Samie Hartley

I don’t watch a lot of television, but the shows I do watch are starting to infest my brain and change my behavior.

I finally caved and set up an Instagram account. I have no idea what to do with it, but here I am.

My first up close and personal interaction with a smartphone smacked me in the face – literally.

I knew I was going to be out of place – I just didn’t know how out of place I would feel.

What kind of office has an antique popcorn cart that looks like it would be more at home in Disneyland than down the hall from a maze of cubicles? A Silicon Valley office – that’s what.

My reality feels splintered. I’ve hit that age where more and more things I assumed would be around forever are slowly beginning to dissolve away. I’m still coming to terms with the closing of Toys R Us, my childhood haven – second only to Chuck E Cheese, but now I’ve learned that Best Buy i…

“I think you should know I’m sleeping with someone.”

Well, it’s official. All the friends I’ve kept from grade school have started families, and I don’t even have a dog.

As my plane pulled into the gate, a wave of boiling animosity flooded the cabin. People rose to their feet, muttering and cursing to themselves and each other as they grabbed for their bags and began to storm off the plane.

I have the most awesome Mom on the planet.

Think skinny thoughts. Think skinny thoughts.

I’ve been heavy into my spring cleaning rituals these past few weeks. It’s amazing what you find when you dig into every corner of your home – even when you went through the same motions a year ago.

This had better be worth it.

I was sitting at a table sandwiched between conversations about crown molding and the pros and cons of homeowners associations. I felt myself zoning out. I felt like a girl waiting to step into a game of Double Dutch jump rope, only there were no opportunities for me to join either conversation.

I was surprised when I entered the movie theater to find it nearly full. I figured by now, anyone who’d wanted to see “The Post” had already seen it. It came and left theaters in what little of a year we’ve already had. I was only catching it at the end of February because it was being scree…

I shuddered as the words came out. The other day, I found myself saying “Well, back when I was in school …”

My name has always made life complicated – but not for me. It’s other people who seem to have a problem.

Don’t ask me about the books on my bookshelf. I haven’t read them.

I’m sure, sooner or later, I will be struck down with a cold in the coming weeks. It’s only a matter of time. I can feel it in the air. I can hear it in the muffled coughs of my coworkers.

Santa comes in many forms. For many, Santa is the jolly man in red with a grand, fluffy snow-white beard who delivers hope and good tidings. For me, Santa wears a puffy blue ski jacket.

I believe it was Charlie Chaplin who said “A day without laughter is a day wasted.” At least, Google says he did.

It’s been 48 hours, but the tip of my right thumb is still numb. Apparently, I am out of practice in the button-mashing department.

I woke up in a panic the other night, startled by the howling wind whipping around my house.

Tom Hanks has been in a lot of movies and has delivered many memorable and quotable lines, so it only makes sense that I imagined him yelling at me as the tears began to fall.

I was about to leave my desk to head into a meeting when my phone chirped indicating I had a text message. I had just enough time to see who the message was from and determine if it was an emergency situation or not.

I was having one of “those” days – the kind of day that sinks its pesky little fangs into your soul and starts sucking away at your life force.

I decided months ago that I wouldn’t be spending my birthday with my husband. Back in September, I asked Chuck if he’d mind if I jetted off to Las Vegas to spend the night with some guys I knew, and he was completely fine with it. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ditched him to go…

I guess it serves me right. While eating breakfast, I was reading an article in which a man was quoted saying he wished he could go back to the days before cellphones. I scoffed as I chowed on Cheerios. I’ve had a cellphone for half my life. It’s difficult to imagine life without one.

“Are you going to wake up?”

I love Super Bowl Sunday. It’s a day to eat, drink and be merry and watch a parade of advertisements that are periodically interrupted by a football game. At one point, the ads will be delayed for an impromptu concert that will likely be more remembered over the actual game years from now be…

When I go to a hockey game, I’m there for the hockey game. I dress up in my fan gear, strap on my Sharkie backpack and prepare to scream, cheer and wail for three hours. This year I’ve added a teal wig to emphasize my love for the San Jose Sharks, my team of choice since becoming a hockey fa…

This digital age we’ve all cozied up to has a constant buzz of useless information as various people and organizations clamor for my attention, but I just don’t care. I try to tune out all of life’s noise that has zero impact on my life.

I’ve been to a handful of office Christmas parties hosted by a variety of employers, and they all tend to be memorable for the most awkward reasons. I’ve been chased by the boss’ tipsy wife, recruited for a search party to find a drunk coworker who stripped nearly naked and ran out into the …

My credit card company always has my back. Whenever a suspicious charge appears, I get an email asking if I was aware of the unusual purchase. The company even takes the liberty of freezing my card if a purchase seems alarmingly unlikely based on my shopping history.

Now that the gifting season is in full swing, we are being inundated with gift guides on what to buy for your movie buff best friend, coffee queen co-worker and crazy uncle Larry. These guides intend to be helpful and to get you thinking outside the box, but what if you hadn’t planned for a …

The day after the election, I decided I needed a social media break. As online editor at the Napa Valley Register, I spent most of my workday wading through readers’ reactions to local, state and national election results, so when I got home, I vowed to only check my email and then lose myse…

I’m a bit of a contradiction. I don’t believe in vampires, werewolves, zombies or witches who fly on broomsticks, but I love the rebobs of Napa.

It wouldn’t be very neighborly, but if this phone exorcism doesn’t go well, I’m throwing my phone into the backyard and locking the door before I run and hide under a pile of blankets.

I love a good mystery, but searching for the source of what could only be described as a “poop smell” was not a quest I was looking forward to.

It started with a swoosh and ended with a click.