You tried to enter your password on the microwave.
You now think of three espressos as "getting wasted."
You haven't played solitaire with a real deck of cards in
years.
You have a list of fifteen phone numbers to reach your family
of three.
You email your son in his room to tell him that dinner is
ready and he emails you back asking, "What are we eating?"
Your daughter sells Girl Scout Cookies via her web site.
You chat several times a day with a stranger from South
Africa, but you haven't spoken to your next door neighbor yet
this year.
Your daughter just bought a CD of all the records your
college roommate used to play.
You check the ingredients on a can of chicken noodle soup to
see if it contains Echinacea.
You check your blow dryer to see if it's Y2K compliant.
Your grandmother clogs up your email inbox, asking you to
send her JPEG files of your newborn so she can create a screen
saver.
You pull up in your own driveway and use your cell phone to
see if anyone is home.
Your reason for not staying in touch with family is that they
do not have email addresses.
If you can't order it by midnight and have it delivered by
noon the next day it is just too slow.
Your stockbroker's name ends in .com.
A blind date means chatting online with someone you haven't
met before.
Most of your books are bought online. "Real world" bookstores
are now prized as your favorite cafe to hang out, work, and meet
people of the opposite sex.
You get all excited when it's Saturday and you can wear
sweats to work.
You find you really need PowerPoint to explain what kind of
work you do.
You eat meals out of vending machines and at the most
expensive restaurant in town within the same week.
You think a "half-day" means leaving at five o'clock.
Cleaning up the dining area means getting the fast food bags
out of the backseat of your car.
You faxed your Christmas list to your parents.
Your idea of being organized is multiple colored
Post-It™ notes.
You get most of your jokes via email instead of in
person.
