My First iPhone

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I did it. Made the leap and bought an iPhone. I bought the old model three days before the new model came out, which freaked out all my techie friends. To make it worse, I bought a refurbished model. I don't need the latest and greatest technology. I just need it to work. 

I warned Blair before I opened the phone that while I was sure within a month I would be attached at the hip to my phone and wondering how I had ever lived without it, the first 2-3 weeks would be full of complaints and regret. Why? Even intuitive technology is not intuitive to me. And I get really, really frustrated really, really fast when things don't work the way I think they should. 

Sure enough, within 30 minutes of playing with the phone on Saturday, I was in a foul mood. "Just turn the stupid thing off," I told Blair. I didn't touch it again for over 24 hours. Luckily, I had dinner with friends on Sunday and they showed me a few tricks that made me think maybe this whole phone thing wouldn't be a total disaster. (I LOVE the "Bump" app.) 

However, I'm worried that my addictive tendencies have already kicked in. I had an eye doctor's appointment this morning and instead of reading a magazine, journaling, or just sitting still and paying attention to my thoughts, I whipped out my little rectangle entertainment center and started pushing buttons. So long, moments of quiet introspection. You are my past. My future is rearranging the order of my apps and deleting e-mails whenever I have down time. 

For those of you eager to start texting me, DON'T. One step at a time. I'm still trying to figure out ringtone options. And for those of you who keep asking me what plan I signed up for and did I get in on the old plan or the new tech-something plan, shut up. Just. shut. up. 

I know I'll grow to love my phone and its myriad of options. And that I'll soon be using it like a pro. But for the moment, if you need to reach me, just send smoke signals or something simple. 

Thanks,

Dena

I Survived the Drive From Hell

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I think I'll have it made into a bumper sticker: I Survived The Drive From Hell.  Thursday morning I left the house at 6:30 AM and pointed the car north toward Ohio. The first two hours were easy-peasy. Coffee, music, and 65 mph.

Once I hit the mountains in VA though, things changed. Snow flurries were constant and road conditions alternated between wet, slushy, and blowing snow. The outside temperature dropped from 28 to 16 in about a six mile range, and my windshield wiper fluid froze. This left me having to get behind semi's, relying on flying snow from their wheels to hit my windshield enough that I could run the wipers and see where I was going. I pretty much sat clenched and shallow breathing behind the wheel for 3 hours. (Although when I dared risk a glance to my right or left, the scenery was STUNNING. It looked like a pristine winter wonderland.) 

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The Wide World of Writing Projects, aka "Neurosis 101"

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I don't blog about clients. Bad for business. Not that I have anything bad to say about them (I have really great clients), but not everyone is comfortable seeing their project's details splayed about on a blog for the whole world--or my 10 devoted readers--to see. 

Not blogging about clients is probably for my own protection as well. A new or potential client doesn't need to stumble across my blog and read about how I'm making stuff up as I go, I went to noon yoga instead of working on their deadline, or that one of my cats barfed on their project draft. (Not that any of that happens around here. Uh-uh. Nope. NEVER.)

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The Eternal, Never-Ending, Repetitive Search for the Perfect Black Flats

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I need a pair of black flats.

That statement is enough to send me into a tailspin of almost non-recoverable depression.

I hate shopping. I especially hate shoe shopping. And I especially especially hate shopping for black flats which are like the little black dress in that the right pair is supposed to carry you through any occasion, except I keep getting it wrong. (Hence, the hate.)

I currently own 3 pairs of black flats. One is an el-cheapo pair I convinced myself could pass for a higher end shoe but which scream out "Payless shoe sale! Payless shoe sale!" with each cheap pleather step. 

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