I hate cell phones...how bout you?   

Let’s not waste any time and get right to the point: I hate cell phones and everything about them.
What I hate most about cell phones is that I am completely and hopelessly dependent on them now.
We’ve become a herd of celloholics, and sadly, I am an addict.
Hello, my name is O'Ryan and I can’t live without my cell phone.
Cell phones have become an addictive need.
You can lose twenty bucks and while you might be a little upset, life goes on right?
But misplace your cell phone?
You would think Jesus just called and Armageddon’s coming. You will tear your house, car and life inside out until you find it.
I had lost my cell phone once and actually shook my fist at the ceiling, crying out in helpless anger, “Where did you hide my cell phone?”
I find that troubling on so many different levels, one that I lost control of my temper, and two, because I blamed the ceiling for playing a prank on me.
For years I resisted the urge to get connected.
I don’t have enough friends that I want to talk to at a moment’s notice or that I’d want to hear from as soon as I left the movies. I don’t have a circle of friends. I don’t even have an arc of friends. It’s more like a short line.
I’m simply not that friendly.
I thought that’s why God invented answering machines, so you could screen your in-laws’ calls.
Now, a cell phone call is like God calling.
Or your mom.
And you better by God answer it.
I admit it. They got us. I’m addicted.
I need my cell phone, but cell phone coverage around here stinks.
I could be in the middle of an important phone call maybe something as ridiculously fantastic as finally hooking up with the girl of my dreams, and the call will drop. When I try to call back my cell phone scolds me with, “Call not allowed. Network failed. Emergency calls only.”
Well this is an emergency!
But be on the phone with your mom… while she’s going on and on about shaving corns, or chin waxing, or how she just hasn’t been regular lately, and those four bars stand tall and proud and every last stay-with-you-til-the-day-you-die detail comes in loud and clear.
Before I joined the Cell Phone Nation I never screamed. I never shook my fist in anger. I never blamed the ceiling for it’s mischievous nature. I didn’t even know what a conniption was much less be able to pitch one.
But now, I actually argue with my cell phone.
And lose.
We live in a cell phone black hole. I am convinced somewhere out there somebody pulled the cosmic plug and all that wonderful cell phone coverage is being sucked into another dimension.
They say there’s a fine line between fishing and standing in water looking like an idiot holding a stick. The same holds true for people and what they do with their cell phones in order to find that elusive signal bar.
I’m the guy you see walking around town around holding my cell phone out at arm’s length trying to catch a signal bar like catching snowflakes on the wind. I spent so much time looking into my phone trying to find a signal that I caught two folks on Main Street who mistook me for a tourist taking pictures with my cell phone. I stood there for three minutes telling them to smile and say cheese because I didn’t have the heart to admit that my cell phone couldn’t do that.
To my surprise, I didn’t feel like an idiot standing there, holding my cell phone at arm’s length pretending to take pictures of complete strangers. Instead I felt shame. I had a cell phone that couldn’t take pictures and I had to lie about it.
A show of hands please: I have actually stood on a kitchen chair and held my cell phone up to the ceiling to try and catch a signal bar.
You’re lying if you say you’ve never done that.
I just want to talk on the phone without bending in places I can’t bend anymore, sitting in my chair and not standing on it.
ET would have better luck phoning home.