Crackberry Methadone

I'm ready.


I'm going to do it this time. Deep breath.


I am trading in the crackberry. I will no longer be bound by the painful addiction I wrote about here.

Crackberry, we can still be friends 
It's not you, it's me.

My wrist is screaming in pain with joy at the thought of no longer having to feel the strain of my fingers typing away on the keyboard. We're going touch, baby.


Like a post-intervention target getting into the van, I am a little proud, a lot terrified and anxiously worrying about getting one more crack fix before it's no longer available to me.

I hope my interventionist is Jeff Von Vanderen from the 
show and not that annoying lady with the smoker's voice.

People have said it will be better.. that I will be happier.
But what if I'm not?


Working as my own elf, I helped Secret Agent Santa upgrade and the device is en route (eek!). Shiny and black, this is one SH-MEXY telephone.


Our family is getting an Angry Birds player Ipad from Santa, so our foray into Apple is headfirst.


I am going to have apps for my apps.


I have spent the better part of the day looking for cool-without-trying-too-hard-but-trying-really-hard phone and Ipad cases and covers.


Boho and Arty?

High Fashion?

Earthy Bamboo?

Cool kids lunch table, here I come.