Fun With Autocorrect

Guess what boys & girls, it's time for a new feature on this blog. We'll call it "What Maalivahti's Phone Thinks She REALLY Means". Ok, maybe not. That's a little long. We'll stick with "Fun With Autocorrect" for now. This idea is in part due to a conversation I had with Senator today, via text. We'd been texting back and forth about a gaffe on my part, where I had stated in an email to the whole Hawks team that if I started bitching about the league at any point next season, that they should feel free to force me to breathe deeply of Bandit's bag. Bandit keeps his hockey bag in his car, always. As a result you can smell him coming practically before he even gets to the locker room. In my attempt to be funny though, I didn't realize until I'd hit the "send" button that "Bandit's bag" sounds an awful lot like I'm talking about something OTHER than his hockey bag. (Yes, all of us are roughly 12 yrs old mentally).

Except every time I tried to type "bag" in my text, my phone insisted that what I really meant was "vag". Yeah. What was that about 12 year old mentality? I guess you can see which word I use more often.

Senator suggested that was worthy of a tweet at the very least, or even a blog post. And that got me thinking about what my phone likes to try and replace words with. I recalled one time recently when I attempted to text the following message to a friend:

"I have a task for you."

Only my phone did this. "i have a rask-"

*I delete 'rask' and try again*

"...a rask-"

*DELETE*

"...a TASK for you".

That's not so hard to picture, given the proximity of the 't' and the 'r' on the keyboard. Oh yeah, and the frequency with which I type "Rask". That might have something to do with it too.

But what really cracked me up, and cemented the idea of creating this silly little feature, was when I tried to make the following comment on a friend's Facebook status:

"...so I can live bobrovsky-"

*Gales of laughter*

"...vicariously through you".

So, welcome, dear readers, to even further insight into my brain. As if this blog wasn't enough, my phone's attempts at autocorrecting my typing is like a glimpse into my subconscious. What a shock that it's all about goalies and sex jokes.

PS-EFF THE FLYERS