I Surrender

You've heard me rant about Beloved Husband's annoying Blackberry-- the one that is never "off". And, I've gone on the record numerous times vowing not to be "plugged in", connected or online 24/7 ever again. I even refuse to Tweet and deleted my Facebook account (completely), although I rarely ever looked at it.

I remember vividly the day-- nearly three years ago, when I danced a happy dance after canceling my Blackberry account after I retired thus no longer being connected to my email-- and clients-- non-stop. It was a thrill that still makes me smile.

My clients were great but I was not all that crazy about them emailing requests at midnight or when my Blackberry would buzz at some ungodly hour in the U.S. when it was daytime overseas. To me, retirement meant not having to constantly check my email. Ahhhh, it was paradise.

For a while.

Since those initial fabulous months of peace and quiet, "social networking" exploded and it appears, if I ever want to be in touch with my family again, I need to get back on the bandwagon and get connected, otherwise their lives will pass me by.

So I did it, gawd help me-- I bought an iPhone. Yes, my husband smirked as I sheepishly showed him my new gadget while I "ate crow" about being joined at the hip to the World Wide Web again. He's rather enjoying the teasing, I might add.

When I sent my first text to my niece it was easy to see she was laughing as she responded with a "welcome to the real world" message. Now the younger generation in my family is waiting for my Twitter name and continue to remind me of all the family pictures I'm missing without a Facebook account. But, the flurry of text messages from them congratulating me on my newest acquisition has been a nice way of keeping in touch, even if I have no idea what most of the abbreviations they're using mean.... yet.

What pushed me over the edge and into the Apple Store yesterday? I'm heading back home to Ohio on Wednesday for the week and my arthritic hands are too sore to schlep my laptop along plus um*well*ahem*cough*I*hate*to*admit*it*dang* the idea of using my folks painfully slow dial-up connection and ten year old computer to check emails exhausted me just thinking about it.

So I bit the bullet and jumped back in with a shiny new white iPhone with a candy apple red case and not a clue how to use all the features it claims to offer. I'll take an Apple class when I return for the stuff the kids in Ohio can't teach me. But in the meantime, the nice teenage (or at least he looked like one) salesman at the store hooked me up so I can easily check my email, bless his heart. Oh, and he taught me how to actually answer the phone too.

I won't be around much this next week but I'll be reading blogs on my iPhone.

Have a great week and happy social networking. (Ugh, I can't believe I'm saying that.)

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com - Joanna Jenkins

Photo Credit: © Albert Schleich - Fotolia.com

What's It Really About?

It's been easy for me to stay out of the Tiger Woods sex fiasco because, really, it's not my business. I'm sick of celebrity bad boys and girls in the news and have learned to tune them out-- Until now.

Thanks to The Masters Golf Tournament and Tiger's big debut after rehab, this little ditty has been on the airwaves....

"Tiger, I am more prone to be inquisitive to promote discussion. I want to find out what your thinking was. I want to find out what your feelings are, and did you learn anything?"

It's supposed to be Earl Woods, Tiger's father, speaking in the commercial.

Yes, we all know Nike is standing by their man. And yes, Tiger is facing the music so to speak. But bringing his late father into the whole sorted, nasty, mess is, in my opinion, tasteless-- proving to me, that it really is all about money.

What do you think?

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com - Joanna Jenkins

Conversations

The conversation, actually several of them, keep playing over and over again in my head. It keeps me awake at night. It occupies way too much space in my brain. And, it's so old and boring I don't know why I bother, other than it still really bugs me.

I'm talking about the "I coulda-shoulda-woulda-said" conversations that I just can't shake-- The ones when I regretted the words the moment they crossed-- or rather didn't cross my lips and I knew I'd be replaying them for years to come.

95% of the time, I was "being polite" to the person I was talking with instead of really speaking my mind. The other person was usually telling me my business but I either kept my mouth shut or I made light of the load of you know what they were shoveling my way.

The other 5% of the time, I was just too stinking slow to think of a good comeback line. Damn!

Countless times I've rerun these little chats with myself, remembering every detail of the original conversation, only this time, in my head, I find my mojo, my voice, my nerve, my attitude, my balls-- whatever you want to call it, and speak up for myself saying what I really mean.

Like my sixth grade teacher-- The meanest woman an 11 year old ever met. Every single conversation we had for an entire year started with her saying some less than encouraging remark like "I knew you'd get it wrong." Oh yeah, she was a real inspiration. But every time she blasted me, I was polite, and frankly, I was afraid of her, so I didn't let on that she was a mean old battle ax with bad breath who didn't know squat about my academic potential.

Imagine having that conversation with yourself for the past 40 years! Like I said, some things take up too much space in my brain, but I still remember each instance and know exactly what I should have said.

My last conversation with my high school sweetheart rattles around my head too. In short, he wanted to get married, I didn't, so he cheat on me. Yes, the same guy that was going to marry a virgin (aka me!) slept with somebody else. And then he told me it was all my fault-- To which I responded...

"Oh Bob, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to make you cheat on me."

You can only imagine the talking to I've given myself over that one! If I had it to do over again, I would bitch slapped Bob until he begged me to stop and then I'd slapped him some more.

But the conversation repeating in my head is not to the teenage boy, it's to the grown man of today, who is why I have never made apologizes for a man's shortcomings ever again.

Some of my other conversations are too colorful or just plain ugly to repeat but suffice it to say, I would have taken a whole lot less hatefulness and fired way more attitude back in my defense.

It only takes a song on the radio or seeing a particular style of clothing to spark a memory that rewinds a conversation. Other times the taste of a certain food or the smell of a certain scent is so powerful it gives me pause-- Until the I-coulda-shoulda-woulda-said conversation starts up again.

The good news is that none of my original conversations on instant replay have happened in the last 25 years, rather they are conversations from "my youth". And in each case, they were a significant life lesson that, although painful at the time, shaped in part, who I am today. At least that's how I justify it....

But let's face it, I talk to myself way to much.

Do you have I-coulda-shoulda-woulda-said conversations?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor - Joanna Jenkins

Photo Credit: © Lai Leng Yiap - Fotolia.com

Knock It Off

Since I've busted on a few tv commercial messages in this space before I thought it only fitting that I point out a television campaign that I think gets it right.

I had no idea that teens and college student think "that's so gay" is appropriate slang to apply to their day-to-day lives. It's not and although the persons saying it may not intend it to be hurtful, it is-- Just like making a slam against someone for their race, religion, gender, profession or the likes.

Check this out....

This award-winning campaign makes, I think, a great point. I hope it appears on tv and the Internet often enough to make an impact and change people's use of this and other offensive comments and one-liners.

In 2010 I'm making a point of watching how I express myself.

How about you?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor - Joanna

Photo Credit: © Susan Montgomery - Fotolia.com

Looking For A Lifeline

As part of my recent interview on blogging with Societe Amore, I was asked if I was "addicted to blogging".  I didn't think I was, but I honestly said I checked my blog and email multiple times throughout the day.  I thought it was no big deal.

That interview was done before I went out of town for five (painfully long) days with limited Internet access.  It was one of those non-stop, whirlwind trips, but despite 18 hours days, blurry-eyed, I still squeezed in at least an hour a night to "check-in" with the blogosphere.  

Busted!  I'm addicted.  

Or am I?

I realized I was not so much addicted to checking my blog, I was addicted to checking yours!  Since my time was limited on the trip, my frustration rose as I tried to figure out the most efficient way to read blogs.

Here's my dilemma.  Before I started blogging, I'd spent a sum total of 15 minutes in the blog world!  Translation:  I didn't have a clue how things worked.  So every time I found a new blog I enjoyed, I clicked on whatever link, bookmark, subscription or follow button (if any) they offered, so I could revisit them.  Now I have several different lists, with over 200 great blogs that I read regularly, but no easy way to keep track of them!  

Even though I use the "favorite blogs" gadget on my own blog, with a short list of faves, 200 favorite blogs is way to many for that feature, isn't it?  The page would scroll for a mile.  

You might have noticed, from my previous posts, that I'm usually freakishly organized, but I'm also one of those people who can't remember names but I recognises faces. Well, in blogging, as you know, it's multiplied ten fold.  I remember photos, user names and blog names but I can't remember who goes with what.  It's making me nuts!

So, my dear blog friends, am I missing something when it comes to tracking favorite blogs and their owners?  Is there one universal way to keep track, a secret handshake I need to learn, or a simple step in the equation that I'm missing?  I really need your help. Otherwise I might miss you, lose you, or end up in the loony bin for stressed out blog addicts.

How do you keep track of your favorite blogs?

PS--  To thank you in advance for your advice, here's a tip for you....

This might sound crazy, but here's a recipe for the greatest hard boiled eggs I've ever tasted!  You'll be happy you tried it!  xo

Welcome to The Fifty Factor  -  Joanna

Dating: Chapter Three - The Way To A Man's Heart....

Big news today!  Please check out my interview on SocieteAmore and leave a comment if you are so inclined.  It's my first interview ever and it's about blogging. Thanks to Rowe for asking me to participate!  

The story below first appeared on Lilly's Life as a guest post.  If you haven't read it, please check it out. And if you haven't met Lilly yet, you will love her! Please stop by and say hello!

I'm off to a family wedding in Ohio.  Be back on Monday.  Have a great weekend!

It started innocently enough. My 50-something gal pal just wanted her house to smell nice when her 60-something blind date picked her up Sunday night.  So she baked cookies 30 minutes before he arrived with the cover story that they were for a co-worker's birthday the next morning.  You know how great chocolate chip cookies smell, don't you?  So did her date.  If the evening went well, maybe she'd invite him in for cookies and milk at the end of the night.

The date was great and the guy ate cookies!

Two weeks later, on their second Sunday night date, she literally saw him inhale when she opened the front door. A look of disappointment momentarily registered on his face when there were no baking cookies to greet him. She made a note of it.

Fast forward several terrific dates later.  This guy always called a day or two before the requested Sunday night date.  He never called in between and the dates are always on Sunday.  What happened to the other six nights a week?  She was feeling taken for granted-- like a "back-up" date, and couldn't understand what was going on.  She really liked him and she thought he liked her too, so she decided to change course.

The next time the guy called for a Sunday date, my friend invited him to her house to watch the football game with dinner afterwards.  She's an amazing cook and her not-quite-yet-boyfriend didn't realize the culinary delights in store.  I'm pretty sure he was expecting take-out pizza.

To his delight, he arrived to delicious smells coming from the kitchen that continued to simmer, all day, throughout the game. When his team was victorious, they shared dinner on the sofa with his feet up, looking very comfortable.  She sent him home with a doggie bag of left-overs to last the week.  He was a happy guy and actually called her the next day to say thank you.  After a 45 minutes of conversation-- a first for him, he asked her for another Sunday date!  Again she suggested football and dinner at her place. 

The following Sunday, same thing.  Dinner simmering throughout the game with her date's anticipation of more mouth-watering food afterwards.  This time though, she surprised him at half-time.  They made out on the sofa like a couple of teenagers until the second half started. The guy was in heaven.  Football, great food, a hot babe AND a doggie bag-- The perfect Sunday!  A guy could get used to this.

Not so fast...

Mr. "Almost Boyfriend" was still only dating her on Sundays.  So the following week--  She didn't answer her phone on Thursday. Or Friday.  Or Saturday.  Or even Sunday.  No simmering smells coming from the kitchen. No "action" at half -time.  No left-overs for the week. Nothing!  She was completely unavailable to "Mr. Almost" and even went so far as to take her own voice off her answering machine.  He was not going to hear a peep from her all week. 

Monday night guess what?  Her phone rang.  It was him. She offered no explanation for missing in action.  Nor did she offer her cooking skills or television for the next Sunday game. Instead, wonders never cease, he asked her out on a "proper" Saturday night date, at a fancy, romantic restaurant.  He brought flowers when he picked her up and was the perfect gentleman.

This was a huge turning point in their relationship. Turns out, he was new to the dating game after having been married for many years, and had a bit of a confidence issue.  He was afraid if he asked her out on a Friday or Saturday night, he'd get shot down.  Guys can be such idiots sometimes.  My friend wasn't dating anyone else and she never figured out where he got that idea.

They've been happily together for nearly three years now and are talking about marriage.  We've all laughed over this story together several times, and each time, they coo at each other like a couple of school kids.  

Why did they play the silly games that often go with dating? There are a lot of reasons and none of them particularly good-- other than dating is hard at any age and insecurities seem to bloom with new love.  Thank gawd they are well past that part.

Whoever said "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach", was right.  But to remind him of that piece of information, sometimes a girl has to take matters into her own hands.

Welcome to The Fifty Factor  -  Joanna

Modern Technology And Other Airport Chatter

Not having to travel anymore with my laptop is my favorite perk of retirement. I hated schlepping that thing with me everywhere. Canceling my Blackberry email account and using a plain 'ole cellphone, is something I consider a life-changing bonus when I stopped working.  Ahhh to be disconnected.

But, during a recent cross-country trip, I was delayed for hours in an airport with absolutely nothing to do, so I decided to kill some time and "rent" a keyboard and Internet connection at one of those kiosks they have in airports now.  You might have seen them but refused to pay the hideous, per minute charge?  Well, I was that bored, and had already read three newspapers, all the tabloids, plus "The Economist" and  "More" magazine.  

I inserted my American Express card into the computer station and was connected surprisingly fast. Once I scraped the mystery stickiness off the Return key, I got to work and flew through my messages in about 15, very expensive, minutes.  After logging out, I gathered my belongings and found an empty seat next to a scruffy looking college student apparently on his way home for Spring Break. 

His name was Mark-- I could see it in big letters written in Magic Marker on his backpack.  He had the usual electronics that come with teenagers-- the latest iPod and the coolest Blackberry on the market.  Mark was texting a mile a minute as Bono rocked, at an ungodly decibel, in his ear.  I felt fairly cool having recognized it was U2 playing as I twiddled my thumbs praying for our delayed flight to get a move on it.

After another hour of sheer boredom, I dug through my carry-on and found a big bag of M&M candies.  I was starved but ate them slowly, one at a time, to make them last for the anticipated three more hours of flight delays. After my third bite, Mark, who had barely looked up from his keypad, suddenly found me incredibly interesting.

He struck up a conversation typical of a 19 year old-- This sucks, that's a drag, what a bummer-- you get the drift.  After a few minutes, I offered him some M&Ms. Now I was, apparently, riveting.

Mark munched away by the handful and the conversation eventually lead to my having "rented" the airport computer. He'd seen me on it and thought I must be "really rich to waste my money" on something like that. Ha!  If he only knew. Anyway, eventually he gave me the once-over from head to toe, then stared deeply into my eyes.  What's up with that, you ask?

His next words are ones I will not soon forget....

As if I was an ancient dinosaur he said, in the sweetest most condescending voice you ever heard, "It's really great that you know how to use a computer.  I mean, not every one your age can." 

Hello-- I'm 50 years, old not 115.  The putz.

Without mentioning I retired last year, I explained I was in the advertising business and actually knew a thing or two about computers and the great big World Wide Web.

He looked at me with amazement.... and scepticism.

Seriously, I said.  I've been in the Internet game since before most people had email addresses.  He thought I was full of crap as if, duhhh, email had, like, always been around.

I moved my M&Ms out of his reach.

Mark mocked the idea of people still relying on fax machines and others who couldn't program their DVR. There were numerous comments about his mother-- who I surmised, is actually younger than me-- and how she can't figure out the house alarm system let alone Google or Facebook.   Geezers and old-timers were laced through his conversation as he laughed at the "older generation".

Before I bitch slapped him, I changed the subject by asking what his major was in college. Believe it or not, it's Communications! I nearly choked on my candies-- At which point, he asked for the rest of my M&Ms.... Since I was choking and all.....

Yes, I was conversing with a future marketing maven of America-- The kind that wouldn't pay two cents for the over 35 demographic, let alone the graveyard category of over 50. Grrreeeaaat.  This is what we have to look forward to from the Class of 2011?  

After Mark held the bag of M&MS up to his mouth and poured the last few dozen down his throat, he had nothing else to say. We sat in silence as he laughed and chuckled over emails and texting with his college buddies.  When our flight was finally boarding oh those many hours later, dear Mark asked if I needed help carrying my (very small) bag.  Ah, no thanks Dude.  This granny can carry her own stuff, thank you very much.

Communications major, my ass.  

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna