I like the middle-of-nowhere, I really do, but upon finding myself stuck in the middle-of-nowhere with neither internet access nor decent cell phone coverage for the majority of the weekend, I started to go a bit stir crazy.
Especially as I’d paid good money (an entire $1.09 for a cup of sh*tty coffee with sh*tty non-dairy creamers!) to gain wireless access at the “Lighthouse Cafe” only to discover that Verizon was, once again, on the fritz.
Thanksgiving is a bad time of year for me. In addition to the ordeal of the Martini Bar Soiree and my fruitless efforts to land myself a date for the second year in a row (see Sunday’s post if you haven’t already), I always tend to break up with my boyfriends right before Christmas. This means that I always find myself approaching the danger zone—the “let’s have another three-hour conversation to determine whether or not we should break up” zone— right around Thanksgiving.
When I was nineteen and going through my first real relationship crisis I spent the majority of the weekend huddled on the corner of the futon in the den. Why? It was the only place I could get cell coverage, and even then the calls kept dropping.
“Stop hanging up on me!” my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend begged. “I know I screwed up but you’re not making this any easier!”
“I’m not hanging up on you!” I cried. I wouldn’t get the courage to do that until several years later.
Fast forward to my first year out of college: I was dating a man I’d met back in Baltimore. We were on the brink (obviously; Christmas was just a few weeks away and I’d already started buying presents for his family so naturally, we had to break up) and as such, we were text messaging each other approximately every three seconds.
“Why didn’t you reply?” he demanded. “And why didn’t you say ‘I love you?’ Don’t you still love me?”
I had replied, and I did still love him, but the text hadn’t gone through.
That, mind you, was years ago.
By which I mean four years ago.
Obviously I’m way more mature now.
Which is why I didn’t actually invite Date #7 to come to the Martini Bar Soiree—I didn’t want to spend my entire holiday weekend obsessing over my romantic entanglements. I wanted to relax. And sit in the hot tub. And write. And do yoga. And collect sea glass.
I did not want to spend the whole time wandering around with my cell phone looking for signal. Or wondering how The Wedding Date was getting along with his ex-girlfriend, or running down my battery in an attempt to check my Facebook messages, or sneaking up to my parents’ bedroom to see if the signal was any better from the second floor…
I blame modern technology.
And the advent of the Smartphone.
I love my Droid but now I have half a dozen modes of communication at my fingertips: text messages, emails, Facebook messages, status updates, wall posts, plus phone calls… you know, the things for which cell phones were actually invented.
It’s too much (and it’s especially too much when you’re on an island in the middle of nowhere heading into what is arguably the most stressful time of year so far as relationships are concerned). Is it just me or are Smartphones making relationships even harder than they ought to be?
PS: I forgot to mention that I’ve started writing for an online travel magazine called Travelhoppers– if you’re planning a trip to France any time soon (or even if you’re not) check out my first piece!
- And We’re Back: The Black Friday Martini Bar Soiree (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- Two Men, One Martini Bar (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- Tips For Buying A New Smartphone (makingtimeformommy.com)