humor

Old People and Technology

This has been sitting in my drafts folder for months — time to let it see the light of day.

My mother-in-law got a new car. She is really not tech savvy. I routinely have to fix her computer, her tablet, and her phone. Had to fix Facebook for her once after she accidentally set her posts private for a year and was pissed over lack of comments, and then there was the time she straight up thought Obi Wan Kenobi was Jesus on Facebook. As most of y’all probably know, many (maybe all, I dunno) new cars have infotainment systems. And guess what’s required to use this system? A basic understanding of technology!

The struggle has been real for my in-laws because of this. We were getting call after call asking about syncing, music, bluetooth, contacts, Google Voice, where Siri went (which is strange, because my MIL has never owned an iPhone or iPad that had Siri), and On-Star. I know there’s a learning curve on this stuff, and despite my teasing, I mostly don’t mind helping. (And as much as I like to joke about older people and technology, I have to ask for help on some pretty basic cooking things, so it evens out.)

Mother-in-law approached me a month or two ago to ask about the possibility of legal trouble regarding their new car. After complaining about it for a few minutes, she told me that she was worried they were going to get arrested because her husband cussed out the virtual advisor. He asked for directions, it didn’t understand him and it gave him some random answer. After that happened a few times, he let loose.

“Could he go to jail for that?” she asked me.

I can usually keep a straight face with her, but this time I couldn’t. The thought of cussing out On-Star’s version of Siri is was humorous enough, but getting arrested for it? I about pissed my pants.  I assured her that no one was monitoring those interactions (I don’t need to expose her to my paranoid brain) and that no laws had been broken.

I thought that was the end of it until I talked to her grandkids this past weekend and one of them mentioned her calling all four of them — recently, too — and asking if they were going to get arrested over this. Holy shit.

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It’s The Zombie Apocalypse, Charlie Brown!

(For the record, this post has nothing to do with Charlie Brown. But it does have something to do with Christmas, and anything related to Christmas — or Halloween — is fair game for a It’s ____, Charlie Brown title. Now you know.)

I’m not usually very good at Pinterest stuff. Occasionally I have wins, but most of them turn out like the dollhouse (hint — mine is on the right).

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My husband was online a couple days ago and saw a recipe for Rudolph pancakes. He got all excited about them and made them last night. When he finished, he asked to borrow my phone to take a picture of the pancakes. I was busy at the moment, but quickly became unbusy after he handed over the phone and I saw his Rudolph.

Here it is:

His is also on the right.

As some of y’all can imagine, I could not stop laughing. I spent the better part of two hours getting fits of giggles over those things. “Rabid” and “zombie reindeer that will eat Baby Girl” were a couple of terms people used to describe it after I shared it everywhere. (So a few of y’all are possibly seeing this for a third time now.)

To add to the funny, Sam didn’t get why I was laughing at first. Neither did Little Man, not until I pulled up a picture to remind Sam and show LM what the pancakes were supposed to look like. And then we all howled with laughter, except for Baby Girl, who didn’t give a crap because she had chocolate chips and high fructose corn syrup in front of her for supper. (Coincidentally, it took her a solid 2.5 hours to go to sleep last night. I’m guessing part of that was karma getting at me for laughing so much.)

In case you want to make the Rudolphs and not have them look all sinister, it may help knowing that Sam blamed it on having purchased the wrong canned whip. He bought Cool Whip in a can over Redi-Whip. Sam thinks that had the Cool Whip not melted as quickly, that his Rudolphs would’ve looked perfect. I didn’t say a word.

Have you ever made food that turned out looking like something that would suck out your soul?

Hooray For Doughnut Holes

I’m going back to the grocery store topic again today.

Sometimes Sam does the grocery shopping and takes the kids with him, which is nice. I get “free time,” which really means I catch up on folding clothes mountain, clean out the fridge, and spend a few minutes (maybe more) visiting the blog world. I used to admire the man for taking both kids shopping. Taking both kids anywhere increases my anxiety quite a bit, especially when we’re running an errand and my focus can’t be solely on them, but Sam has always acted like it’s a piece of cake.

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Little Man and I do just fine shopping when he isn’t hiding under clothes racks to intentionally scare me. Baby Girl and I don’t always do just fine together. There’s always the risk of her having an epic tantrum that’s so bad that I’ll have to leave everything behind while doing the Mom Walk of Shame to the car. You might think that taking both kids shopping would make things easier — since LM could help with BG since he’s a few years older — but you’d be wrong. They often get on great together, but, as siblings do (apparently no matter how much age difference there is), they sometimes aggravate each other to the point of making the other explode. Maybe it’ll be BG flailing around in the cart like an octopus crying because Little Man “shared” her toy. (By “share,” I mean that LM decides to teach BG about sharing by taking her stuff. Sigh.) Or it might be LM huffing and puffing up a storm because BG cuffed him in the head for some reason. You get the picture.

With that in mind, you’d think that Sam wouldn’t be so quick to volunteer. Who wants to put themselves on the parenting front lines when they don’t have to, amirite?

Lest you think he’s SuperDad, I found out his secret. A few weeks ago, we all went out one Saturday to get some groceries. Usually I’m the one pushing the cart and barking out orders, but that time I was being a terrible mother, who was preoccupied with catching certain little monsters doing something on my phone and let him take the lead, and I learned the secret behind his “it ain’t no thing” attitude.

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For starters, Sam put both of the kids in the cart. He didn’t put BG in the seat where she can be safely strapped in, either, but put both of them in the big area. I nearly had a heart attack. (“It’s okay, she likes it…I’m watching her!” he told me.) BG was dancing and squealing while holding onto the side of the cart while LM encouraged her before I insisted on moving her to the seat. Then, Sam grabbed a handful of cookies from the sample box and handed them to the kids to feast on. After that he beelined to the toy section and gave BG a couple of toys to “look at” (which he had no intention of purchasing). And then he started checking stuff off the list, with no problem, except for when BG tried to open the cereal (which Sam helped her finish so she could eat it, too).

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He violated all of my uptight grocery shopping rules. We don’t put monkey toddlers who can bust their heads open in the cart without being strapped in. We don’t take more than our fair share of sample items. We don’t let them take toys we aren’t purchasing and put their grimy little hands all over them. We don’t let them open food in the store.

Oh wait, I don’t.

(I also don’t have to worry about — as I found out — having to “pay back” the store for a doughnut Sam gave Baby Girl out of the case and forgot to pay for last time. Another time it was a banana, he told me.)

Now that I know his secrets, I don’t feel like he has the upper hand with the parenting stuff as much. (Not that it’s a competition, but ya know…) When Baby Girl started sobbing because there were no sample cookies while shopping on Monday, I opened a package of food in the store for the first time ever to keep the peace. Plus one for crappy store doughnut holes, which no one would touch later. And, yes, we paid for them. No petty thefts for the toddler on my end. 😉

Funny Friday: That’s No Jesus

My mother-in-law is someone who’s big on Facebook. She shares lots of stuff. She shares my stuff, stuff from a relative she hasn’t seen or spoken to in years, recipes, and every over-the-top religious and political meme she comes across. MIL wasn’t always this way — in fact, she regularly complained about the amount of sharing some of her friends did — but now she’s one of those folks who clutters timelines.

Last night (well, a few weeks ago now, since this post got stuck in draft purgatory), I was rocking Baby Girl to sleep and after she dozed off, I started scrolling through stuff on Facebook on my phone. I came across one post that nearly rendered the 45-minute sleep ritual worthless.

It was this:

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When I saw that in the midst of a slew of stuff she’d posted, I scrolled past at first. And then I realized that I had missed something. I went back to that particular meme and gave it a look. Guilting people into sharing this crap. *Rolls eyes* Hey that guy’s cloak looks familiar…OH WAIT, it’s Obi Wan!

Cue the Muttly laugh.

It got worse when Sam peeked over my shoulder to see why I was Muttley laughing. When he started laughing, it made me laugh even harder, to the point that I was shaking and had tears rolling down my face.

Miracle of miracles, Baby Girl did not wake up. Bump a toy car on the way to her crib? She wakes up. Creek in the floor? She wakes up. Mama and Daddy are dying with laughter and she’s being moved around? She sleeps.

BONUS:

There was a year in there where we assumed that my MIL had quit posting on Facebook. We’d see her occasionally like or comment on our things, but never saw anything from her in my feed. When I stopped to drop off the kids one day, I found that her vow of silence on her Facebook timeline wasn’t intentional.

“I’ve had it with everyone on Facebook!” she told me. “Today I posted something about it being the anniversary of my father’s death, and you’d think someone could at least like it, but nope!” Her cheeks were flushed she was so angry.

“Oh, no. I didn’t see that, I’m sorry,” I said. “You know, the Facebook feed shows so much stuff, so it’s hard for people to keep up with everything that gets posted.”

“I post stuff about my grandkids, cute things, and recipes all the time, and no one likes it. NO ONE,” she informed me. “I know people might not see everything, but none of my friends or family ever comments on anything. And I’m getting sick of liking and commenting on their stuff if they don’t care enough about me to do the same.”

My MIL has a tendency to exaggerate things, so I was a bit skeptical that she was posting so much stuff since I hadn’t seen anything from her in forever. “Literally no one comments or likes your stuff ever? Or just not often?”

“Never!” she snapped. She sighed. “Maybe I’ve got a virus or something on Facebook. You know how hackers are. Will you take a look at it for me?” She handed over the tablet.

After pulling up her Facebook page, I saw very quickly why there were no comments or likes — her posts were locked, so she was the only one who could see them. I scrolled through for a bit and saw that had been the case for at least several months. There was all sorts of stuff, wishing her grandkids happy birthday, asking for prayers for an illness, telling her sons that she loved them, etc.

“MIL…you have your posts locked. No one but you can even see them.”

“Do what?” she asked, peering over my shoulder.

“See the lock icon? That means that you’re the only person who can see what you posted. No one else can. So no one was ignoring you, it’s just that they couldn’t see the posts…”

“Well how did that happen?”

If only I had a nickel for every time she asked that after messing up something on one of her tech devices.

Got any Facebook funnies to share?

 

J is for J4F

Ready to have a little fun?

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Have you always wondered what your superhero name should be? Of course you have; after all, you can’t fantasize about joining the X-Man as your regular ol’ self (unless your regular ol’ self is pretty badass, anyway). My superhero name is Aqua Brain, which might just be the shittiest superhero name ever, unless your initials are GQ, in which case you’d sound like the crappy knockoff toy for Iron Man that you find at the flea market.

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If you didn’t think finding your superhero name was fun, maybe you’ll enjoy finding your porn name. Mine is Dirty Tickler. Eh, don’t think I’ll be asking Sam to refer to me as that in the bedroom since it kinda sounds like a perverted McDonald’s character.

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First there was Treat Yourself, and now there is Trump Yo’Self! No, this isn’t other words for telling someone to go fuck yourself. It’s an app you can use to see how you’d look if you had The Trump’s hair.

Okay, so Baby Girl looks pretty much the same. LM’s face is too sweet for this.

I think that’s enough fun for a Tuesday. Feel free to share your names/Trumpified pic in the comments.

Alternative meanings: None, but you can just JFF to mean the same thing.

Textspeak I passed up: J/K (just kidding), JW (just wondering), JTLYK (just to let you know), and JFGI (just fucking Google it).

What do you like to do J4F?