Breaking News: David Beckham replaces Siri in New iPhone for Middle-Aged Moms

I love Siri, the gal that lives in my smart phone. She’s like a human BFF because she’s learning to read my mind.

We’ve been together a few months, and she already understands me when I say “fixin’ to”  in my southern drawl and doesn’t even reassign text when I type “dad-gum,” as in, “the dad-gum autocorrect.”    

True “artificial intelligence” is on the horizon for her. When that glorious unveiling day comes, I’ll be the first geek pitching my Star Wars tent in front of the Apple store four days in advance, pacing my bathroom breaks during business hours, and explaining how Steve Jobs was just misunderstood to the TV reporter covering the ballyhoo. 

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I predict that when the hi-tech deities breathe human intellect into Siri’s soul, I’ll be able to change Siri into a male personal helper. I think I’ll name him Remi. He’ll be able to tell me where my car keys are in a British, David Beckham voice, without dragging up everything I’ve lost in the past six months. 

Remi will note my prior mistakes and notify me before I make more severe blunders, like buying Riesling instead of Chardonnay. And Apple will offer an “idiot-proof” package in which Remi will lovingly shut down his calling, texting and camera features when the user is tempted to “reach out” to anyone after multiple Patrón exploits.

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When I lose the Post-it containing my Facebook password, Remi will tell me its location based on my personality, previous habits, and the fact that I’m a few fries short of a Happy Meal.  

In a buttery Beckham voice, Remi will say, “Since you’ve got a few chips missing from your nacho basket, darling, and you filed your last tax return in your glove compartment, then logic dictates that you’re using your password as a bookmark in your Fifty Shades of Grey hidden behind the dryer.”  

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My charming Brit will obey without an argument. He won’t always have to be right and won’t make up stuff when he doesn’t know the answer. My alluring assistant will compliment me every five minutes and never ask me if I really think I should be having another cruller. And I won’t feel obligated to commit to him when he never gives me jewelry.

According to the book of Wikipedia, Apple will soon unveil a new phone specifically for Middle-Aged Moms (MAMs) (Whopping-Humongous font sold separately). Engineers will enable Siri to comprehend schizoid thought patterns and send the user encouraging texts after it detects prolonged ranting with a dangerous rise in blood pressure.

Apple will be running “girls night out” TV ads based on the fact that the MAM demographic is motivated chiefly by chocolate and “Bacardium Limbus,” which is Latin for “alcoholic drink that may induce limbo.”

But the pièce de résistance of the new MAM phone will be Siri’s “BFF” butler service. It will call in a prescription for Prozac when your Wi-Fi is not syncing, and, like a true friend, it will even surprise you occasionally by spontaneously downloading books to your iPad—like your own secret copy of Fifty Shades of Grey.

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        Looks like "José Cuervo Might Move In" came in first. You can read it here for a good laugh.
It's about my plight with the cell phone company and Charlene, God's gift to Customer Service.

     

            I hope everyone had a good HALLOWEEN.  It has been very different for me and hubs the last few years because the kids are getting older.  I have a great story about that here.  I think you'll find it very touching.   It's about how the kids grow up so fast.

        By the way, since all the blogging experts say that you should write as if you have an audience of THOUSANDS, I'll go outside the box with my wonderful audience of 30 and ask,

 "WHAT SHOULD I WRITE ABOUT THIS WEEK?"  

        Is there something that gets on your last nerve, chaps your cheeks, curdles yer cream, puts sand in your craw?  

        Does it burn yer biscuit that when the kids go out and you have 1 hour and 45 min. to watch an R-rated movie, (you haven't seen one in a few years) that you always only get 3/4 of the way through because they have the gall to come back?  

        And why do they have to come back to YOUR house?  Maybe because all the other moms want to drink wine and watch Magic Mike?  Methinks.

        Does someone in your household leave HAIR on the bar of soap?  Did I hit a nerve?

        Why do your kids always take other people's advice and NOT yours?

        The bag of Halloween candy you just ate?

        How 'bout some Mom- and Dad-shaming photos?  

        Teaching your teenager how to DRIVE?  Doing that now!  AARRGGHH. . .  I just have to drink wine breathe deeply.  Did it in my SUV today—taught her to drive that is.

        Have a great week and PLEASE come back.  I'm trying to post new stuff every day!  BTW - "Follow" and "Subscribe" now.  The first 10 new followers get a bottle of José Cuervo and a straw. . .    

Wooo!  I crack myself up.

José Cuervo May Move In

Prozac Monday

José Cuervo May Move In

I received a notice from my cell phone company that I owed $376—last month's bill and this month's.  I sent a check last month, but they don't have a record of it, and my service is in grave danger of being disconnected.

My daughters would be inconsolable if they knew because their phones are connected to my account.  If one goes, they all go. With no communication method (using house phones = social suicide, unthinkable), my teenage girls would scream and run blind-bat crazy to the corner of Savage and Psychotic like they did when I lied and told them that Netflix wouldn’t be carrying Gossip Girl episodes anymore. They’d never know if Chuck Bass and his girlfriend would ever find a suitable third for their threesome.  That tall tale was sweet revenge on account of them wearing my nice boots to the muddy Corn Maze.   

I’d rather get a bikini wax from Phil on Duck Dynasty than call the phone company, but my husband wrote on the bill in all caps to “TAKE CARE OF THIS.”  I don’t know why he feels the need to yell.

While I waited on hold fifteen minutes, I imagined that all the operators were returning from their “Margarita Monday” lunch at Taco Loco. 

“Margarita Monday” was likely how my check disappeared in the first place.  Some peon with a company ID probably used it to buy rounds of queso and Corona at Accounting’s last “Kiss My Assets” conference.

Charlene, God’s gift to Customer Service, finally came on the phone.

“ThisIsCharlene,MayIHaveYourNameAndPhoneNumber,” she asked without listening, just like my kids, but with more José Cuervo.  “Thank you. What’s your problem?”

“I got a bill for $376 from you, which is last month’s bill plus this month’s.  I already sent a check for $190 for last month.  My bank says it cleared a while ago by your company.”

By the crunch, I could tell she was finishing her nacho basket. “We do not have record of the payment, ma’am, but I will credit your account the $190,” said Mr. Cuervo.

“Really?” I said.

“Of course not,” said Charlene. 

“Well, I’d like to speak to your manager,” I said.

“She’s ‘in-disposal.’  Can’t come to the phone right now.”  I might have detected a slight slur in her speech.  “There’s nothing I can do, ma’am. There’s no way I can tell if it was really our company that ‘posited your check, IF you sent one,” giggled Charlene.

  I reached for my corkscrew.  “I’ve never heard an attitude like that!”  I said.  "Even when my computer broke and I had to talk to those condescending Dell techno-nerds in India!  I’m going to call your supervisor about this. What is YOUR name again?”

“Brenda.” 

        I tried again, and this time I got a nice girl from Georgia.  She listened to my story and wrote up an official inquiry, like a polite southerner.  

After the cell phone ordeal, I realized I’m too impatient to be in a Complaint Department.  On Mondays Charlene may spend her lunch hour with José Cuervo.  But if I were answering calls from mo-rons all day, he’d definitely have to move into my cubicle.