I can store 6000 books on my e-reader but I can’t fit my sleeping bag back into the sack it came in.
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I thought it would be fun. I thought it would be easy. I thought I could get away with it.
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It takes me a long time to sound witty and spontaneous.
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The only thing worse than a dead computer is the learning curve on a new one.
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I still have my watch.. It sits on my wrist like a vestigial organ, though it’s prettier than an appendix.
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I’ve been able to find answers to some of my most pressing questions on the internet, and some of them may even be right.
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I have a little daydream where hackers suddenly need passwords and usernames to get into their bathrooms.
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I don't mean to brag, but I type really fast—way faster than I text. Faster than I think, too, which can be dangerous.
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Had Alexander Graham Bell’s first phone been a smartphone, Watson would have been too busy playing Candy Crush to answer the call.
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If you answered this question “frequently,” you have too much time on your hands and should come clean my house.
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It’s good to try before you buy—except for groceries. Don’t do that.
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It’s possible I’m seeing some human characteristics in my iPhone, but only because she has them. I press the button, and asked, “Siri, are you human?” She says, “Close enough.”
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I once ordered antivirus software from a particular company. As it turned out, it would have been easier and more pleasant to have a virus.
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Facebook brings to mind that old adage, “There are no strangers here, only friends you have not met yet.”Facebook brings to mind that old adage, “There are no strangers here, only friends you have not met yet.”
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I’m a nice person—mostly. Ask anyone who knows me. Except my family. Don’t ask them.
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Leave me alone Elizabeth from Resort Rewards Center.
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I used to think that the only thing our landline was good for was getting calls from people we refused to give our cellphone numbers to. Then we got rid of it. And now I know what my old-fashioned phone was really good for
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One Friday morning when I was in college, a certain nice young man asked me on a date for that evening. I agreed without hesitation. There was just one problem. Another not-as-nice young man had already asked me out—sort of.
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Either I'm invisible or that clerk is holding out for the shift change so that someone else will have to wait on me.
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I’ve never heeded that old advice given to writers: “Write what you know.” If I would have, I’d have run out of column material a long time ago. Why stick to what I know? I've got Google.
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