Death to Motorola. Death to them for making shitty cell phone batteries that can't stand up to my marathon phone conversations. Death to them for making cell phone chargers that can magically dissect themselves and fall apart whilst charging a phone (while I'm talking on it, nonetheless). And death to them for these two combining factors that send me scrambling to Walmart at 1 in the morning for a new charger.
The florescent lights are even brighter and harder on the eyes in the middle of the night. And the characters are even more colorful. The workers' mullets are a trashy-spotter's dream. The old men that stalk the aisles of the store are more heavy-set; their shirts are more grease-stained. The children of the wife-beater-wearing fathers are more adorable and tug harder on the heartstrings. And the only semi-normal looking people are all sporting NMU hoodies, pajama pants or a combination of the two. (I was wearing both--it's Walmart for Christ's sake.)
I didn't want to run frantically to the store. I thought I'd be out with friends dancing and/or singing the night away. Somehow plans fell through. And I'm not entirely dissatisfied with this considering the fact that I came home from work and nearly fell asleep within two minutes of sinking onto my couch. A couple of completely gratifying conversations later and my charger decided to fall apart mid-charge. And the battery light on my phone started making the "ee-ook" sound at me as well. I need my cell phone. It needed juice.
While this isn't the blog I was expecting to post early on a Saturday morning, it shall suffice. Although drunken entries are fun and funny (and I promise I will drunken blog once I get drunk and am near my laptop), this seems like a decent way to cap off an unexpectedly quiet night. My cell phone is happily charging, my bed is calling my name and tomorrow sparkles with the promise of a great day.
Ciao, dahling!
~*Krissy*~