Operation: Kill Siri

Our children were bored today. You can tell when they’re bored, because instead of just destroying one small corner of the house, they go ahead and level the whole thing, unleashing what could only be described as a literal dirty bomb. Apparently the only thing that can relieve the sort of soul-deadening malaise they experience when Mommy and Daddy have to stop entertaining them for ten minutes is to drag out every single thing they’ve ever owned, inspect it, find it lacking, and discard it as far away from its original storage space as possible.

It would be easy for me to say that I never get bored– how can I, after all, when the children so thoughtfully provide me with so much cleaning to take care of?– and to be honest, I feel like at its heart, that’s true. When I’m not working, I’m taking care of the girls, or grabbing the rare adult conversation with my husband, or getting ready for the next day. I’ve added blogging and learning Spanish into the mix, so one would think I wouldn’t have a second to spare on being bored.

And I don’t, really, and yet somehow I’ve found a way to allow myself to get sucked into my phone, Tron-style, for hours every night for the past couple of weeks. It comes at the expense of sleep, of catching up on shows on which I’m woefully behind (NO ONE SPOIL IF IT TURNS OUT OJ KILLED NICOLE!), of reading and cross-stitching and sometimes, even those aforementioned rare and wonderful adult conversations. It’s like I spend so long every day in the “on” position that I’ve come to need that phone time to wind down.

But it doesn’t really count as winding down if you stay up until 2 am doing it.

I think I’ve somehow become on of those people that everyone hates– the phone addict. And I’m not even using it to do anything cool, like Instagram the Frosted Mini-Wheats I’ve eaten for dinner for the last week straight since Ben’s been out of town. It’s just an endless cycles between Facebook, Buzzfeed, Best Fiends (I am appalled at how many times I have mentioned Best Fiends on this blog, tbh) and, dorkily, Wikipedia, which I generally use to prove people wrong when I do manage to have a conversation with someone over the age of five.

So tonight, I’m going to start yet another new project– because honestly, I let the whole drinking water project just completely deteriorate, and I’m not getting all of my moisture from Oreo middles. The project itself is deceptively simple– stop looking at my damn phone. But I think it’s going to be a lot harder than it sounds,  which is embarrassing to admit. I’ve already moved my phone charger to the other side of my bedroom, so I won’t be able to gaze lovingly at Buzzfeed’s “19 Pictures That Only Make Sense if You’re a Professional Skateboarder With Only One Leg” article, which I will read while scratching my head and saying NONE OF THESE PICTURES MAKE ANY SENSE! When I get home, my phone will just stay in my purse, which will also solve the age-old problem of never knowing where my fucking phone is.

How will I fill the hours that the phone leaves behind? Hopefully with sleep, honestly. Some good conversation, a new book. I’ll be woefully behind on the world of random lists and pictures of celebrities that look like animals (I’m looking at you, otter Benedict Cumberbatch). But I do know one thing– I’ll never be bored.

My Purple Highlights: Monologue For a Young Blonde

[The stage is empty save one salon chair and vanity mirror, lit with a bright spotlight. A young blonde woman enters stage right, wearing a red and black buffalo check flannel shirt and black-and-tan leather boots, and stations herself wearily in the chair. She sort of looks like she just got done hunting? Like you half-expect her to have a bugle and be followed by a pack of hounds? But her hair is full of foil strips that catch the spotlight and dazzle. Once comfortably settled in her hydraulic lift throne, she speaks. ]

Woman: Where’s the nearest Chipotle? God, I love Chipotle. I know it’s killing people or whatever. But I only eat the sofritas? Because I fucking love tofu. Tofu is my weakness. And I feel like the sofritas are not going to have the colic. Right? Colic? Is that– collie? Colic? Whatever. The poops. You’re not going to get the poops from tofu.

I heard that they had the colic at the Chipotle at Legacy Village and I was like, oh em gee, I just ate the sofritas at the Chipotle at Legacy Village, and I could have died. It really teaches you something, you know? About life? When you almost die?

Speaking of dying. Did you see the new OJ Simpson movie? With the guy who won the Oscar for Radio? I think it was Radio. And Kris Kardashian is in it. I was like, whoa, time warp, I didn’t even know they had Kardashians in the 80s, too funny. I don’t know if Kris was like, with OJ at the time, or what– she really has some fucked-up taste in men, amirite?

You are a genius for giving me these purple highlights. I fucking love my purple highlights. Because you can’t even tell they’re in there. They’re like an optical illusion. They just, like, highlight the blonde.


Oh my God.


I get why they call them highlights.