I've seen some amazing places, done some pretty hip things, and I consider myself able to learn almost anything I put my mind to.
This includes being adept at interacting with technology. Successfully even. Shocker, I know. This from someone who regularly embarrasses herself in public.
I've installed everything from surround sound to computers. Even a ceiling fan or two--and that's without blacking out the East Valley's power grid --at least not for longer than a few hours.
And there's my ability to program the DVR, a talent that was born from the desperate need to watch something other than westerns way back when it was just a VCR that had the power to record.
This ability is really why I wasn't kicked out of the house at the age of 18. Anyone who can program technology has leverage in the household.
BUT I CAN'T TXT TO SAVE MY LIFE!
On my current cellphone, which I've had for four months, I've done exactly one text. ONE. It was two days ago during the Broncos/Jaguars game and I get a text from my best friend who is watching the game while on layover in Springfield, MO. The message reads: DANGIT! This is after the abysmal game-play by the Broncos and the knowledge that the game is all over but the cryin'.
My response to her text is: CRAPOLA!
It took me a one minute and 23 seconds to manage that one word. How do I know it took me that exact amount of time? That's how much time was left in the fourth quarter of the game! I finished the text just as the game ended.
You'd think after three years in New Zealand, the Land of the Texting Masses, I would've learned to text faster than this!
How is it that I can type 65 wpm, but I can't bully my brain into working out the proper letter configuration for a text?
Now you know, in part, why I named this blog the DUH-mension.