The Downside of the Digital Age

It's 6am. I'm surrounded by other early risers, sitting on beach chairs, blankets or, like me, a sidewalk that reeks faintly of pee.

Homeless people sleep sitting up on metal benches enjoying the last moments of peace before noisy crowds gather at the weekly farmer's market. One man severs the quiet as he pushes a squeaky shopping cart filled with his soiled possessions.

Some of us are listening to headphones, sipping coffee from paper cups, reading the paper, perusing scripts (this is LA). All of us are waiting for the new iPhone.

I am number 9. Numbers 1, 2, and 3 arrived at 3am. Last night, we saw the"green light" on Apple's website indicating new phones were in. The man in front of me tells me that if the green light is on it means they have at least 10 phones. So I'm good.

I've come a long way since yesterday when I showed up at 9am thinking I was smart to arrive a good hour before the store's opening. Little did I know that under these trying, iPhone deprived times, the store opened at 8am. Phones were sold out by 8:15.

My saga began over the weekend at BlogHer. I normally keep my phone in my purse but being away from my natural habitat, in noisy ballrooms and conferences, I put my phone in my back pocket on vibrate. During a bathroom break, when the phone hit the water before anything else, I quickly realized this was not a good idea.

I won't bore anyone (too much) by telling you of the depressing and frustrating afternoon that followed as I ran around the city in search of a new iPhone EXCEPT to say that after waiting over an hour at the Apple store the man in front of me purchased the very LAST iPhone in stock. I offered up my desperate story of a mother in a faraway city cut off from the two, young children she loved so dearly (I also flirted and offered up sexual favors) but he opted for the phone instead. I won't bore you (too much) by telling you of the lost night of camaraderie and mayhem (one that I'd looked forward to for months) as I ate room service food alone because I no longer had the phone numbers of new friends and could not fit shoes over my blistered and swollen feet.

So, here I am, days later, my ass on piss-covered cement, a savvy iPhone connoisseur, the early bird who catches the worm. Everyone around me has their own war stories. Two people arrived at stores before sunrise the day before, numbers 26 and 30 on line, to learn upon the store's opening that only 25 phones came in. Justin, the absolutely beautiful guy seated next to me (I coveted this guy's complexion) had camped out overnight in a less desirable part of town for the honor of being one of the first to own the new iPhone. A few days ago, someone stole it.

All of a sudden my saga lost it's edge. Like going to an Ivy League school after graduating valedictorian only to swim in a huge sea of other valedictorians.

Joggers, business people, police took pity on us, were curious about us. One even thought we were part of a movie shoot (I said this was LA). Annoying people joined the line breaking our sense of community (however temporary). A chain smoker accosted our fragile morning senses, a man continuously cracked the silence by scolding his (not too) wayward Yorkie.

By 7:30am, over a hundred people lined up. The empty streets were now peppered with people on their way to work and Starbucks. The homeless were camouflaged by business suits, bicycles, and laptops.

Apple was gracious as they handed out bottled water, gave friendly advice, and made an inconvenient situation tolerable, even enjoyable.

By 10:30am, I had my new iPhone synced up and ready to go. My contacts, calendar, music, podcasts - everything - was once again portable and in my hot little hand.

I felt like me again.



*I would have shown you my own pictures of this morning's adventure but I took them on my temporary phone and once the iPhone was activated I could no longer transfer them. Oh well, small price to pay.

**photos courtesy of Google Images

I Want My Mommy

My first guest post is given with honor to, who else, but my husband, heretofore known as Merlot Dad. I felt the least I could do was let him take the helm because, with my absence, I'm sure he's not feeling empowered anywhere else. Welcome to my world, Merlot Dad!

See ya!


Help!!!

Merlot Mom is at the blogger conference whooping it up, having a grand ol' time, and me, "Merlot Dad" I'm not drinking wine I tell ya, I'm hitting the hard stuff, you know, Mr. Smirnoff and I are becoming close friends.

As I sit here writing, I am yearning for "Mom" to hurry home. I can manage a business, a staff, and challenging clients, but a pre-pubescent daughter, and a cute, but often unruly 8 year old boy, a 4 year old stubborn dog, and a happy-go-lucky-I'll-chew-anything puppy.....well...you get the picture...

Yes, Merlot Mom, you are appreciated.

Come back, please?

xxoo

MD (not the doctor kind)

BlogHer Bitches: Pretty Maids All In A Row

By "maids" I'm referring to the Eagles song off of the Hotel California album. I am in NO way suggesting that you bitches are professional house cleaners, although most of you probably ARE.

All this talk about BlogHer is making me crazy.

I know it's beginning to piss off those of you who aren't going, and I'm sorry about that - both for having to read about it and for the fact that you're not going. Truly.

But, since I am going, the talk is raising my anxiety level (that's just not right, ladies) because I'm reading about how all of you are primping and prepping your little hearts out to the tune of this one who is hairstyling, this one and this one who are shoe buying, this one and this one who are outfit coordinating, not to mention those of you who are mani-pedi-ing, waxing, shaving, and don't even get me started on this one who is fat-sucking (I kid you not, check it out for yourselves), a true original that girl.

I thought single women on dates went to all this trouble so they could get laid married a free meal. But the ones I'm referring to, and many others that remain nameless (for no reason other than I can't remember who you are and I don't have the patience to go back and search all the damn blogs on my reader), are married - SO WHAT GIVES?

Lest you think I'm criticizing, I am NOT. I like all of you. It's not you - it's me. I'm just not a girly girl. I never joined a sorority, though some of my best friends were members of the tribe. I admittedly never "got" this kind of girl behavior. I'm a bit of a rebel that way, not secure enough I guess to let women judge me and determine if I have value. Not that they don't do it anyway, I just pretend I don't care, is all.

So, I've never before experienced this make-myself-attractive-girl-on-girl frenzy and to be honest, it's kind of FREAKING ME OUT. I mean, unless you're going to try to kiss me (I've heard about some of you huggers), WTF?

So I have a message for all of you ladies... STOP! Please, STOP!

I CAN'T, I DON'T want to keep up. I dress okay. I'm no schlub. But I'm the type who figures out what I'm packing the night before, or even the morning of, and God help me if I don't have what I need 'cause then I'm shit out of luck and have to go with whatever isn't dirty or in need of tailoring.

That's my way and I'm sticking to it. But now my ways are making me think I'm going to show up there and all you guys are gonna be dolled up, well-coordinated, and smelling like fresh rain or tropical flowers, while I'll be my usual eye-make up smeared, t-shirt and jean wearing, smelling like laundry-soap self.

Whatev! Right? Be as I am, yeah, yeah. Okay. I will. But STOP TALKING ABOUT IT so I can be HAPPY about it, WILL YA?

Thank you.

This message was sponsored by merlotmom's high school insecurities

Blog Her Conference '08 - Premature Anxiety

I know I'm a bit early in asking this question but if I don't do it now, I may forget to ask altogether and then I'll show up a day late and a dollar short and curse myself silly.

So...

...since this is my first time and I know some of you have been to BlogHer before, can you guys tell me and other newbies what we will need? So far, I've heard business cards but then I watched the mom blogger segment on the Today show this morning (check out this mom's blog for the video) and I saw that everyone at BlogHerBusiness was furiously tapping away on their laptops. Then elsewhere I read a suggestion to bring a power strip. (I, an apparent Luddite, thought I'd carry around a notebook. What was I thinking!)

Aaaaagh!! My head hurts!!! Please help!! This is worse than traveling abroad!!

I'm going to have anxiety dreams about showing up, eager to make a good impression, and instead greeting my new friends with zit cream on my face or naked from the waist up.

Who can spare me (and other beginners) this humiliation? If I get enough info I'll put together a BlogHer checklist post.

Thanks. Wish me tranquil dreams.