High Points

How is it that the workweek seemed to drag on for 17 days, but I’m all surprised that today is Friday, so there are only eight hours to get everything done? If it were possible to get an instantaneous feed of the running loop of crazy inside my head, it might sound something like: what the heck did I do all week that there so many to-dos on my list not done and how is it that it’s the 15^th already and I’ve only finished one book and how in the world am I going to finish four this month and I can’t forget to call my dad on Sunday and do I have any clean clothes and was the last time I blogged really Monday?

Gah.

To quell the unrest I feel at being so not on top of it, I will take a few minutes to reflect on a handful of things that I thoroughly enjoyed this week. Call it penance for not writing them up in a proper and timely fashion.

Resting Easily
Contrary to the looming forecast for this week, I only experienced one more thunderstorm, and since I was at work, I didn’t exactly have the option to curl up into a ball and quiver. Instead, I opted to breathe deeply (meanwhile groaning, “Oh, my lord…”) as my shoulders lurched at the sound of every roll of thunder. I would like a pat on the back, please. Also, I was spared from any more dreams about criminal monkeys; I actually had a good one about JG and me, instead. I hardly ever dream about him – it’s kind of a regret of mine – so waking up from a swirly vision of dancing together was very nice. The music in the background was “Somewhere That’s Green” from Little Shop of Horrors, but I don’t know what that’s supposed to indicate. I doubt it’s in my dream dictionary…

Daily Word
After I used “riveting” twice, sarcastically, in one day, my co-workers encouraged me to set up a dry-erase board with a word of the day, with a goal to incorporate the word into a sentence during the workday. Yes! I provide the word, a phonetic pronunciation, part of speech, and a brief definition and what do you know? Discussion ensues! Building up vocabulary is fun, I tell you. Now I get a chance to revel in all of the lovely words that seem too high-falutin’ for normal conversation but are so fun to say. Insouciant! Profligate! Acquiesce! (Oh, my!) Today’s word is vociferous (voe-SIFF-er-us), which is describes something that is crying out noisily. Go forth and use!

Foodie Show Tunes
Adam, the Amateur Gourmet, presented a grateful viewing public with a week full of original songs about his food and I dare anyone to listen to odes to malted-milk ice cream and lasagna without A) cracking up at the lyrics or B) standing in awe of his simultaneous piano-playing and cinematography. My favorite is “Falafel Love,” which garnered multiple viewings on my computer. Much to JG’s chagrin, I find myself humming the catchy tune during the day: “Why, why did he pick falafel…”

Good Hair Day
As a follow-up to a detailed hair how-to, Whoorl encouraged readers to send in glamour shots of their good hair days. My hair is my only physical feature that I consistently enjoy; I love that it’s so shiny and well-behaved. I took a dozen self-portraits one morning in an effort to do my mane justice and I have to admit that I was a little giddy when Whoorl responded to my e-mail saying, “Your hair is gorgeous!” Aw, shucks. It’s too bad that my facial expression in that picture is a combination of dubious and goofy. At least my hair looks pretty.

Pandora
I realize that I’m at least three years behind the curve, here, but in an effort to find a jazz radio station to stream, I discovered the wonder that is Pandora and self-loaded radio stations. I like wordless music for working, but a girl only has a tolerance for so much Aaron Copland and movie soundtracks in a given day. But now, I have an endless supply of free jazz without having to assemble play lists. I am on my way to high-end productivity, um, right after I post this entry. Once again, I’m compelled to consider how my life was so freaking inconvenient before the internet. Let us never go back to the dark ages of cassettes. Amen.

Friday, Three Tenses

I…

• Received a replacement laptop at work because the one I had was plagued with errors impossible to replicate on demand. No sound? No wireless connection? No idea! Happily, the new one worked just fine.
• Went to lunch at the Greek festival with co-workers and had yummy stuffed grape leaves and chicken and orzo.
• Became a sweaty mess. Hot food, no shaded outdoor seating, and a record-breaking combination of heat and humidity made for an uncomfortable situation.
• Sat in a hot car in the sun during my commute home.
• Jumped into the shower as soon as I walked through the door.

I am…

• Sitting on my couch, underneath a whirring ceiling fan, in wet hair and pajamas.
• Breathing easily.
  
• Typing on JG’s old college laptop, the one with the R and F keys missing and a finicky Ethernet port.
• Eavesdropping on Good Eats: the sausage episode.
• Hearing my stomach growl.
• Watching the clock.

I will…

• Make myself presentable and put on something fun and dressy.
• Drive to meet JG and his teacher friends at a new (to me) Japanese-Thai restaurant.
• See JG for the first time since 6:30am this morning.
• Take pictures because we’ll all look snazzy. Hopefully, some of them will be good.
• Come home late and fall into bed for a hard-earned night of sleep without the threat of an alarm buzzing on Saturday morning.

Brain Equals Mush

Some weeks go by when you don’t have enough to do in the hours you have. You find yourself staring at the wall, wondering what movies are playing, and remembering that you should have called that guy about the thing. Other weeks are just right: you accomplish exactly what you intended to do in just about the time you had anticipated. Then there are weeks like the one I’ve had and there is no way you can finish everything you need to do in the time you have. Sure, the week passes quickly, but it’s kind of a curse because the time is running out!

There is a light at the end of this tunnel and I like to call it vacation. Yay! Next week is JG’s school’s spring break, so on Saturday, we’re packing up the Subaru to head off to Williamsburg, Virginia. The loose plan so far is to visit the historical section, eat at a recommended barbecue joint, and take a spin at Busch Gardens, with some lazing by a pool and reading scattered in there for good measure. We’re also going to visit with a high school friend of JG’s; she got engaged recently and we haven’t seen her since then, so it’ll be nice to hang out.

But honestly, my brain is fried. Thank goodness my to-do list at work is down to 2.5 items, or else Friday would be a very bad day. I can hardly string these sentences together, much less make the all-important packing lists because – gah! I haven’t packed yet! I don’t even know if I have to do laundry! My brain is so numb that I can’t even absorb the true gravity of those words. They’re just running into my skull and bouncing off. Thud.

In an effort to stop the insanity, I offer the following anecdote, without even a hint of a transition.

- - -

Last night, I was telling JG about a dream I had had the night before. I’m sure I’ll go into more detail with this topic in the future, but the back story is that I am very uncomfortable around big dogs and JG has been lobbying hard for the cause of He Wants a Dog. Anyway.

RA: So, I was wrestling with this huge dog and I was really really scared.
JG: Oh, man. Did you wake up?
RA: No, I noticed that the fur didn’t seem right. It was actually a person in a dog suit.
JG: Ah. Were you winning? Was the person you-sized or me-sized?
RA: Definitely you-sized.
JG: So you were definitely not winning.
RA: Right. But I don’t remember who won. I probably didn’t, but at the end, the person took off the dog suit … and it was you!
JG: Oh. I see why it was me-sized.
RA: Yeah. So, could we not talk about getting a dog so often? It is clearly causing me some anxiety here.
JG: Okay, okay.

From the Random Department

Today is Pi Day! Did anyone celebrate this with a kooky math teacher in their day? Well, JG is that math teacher. He left for work today wearing his “I Heart Pi” t-shirt and carrying geeky cookies and coffeecake for his geometry students. When nerds unite, their wives bake crazy stuff, or at least this one does.

Figuring out my March Madness brackets is number one on my to-do list when I get home. The deadline is looming, but since I don’t know anything about NCAA basketball, I hope it doesn’t take me that long. I usually go for UConn all the way, but they didn’t make the tournament this year – boo! – so that “strategy” is shot. I will have to revert to decision-making factors like which team’s colors I prefer, whether I know someone who attends that school (and if I like that person), and if I think one mascot would clearly win over another in a rumble. At least I have a system, right?

People talk about being chocoholics or workaholics and I want to know – where are they getting this chocohol? Or workahol? I understand that this strange suffix, “-holic,” comes from alcoholic, but in that initial case, the suffix is just “-ic.” Maybe it’s just not as snappy to say that someone is a “workic.” Doesn’t this usage downplay how serious alcoholism really is? Sure, you might really really really like shopping, but come on, now. If the Wiktionary definition is any indication, this bizarre -holism is getting out of hand. Skateaholic? Kayakaholic? Show me some kayakahol and we’ll talk.

Better Late, Really

Yesterday was a fantastic birthday. I got a call from a friend from church that ended with me hearing a tinny cell-phone version of “Happy Birthday” sung by thirty-odd church people. It was so cute! And thanks for all of the sweet wishes!

I devoured a mountain of yummy mussels and JG did a great job with presents this year. Nerd that I am, I had asked for a book light for Valentine’s Day and here it was! In all of its LED glory! Add in a good book about digital photography and Pinky and the Brain DVDs and you’ve got a winning birthday combination. The DVDs were more of a gift of self-sacrifice because JG does not exactly enjoy the comic genius that is encapsulated in Pinky and the Brain, so I appreciate that one very much.

In the aftermath of the birthday hoopla, I realized something. I may not be excited about my actual birthday, but do you know what I really love? Belated birthday wishes and things!

I think it all started in college. My mom would dutifully ship me a care package, my grandma would mail a check, and my sister would send an e-card to be followed up by a gift card to Starbucks or somewhere. Between all of this mailing, almost nothing arrived on time. I’d get the packages in dribs and drabs for the week after my birthday and I loved it. It wasn’t a birthday anymore – no, no! Happy birthweek! Happy birthmonth!

This year was no exception. Today’s mail brought in cards from my sister and JG’s grandma. My sister called me today to let me know that things were on the way and she added, “But I know you like birthday gifts to be late. I planned it that way.”

Yeah, right. But I’ll take it!

Eavesdropping

During my brief stay in a hotel completely populated by high school students, I overheard some interesting tidbits …

While in an elevator with one boy who might be Chinese and a classmate who appears to be Indian:
Boy 1: But what’s the point of living well? Karma or something?
Boy 2: Well, if I lived well in the last life, then I’m enjoying a good life now as a human.
Boy 1: But you don’t know if you’re screwing something up now. What if you find yourself as a mushroom in the next life?
Boy 2: That’s not really the point, though. It’s really just to live as well as you can while you can.
Boy 1: … But then you’re a mushroom.

[Ha. I love it when teenagers are unintentionally hilarious.]

-----

While walking through a hallway lined with lounging kids:
Girl: If it’s a girl you don’t know, you really shouldn’t play boob tag.

[What in the world…?]

-----

While walking through the SEPTA station:
Another Girl: Mr. JG, you’d make a good daddy!

[Let’s not even go there, kids.]

Monday's Moral

It was raining. It was a Monday. I was running late. I had to go out of my way and pick up coffee and pastries before I got in to the office. Needless to say, I was not in a very good mood. I got up to the counter, holding my company credit card, and the barrista (Is it barristo for a guy?) said, “Oh, we only take cash and check, but we have an ATM over there.” I gritted my teeth into a smile and muttered that I would be right back. My bank was in the same shopping area, so I ran out into the rain to use their ATM to avoid that pesky surcharge.

Upon obtaining the cash, shivering in line, and then paying for bagfuls of muffins, croissants, and the like, I noticed that the slot where my ATM card usually goes in my wallet was strangely vacant. I panicked.

This would be something I would do, like forgetting my Styrofoam box of leftovers at the restaurant or the address when I need to ship a package! What if someone took it? I have to call the bank and make sure no one is debit-ing up a storm!

I grabbed the food, ran through the rain to the car, and frantically clawed through my whole wallet and purse – no ATM card. I ran back to the machine, only to find a beneficent green light blinking under the words, Insert Card Here. I took a deep breath.

The bank wasn’t open at the time, so I went to my office, trying not to overreact. I talked it over with a co-worker, who was almost positive that the ATM has a security measure to suck the card back inside the machine after maybe 30 seconds, so I followed his recommendation to call the branch itself, and lo and behold! They had my card! I walked over to pick it up -

Me: Hi, I called earlier because I left my ATM card in the machine out front.
Teller: Oh, are you RA?
Me: Yes, I am. (goes to pull out license)
Teller: Okay, I’ll be right back. (leaves, returns with card) Here’s your card and have a nice day!

Close observers will note that not only did I not have to show my photo ID to verify that I was the holder of the card, I didn’t even have to state my own name. Any random girl could have walked in and ended up with the same result! And maybe I’m just paranoid and maybe it’s just that I have a shifty bank, but honestly. What did I learn? Don’t leave the ATM card in the machine.

But that’s probably common sense already. Or something like that.

I May Regret This

I have never been one to succumb to peer pressure. I was unapologetically geeky, even before geeks were chic, thank you very much. This time, though, I just can’t help myself.

Apparently, we’re halfway through a bloggy special occasion known as De-Lurking Week and many of the sites I frequent are participating by encouraging those who read and don’t comment to come out of the woodwork, resulting in a fantastic response. Some are being charitable while others are witty, but me? I’ve been reluctant to put out this invitation because, well, I’m afraid that no one out there is actually lurking and how sad would it be if no one was there to de-lurk? Is it pathetic that I wish there were lurkers, even if that word makes stalkers and other scary people spring to mind? While I’m jumping off this bridge with everyone else, I may as well admit that welcoming a pity de-lurk is not below me, in case anyone was wondering.

Let me just say: if anyone out there reads this site and would like to prove that I’m not in an empty room, that would be very nice of you and I would really appreciate it. You don’t even have to be an official lurker because I am all about the love. Plus, I promise to respond with a friendly e-mail and many thanks for humoring me by saying hi.

Hi!

A Bubble Burst

It all started when we heard “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” on the radio.

Radio: All of the other reindeer…
JG and RA: Reindeer!
Radio: …used to laugh and call him names.
RA: Like Pinocchio!
JG: Like Funny Face!
Both of us: What did you say?
(Meanwhile: “They never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games”)
RA: Like Monopoly!
JG: Like football!
Both of us: What?!

Those echoes aren’t really something to debate reasonably, even if you are well-informed adults, if we do say so ourselves. We just learned them in different ways, so the logic ended up being really sophisticated, such as, “How would Rudolph play football?!” and “His nose didn’t grow, so Funny Face would make way more sense!” We ultimately agreed to disagree and mused about how some things are simply left up to regional differences.

A few days later, JG said out of the blue, “So, I surveyed the other teachers in my lunch at school about the whole Rudolph thing. (Oh great, I thought, everyone thinks football is a reindeer game.) Half of the people had never sung the echoes before and half of them agreed with you!”

Oh, wow. I win?

He continued, “I still can’t believe no one had even heard of calling Rudolph Funny Face.”

JG seemed so disappointed at this recent disillusionment that I didn’t have the heart to rub it in. I didn’t even launch into the “I Told You So” dance from Will and Grace, even though I do love any excuse to break that one out. But that would not be in line with the Christmas spirit, huh?

A New Tradition

On the way home from work last night, the radio DJ announced, “Okay, folks, it’s time for the Drive at Five, and we’re going to kick it off with a Thanksgiving classic – ”

I groaned. I sincerely dislike the Adam Sandler’s "The Thanksgiving Song" and I was sure that it was next. I poised my hand over the scan button.

“ – the Cranberries!”

My mouth dropped open. This was too good to be true.

Oh, my life is changing everyday,
In every possible way…

I cranked up the volume and belted out lyrics that I knew and ones I didn’t. I was grateful for my one-lane road that ensured that no one would hear me take part in that strange lalala bit that everyone kind of does differently and still ends up sounding sort of like an animal in pain, in a good way. I forgot how much I enjoyed this song and the sheer corniness of playing a Cranberries song in the week before Thanksgiving made it that much more awesome. They should totally do this every year.

'Tis the Season

We’re knee-deep in it now, so I can finally say it without being smacked upside the head with annoying Indian summer: I love fall. This love was originally fueled by the death of my seasonal allergies and the beginning of school – oh, the joy of brand new school supplies! – but these days, I like to think that my affections have developed some maturity.

Fall is the time of year to wear corduroy and wool without feeling oddly overlayered, and I can bust out my favorite red, fuzzy scarf, after its patient hibernation in the coat closet. The commute that I breezed through only a week ago has become an ever-changing display of leaf fireworks, much to my distracted dismay. Around these parts, leaves fall down as soon as they change color, and I just can’t take it in fast enough. The best sight of all is seeing the leaves all burnished and coppery from the setting sun; I take mental pictures with my eye because I know I can’t photograph it well enough. I’ll start to bring soup for lunch and JG and I will plan to carve pumpkins and toast seeds. Soon, we’ll start stocking up candy for the local superheroes and princesses, and my schemes for fun Halloween costumes can finally take shape, haha! On the weirder side, I observe that the neighboring front yards are cropping up with oversized outdoor decorations that the inventor of the snow globe surely did not intend.

When I came home from work yesterday, I was bouncing around to the tune of “fall is so great”, and I persuaded to JG to take a stroll around the block with me so that I could snap photos of our neighborhood. I think I missed all of this last year because we were in the tumult of moving, but I am going to make a point of savoring it this year. I took my pictures while JG and I caught up on our Fridays, and it was great to be outdoors in the late afternoon. The air had that perfect chill that makes your ears turn pink around the edges, which made returning to our cozy house all the sweeter.

Bump from Behind

When I was learning how to drive, I had a minor accident involving a narrow road, the curb, and a road sign. The basic story is that I was freaked out by a giant truck in the oncoming lane and overestimated how far I should have been away from him. I also underestimated the amount of road left on my side. Alignment fixing aside, it was traumatic mostly in the guilt trip I received from my parents, and I’ve been lucky to avoid any other altercations since then.

And then today, I was rear-ended on the way to work. Everything’s fine, I’m fine – it’s not a big deal. I was on a small, country road that sort of drops onto a busier artery, and as I looked way to the left to see if anyone was coming, I was bumped from behind, and it scared the bejeezus out of me. I unleashed this primitive shriek (probably reminiscent of my mother’s shrieking when I mowed across the curb at the previous accident site) and slowly edged out to the shoulder. Upon examination, my bumper seemed undamaged, with the exception of some blue paint transfer, as the CSI folks might say.

The girl in the car behind me turned her engine off and walked toward me in a turquoise Victoria’s Secret PINK sweat suit, apologizing the whole way: “I just wasn’t paying attention!” She was my age at the most and we both shifted uncomfortably as we surveyed the lack of wreckage. When the girl gave me her information, I realized that she lives in my neighborhood, and it is so strange that I was hit a half hour from my house by a person whose road I pass everyday.

I understand more why whiplash can occur so frequently, even if there is minimal or no damage during an accident. I’m not playing the whiplash card, and I’m not suing anyone, but I have to say that my neck and head feel a little funky right now. The bump to my car felt huge, and I was jostled in my seat; I can’t imagine how an actual accident feels and sounds. I was a defensive driver before today, and let’s just say that I left a lot more space between the next car and me when I pulled back onto the road.

All things considered, the car is running normally, and I got gas for $2.39/gallon, so it’s not all bad.

Not the Cool Kid

Today after work, I attempted to find comfortable walking shoes that are still nice enough to wear with darker jeans, khakis, or corduroys for fall. I have a weeklong business trip to San Francisco at the end of the month, and heels do me a great disservice on those ridiculous hills. Plus, it’s an all-company retreat, so the atmosphere is a little more, ah, rustic.

Anyway, this is apparently a Holy Grail of shoes – an elusive combination. At least it is when you’re just not cool enough to wear those trendy bowling shoe/sneaker hybrids. It is so depressing to walk into a shoe store, gravitate toward the ones that you had envisioned, and then find out that, no, you can’t really handle them, especially with all of these crazy colors and shininess. The price is a little startling, too; not that you’re cheap, of course, but one can only spend so much on shoes, especially if you’re not sure about them. Your eyes glaze over as you see periwinkle/chocolate brown and lime/gray combos, thick lug soles, athletic Mary Janes (isn’t that kind of an oxymoron?), and the stretchy non-laces that make up this strange genre of footwear.

Then, you manage to find a couple of pairs in the clearance section that are reasonably priced, especially with the buy-one-get-the-second-pair-half-off sale. So you grab some nylon sock things and try on a pair of relatively sensible brown ones. But you can’t figure out how they’ll feel with actual socks, and you forgot to bring some along, so how can you really judge them? You could try them out at home, but you never know about the return policy when it comes to clearance items, and it's anybody's guess when they’re on sale on top of it. You ponder the matter as you try on a black pair, and after a lap past several shin-high mirrors, the conclusion is clear. You are not this cool and you can’t pull it off. From the ankles up, you look like your normal self, and from the ankles down – whose feet are those? The shoes go back on the mismatch that is the clearance rack.

On the way toward the exit, you throw away the foot sox and gaze longingly at the purple and orange sneaker-type shoes (ooh, massaging gel insert), and the nagging question remains: “Isn’t there a happy medium between my cross-trainers and my pointy heels?” As you push through the door, you know the sad truth is that there is a happy medium, and it’s looking down on you and your pedestrian urge to buy a good pair of loafers.

... Or maybe that only happens to me.

Edited: August 16
Against my better judgment, I went back to the store and bought these shoes, a purchase driven by their sheer comfy-ness, and definitely not an increase in my coolness factor. After running them by JG, his sister, and my co-workers, the votes all seem to be in favor, so I'll keep them around. I'm not entirely sold on the shininess though...

How You Say...?

I had one of those “am I speaking a different language?” moments this week when I went to pick up my guitar from the music store after some repairs. I gave my name to the guy at the counter, who seemed to recognize it, which I admit was slightly eerie, and he laid my guitar on the counter, saying, “You’re all set.”

RA: (internally) I know I didn’t pay for this yet. Maybe he didn’t do a good job. I’d better check. (out loud, after checking) Well, it looks good to me. What do I owe you?
Guy: Nothing, you’re all set.
(pause...)
RA: When I brought this in, I wasn’t charged for anything, and I assumed that I would just pay when I picked it up.
Guy: Nope, you’re all set. No charge.
RA: Um, I’m pretty sure that I should be charged for this. I haven’t paid for anything yet.
Guy: You’re…all…set…

And so I left, guitar in hand, bewildered and baffled. What in the world just happened back there? Isn't it customary in this country to pay for repairs and/or materials? How did I not have to pay after I practically begged the guy to charge me?

The strangest part was the whole wink-wink-nudge-nudge aspect. Whatever was going on, I so did not get the code. Maybe to this guitar guy, I was saying, “You’re really hot,” or “I’ll come back with baked goods,” and he decided to let me go without charging me the forty bucks. For all I know, I uttered the secret code to sign on for some mob operation, and I’ll miss out on the job we’re pulling this weekend. I hope that’s not the case. Even when I think about it in hindsight, it is just plain weird. I have no idea what happened.