Blog Archive

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Coworkers just CANNOT resist pointing out ...

Ah, coworkers. Bless their hearts. They're like this weird cross between friends and family -- you're forced to interact with them against your will, like family, but you can't just be openly rude to them and say whatever you want, so they're kinda like friends. Or acquaintances. Whoever you're not supposed to yell "shut up!" at.

Either way, there is no other group of people I can think of that you could be forced to spend so much time with that you didn't choose to be around.

Part of this bizarre coworker relationship is trying to find things to talk about when you've got nothing in common ... and one great ice-breaker for when you run into someone by the coffee machine is that old favorite "pointing out things that you have noticed about the other person." And if you've worked with the same group of people for long enough, you'll suddenly find yourself dreading certain of these observations that they just can't help making. Tell me I'm not the only one who has actually changed their behavior slightly to avoid having coworkers point out things like ...



Sometimes, I have been known to enjoy spending a little time outside. And sometimes, I get a little cocky thinking my skin can absorb more sun than it actually can. This just happened to me this past weekend, in fact, during my hike. And you would not believe how I agonized over my choice of what to wear to work on Monday, because I was desperate to avoid this:

The thing about this observation is that it's never phrased like a question or used as a way of starting a conversation. If someone were to say something like "wow, looks like you got some sun over the weekend! Were you doing something fun, I hope?" then I could be like "hell yeah, I went on this amazing hike and had the best time!"

But no. It never goes that way.

Thanks, Nancy. I hadn't noticed.


Any change to your physical appearance

Ever bought a new outfit and then been kind of afraid to wear it to work? How about debuting a new hair color or style?

Honestly, sometimes it's enough to keep me from making any changes to my appearance whatsoever.

Donna doesn't miss much.


If they can identify what you're eating by the smell

This is not some kind of trivia game, guys. It's just my lunch, which I would like to heat up and then eat in peace.
Okay, it's not always my lunch. Sometimes it's second or third breakfast, or post-lunch second snack.



Noting your arrivals and departures

There is one woman at work who sits right out at the front entrance to the office suite, while my office is in the back corner. I arrive before her a good 60-70% of the time. And yet, this always happens:

I got here before you, lady. You know, like I do more than half the time. Like I did yesterday. And the day before yesterday.

Now you see why I usually just bring in spaghetti to reheat. If I'm sneaky enough, I can actually eat lunch without being interrogated.

And don't even think about leaving a few hours early for a doctors' appointment -- not unless you've cleared it with her first.

I am convinced that every office has one person like this. It is inevitable.

Also, I work 8-4 while most of the people in the office here work 8-5. I don't know why I work one hour less, but I do, and that's my schedule. I have been working 8-4 since I arrived at this office at the start of October. At least once a week, however, this happens:

Nah, but it's cool. I actually like my coworkers a lot.

They just really need to get their shit together.

Or maybe I just really am not suited to working in an office environment ...

Monday, July 29, 2013

I can still climb mountains

Today's post won't be particularly funny, but I want to write it anyway so I will. Plus, not nearly enough of you looked at Friday's post with pictures of farts so I'm pretty mad and will be taking it out on you with this! HOW COULD YOU NOT WANT TO LOOK AT ANIMALS FARTING YOU MONSTERS.

Yesterday, I went on a hike in Mt. Rainier National Park. It was awesome and beautiful and I had a great time. It was also 10 miles long.

Last week, I went on a hike up Tiger Mountain. It was awesome and the view from the top was breathtaking and I had a great time. It was 9.5 miles long.

I am currently 30 weeks pregnant (out of 40. Don't worry; I didn't expect you to already know that. I only knew women were supposed to be pregnant for nine months but had no idea how many weeks that was, so whenever someone would be like "I'm 15 weeks!" that meant nothing whatsoever to me). 

Here's what I looked like at the top of Tiger Mountain, in my maternity support back strap:

Yeah, I look like shit. It's because I just climbed a bloody mountain.

And here's the much-improved version of the view without me in it:

A funny thing happens when I do these hikes, though: I get treated like I'm some kind of hero, both by people I know and by strangers on the trail. They seriously act like I'm overcoming some kind of monstrous disability by walking up a well-marked trail to the top of a mountain. "Wow, I can't believe you're still out here on trail!" they say. "My goodness, when are you due??! AMAZING! You're making the rest of us look like slouches!!" I appreciate the compliments and all, but at the same time, I kind of have a problem with them. And here's why:

Being pregnant has not been hard on me. I am not struggling and I am not suffering. So why on earth is the bar set so ungodly low in terms of what is expected from me?

Now, some women truly suffer while they're pregnant. They spend the first five months puking and the last four months in unbearable pain from sciatica and stretching ligaments and what-have-you. If those women got out there and climbed Tiger Mountain, I'd be really seriously impressed. Those women really are heroes. 

But many other women, myself included, don't particularly suffer at all. The only issues we suffer are the same issues anyone might experience with a fairly rapid weight gain -- sore feet, some lower back pain, and maybe getting tired/winded more easily. That's it.

Now, the back discomfort and sore feet can be no joke, and falling down could be a tragic disaster, so I definitely still expect able-bodied people to give me their seats on trains and buses. But other than that, I am not in any way disabled. Pregnancy is not an illness. My body is doing what it was built to do, and it is doing the hell out of it. So why are people so surprised to find that an extremely active person would continue to be active for as long as possible during pregnancy? Why is going on a day hike so impressive to people? How is my accomplishment any more impressive than the six other people who went out on the hike with me, all at different points in life and fitness level?

I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's all relative and we need to remember that. If someone is having a hard time with their body, for any reason, then you can be impressed when they overcome their difficulties and do something amazing. But if someone is having no troubles at all, then don't lower your expectations so much.

Because low expectations come with a cost: so many women convince themselves that it's okay to be lazy and to eat whatever they want and to get all super fat while they're pregnant, because they've spent too much time listening to all the people telling them that pregnancy is very hard and they should be impressed with themselves if they just make it through at all.

And for some people, that is absolutely 100% true. I can't imagine feeling ill for months straight. I'm so lucky that didn't happen to me. Seriously -- to the women who puked and hurt and felt dumpy the whole time, you are awesome just for surviving it.

But for the women who aren't suffering, stop letting yourselves off the hook. You're not broken. You're just getting bigger. A new pair of jelly insoles in your shoes and a maternity support back strap and you'll be just as strong as you were before there was a baby in you.

The more times we remind people that we're not broken, the more people will stop thinking of us that way. Someone once told me that I should avoid discussing anything related to my pregnancy while at work, because the men who work above me might start to see me differently -- as something weaker, more fragile, less capable. A lesser employee in general. To those men, I have only this to say:

When's the last time your fat f**king ass hiked 10 miles?

That's how I do feminism. By climbing mountains even though I'm -- *gasp* -- pregnant.

From the bottom ...

And from the top.

Friday, July 26, 2013

Friday Farts

I don't have a real post today, because I got too absorbed in a really interesting debate online so I didn't have time to write one. Also, I didn't really know what to write it about.

So instead, here are a series of pictures of animals farting very explosively. I'm practicing drawing explosions, because ... just in case, I guess. You never know when you'll need to draw a really good cartoon explosion, so I want to have lots of techniques under my belt and ready to go at a moment's notice.

I also had an art critic come in and write some guest material. As you can see, I still have some growing to do as an artist.

Also, the art critic was me. As if I would let someone else contribute to this blog. Piss.


Not too impressed with the mushroom cloud technique on this one. The use of color was weak and uninspired. Clearly not well-planned in advance. F-minus.


The fart mushroom cloud looks a little better on this one. There was clearly a bit more planning, as the black lines are overlaid on the colored section instead of being buried under hastily-added colored bits. Definite improvement. However, the elephant is so poorly executed that it detracts from the rest of the drawing. Seriously, elephants' ears don't look anything like that. Terrible. F-minus.


The farting zebra uses a different color scheme entirely on the mushroom cloud, retaining color only for the column of exploding gas itself and then sticking with gray for the mushroom part of the cloud. This color scheme looks terrible and should never be used in drawing explosions. Moreover, the zebra itself is so poorly rendered that I have to wonder if the artist has ever seen a zebra before, either in real life or even in photos. This zebra looks more like a donkey that was painted by a colorblind idiot child who was high on LSD at the time. F-minus.


The volume of fart is somehow larger than the goose itself. A-plus.


You guys I don't know what a bat looks like so I just drew a cat with wings.





Wednesday, July 24, 2013

The Indignities of Pregnancy 2: PLUMBERS' GUT

Welcome back to another session of me complaining about the indignities of being pregnant!!! Today, we focus on the challenges involved in dressing oneself while faced with a steadily growing belly.

Now, obviously I knew that I was going to grow out of my regular clothing, and pretty rapidly. That's why there's such a thing as "maternity" clothes, after all. Nobody honestly expects their jeans to fit them much beyond the first trimester, and sure enough, I have been wearing almost 100% maternity clothes for months. I have no issue with this.

But when I say "almost 100% maternity clothes," please note that this is not the same as saying "100% maternity clothes." The real figure is closer to 90-95%.

"But Patent," you say, incredulous, "you are fat as f**k! What non-maternity clothes could you POSSIBLY be wearing?!?!? Did you have a collection of muumuus in your closet just ready to go in case of emergency??"

And to this, I say: things that were long, or stretchy, or had elastic waistbands. Things that seemed like they would have no reason not to fit me throughout my pregnancy. Things like ... tennis skirts to work out in, or long stretchy tank tops to wear underneath clothing, or roomy t-shirts to sleep in, or stretchy flowing summer dresses. I think that every woman, if she thought about it, could easily identify a good 10% of her wardrobe that would be expected to make the transition into maternity-land without trouble.

And the indignities begin when these large, stretchy, flowy and roomy garments stop fitting.

Allow me to describe this more vividly with a story from the other day:

It was time for me to work out. Specifically, it was time for me to do a nice hard powerwalk on my treadmill. Since we already know how I feel about powerwalking, you can imagine that I already was not feeling my absolute awesomest from the get-go. But I put on my tennis skirt and sports bra and extra long Express tank top with shelf bra and off I went.

I seriously have like a billion of these things. They are the best! And look how long they are!!!

Now, at this point, my tennis skirts only fit if I pull the waistband down in the front so that it sits completely below my belly. I could try to pull them up all the way, but 1) that would be terribly uncomfortable, and 2) they would just ride down anyway, so why even bother? So I put on my tennis skirt, and then my maternity back support band, and commenced my workout.

By the time I was finished, I stepped off the treadmill and glanced in a mirror, only to be met by a horrible sight: my skirt had ridden down, and my extra-long tank top had ridden up, leaving a nice gap in the middle.

It's like a plumbers' crack but in the front. Plumbers' gut.

Look, I added a crack and some butt-hairs to it to make it more realistic.

My belly is so large, it forces its way out of extra-long tank tops and elastic-waist skirts.

Another time, I wore a pair of boxer shorts and a long wife-beater tank top to bed. Pre-pregnancy, I could pull this tank top down nearly to my crotch.

In the morning, I got up out of bed and stretched, and Jesse opened his eyes to catch his first view of the day:

Also, in case you were wondering, the tattoo hasn't stretched yet. It has just turned to look another direction instead of straight forwards. Seeing what's going on off to my right for a bit.

More plumber's gut.

The plumber's gut problem has gotten so, well, problematic, that I now have a "maternity girdle" that I wear under my tennis skirts to go hiking in public. This is basically a pair of bicycle shorts with a full belly panel, so they reach up to my rib cage like your grandpa's pants did in the 1940's. The maternity girdle gives the extra-long tank tops something to grip onto so they don't slip up quite so easily and reveal the gut. Personally, I'm just demoralized to admit that I not only own but have to frequently wear something called a "maternity girdle."

Mine's not nearly this sexy. The lace would be so impractical! And besides, why even bother trying to make this article of clothing sexy? It's not sexy.

(and yes, I do already own actual maternity tank tops, but they are not made of good fabric for exercising. Plus they were expensive enough that I don't want to destroy them by sweating all up in them while climbing a mountain. These goddamn extra-long Express tank tops will just have to suffice, gut or not) 

And then ... AND THEN ...

As if the Plumbers' Gut and the maternity girdle weren't enough ... I started to outgrow my maternity clothes.

I have this great black shirt that I like to wear to work with a colorful light scarf. It's just your standard fitted black maternity shirt with extra length on the front to accommodate a belly. I usually wear it with one of my maternity tank tops underneath.

THE SHIRT IS NOW TOO SMALL FOR ME. It rides up in the front. Plumbers' gut at the office.



And I still have to get SO MUCH BIGGER before this is all over with!

On the bright side, I tried to put glasses and a tiny top hat on my belly this morning but they wouldn't stay on ... but they're going to look fantastic when I get a little bigger. So, at least I have that to look forward to. And so do you!!! 

I hope my belly button pops out so it can be a better nose. I mean it looked okay now, but it would be so much better with an actual 3D nose, right?! I don't care if my clothes don't fit me anymore. As long as I can put glasses and a tiny top hat on my belly, I'll happily stay pregnant forever!

Monday, July 22, 2013

I went to my 10-year reunion and everyone was fat

This weekend was my ten-year high school reunion and a friend talked me into going to it, against my better judgment. I have lived on the east coast for almost ten years and Jesse and I just moved back to the Seattle area last October. I haven't seen any of the people I went to school with since the day we graduated. I am only Facebook friends with a handful of them, and haven't really tracked the life developments of anyone other than the few I actually pay attention to online. So, I attended this reunion pretty much blind and without any expectations whatsoever.

What caught me off guard first was that I didn't recognize anyone or remember anyone's names. And I mean anyone. It was as if I had never met any of these people before in my life, even though I went to school with them for at least four years straight ... many of them for even longer than that. But even first names were well beyond my grasp. It was as if I had suffered a serious brain injury that prevented me from remembering even the most basic information about the people I spent such a vast swath of my life with. One of the event organizers was utterly unfamiliar to me in both face and name ... but in order to be one of the event organizers, she would have had to be deeply involved in student government in high school. So this girl probably ran for Senior Class President and won. Maybe I even voted for her. But I don't remember anything about her -- it was as if I had never seen her before in my entire life. Did she even go to our school? Can anyone confirm this? Was she an impostor????

I don't remember who the Prom Queen was so I have no idea if her story checks out.

As the evening wore on and the friend who dragged me there filled me in on some of the juicier secrets of people's lives, vague memories started to slowly filter back into my brain. I started to remember these people just the slightest little bit.

And then they played the old senior slide show of pictures of everyone back in the day, and a few more memories trickled in. At that point, I realized something shocking and turned to my friend to share my insight with her: the average per-capita weight gain of the entire Skyline High School Class of 2003 was at least ten pounds, maybe more. Fifteen pounds. Hell, I'd believe it was twenty pounds if someone wanted to run some numbers on the back of an envelope!

But the weight gain was not even. Everyone seemed to gain weight differently, while others didn't gain weight at all (or even lost it) -- naturally, others stepped up to make up for the weight that their former classmates lost. Here are the most common locations that I saw these newly-gained pounds distributed:


The face

Is there anything more unfortunate than gaining a bunch of weight in your face? I mean, there's nothing you can do to hide it. No amount of baggy clothing is going to camouflage your big ol' fat face. Some people think growing a beard will help, but it doesn't. Now you just look like a fat-faced round guy with a beard.

And yes, there were a LOT of people whose faces doubled in size in the past ten years. I don't really have any advice for these people beyond maybe eating a diet of mostly extremely chewy foods. Do your facercises, people.


The stomach

I would fall into this category. There was only one other visibly pregnant person there, though. What a bummer. I was hoping for an army of preggos!

Either way, this one isn't that interesting. I'm the exact same size I was in high school in every way except my ginormous belly. I can even fit into many of the clothes I wore back then, or I could if they stretched enough. I wore a tight-fitting black dress to really ramp up the surprise for people who saw me from behind and were like "Oh, I see that Jamie hasn't changed a bit" and then I turned sideways and they were like "OH MY GOD SOMEBODY MADE HER PREGNANT THIS IS TERRIFYING."


All over

Haha, y'all bunch of fatasses.


The bra

This was also a pretty popular place to gain weight. Allow me to tread carefully.

I don't really object to women who want to get breast implants to make themselves feel more confident and beautiful. It's not something that I would ever do, because as a runner this would be akin to hobbling myself, but hey, it's your body; do what you want.


I can't really stomach the thought of women getting breast implants at the age of 18-20. Because first of all, at that age you haven't even really given your natural boobs a chance out in the world. You think high school guys are the best judges of boob-worthiness? Goodness no. Go to college and wear a few low-cut tops. Graduate from college and debut your boobs in the adult world. Boob it up around the grown-ups for a few years and see how you feel. If, at that point, you STILL aren't happy with what God gave you, then do what you need to do. But getting a boob job straight out of high school is just silly.

And secondly, if you're planning to have kids, then it REALLY doesn't seem to make sense to get a boob job young. You're just going to have to get another one after you're done having kids, because your first boob job is going to look like someone stuffed an orange into a tube sock.

Did a lot of women from my high school put on some weight in their boobs? Yes. Did a lot of them do it right away after they graduated? Yes. Is it obvious now to anyone, even those who didn't know them in high school? Yes. Jesse was expert at picking out the boob jobs in the room despite never having seen these people before.

Also, one girl had a bunch of plastic surgery done on her face too. She was really pretty back then. Now she's all pointy like a bird. I didn't even have to point her out to Jesse -- he looked at her and immediately knew she'd had work done, never having seen her before in his life.

Vain women, sometimes you are stupid.

In addition to all the chubbies, I was shocked shocked SHOCKED by one of the people who turned out to be gay. That's the other best part of going to your reunion, by the way -- the people who weren't "out" in high school are now, so you can check and see if your predictions were correct. And let me tell you how shocked I was by this one guy. SHOCKED. Mostly I was shocked by how fat he had gotten and how stereotypically gay his mannerisms had become. This guy played sports and was a dick and was friends with all the jocks in high school. Now he wears tight jeans rolled up over loafers with no socks, constantly touching people on the arm and talking with a slight lisp. I just ... wow.

And there are people who are already going bald. 28 years old. Those poor saps.

And then Jesse almost got into a brawl with a bunch of guys who were blocking the way into the bathroom and wouldn't move when he said "excuse me." It was like they took pleasure in blocking the way into the bathroom. Because they're still in high school ... ? Yeah, that almost ended badly. I'm not going to say something like "it would have made my year to see my husband mop the floor with these fat balding attempted tyrants," but I'm not going to say it wouldn't have made my year either. Because maybe I'm still in high school a little bit too.

All in all, I'm glad I went. Everyone was so fat. Man oh man.

Friday, July 19, 2013

Friday Poundings: A rant about bathroom attendants

Mark my words, friends: I will NEVER tip a bathroom attendant. Ever. Not even with the nickel I found on the toilet seat. That's my toilet seat nickel now. It's not for you.

Why? Because I hate bathroom attendants. Passionately.

First of all, they don't actually provide any helpful service. I am quite able to use the restroom and wash my hands without help. Just ask my mommy -- I've been doing it all by myself since I was like 14. (before then, it was poop on the walls and poop on the counter. Terrible). 

I really, really don't need someone to get a paper towel out of the dispenser for me. It's already motion-activated for god's sake!!! Just step on out of my way and let me do my thing.

But more importantly, not only do they not provide any helpful service, but they actually make my bathroom experience worse. Like most people, if given the choice, I prefer to use the restroom in private. Admit it -- when you walk into a public bathroom and find that you're the only one in there, you smile a little. Don't you? I know I do. I think, "hey, I have this whole bathroom all to myself!!! I could take a poop if I wanted! I could talk to myself while I pee! I could let out little groans along the way and nobody would know about it!!" It's not that I will actually do any of those things, but it's nice to know that I could if I wanted to. Finding privacy in a public space is just this special little slice of heaven that can really brighten my day.

But if there's a bathroom attendant, then you will never be alone in there. Never. You can't even wait them out, hiding silently in the stall listening to water, soap, paper towel, and then finally door so that you can let out that massive fart you've been holding onto for the past half hour. Nope; that bathroom attendant isn't going anywhere. No pooping or groaning for you. Looks like you'll be taking that fart home with you after all.

I mean, we're talking about a person who is paid to listen to you pee.

Paid to listen to you pee. And prevent you from farting. That's so rude.

I don't like people listening to me pee and preventing me from farting.


Sometimes they try to make small talk. "How's your evening going?" "Doing anything for the holidays?"

I'm like, shut up. I don't talk to creepy bathroom stalkers. If some random person in the bathroom started yapping at me, I'd make a weird face at them and hurry the hell out of there. Why does it make any difference if the person in question was hired and paid to be a creepy bathroom stalker? You are a person who spends hours upon hours talking to people in a bathroom. That's weird.

Now, there are those who argue that I should STILL tip the bathroom attendant because that's a really sucky job and they don't make much money and they do at least try to help by giving me a paper towel and offering me a handy-j. But you know what? I'd be more likely to give them money if they were panhandling in the street outside, because at least panhandlers aren't LISTENING TO ME PEE and BEING REALLY CREEPY and MAKING ME INCREDIBLY UNCOMFORTABLE.

I don't pay people for doing that. Sorry.

So ... does anyone actually like bathroom attendants? I'm really curious. Is there seriously even one single person who likes them and thinks they provide a service? Because if not ... can we just stop with the whole thing? I know I would appreciate it.

And since this wouldn't be a proper Friday Poundings post without at least one sudden change of direction to a completely different topic, I would like to take this opportunity to expand on Wednesday's post about old people and technology with this:

You will appear old if you don't realize that you can find almost anything by googling it

It is amazing to me how helpless some people are when it comes to finding things online. Unless you send them a direct link, they act like locating the picture/video/article/website/registry would be absolutely impossible.

Dear old people ... Google.

Take this blog, for example. If I meet someone in person who wants to read my blog, I often tell them the name of the blog and explain where "Double-headed shart attack" came from so they're more likely to remember it. Young folks just nod and say they'll find it themselves. Old people look at me with terror because Google is a straight-up mystery to them.

You can easily find this blog by googling "Patent's Patented blog" or "Double-headed Shart Attack." You can find it by googling something approximating the title of any post. I believe in you, old people -- you can do it! Even without a link!!!

(You can also find it by googling "sharting during pregnancy", "pile of crap", "prank goes wrong guy sharts on friend", or "perkie tities facebookpics". Yeah, Blogger lets me know what people have been googling to find my blog. I often post the results because they are straight f**ked up, yo.)

Not sure how it works? Just click this handy link right here for a demonstration (no seriously please click the link. You won't regret it.)

Let's learn Google!


I am troubled by this.

Very troubled.

Also, I often share the ridiculous things people have googled to find the blog on my Facebook page, which you should like at

And you should follow me on Twitter because I post a lot more stuff on there now that I got the hang of it. Regular Facebook is boring to me now. I demand more interaction. INTERACT WITH ME DAMMIT! INTERACT WITH MEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Old people vs. technology

I'm using the word "old" in that really annoying way where I'm not actually talking about ELDERLY people but just people who are older enough than me that I feel kinda superior to them. Even though I'm not as young as I used to be myself.

We all know that old people and technology don't mix. So, how can you ensure that your "Just For Men" dye job and $2000 boob lift (you're a weird one alright) are actually successful at making you seem a lot younger than you are? Just follow these simple guidelines and you'll be dating a college student in no time. Which I assume is the goal. Because ... duh.

Ugh, how do I even pick one?!


You will appear old if you brag to someone younger than you about the neat things your phone can do

If you just realized that you can play Words with Friends online from your phone and you're amazed by that, please keep your amazement to yourself (or only share it with people your own age or older). Odds are that the younger generation has been playing Words with Friends online from their phone since back when you were learning about "text messages." (HOW DO I TYPE BY PUSHING THE NUMBERS? HOW DO THEY MAKE LETTERS? WHERE IS THE SPACE BAR? THIS ISN'T WORKING AT ALL -- I THINK IT'S BROKEN). 

You're embarrassing yourself.

Get with it, Grandma.


You will appear old if you aren't aware of/don't know how to use the most basic apps/features that come standard on your phone

Another part of this past weekend's Portland adventure was discovering that my mother does not know how to use Google maps on a phone. She has had an iPhone for longer than I have, but Google maps/Apple maps remain beyond her capabilities.

I mean ... doesn't everyone know what the blue dot is? Isn't that knowledge that we are born with??

Then there are the people who aren't aware that their smart phones can connect to wireless networks.

Ugh, Dad, this is as bad as the time you wore sandals with tube socks to my middle school awards ceremony.

And then there are the people who aren't aware that wifi internet is a thing at all.

Your children will NEVER come visit you until you get wifi.


You will appear old if you insist that something is broken simply because you don't know how to use it

Oh, I am guilty of this. I admit it freely.

One of these days, though, I am going to be right. One of these days the damn thing is going to turn out to be broken and then I will have the last laugh after all!!!!!

Even if I have to break it myself.


You will appear old if you don't know how to operate all the electronics in your own home

Your roots are showing, and they ain't blonde.


You will appear old if you express legitimate concern about "Chinese hackers" stealing your personal information

Seriously? Your bank account has like $367 in it and your password is your dog's name. No one is trying to hack you, and if they were, it would take like three seconds. And it would probably be your own family members, since they not only know your password; they also know that you don't know how to check your account balance online because the internet is broken and you're old. Speaking of which, time to log into my mom's Facebook account and change her profile picture to this:

Wonder how many weeks will go by before she notices!


You will appear old if you prefer to deal in cash because you "don't trust" electronic financial transactions


So, how old are you according to your tech habits? I still don't like my iPhone, but at least I know how to use it.

And hey, did you know you can actually check the weekend weather forecast right from your phone? AMAZING, right??? Boy, next thing you know I'll be able to deposit checks without having to go to the bank during my lunch break (boy, how inconvenient are their hours, right?!)! Then they'll just have to come up with a way to check if my flight is on time without having to call the airline, and I'll be all set.