Don't you DARE spend precious hours of your life tearing your hair out over a new car purchase. Here's how to do the whole deal over the phone (or via email) and get an amazing deal in the process.
The problem with something so big, so incredibly huge and out of control is that everyday you will see someone who you previously thought was alright, being a dick.
We all have different things that we want from our Twitter apps, but we seem universally united in our hatred of the actual web Twitter, which, let’s face it, sucks giant donkey balls.
Every time I go to the app store, I find a new app dedicated that suggests reaching our goals and living the dream can be taught easily with to-do lists and technology. I tried some of the free ones to find out.
If you’ve ever been thanked for your feedback, someone has daydreamed about lining your mouth hole with staples.
Just like there is never a good time for your toilet to clog, or your electricity to go out, or to develop a bladder infection, there is never a good time for your computer to crash.
I have actual physical reactions when I see my Instagram crush wear a new bold lip color, pose in a dark bar with a craft cocktail, or lazily lounge with her adorable husband and puppy in their adorable apartment.
Perhaps it’s 2012 fatigue (I’m so over this year and all its accompanying madness), but I couldn't muster the will to be outraged about Instagram's proposed (then scrapped) policy change. Believe me I tried.
How is this personal? Is your dad Clarence P. Iphone? Will Santa choke on the Easter Bunny if I don’t get a smart phone?
On Wednesday, Google decided that its US users were apparently all diaper babies who couldn't handle seeing accidental breasts now and again. Is this censorship, or am I just being an oversensitive perv?
I turned to Twitter to a) confirm that this wasn't a special punishment being visited upon me for an unknown offense and b) banter about how much it sucked to be out of contact with everyone.
Forgive me Internet, for I have trolled.
Did anyone miss me? Was anyone trying to reach me? Was I missing anything? How had I become so dependent on this little, aluminum rectangle?
It's like I woke up to a completely new Internet where trolls were discouraged, and women were asked to tell their stories. In case you didn't know, this is not the Internet's way.
Despite disclaimers and threats of criminal prosecution, SimSimi is clearly not preventing the more salacious messages from passing through its learning curve.
I downloaded the app under the guise that it would inform me about the workings of my body and I'd know even more about myself. Instead, I'm even more disconnected.
If you want my investment capital, show me something other than white dudes.