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Can we talk about emojis? They're like the hieroglyphics of the digital age. I spend more time trying to decode emojis than I do reading Shakespeare. I sent a text to my friend the other day, pouring my heart out about a bad day. I get a response, and it's just an emoji. Not a sympathetic word or a comforting phrase—just an emoji. I'm staring at this tiny picture, trying to figure out if it's a hug or a high-five. It's like a modern-day Rorschach test.
And don't get me started on the eggplant emoji. I accidentally used it in a conversation about gardening, and now my neighbor thinks I'm into some weird vegetable fetish. Thanks, emoji keyboard, for turning me into the neighborhood oddball.
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You ever notice how English can be like the Bermuda Triangle of languages? I mean, I'm convinced that half the time people are just nodding along, pretending they know what the heck you're saying. I was in a foreign country recently, trying to order something to eat. I wanted to play it safe, so I pointed to the menu and confidently said, "I'll have the, uh, anchoring script in English, please." The waiter looked at me like I just ordered a unicorn steak. I realized, in that moment, I had become the international ambassador for lost-in-translation moments.
So, there I am, attempting to mime my way through an order. I'm doing these weird gestures, trying to communicate the concept of a burger without using words. I must've looked like a mime having an existential crisis. Finally, the waiter gets it, and I get my meal. But I can't help but wonder if they're still telling stories about the confused foreigner who wanted an anchoring script in English.
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Let's talk about the gym. I recently signed up for a gym membership, thinking it would change my life. Spoiler alert: it hasn't. The only six-pack I've developed is in my fridge. You walk into the gym, and there's always that one person who's in better shape than the fitness equipment itself. I swear, they're doing acrobatics on the treadmill while I'm struggling to find the "start" button.
And then there are the personal trainers. They're like drill sergeants with a clipboard. One of them came up to me and asked, "What's your fitness goal?" I panicked and said, "To not pass out during this conversation." They say no pain, no gain, but I'm pretty sure they mean no pain, no pain.
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Can we talk about technology for a second? I mean, Siri and I have a love-hate relationship. I asked Siri for relationship advice once, and she responds with, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that." No kidding, Siri! Neither do I! I thought technology was supposed to make our lives easier. But now, we're all walking around talking to our phones like they're our therapists. "Siri, why do I always eat a whole tub of ice cream after a breakup?" And Siri's like, "I found some ice cream parlors near you." Thanks, Siri, but that's not what I needed.
I'm just waiting for Siri to start charging me by the hour for these therapy sessions. I can see it now: "You have exceeded your emotional baggage limit for the month. Please upgrade to Siri Pro for unlimited counseling.
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