The newest iPhone convert

I’m officially converted.

To say I’m obsessed with my new iPhone, a Christmas gift from my parents, is a horrific understatement. If I thought I was spending way too much time plugged into technology before, that desire to be connected all the time has increased tenfold.

I had a smartphone before, yes, and checked my email constantly. When I was feeling adventurous, I updated Twitter or tried to post a photo to Facebook. But I didn’t realize how clunky my old Palm Pre had become until my iPhone was synced up. Being able to seamlessly update the many websites to which I contribute with just a few clicks? Awesome.

Of course, I’m wary of going overboard. I know how easy it is to burn people out on your steams of Instagram photos (awesome!) and ridiculous updates on your lunch. I take a lot of food photos. I don’t want to be That Guy.

But what I am, apparently? Another Words With Friends nutcase. I have 18 games going right now with the likes of Beth F, Kathy, Meredith and more. I’ve lost most of my battles, friends, but I’m still aiming to win the war. (Someday. And I’m “writemeg” in the app, by the way.) It’s completely addictive and distracting, and I’m to the point that I must physically move my iPhone out of grasp so that I don’t tinker with it for hours on end.

And there’s even a Kindle app. Be still my beating heart.

I need a list for all my lists

I’m a list-maker. When I get stressed out about the five thousand things I have going on — like, you know, right now — I begin to draft lists upon lists of what I want to accomplish, things I need to do or purchase, and obligations I’ve made. I update my Google Calendar religiously. My desk is littered with scraps of paper and scribbled notes: shopping lists for the grocery store and Target; discontinued car brands I can’t feature on the front of my Automotive section at work; recipes I want ot try; appointments; addresses of friends I want to send Christmas cards this year.

It’s basically a hot mess, friends. While some of my lists are typed up as carefully-crafted Word documents — like the one outlining everything I’m buying for Christmas, the recipient, the price tag, whether I’ve already purchased it, etc. — most are on Post-Its, receipts and scratch paper. I’m “organized,” yes, but it’s a messy chaos. It’s organization on crack.

The only list which is quite organized, it seems? My book wishlist. Scrolling through the countless blogs I enjoy every day, I add titles like an addict getting her fix. Maybe the novel features a dynamic main character, a fun love story or winning female friendships — and comes highly recommended by a trusted blogger friend. Or perhaps I just dig the cover. Whatever the reason, I keep meticulous track of what I want to pick up on Goodreads, carefully “tagging” and categorizing my entries.

Is it a little obsessive-compulsive? Maybe. When I’m hanging out in the blogosphere, I keep my Goodreads account open at all times. I can’t risk missing something, you know.

One of these days, I’m going to get really crazy and re-order that massive list — which currently holds 156 titles — into what I most want to purchase/borrow next.

But, you know, I’m not quite at that level yet.

How do you organize your wishlist? On Goodreads, LibraryThing, etc.? On a spreadsheet? On scrap paper — or just in your lovely head?

Edward Cullen reaches out to me. And you.

Edward Cullen reaches out to you

Edward Cullen reaches out to you

How many times did I watch “Twilight” on DVD this weekend? One. I know — I’m proud of me, too! And so is my Edward Cullen action figure!

It was about to be a big ol’ zero on the viewing schedule until I convinced my sister to sit down with me around 10:30 p.m. Saturday night. We’d spent a long few hours working on her internship applications and, considering I’d actually been in possession of the movie for more than 12 hours at that point, I was getting antsy. After all the e-mails were sent out and Kate’s future was yet to be decided (don’t worry, baby sis, they’re going to love you!), we got our golden retriever to settle down long enough to enjoy a little “Twilight” goodness.

Now, I’ll be honest here. I’m a huge fan of the franchise, have read all the books obsessively and gotten my fan-girl bit on, hosted the Breaking Dawn event out at our bookstore (with more than 500 screaming girls — oh, yeah!) and have all sorts of merchandise. You know, definitely obsessive-like. As soon as the DVD date was announced, I hastily scribbled it all down in my little pocket calendar and waited and waited.

And then I finally saw it again — this weekend, after my one brief, but wonderful viewing in November.

And I laughed. A lot.

edward_classDon’t get me wrong — I really enjoyed it. I was entertained. But  the facial expressions — especially Edward/Rob Pattinson’s “OMG what is that smell?!” face when Bella first walks into his science class! I was cracking up. I mean, he was physically repulsed — and if a guy pulled a face like that after I’d tactfully taken a seat next to him on my first day at a new school, I’d look over and punch him in the arm. Or the nose.

So I still loved the movie, but it was just campy. That’s the best word I can use to describe the whole thing. I was so caught up in not physically gasping in the theater the first time I saw it, I overlooked many facets of the movie that would . . . well . . . make me cringe under any other circumstances. Just melodrama and angst. And make-up — so much make-up!

twilight_dvd_coverSo I ask myself again, What is the appeal of the books/characters/films for me? The love story? The teenage angst? I’m almost 24, so I don’t think it’s fair that I should still identify heavily with teenage love stories. But I do. Oh, I do! It’s fun and ridiculous and just awesome. I have an English Lit degree and can sit there and chat Shakespeare and Austen with the best of ’em, but that didn’t quell any desire to rub my hands together in unabashed excitement when the opening credits of the film began to roll. I freaking love “Twilight”! (And I am, in fact, listening to the soundtrack on my iPod as I type this.)

And since I’m discussing this now, I might as well go ahead and share some links to the epic time-sucks that keep me from, you know, editing a novel or querying my books or eating dinner or something. I’ve been laughing out loud — and probably embarrassing myself — while reading the endlessly hilarious quips and adventures of the ladies at Letters to Twilight and Letters to Rob. But I’m going to go back to very seriously not doing constant Google Image Searches on Rob Pattinson. No. I won’t.

The ‘Big Girl’ Bags


I have a problem — a very big Dooney problem! I’m completely obsessed with these bags, as I’ve detailed before. They’re fun, classy and . . . expensive. Not ridiculous or extravagantly so, but still not really cheap. Of course it’s all about the quality and I know I’ll have them for a hundred and one years — or until I’m sick of them, which will probably never happen — but I can’t just that to justify spending the money in the “current economy.”

How many times a day do we listen to diatribes on the economy? I listen to quite a few, not to mention all articles that pop up in my e-mail and on my favorite blogs and websites daily. It gets pretty disturbing to read about the “fall out,” which just reminds me of an OAR song I like called, aptly, “The Fall Out.”

But once again, I digress. Here are my three Dooney & Bourke bags, with the left-most signature fabric bag being my most recent addition: a Christmas gift from my parents.


They’re just fun! They make my stomach do a little happy flip when I look at them. Of course I rarely seem to actually carry them out in public, but I love to smooth my little fingers over their pretty surfaces! And the bright pink, rope-patterned bag has a special place in my heart: I bought it for myself with one of my first “major” paychecks from my post-college, full-time job.

It’s my Big Girl Bag.

We all have our Target satchels and freebie totes we use to lug stuff back and forth from school or work. We have our old leather hobos that we picked out a solid ten years ago, and we throw our wallets in there and run. They’re no frills — purely functional. We don’t have to worry if we drop them in the dirt accidentally or a pen explodes in the pocket or we get caught in a rainstorm unexpectedly. They’ve been through it all — they’ll be fine.

But Dooney bags are fragile. Not fragile as in you can’t actually sling them over your shoulder, but “fragile” in that you have to take care of them — not bend their handles all up or throw them on the couch haphazardly. And wearing a Dooney (or Chanel, or Louis Vuitton, or Vera Wang . . . whatever is your handbag drug of choice) makes me feel empowered and grown-up. If I need a purse to make me realize I’m an adult, I guess that’s a bad sign, but there’s just something about the feel of an expensive handbag that makes me happy. I’m not a shoe girl or a serious clothes horse, but I need my purses!

And I can’t wait to carry my new one come spring! Another reason to look forward to the end of a cold, rainy winter!