Have you ever had one of those days when you realize you can’t live without technology, yet it irks you how it has invaded every aspect of your life? Yes, even the mundane world of mascara!
I went to use my phone this morning. (Again, it’s pink, and it’s one of those phones on which you can get your email, err, like a Blackberry; no, I’m not saying it is a Blackberry, because once again, I would not want to be accused of hawking products on my blog!) When I went put my thumb on the track ball and began to scroll, nothing happened.
Of course, I then tried some technical troubleshooting. I got some alcohol (no, not wine), thinking that this was a case of greasy grimy build-up, and gently applied it all over the track ball. I tried rubbing the track ball with my thumb again. Scrolling still out of order!
I then tried my second troubleshooting tactic, which usually occurs when I sense frustration (a.k.a., throwing phone on the floor and then stomping on it) is just around the corner. It’s the “Walk Away from It for a Few Minutes and It Might Be All Better When You Get Back” tactic. As you know, this tactic rarely works, but most of the time, it does prevent you from throwing your phone on the floor and then stomping on it. I went downstairs, poured myself a cup of coffee, watched a bit of news, and then I returned. I rubbed my thumb over the track ball. Scrolling still missing in action!
Since I had avoided flinging my phone on the floor, I could now move onto my third and final desperation troubleshooting tactic. There is a small bit of frustration involved; however, at least, my phone would not be injured whilst deploying this tactic. This time, I pressed my thumb really hard against the track ball and rubbed furiously, like I was hoping to find the $100 prize on a scratch ticket. (Yes, just $100; I’m not greedy!) This troubleshooting tactic answers the age-old question, “Does brute force work on delicate electronics?” By the way, the answer to that question is always “No,” but you know we all do it anyway. Conclusive troubleshooting results: Scrolling totally sh*t the bed!
There was only one thing left to do; take it to the experts at the WirelessCarrierWhoShallRemainNamelessUnlessTheyGiveMeMoneyToAdvertiseForThemHere store.* (Sorry, Annie, but I’m unemployed and need the cash!) As I was driving there, I was thinking about how I would describe the problem when asked. Of course, there were many creative possibilities.
*Bill had asked me about a ride this morning, but believe it or not, getting my phone fixed won out over a bike ride!
What’s the problem?
My ball is busted.
Though, that line would be much funnier coming from a man. Damn, if only I were a guy! The line would be so apropos, AND then I could easily pee outside when biking if I had to, AND I wouldn’t ever have to deal with the monthly curse. It doesn’t get any better than that! Hmm, but I’d miss wearing pink, shopping at Sephora, and having pedicures. Hmm, being a guy versus being a woman? Chicks rule; men are not as cool!
Of course, when I got to the phone store, I was asked, “What’s the problem?” I decided to err on the side of technology rather than comedy (somewhat lost comedy since I liked pink), and I responded by holding up my phone, pointing to the track ball and saying, “Um, this thingy doesn’t work.” My name went into the tech support queue. While waiting, what was there to do besides pick out my next new phone! Ah, the latest version of my pink phone – what a beauty! Who cared if I could get email and make phone calls? It was PINK; I have my priorities.
Within 5 minutes, I heard what I thought was a muffled and monotone “mrrrrean.” I could have sworn it was Beaker, but I knew I was on Orchard Hill Park Drive and not Sesame Street. It was so inaudible that I ignored it, until I heard it again; however, this time, it was a little louder and sounded like “brrean.” I thought, “Okay, that might be me,” and I made my way over to the technical support kiosk. (By the way, in addition to loving saying the word “apropos,” I also like saying “kiosk.” I feel like a Russian spy when I say it, as in “Go to zee kiosk at 2am, dahlink, and look in zee trash can to find zee secret planz for building de bettah Corgi. Da, zee kind dat duzn't bark!”)
When the technical support representative saw me approach, he looked rather grumpy.
He then asked, “Jean?”
I said, “Yes. That’s me.”
He sighed, and then he asked, “What’s the problem?”
There was no way I was going to try and err on any side except serious with him. I responded, “My track ball doesn’t seem to be functioning properly.” He reached out, sighed again, and I handed him my phone. He banged my phone against the counter. I wanted to yell, “Hey, don’t bang my phone like that! Only I can do that when I’m totally frustrated with it!”
Just then, the thingy that held my track ball in came flying out along with my track ball. He went over to another counter, grabbed a box, opened it, and then dumped its contents on the counter in front of me. He put in the track ball, the thingy that held it in, and then he rubbed his thumb against it and said, “Here. Is that better?”
I rubbed my thumb against the track ball; it zipped up and down better than it had in months. I answered, “Yes, thank you!” It was so good to have my phone back in working order, and I wanted to tell him how good it was, but instead, I just said to myself, “Scrolling, present and accounted for!” and left.
After getting my phone back, I went to Target to do a few errands. I needed a new mascara. Did you know that like eggs, yogurt, milk, and relationships that mascara (and most other make-up) has an expiration date? According to the Make-up Board of Health, you should throw out your mascara every 3 months. I was not organized enough to note on the calendar when my mascara expired, but I sensed it was nearing the end of its life.
And, I know that you guys have a hard time choosing presents for us, but just thank your lucky stars that you don’t have to choose a mascara. You should see what technology has done to mascara; however, I’m not sure if it’s technology, Madison Avenue or both, that’s made mascara the complex and confusing entity that it is today.
First, you have pick a color: Dark brown, very black, soft black, brownish-black, and blackest black. Don’t even get me started on the non-black or brown colors like purple, green, blue, and glitter. Okay, glitter is not a color, but I do have some glitter mascara.
Second, you have to choose waterproof versus Runs When You Sweat or Cry and Makes You Look Like a Raccoon After Doing So. As you can see from this photo after I ran on the treadmill, I choose Runs When You Sweat or Cry and Makes You Look Like a Raccoon After Doing So.
Lastly, you have to chose the type of mascara. The big dilemma here seems to be lengthening versus volume. These are a few, no more like a ton, of the choices.
Volume Express Colossal
Full ‘n Soft
Pulse Perfection
Define-a-Lash
Intense XXL
Lycra Lash Extreme (We did the Lycra thing in the 80s as fashion; thus, it only makes sense that we might try and bring it back; though time has given us wisdom, and this time it’s going on our lashes and not on our bodies in the form of hot pink leggings. )
Volume Lash
Lash Flirt
Maximum Volume
Lash Maxx
Sexy Curves
Eye Magnifier
Extra Super Lash
Lash Blast Length
Great Lash
XXL Extensions
Ultimate Length
Lash Stiletto
XXL Curl Power
All of these mascaras boasted something wonderful they could do to make your lashes stick out like a beacon. I stood there wavering between “Last Stiletto” or “Lash Blast Length.” Hmmm. I was leaning toward the “Lash Stiletto,” only because I liked saying the word “stiletto” when I wasn’t enjoying saying the words “apropos” or “kiosk.” And, with all the mentions of size, notably XXL, it would appear that for most women “size doesn’t matter” except where it concerns their lashes.
Standing there, I hadn’t felt so overwhelmed since I last wrote a release note with 120 bugs in it at my previous place of employment. The last time I bought mascara, it didn’t seem this difficult to make a decision. But, there I was in the Cosmetics aisle of Target totally dumbfounded.
I thought back to someone who had always told me how lovely I looked after viewing pictures of me post-cycling – sweaty, tired, and with no make-up. Like this…
Versus this…
It always seemed that the real me was the best me where this friend was concerned.
So, at that moment, I put the Lash Stiletto mascara down. Rather than thinking about whether or not my lashes needed to be voluminous, long, or XXL, I thought, even though I knew I’d be back for mascara at another time when I was not so mystified by all the choices, that I’d rather think for the rest of the day about how I was lovely even when I was mascara-less but SO not phone-less. ♥
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