World Cup Kitty

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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

The Last Day of My 30's

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So this is it. The last day of my 30's. I'm managing my grief. I really don't mind turning 40 although I am NOT happy about being categorized as a "master" (age 40-55) runner. There's still bounce in my step. See? See???

In honor of the changing of the decade, I thought perhaps a quick ode to the 30's and a preview of what I'm looking forward to about being in my 40's. 

What I'll Miss About Being In My 30's:

  • A fast metabolism
  • Feeling there's still plenty of time to figure out what I want to do with my life
  • The possibility that (if I weren't married) I could still date someone in their late 20's and it wouldn't be completely icky
  • Being able to giggle and still sound girlish instead of mentally  imbalanced
  • Being able to tell people that I'm in my 30's

 What I'm Looking Forward To In My 40's: 

  • Losing the desire to please others
  • Increased self-confidence
  • Best health of my life
  • Living more in the moment versus trying to plan for every contingency
  • Continuing  to consciously surround myself with people that motivate and inspire me 
  • Winning the battle of the grays. (Be warned gray hairs on top of my head: I have cash flow, access to a salon, and an abundance of hair dye that I'm not afraid to use)

Tomorrow has the potential to be brutal. I received a package in the mail today from my dad from a store called "Over The Hill" and my sister called to say she can't wait to call me tomorrow and rub it in. (I miss the days when being the older sibling conferred all the advantages on me.) 

Anyway, 30's were grand, 40's will be even better. Forty and fabulous? You betcha!

A Little Early Weekend Humor

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My 15-year-old niece sent me this. We're so proud...

A teacher was giving her students lifesavers and they were supposed to tell the flavor. The children began to identify the flavors by their color: 

Red...............Cherry
Yellow...........Lemon 
Green.............Lime 
Orange..........Orange 

Finally the teacher gave them all HONEY lifesavers. None of the children could identify the taste. The teacher said, "I will give you all a clue. It's what your mother may sometimes call your father."

One little girl looked up in horror, spit her lifesaver out and yelled, "Oh my God! Everyone spit it out! They're assholes!"