Blackberry Blues by Liz

by Liz

So y’all know how much I love Barry Blackberry.  In fact, I just about died when I went into radio silence for 48 hours earlier this year.  And although I know they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, I found myself dreaming of another after my Barry came back to me.

For some reason I just couldn’t get Droid off my mind.

And it wasn’t fair really.  Barry had always been there for me with lightning fast email and an easy to use typepad-I could practically text with my eyes closed! He was solid and dependable, the kind of phone that wouldn’t ever let me down.

That’s why, at first, I attempted to ignore Droid’s cool apps and incredibly fast internet.  And I tried not to look when the person next to me was watching the latest cool YouTube video on him.  I’m fine with Barry.  I don’t some trendy phone.  Barry’s always been there in good times and bad.  Show some loyalty damnit!

And I swear, I didn’t mean to drop Barry in the parking lot that day.  And what was I supposed to do when it was clear I needed a new phone?  I was due for an upgrade, right?  When the lovely Verizon salesperson asked me what phone I wanted, I meant to say Blackberry, I really did.  But for some reason the word DROID came out of my mouth.

And thus began the most frustrating 24 hours of my life.

I was practically drooling by the time when I got Droid home. I couldn’t wait to have some alone time with him.  That’s when I discovered that my other electronic boyfriend wasn’t happy at all with my new purchase.  That’s right.  Mac and Droid hated each other immediately.  Mac didn’t want to give up his contacts or update his calendar for Droid.  Clearly, he had more loyalty to Barry Blackberry than I had realized. But after three agonizing hours of negotiations, I finally found a way for them to share their information.  But neither of them seemed pleased about it.

The next morning, Droid and I were quarreling again, this time over email.  Droid didn’t think it was necessary to put any history in my email replies.  I, on the other hand, felt this was VERY important. And let’s just say Lisa was less than thrilled with this new development and I became tired of receiving a What does this mean!  or WTF are you replying to! response to every reply.  And don’t even get me started on my inability to form a cohesive sentence on that touchscreen or the creepy way it would say “DROID” when I got a text message. (Seriously! How freakin’ narcissistic can you be?)

That’s when I knew Droid had to go.

Part of me was sad.  I had barely had time to use my new Yelp app or Facebook to my heart’s content.  But I only needed 24 hours to convince me that I had made a huge mistake letting Barry go and I knew one thing for sure. I had to get Barry Blackberry back asap.

I sped to the nearest Verizon store, hoping to find a way to beg for Barry’s forgiveness.  To tell him that I’d gladly take his internet speed and poor selection of apps over that fancy schamcy Droid.  That Droid had made me feel all of my thirty-six years. That I’d do just about anything to see that little star letting me know I had email again.

But like the class act he is, Barry took my betrayal like a man.  In fact, he even introduced me to his hunky older brother Storm.  He felt like his push screen would really make me happy.  And as usual, he was right-it did!

So I’m happy to say Barry and I are back together. Even Mac seemed pleased that he had his old buddy around to share information with.  And while I may still get a little butterfly in my stomach everytime I see Droid, I know now that looks can be deceiving.  Barry Blackberry has my heart forever!

Or at least until Verizon gets the iPhone.


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I’m having an affair. It’s sordid and naughty but not at all clandestine. In fact, my husband knows all about it. He downright hates it, but he’s given in to my demands and lets me have my boyfriend. He even lets him share a bed with us…

I never meant for it to happen. But I fell deeply and madly in love with my body pillow. It’s sick and twisted, but it’s true. And I blame it all on Liz.

When I first became prego, Liz told me if I did nothing else during the next ten months, I needed to get my ass down to Bed Bath & Beyond and buy a body pillow. I laughed. That naive, never been pregnant before laugh and asked her why on Earth I’d need such a thing.  Just trust me on this. You’re going to need it.

Ironically, it was my husband who bought BP for me. The first trimester was rough. I was constantly nauseous. Food was my enemy. And already plagued with neck problems before pregnancy, sleep became almost impossible. And the hubs wanted to be there for me. He was a true superstar. Was there anything he could do for me? Anything?

Well, you could get me a body pillow.

A what?

A body pillow. You know those really, really long pillows? Oh and by the way, I’m under strict orders from Liz to get it soon.

When he first brought BP home,  I eyed him suspiciously.  It was not love at first sight.

What am I supposed to do with it? It’s bigger than I am! I cried to Liz.

Wrap your body around it. You’ll figure it out. *Dial tone*

So I did. I wrapped my legs around it. Draped my arms over it and squeezed. And I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep (if you don’t count the 7 times I got up to go to the bathroom.) The next morning, I discovered Matt clear on the other side of the bed, hanging onto the edge for dear life. The body pillow and I smack in the middle, blissfully in love.

That was the beginning of my husband’s war with BP. And understandably so. I would never tolerate a life-sized piece of cotton stuffed with cotton stealing my husband from me. I can barely handle when, after weeks of watching me selfishly channel surf, he finally gets to pick the TV line up and hungrily fondles the remote.

I’ve since found BP shoved under the bed, coverless and naked shivering in the laundry room and suffocating between a pair of bed sheets in the hall closet. And even though I hate that my lover and my husband can’t get along, I guess I can understand why. The hubs has taken a major backseat to BP…

At night, do I wrap my arms around my husband and cuddle close? Um, no. I reach for BP instead.

Guess who gets smacked in the face with BP every time I groggily fling him aside and amble out of bed to pee? (*Sorry honey for the time his zipper scratched your face*)

And when it comes to laundry, BP’s cover goes straight to the front of the lineEven if that means the hubs has to wait to get his ONLY decent pair of athletic socks cleaned in time for his next flag football game. Play barefoot I say, because I have a hot date with a clean BP while you’re out playing weekend warrior.

And even though BP could never replace my husband (well maybe on the very coldest of nights), I do cherish our time together. And I wonder if after my pregnancy is over, he’ll still want me the way I’ll still want him. Or will he move onto some other prego chick? *sigh* Maybe it will be for the best if he does dump me for another round-bellied bimbo. I’m not sure the hubs would let this “threesome” go on for very much longer anyway.

xoxo, Lisa



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