Fancy Phone, Schmancy Phone

I'm one of a dying breed of people who don't have some sort of "smart phone."  I often make the joke that I have a 1980's flip phone, and that's only partially off base.  Obviously, my phone isn't from the 1980s, but it is a flip style, which has apparently become a rarity.  Also, it's about 5 years old.  In fact, I willingly gave up my upgrade a year ago when my choice of old school phones was limited. My husband has been salivating for an iPhone, so I figured the least I could do was let him have the bobo touch screen phone that the saleswoman was offering me.  In turn, I took over his old phone because I couldn't care less about having a fancy phone. At the moment, our plan is due for another upgrade and I'm dreading the conversation I'll need to have with the salesperson who will look at me like I have 10 heads because I don't want the latest and greatest.  Which brings me to my point.

Reading my friend Amy's blog today strengthened my resolve about not succumbing to the smart phone, iPhone, whatever-you-call-the-damn-things hype.  Here are my 4 reasons for refusing to give into the fancy phone hype:

1.  I've read at least 4 Facebook status updates in the last week recounting mishaps that sent phone gadgets to the WALL-E junkyard.  I've dropped my phone about a gazillion times and it's still pumping.  The battery is being a bit of a bitch, but hey, that's what chargers are for. 

2.  That shit's expensive.  Not only to buy the gadget to begin with (only to risk dropping it to an early death), but also to pay for the monthly data fee.  I can think of so many other things to do with the $40-60 a month it would cost if each of us had a data package.  Unfortunately for my husband, to whom I could say nothing sweeter than, "Let's go buy you an iPhone," I'm the Chief Financial Officer of our household, and the expense of an iPhone just ain't something I plan to put in the budget for quite a while.  (Partially thanks to the effing condo mishap).  For the record, my boo will corroborate that he willingly handed over the CFO job, so you're only allowed to feel slightly sorry for him.

3.  For the life of me, I can't figure out why anyone wants to be that connected.  Personally, I have no desire to be beholden to, or reliant on, one more thing.  I have Wi-fi access at home, at the office, in hotels, and in at least 3 places in town I can think of off the top of my head.  We each have cell phones and laptops, we share an iPad, and we each have iPods (yes, mine is the oldest version of the nano that exists, and I love it).  What in the hell more could we want??  I already want to hole up to escape the onslaught of obligation that being electronically available can bring.  The last thing I want it to see a red light blinking or hear some bing whenever I get an email or someone writes a status update. Will it kill someone to wait a half day to hear back to an email?  No, it won't.  It seems to me that what this perpetual connectedness to technology inadvertently (or maybe overtly) says is, "What you are doing right at this moment or whoever you are sitting with is not as important as what just popped up on your phone." Or, "What you are doing right now won't really count unless you take an Instagram of it and upload it to Facebook." How f-ed up is that?  I'm already trying to work on how obligated I feel to check texts; I don't need to add anything else to the list. All of this connection makes me feel resoundingly disconnected. It makes me want to run away to a remote island!!!

4.  Using that little touch screen to look anything up is enough to drive anyone mad.

I like technology; it's convenient and it allows us to keep a wide social network.   And I get it, fancy phones make us feel like we are keeping up with the boom of technology. But is having the latest and greatest worth the cost both in cash, time, attention, and actual connectedness with the people and world around you?  This CFO doesn't think so.

A Farewell to the Effing Condo

As most of you know I (until very recently) owned a condo in Florida.  From May 1, 2008 until June 26, 2012 (at exactly 5:25pm), it was pretty much the bane of my existence even though I was lucky enough to have a renter for most of that time.  Accordingly, I almost exclusively referred to it as "the effing condo" in any conversation in which it came up.

I'm sure all I need to say are the two words condo and Florida for anyone to figure out how the whole affair panned out for me financially.  Praise Allah, Buddha, God, Jesus, the universe, or whomever you choose to pray to (or not): the effing condo is no longer my problem.  Though I could spend an entire blog post--or two or three or four--explaining all the ways that the effing condo deserved its nickname and cursing Allah, Buddha, God, Jesus, the universe, or whoever for the financial kick in the nuts I took from it, I've decided instead to pay homage to her.  

Once I knew the sale wasn't going to fall through (a deal that was more than 6 months in the making and subject to failure at any time), I started to feel slight pangs of nostalgia for the former home I had scorned for 4 years.  Having only lived in her for a year before packing up and moving to Maine for grad school, I hadn't necessarily established many roots or memories there.  Sure, I thought she was beautiful... and she was:

And can admit the walk-in closet, huge tub, and large master bath are features missing from my house in Maine.  But, why the nostalgia over something that has caused me a lot of stress?

Then it dawned on me.  I am utterly and completely in love with my life in Maine.  I love the city I live in, the house I bought, the job I have, the friends I've made... you get the picture.  I love everything almost as much as I love the husband who is the reason I came to Maine in the first place.  The husband I would never have met had I never moved to Florida.  The husband I met a mere 2 weeks after moving to Florida and buying the effing condo.  If it weren't for that condo luring me from my comfort zone in Baltimore to the unknown land of Florida at the exact time that it did, I would never have met my husband.  And, in turn, I would never have known someone from Maine who wanted to return.  I would never have had the conversation about potentially moving there.  I will admit, this conversation happened quite prematurely in the relationship, sparked when I came upon a rather large snake in the stairwell leading to my condo, but hey, it got the ball rolling.  Though we left the subject off the table for a few months, eventually talk of the future always came back to Maine.  So I applied to grad school, and the rest, as they say, is history. 

But though these are the biggest reasons to pay homage to the old girl, they aren't the only ones.  I lived a packed life in Baltimore.  The packed life of a single girl who made sure her schedule was flexible around everyone else's.  The packed life of a girl working 6 days a week for several years and traveling to a boatload of places.  Don't get me wrong, I loved that packed life.  But had I stayed in Baltimore, that packed life would have overtaken me, suffocated me.  That packed life would have prevented me from having my own life with my own relationship and my own time.  The condo gave me the space to breathe life back into myself.  I relished the energy I had for myself and for a new relationship.  I relished the beautiful views and long evening walks after work.  The condo brought me to my husband, and it also brought me to myself.

And so, though I'll never wish to have the condo back (it's fucking hot in Florida, ya'll), I refuse to look back with regret.  Don't worry, I'm not living in la-la land about it; buying that effing condo was the biggest financial mistake I'll ever make, and I learned my lesson.  But I'd go back and make that mistake again and again if it meant having the life I have right now, which is a priceless one.  So, I never thought I'd be saying this but: thank you my dear effing condo.