I want it but I sure don't need it

Droid. I want a Droid. Not the robotic kind that can be helpful good, bad, or flat-out evil as presented by our friends at Lucasfilm Ltd., but the kind that my cell phone company, Verizon, keeps trying to use as a tool of seduction.

Gadgets thrill me. Except for a distinct lack of cash, I'd be a technology early adopter again and again. Cable TV, interactive services, and the Internet were made with people like me in mind. As were cell phones (I've had one since 1991--yes, almost 20 years), recording devices, cameras, cameras that do cool things, regular phones that do cool things, Bluetooth, iPods, digital photo frames, wireless speakers, satellite radio, and whatever the next cool thing is that tickles my fancy.

Right now, it's anything Droid. I lust. I stare. I just don't need it--and on so many levels.

My phone is over two years old (I still have my 1991 phone, by the way, as well as every cell phone I have owned since, accessories included). I bought it while I was deep in the throes of shingles, and the memory of quite literally sweating out the wait for a sales helper at the Verizon store still makes my T4 dorsal root ganglion twitch. At the time, my phone was a slick, state-of-the art piece of technology wrapped in a stainless steel shell and it gave me goosebumps. Now, I wonder, have we just become too familiar?

The Droid is sexy. It's clever and smart and fun and all around the perfect date. Of course, I said that about my current phone when I bought it (and blogged about it--just look back in March 2008). There is absolutley nothing wrong with my phone that buying a new battery wouldn't cure. The truth is, I rarely use my phone. My husband and I have 400 shared mintes per month, and it's a rare occurrence, indeed, if we use 90 of them between us. That includes my attempts to check email and Facebook during boring meetings. I've lost the will to talk to people on the phone, but having the Internet and Apps in my hand is like giving a drunk the keys to the liquor store.

Still, a Droid would cost me $200, plus I'd have to jack up my monthly Verizon bill another $30, at least, just to meet Verizon's crack-dealer demands for this product.

My phone is great. The sound quality is outstanding--and that's the main reason I bought it. In fact, having a phone when I need one is the whole reason I got a cell phone in 1991 and the reason I have one now. A phone with the acoustics of a styrofoam cup would be missing the point. Sure, it may be turned off most of the time, and I forget to check for messages, but it's there when I need it, and when I need it, it's a reliable phone with excellent audio qualities.

I have no idea what the Droid sounds like. Right now, I'm all about its brains and beauty. And the internet. And Apps.

I am so shallow. I am so tempeted by the fruit of another...



Landscaping. Jeep tires. Sofa. Shoes with good arch support. Eye doctor. Yeah, yeah.

Yummy

Lately, I am madly in love with MorningStar spipcy black bean burgers. They're delicious. I buy them at Costco becuase it's a better value, a larger quantity, and a bigger patty.

They're good with a slice of cheddar cheese and regular burger condiments, but for best results, use Monterrey Jack cheese, a slice of avocado, and a little salsa. Bun optional.

Fabulous!

The vlaue of one's commitment

A random thought. Not so random, actually, but top of mind.

• Responsible
• Reliable.
• Consistent.
• Dependable.
• Committed.

When I commit to something, I follow through. I come to work every day, even on the days when that is a terrible struggle. If I say I'm going to be somewhere or do something, I do it.

Lately, I'm in the midst of unreliable people who pay lipservice to their commitments but their promises only have staying power until something more interesting presents itself.

There are priorities, sure, but I'm not talking about the last-minute emergency or once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity. I'm talking about people who are most committed to what interests them in the moment.

Maybe it isn't even the lack of dependability or reliability that has me feeling so resentful. I think it's that I am surrounded by people who think it is perfectly OK to bail out on any plan, any commitment, any promise--and to do it at any time unapologetically.

Is this who we've become as a culture, or have I just been trying too hard to maintain my integrity all these years?

treading water

Contrary to appearances, May has not disappeared or gone underground. In fact, her head is packed full of Thoughts that need to spill out as blog posts.

Busy. Busy. Busy. Work is busy. The nonprofit is quasi-busy. I'm struggling to keep up physically. The body is not cooperating.

I sleep a lot.

Being almost medication-free is interesting.

only me

To recap:
I have lost 22 pounds since December. Today I weigh ten pounds less than I did one year ago.

This morning I put on a pair of shorts I bought last summer. The shorts fit well when I bought them.

When I put those shorts on today, they were tight.

One more reason to hate my body. What a loser package--the body, the brain, the personality.

One more year. I just have to live with it all for one...more...year.

(These are the shorts pictured--obviously not as they are worn by me)

My new affirmation

I am trying to focus on reality. The wholly practical. The way life is. I made this my screen saver marquis so I don't forget the reason we put food into our mouths:

Food is nothing more than fuel. It is not joy, pleasure, reward or punishment. Flavor and texture are irrelevant distractions from food’s intended purpose. Food is only a mix of nutritional elements for the body to use in its functioning. Use only what you truly need and no more.

Well, here's proof

It may be the world's slowest weightloss, but I have proof it's happening. God knows, there's no proof of it when shopping. I'm still firmy entrenched in women's sizes, specifically 1X/16W. That being said, I can confidently say I no longer weigh 200 pounds.

Only 75 more pounds to go until I reach my goal.


(May needs a pedicure)

Ah, the smell issue redux

After reading a recent article on PsychCentral, I was reminded of having gone through the very situation described. Rather than recap, take a moment to re-read by clicking here.

When the PsychCentral newsletter showed up in my mailbox with this headline: Do You Think You Smell? Olfactory Reference Syndrome, I was eager to read that someone had finally, definitively described the relationship between endocrinology, medications, and a heightened sense of smell.

Unfortunately, that's not what the article concluded. In fact, it seemed no one had actually considered that particular link. The researchers (working with a bumper crop of 20 subjects), instead, concentrated on proving it was a mental disorder along the lines of, "I don't smell a thing--you must be nuts." Why not step back from looking for the origin or existence of the odor, and instead consider why there's a heightened olfactory perception in the person experiencing the distressing odors?

Is it really that much easier to look for one more proof of mental illness?

Here is the link to the PsychCentral article. My comments should show up within 24 hours, unless they are moderated into oblivion. I discuss my theory on the connection between medications, endocrinology, and the sense of smell, and I give the example of a college roommate with multiple hormone problems who experienced this situation. Except, nobody ever accused her of "just having OCD."