A whole lot o' nothing. And then some….
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Posts from — August 2008

Too Much Information

It’s a sad, sad time for me.

As many of you know, I lost a trusted friend yesterday: my Handspring Visor. Though referred to it as a Palm Pilot, it was actually an offshoot. The unrecognized bastard child of the Palm’s creators. Born sometime in the late ’90’s to compete with the Palm, the Visor was supposed to be The Hot New Thing: a PDA (or, as it was once known – the electronic organizer) that could turn into (gasp!) a phone! Or even (gasp!) a camera! No, no it wasn’t merely another palm device – this was the be-all-end-all in devices. This was gonna blow the old Palm Pilots out of the water.

Or so I was told. And I bought it – the device, the hype, the whole nine yards.

Many moons ago I went on the search to simplify. Being au courant, I figured I’d ditch my beloved filofax and go electric. Afterall, my Filo was getting so heavy and I yet couldn’t bare to edit or (god forbid) tear out old pages. Just in case. Also, it was fun flipping through the calendar and reminiscing. It was a good-looking book too, way nicer than my original rubber one. This one was leather, from that store Bree. Remember that place? Another relic where everything – everything – was light beige leather. The idea being that you’d have their wares forever – bags, suitcases, erm…filofaxes. And the longer you owned it, the more worn and tanned the leather got. It was stunning. At the time.

But practicality prevailed and I ditched it for a Psion. Remember those? The little keyboards that could? It was love at first sight. Until I got sick of it. I figured after several years it was time to upgrade. And thus the search began. First I checked out the old Blackberry – mostly because I liked the name. I friend of mine had one and it looked like a pager. And he was all thumbs. Why would I want that? Besides, I really just wanted an organizer.

So the Visor won. And I lost. Everything. All because I neglected to back it up.

Gone, 10 years of good times and bad. Adios friends, neighbours and services. The only folks who are keepers are the ones whose emails I happen to have. I suppose those are the only folks worth keeping anyway, and yet…..I liked having the numbers of restaurants, florists and my local GP from London. So what if I’ll never use any of ’em? Or if some have closed down? I could still go through, and reminiscent about my old life. Ditto having the address and phone number of my old boss, a hot shot film director who, tho’ we worked together for 5 years, I haven’t heard from in nearly ten. Still, it was nice to have, even if he never answered the last out-of-the-blue Christmas card I sent. Old boyfriends, old hairdressers, old haunts….see you never.

Many of you thought it hilarious that someone who thinks she’s so hip ‘n happening would be caught dead with something as passe compose as a Palm Pilot. It is, after all the ’00’s. Call me old fashioned, but I loved that quaint ole thang. ‘Til it lost my life. Now I’m over it.

Out with the old and in with the new.

But new who? Do I join the other addicts and go crackberry? Apparently Blackberry’s new Bold is gonna be all the rage. Or do I go for the lifestyle and looks of Apple? And if so, i-touch or i-phone? I’ve consulted with some of my pals, boys who like toys and they seem to like both. Sadly, that’s not an option. Not in these unemployed days. But what to buy? And what to do in the meantime? The Apples may not be as practical, but they’re attractive, cute, hot. And the Blackberry? Well, it’s just…not. Tho’ I’ve no doubt I’d learn to love it. Especially the whole v-card thing….

The Bold or the Beautiful? Or back to paper? It’s a big decision. And I can’t even call my advisors….I’ve lost their information….

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August 16, 2008   No Comments

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What to Expect When You’re Expecting

A funny thing happened on the way to the gyno….

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. You probably have. It’s the one about the pregnant woman? The fat one, who looked like shit and was huuuuuuge….

Sisters, you wouldn’t BELIEVE the things you hear when you’re knocked up.

Too big, too small, too fat, too tall. OK, not really too tall. Although “you’re wearing those shoes” seems to be acceptable. It’s not. Neither is “are you having twins?” Or “your face has changed”. Or “you’re carrying in the back”….

“I liked your hair longer” is never OK. Pregnant or otherwise.

And then there’s the age-old question: “do you know what you’re having?”

I’m guilty of it myself. Sometimes I ask out of genuine curiosity. Or for lack of something else to say. Either way, when asked myself, I couldn’t believe some of the comments. Especially for this last pregnancy. When I knew what I was having. But didn’t tell. It’s kinda funny when someone asks and you know but they don’t know you know. And then they get all cocky ‘cuz they think they know. But they’re wrong. And it’s a fun kind of smugness. Y’know?

Girls don’t steal your beauty. Or make you puke more. And boys don’t make you hairier. Or give you heartburn. Some of ’em do. Some of ’em don’t. It’s all one big crapshoot.

When you have two boys like me, people assume you’re going for girl. And you know what they say about ass-uming, right? I heard it all. And knowing what I had and what I was having, I can tell you people can be downright offensive!

No we did not try for a girl – we tried for a baby. We didn’t think pretty thoughts. No specific timing or tricks were involved. It’s easy to theorize about gender. But you get what you get. And we counted ourselves lucky with our boys. A girl would be great. But so would another boy. I had one stranger tell me it’d be nice to have a girl, “for when you’re old”. Huh? Talk about pressure on that poor daughter. Besides, who needs to have a daughter for when you get old? You can hire someone else’s daughter to wipe your geriatric ass!

The Boy People don’t like girls. They like to tell you mean things about their own daughters. That they’re moody. Or bitches. Or cost a fortune. I heard one freak-show tell me her daughter was hormonal. At 2?? There aren’t too many of these types around -which is a good thing, because they’re rather off-putting.

Chinese horoscopes, ring on a string, mathematical calculations…It all means nothing. Only one thing does: H-E-A-L-T-H-Y B-A-B-Y

So please kids, next time you see that pregnant lady, offer her your seat. Carry her bags. Bring her a sandwich. By all means, ask her what she’s having….but leave it at that. No stats, no verbal makeovers, no presumptions. And never, ever, EVER play the name game. Admit to nothing. You like ’em all. Congratulations are welcome. As are good wishes. May the labour be quick. And the weight loss be quicker. Leave it at that.

As a wise sage once said: Smile ‘n wave, boys; smile and wave.

2 comments:

Anonymous said…

considering how very tired you are.. you do a fantastic job of writng.
i love getting your thoughts o paper

12:56 AM

Anonymous said…

“bring her a sandwich”– you were so spoiled! and not even by your husband! bah-ha!

August 12, 2008   No Comments

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