No one ever "hears" about anything anymore. No one seems to say, "I heard about that." Now it’s, "I saw that." And odds are - they viewed it on Facebook.

Are we desecrating our sense of hearing with endless postings about every detail of our lives on social media? Will auditory dissemination and recollection of personal stories, events and news simply disappear soon? Will telling a friend (in real life) about a happening just be a boring redundancy if you’ve already posted it? Will there be any need for a "catch up" lunch or cocktail if there is nothing new to relate? Is social media creating a sonic comprehension collapse?

Further, if something is not posted on Facebook did it even happen at all? And if you don’t post it on your timeline or create a "page" WILL it ever occur? You know what they say about a tree falling in the forest…

And can you even be selective about who "hears" about what anymore? It used to be that when you told a tid-bit to someone, perhaps they would relay it to someone else unless bound by confidence, but now does the luxury of keeping anything sacred exist?

Unless you really privatize your Facebook page, really, anyone can search you and see what is happening your life.

This is a great thing when you are trying to get the word out about a new business, a fundraiser or cause, but isn’t it just getting a touch cray cray when you run into someone you haven’t seen in years and you start to do the whole catch up spiel, tell them what is going on in your life and they say, "Oh yeah, I saw that."

Or how about when what you see on social media finagles its way into your subconscious? A quick glance at the Timeline embeds subliminal info that can taint real life social happenings. You find yourself thinking, "I think I already saw that" or "Where did I see that?" when someone redundantly recounts something to you that you have already seen online. Seemingly new information has a spark of familiarity and an air of déjà vu. These vie…

If you read this blog at all (or even glance at the photos) you will notice a recurring theme of discomfort with technology. This issue has resurfaced yet again, when I finally relented and got an iPhone.

You’ll recall that I fervently opposed the Apple device due to its touch screen keyboard. Well, the contraption I went with instead, the Motorola XPRT with it’s mini QWERTY only punished me for my loyalty to an old school keypad.

I developed a nasty case of tendonitis/texting thumb that required several trips to a hand specialist and eventually a cortisone shot. After a brief period of temporary relief, the pain returned (and continues to plague me) with a vengeance. I realized I could no longer employ the two-thumb typing method on those little buttons I so adamantly held onto.

So, after almost two more months of holding out for my Sprint upgrade to come due, finally, on March 1, I made an appointment to swap up. I still wasn’t completely sold on the iPhone going in. Even though I use a MacBook Pro for my computer, I wasn’t convinced that streamlining and completely utilizing the intangible iCloud was for me.

I was totally Google-based for my email, contacts and calendar, making a Droid a realistic, convenient option. So, I pitted the iPhone against the Samsung Galaxy.

It took me all of three minutes in the Sprint Store to declare, "I want the iPhone!" so loud that children in the vicinity giggled, assuming Bart Simpson had made a surprise visit to have his phone serviced. (That one may go over your head unless you’ve heard me speak, or worse, yell). The kicker?

I opened the iPhone settings menu and saw the "Gmail" option beautifully displayed to me. It was as if the phone was telling me to purchase it. "See, we’ve made this easy for you. Touch the Gmail button and you will have your Gmail."

"Fantastic," I thought. "I can just input my password and still use all my old Google apps!" Brand new iPhone, seamless transition – just what I wanted! I c…

My wardrobe is overwhelming me.

I try not to be a clothing hoarder. (Hashtag: #FirstWorldProblems.) I diligently make routine donations to Goodwill. Bags full of garments I am willing to part with exit my home regularly and yet, so much attire still remains. Gazing at "my side" of the closet, I am overwhelmed by the collection of fabric hanging wistfully. Open a drawer and my heartbeat quickens from the stacks of T-shirts that no one person could get through in a year. One human certainly does not "need" this much variety.

In fact, too many choices inevitably lead to a fashion disaster.

Enjoying style is one thing. But the over-consumption of attire I have participated in is confronting me every time I meander into my closet. I am a bargain shopper, so if it’s on sale for $5 and it intrigues the avant-garde in me, I snatch it up and add it to the masses. But, those purchases add up, pile up and crowd together.

As I get older, I understand the concept of investing in better quality, most likely more expensive wardrobe basics/staples and having less of them.

There is a part of me that wants to part with the majority of it. Pare down the clutter into minimal basics. Inspired by an email from ModCloth.com that touted "15 Pieces, 10 ways," I wondered if I could reduce my wearables down to the basics, a scant 15 items. Would my inner fashionista be satisfied with fewer choices? Perhaps she’d even be relieved at a clearer picture of coverings. Maybe reducing volume would inspire creativity in the mix and match realm.

Before I attempt to downsize on my own, I queried some of Milwaukee’s most influential style mavens for their advice. If they could only have 15 pieces in their entire wardrobe, what would it come down to? I went to an array of sources, so find the gal you identify with most and heed her advice! Or mix and match their suggestions to create your own custom, 15-piece collection! Be mindful of their overlaps like black leggings or the "little black dres…

Contrary to popular belief, I am not, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer.

I do, however, own a silver pole, the kind that typically brings to mind high-heeled ladies in various states of undress, climbing, clinging to and performing athletic feats of contortion on. It has never, however, been unpacked from its box that has been hidden deep in the depths of the scariest place in our home – the attic – until this very week, as I started thinking about Valentine’s Day and thought the shimmering shaft would be a nice opportunity for a photo op.

Full disclosure – the photo idea preceded the writing idea of this piece, which in turn, took a spin in a much different direction. I was originally motivated to write about inappropriate Valentine’s gifts (next year!), but this blog twirled into other territory when I realized why, perhaps, that pole sat collecting cobwebs for so long.

The pole was a Val-Day gift five years ago from my then-boyfriend and now husband. I don’t remember if I asked for it, motivated of course, by the pole fitness craze or if he invented the reason for this gift himself, but I’m sure we had very different ideas of the purpose of this pole. I imagined hour long "workout" sessions that would create the lean, lithe muscles of a "dancer" and, well, I’m sure my sweet husband’s intentions were pure as well. What neither of us imagined was the controversy a little pole could stir up.

Mention pole dancing for fitness or muse philosophically about the silver beam as an element to any "profession" (there are restaurants where food/beverage staff remains fully clothed, but shimmying on a pole to choreographed dances is part of the job description) in a social setting and be prepared for a backlash.

Pole-discussion seems to make people very uncomfortable – for both the women who swear up and down that they would never climb for "less than…" or "only with my clothes on" or "no way" and the men who squirm at the thought of their amore sl…