Suburban Goddess

OMC is down at the Bridal Extravaganza this weekend… if you’re getting married anytime soon and need a photographer, please stop by and give us a shout.

BTW, tell my partners you heard about it here…. it’ll make me look good!

“You know what your problem is?”

“If I say yes, can we avoid this conversation?”

“Seriously!”

“Seriously!  I don’t have enough minutes on my cell plan!”

“I thought you had the unlimited package…”

“I do!”

(sigh)  “Just forget it.”

Yesterday I decided to stop by the AT&T store to check on my contract and look into a new phone. I love my Blackjack, but ever since an unfortunate incident with a rainy day and a puddle, it’s features have started to get, well, let’s say, “unreliable.”

By the way, do you know about the red dot inside your phone? The one that turns red if you get it wet so the wireless manufacturers don’t have to uphold your warranty? Strangely enough, my phone didn’t have one. Imagine that.

That didn’t matter, because the moment I walked into the store I felt an undeniable pull from a certain white kiosk… but I fought the urge. (Don’t look directly at it! Don’t make eye contact!) I walked to the opposite wall, pulling down the second generation of my current phone. I’ve grown quite attached to my phone (as many of you like to point out) but one of my biggest complaints is that the buttons are so doggone small. The new version didn’t change that… so I started looking at the AT&T Tilt.

As a designer, I love simplicity. As a tech geek, I love functionality. This phone was pretty cool, lots of features, touch screen, slide out keyboard… but the little gray apple in the corner was calling me.

“You know you want me.”

“No. I will not give in. I will not have one just for trends’ sake.”

“But I’m not a trend to YOU… look, I have a Mac OS…. sure, the Tilt is cool, but underneath, it’s still WINDOWS.”

“Shut up.” I turned my back to the kiosk, looking up my blog on the Tilt. One of the main reasons I have a data phone is so that I can blog from anywhere. It displayed nicely (although I’m going to have to adjust the design because I forget about the emerging power of smartphones). I logged into the blog interface, and tested the typing feature. Smooth. Easy. I liked it.

“But it’s WINDOWS!”

“SHUT UP!”

“WINDOWS!”

I set the Tilt down and wandered around while I waited my turn. I listened as people discussed their phone bills, talked about upgrading their packages, discovered new features on their phones…. I wandered past the Bluetooth headset displays, the various phone accessories…. when I felt my feet turn slightly.

“No. Don’t you walk over there.”

“Just come see.”

“NO. DO NOT GO OVER THERE.”

“Just a little peek. A peek won’t hurt.”

“NO! NO! NO! WHERE ARE YOU GO-”

But it was too late. My feet were not listening to me, and I found myself in front of the beautiful, simple white kiosk. Thank you, Apple, for making white space cool again. From the bottom of my little black designer heart…

For a moment, I kept my eyes closed. Don’t look. Like Sodam and Gomorrah… I will turn to salt. I will turn to salt. I will turn to salt. Don’t look. DON’T LOOK!

But I looked.

The phone sat quietly in it’s cradle. No words now. Just me & the phone. It’s simple, smooth screen, the polished surface, unmarred by primitive buttons and awkward dials. The simple, bright, colorful icons, a symphony of simplicity and design… so pretty…. I reached out slowly, every fiber of my being crying out while I did - NO! NO! NO! - but it was too late. It held me in it’s invisible grasp, inexplicably drawn to it’s simple beauty…

The moment I picked it up, it was all over.

SOLD.

So much for “lead me not into temptation…”

While driving home with my carpooler the other day, she mentioned one of my past posts.

“Yeah, I read that post about cell phones and I’m like, WHATEVER!”

“What do you mean?”

“How you hate when people pull it out while you’re trying to have a conversation-”

(cell rings)

I looked down with a pained expression. She looked at me with a huge smile. My fingers snaked down uncontrollably as I flipped my phone over to see who was calling.

“Can I answer this?  Please?  Just long enough to tell him I’ll call him back…”

“HA!  BLOG ABOUT THAT!”

The other day, my Blackjack buzzed with an email message.

“You have a new message on Facebook.”

I opened the email, and was completely surprised by the sender. It was Chip’s first ex-wife.

When I met Chip, we were simultaneously going through our first divorces. In a bizarre twist of fate, our court dates coincided, and we were both officially divorced on the same day. I’m not sure how soon after his separation from the first wife that he started shopping for his second, but judging from what I’ve seen lately, I’m guessing he didn’t wait long.

In the beginning, he & his X were very close. They lived in the same neighborhood (he said for the sake of his son, however, I truly believe he never got over his first wife). They even went car shopping together, buying PT Cruisers on the same day.

Strange? I thought so.

As I started to spend more time with him, I would occasionally stay at his house. She would have to drive by in the mornings, and would see my truck parked in front of his house. Of course, she had a problem with that (only now do I truly understand), and in an effort to appease her, I was no longer allowed to park in front of his house. Eventually, this caused a lot of friction…. pretty much the same as, say, NOW. Only now, I’m on the other side, and where he tried to appease her, he basically told me to f*** off.

After a few childish displays, a few arguments, and a lot of not speaking, the two worked things out and came to an understanding. It’s that understanding that I look to now, hoping that he & I can reach that level as well. Someday.

However, there are a lot of things different about our divorce than theirs.

I always loved the Ex-Wife’s kid as my own. He holds a special place in my heart. He’s smart, funny, and a little bit different. It really hurts that I’ve been closed out of his life, but he really seems to like TOW (and that’s one reason I try not to judge her. She obviously cares about the kids, which goes a long way in my book). Eventually, the Ex-Wife saw that I really cared about her child, and the silliness that ensues after a divorce ceased. There was a quiet truce, and life got easier.

I was happy she contacted me; it opened up the hope that maybe I’ll be able to be part of the Ex-Stepkid’s life again. But there was one thing that struck home more than anything when I opened her family picture…

TOW could be her twin sister (minus the boobs).

Coincidence?

“How many daughters did you have, sir?”

“Two. But I would have taken five boys instead.”

“But boys break stuff!”

“Yes, but I can FIX that stuff….”

I’ve reached the point of so much multi-tasking that I can’t get any of the tasks correct anymore.  This is a dangerous thing, because I’ve found in the past three days, I’ve passed my exit on the Interstate FOUR times.  I almost forgot to pick up my carpooler once, and twice I’ve almost forgotten to drop off my child at daycare.

I’m a big hot mess right now.

I can’t really pinpoint what’s changed, other than missing my thyroid medication for a couple of days… but I can’t imagine it would have that much of an impact in just three days. I actually have LESS on my plate that usual, because I don’t have the freelance stuff to contend with that I used to.

Is middle age finally starting to set in?  I don’t want to go senile! I’m not ready yet!

“She has the personality of a postage stamp.”

“What?”

“I said-”

“I know what you said, I’m trying to figure out what you were getting at. Are you saying she’s been around?”

“No! Man, it’s no wonder people are always mad at me… maybe I need to choose my words more carefully.”

“At least your metaphors…”

If the entire floor can hear your phone conversation, you may consider taking it OUTSIDE.

While I was home, Mom was going through a bunch of their old files when she found a file containing some of my old school information. I flipped through the file, finding an old handbook on Guidelines For Raising A Gifted Child.

I tested out of regular courses pretty early on… I remember being in specialized courses as early as fourth grade. As I progressed through my school career, the hour a day turned into a full-fledged gifted program. Other kids would look at me and my counterparts with envy as we were pulled out of regular classes to attend “enrichment” courses.

This is where the ego began.

I used to think giftedness meant I was smarter than “regular” kids. After all, they teased me mercilessly for being a “nerd,” so that made me smarter, right? I learned to embrace the label, reveling in my “giftedness.”

So when I went to college, it was serious culture-shock. They never taught me how to actually sit in a regular classroom and take notes. I lost focus quickly. I grew bored. And unfortunately, when I grow bored, I develop a raging case of narcolepsy, which became apparent when my head would hit the desk with a resounding THUD, eliciting giggles and stares from my fellow students.

Anyway, back to being special. So my first year of college, I signed up for a Child Psychology class, and I was excited that Giftedness was a topic to be discussed on the curriculum. I would be able to stay awake through that one! I walked in the day we were covering the topic with a sense of smugness.

I’ve got this topic covered. After all, I’M GIFTED.

All my self-esteem came tumbling down like Paris Hilton in a homemade porno when the professor stood at the front of the room and crushed my entire vision of childhood.

“While many actually think giftedness is enhanced intelligence, it’s actually considered a LEARNING DISORDER.”

This is the day my self-esteem died.

Wha, wha, WHAT? LEARNING DISORDER? I knew kids with learning disorders; they rode the short bus. And little did I know, “giftedness” qualified me for that bus, too. As he continued to explain our cognitive differences, I stared at the blackboard in disbelief. I wasn’t special, I was SPESH-SHUL.

Ugh.

So when I found the pamphlet at Mom’s house, I flipped through and couldn’t stop myself from laughing. One page had a list of comparisons of what it was like to be gifted. These three were my favorite:

BEING GIFTED IS LIKE….

… being a giraffe in a herd of gazelles.

… driving a Lamborghini on a highway of Chevys.

… being a circle in a room full of squares.

HA! So take that, normal people! I may be learning disabled, but you’re all a bunch of SQUARES.

(Now I see why Mom kept that information from me for 25 years.)