort.
But this is not about me.
Its always about me.
We’ve met, right?