Face it: You love your cell phone. You just hate everyone else's.

I'm a little weary of diatribes on the evils of cell phones. You know what? I like my cell phone. I don't like rude people who bellow into them at Target while I'm trying to concentrate on important hair color purchasing decisions, but that's not the phone's fault. If bitch weren't annoying me with her yelling she'd most likely be offending me some other way. Because she's rude--and that's the real problem.

I'm so hyper-aware of cell rudeness that on the rare occasions I do use my phone in the store I end up skulking off to a deserted corner whispering "I have to make this quick; I'm in the store" with the same urgency you might reveal "I'm on the pot," so, believe me, I'm not defending the accused. I just think it's gotten a little too fashionable to turn up one's nose at a perfectly useful device, like it's so bourgeois, or something. Like the anti-cell crowd are the new "I don't own a television" douchebags.

I read some sneering piece recently about the pathetic losers who immediately start dialing the moment an airline pilot announces that cell phone use won't make the air traffic controller direct their plane into a ditch. I will confess, somewhat shamefacedly, that I have my own pet peeves concerning air travel and often make a jackass of myself because of them. Most prominent: I hate when people jump up and start reaching around and dragging things down on top of you as soon as the seatbelt sign goes off (or, you know, before). You can't go anywhere! Chill! So if I'm on the aisle I sit placidly waiting for people to begin disembarking while the folks trapped beside me quiver with impatience. We all suck in our own special ways, and I can embrace mine.

BUT, there are plenty of reasons to call as soon as you land. For example, I call my mom as soon as I land at DFW because she lives a few minutes away and doesn't need to leave to come get me until I'm on the ground. Also, there are times when my husband takes my son to visit relatives without me, and every minute that I don't have to wonder if they're safely back on the ground is worth what I pay for the phone and worth the scorn of other passengers.

Then again, even at my bitchiest I try to remember what a "pet peeve" is: It's your problem. So while I don't mind cell phones, I can recognize my problems. To wit, I complain bitterly every day about people who drive ginormous goddamn trucks and SUVs, not because I'm all Miss Green Party conservationist or some other unselfish thing, but because I drive a snappy purple PT Cruiser convertible and I CAN'T SEE AROUND YOUR ASS. There are times, I swear, when I have thought about getting myself a vehicle designed for Paul fucking Bunyan just so I can see where I'm going, and then I think WTF? I neither want nor need such a vehicle, yet here I am pondering a $30,000 gas guzzler simply because I feel so oppressed by the stupid things. I HATE YOU, GIANT-ASS TRUCKS. HATE. YOU.

If your daily business involves hauling redwoods to and fro? I forgive you the enormous truck. But if it just makes you feel like Biggus Dickus? No. Also, could you at least park in the back of the lot instead of right up on my driver's side so I don't have to get gastric bypass surgery before I can squeeze into my car? Thanks so much.

What was this post about again? Cell phones? Yeah, I don't care about cell phones most of the time. They're useful. I guess I don't have much room to talk about pet peeves, though, so I'll shut up now.