Operation Pink Herring

Thy leaves are so unchanging

Ah, Christmas trees.  Who doesn't love a Christmas tree, right?

Um...  me.

I think that people are supposed to have joyous memories of sitting around the Christmas tree, inhaling the deep pine scent, sipping hot apple cider  and singing carols while simultaneously baking cookies.  or something.

My Christmas tree memories are more like this:  The calendar flips to December.  Christmas decorations start going up around the neighborhood.  My mom decides it's time to put up the tree and tells us to go up in the attic and bring down the tree. 

Dude, the attic is cold.  The stairs are steep.  Plus, there are ghosts up there.   You think I'm joking, but THE GHOSTS ARE REAL.   As real as the monsters in the basement, anyway.

The tree box is heavy and requires quite a bit of maneuvering to bring down.  And then we have to set it up.  More work.  Sigh.

THEN, we have to go get the decorations down from the attic and put every single one on the tree.  I'm pretty sure this constitutes more work. 

And then a few weeks later, we had to do the whole process in reverse and put everything back up in the attic!  Which is still cold and full of ghosts! MORE WORK.  SIGH.

I really never got the whole point of having a Christmas tree.  We had a whole row of pine trees outside in the yard, and I would have been plenty happy to slap a bow on the trunk of one of them and call it The Christmas Tree, thus saving ourselves a load of work.  I understand some people find sentimental value in the temporary presence of a tree in the house during December.   I am not one of those people, as I am lazy and have a heart made from coal.  But you know who is one of those people?  My boyfriend.

It kills Joel a little bit every year that we do not have a tree.  I have many items on the CONS OF GETTING A CHRISTMAS TREE list, which I pull out every year: 

1. There is no point.
2. We have cats.
3. Our cats like to destroy things.
4. We already have a Christmas tree.  Six of them.
5. I don't feel like cleaning up the needles.
6. If we get a fake tree, where is it going to go for the rest of the year? 
7. Don't even say in the basement  unless you are going to be the one putting it down there.  And the one who brings it up next year.  And the one checking for ghosts. And then cleaning the kitchen floor.  Have I mentioned our basement is partial and the floor is made of dirt? 
8. We have like three decorations to put on this tree, and I'm not even sure where they are. 
9. Where is this tree going to go, anyway? 
10. Have I mentioned there is no point? 
11. And the cats?  Who are probably swinging from the branches of the poor hibicus tree at this very moment?

The PROS OF GETTING A CHRISTMAS TREE list goes something like this:

1. It's just not Christmas without a tree.

Lord help me, I think we are getting a tree this year. 

Goodbye, baby

There was one family member who was palpably absent this Thanksgiving.   Shadow, our family cat, was put to sleep last month after nearly 20 years with our family. 

Tell me this isn't the cutest picture you've ever seen.   I dare you.

We'd prepared ourselves for the end several times over the past few years, but each time Shadow pulled through.   She disappeared for nearly two weeks in 2001, returning just when we'd given up hope of ever seeing her again.   In the summer of 2004 when things weren't looking good, we actually had an appointment to have her put to have her put to sleep, which we canceled at the last minute.   Periodically over the past few years my mom would send emails saying Shadow wasn't eating, Shadow finally had to get a litterbox because she couldn't wait to be let outside, Shadow all of a sudden started drinking a ton of water.  Each time, we thought the end was coming.  Each time, Shadow shook it off and pulled through.

Shadow is obviously extremely terrified of my brother's Darth Vadar shirt.

But last month, it became apparent that this time was different.  Shadow stopped eating and drinking.  She peed on the carpet for the first time in nineteen years.  She started to have trouble breathing and fluid started to drip out of her nose.   It was obvious to all of us that the end had come, and my mom found a vet who would let us bring her in.

OK, maybe THIS is actually the cutest picture you've ever seen.  Michael's adorably pitiful "I'm sick" face kills me.

I wasn't there when it happened, and for that I'm terribly sorry.  That Saturday also happened to be the day that my friend was getting married in Connecticut.  I know that it would have been selfish and unreasonable to have asked Shadow to hang on for another week, when she was obviously in pain and probably would not have made it another seven days.  Both my brothers and my mom were with her at the end.   At the time, I was walking down the aisle in my bridesmaid dress.  I put what was happening at home out of my mind completely, because I couldn't think about it without crying.   I still can't.

My mom couldn't locate picture of Shadow sitting amidst the wreckage of the kick-ass Lincoln Logs ranch I built, which Shadow destroyed by trying to sit down in the living room of the farm house.  Instead, this photo of her obstructing Michael's very important coloring will have to do. 

The day after the wedding in Connecticut, I flew to San Francisco for work.  I talked to my mom while I was waiting in the airport.  Some part of me was hoping that she'd say that Shadow had perked up at the last minute, that she'd looked so great on Saturday morning that they'd canceled the appointment and Shadow was sitting on her lap right now, happily purring. 

 

Do you like my Care Bear Sheets?  On my WATERBED?  Those are the feet of my Rainbow Brite doll up there in the corner.

She didn't say that, of course.  After nineteen and a half years, Shadow was gone.   I cried a little bit in the airport, and then I had to pull myself together for a six hour flight, a long day of work, and then another long flight home to Baltimore.  Even when I got home and I could finally cry about it in the privacy of my own living room, I didn't.  It didn't really seem real.  It didn't hit me until two days later, just as I was getting into bed.   I spent that night sitting on my bathroom floor, crying and writing in my journal and feeling sort of stupid for being so upset over a cat.

Pinwheel, pinwheel, spinning around... look in my pinwheel and see what I found.

But Shadow was not just a cat to us.  Shadow was a member of our family, from the moment she marched into my dad's autoshop in Orange, NJ in 1988. 

She's been at every holiday and birthday celebration for as long as I can remember. 

She was always incredibly tolerant of everything we put her through as kids (and adults, since I was 25 in the picture above), and she was never happier than when she was sitting in a lap.  Even when she was forced to wear a homemade birthday hat (made by yours truly, in case you couldn't tell). 

Actually, there was one place she liked better than a warm lap.  A warm head.

Shadow's absence really hit me this past weekend.  It was the first time that I walked into the house in New Jersey and Shadow wasn't there.  Of course, I knew that this would be the case, but I kept looking for her and then remembering - oh yeah.  Shadow's not here anymore.  It was really, really sad.  Even with the whole family around, there was an emptiness to a pet-free house.

Since I wasn't there for Shadow's last day and the burial that my brothers gave her, my mom had the idea that I could make a gravestone for Shadow using a leftover paving stone and extra tiles from the wall.   That way, I could contribute to her goodbye. 

It was a great idea.  I picked up the stone from my brother's apartment a few weeks ago and worked on it in my kitchen.  On Saturday we placed it together and said goodbye one last time.

I know that everyone thinks that their family pet is the best in the world, but Shadow really was.  Period.  I say this meaning to no offense to the three cats that currently reside with me.  Much as I love them, they are nowhere near as awesome as Shadow.  (For one thing, Max doesn't want to wear the Santa suit I got him.  TOO BAD.  HOHOHO!) 

As much as we all laugh at my mom's requests for "specific pictures", I am really glad she made us take this parallel shot.  I'm not sure what the date on the first photo is, but I'd guess early nineties.  The second one is from September.  It's the last picture we have of the three of us with Shadow.   We were really lucky to have her in our family for nearly twenty years.  And we will all really, really miss her.   

*(A giant thank you to Steve for scanning all those old pictures!)

A belated Thanksgiving post

Thanksgiving kicks ass.  Thanksgiving means two extra days off from work, spending time with your family and friends, and, of course, great food.  It's that last part that used to kick my anxiety into overdrive when anorexia ruled  my life.  I am incredibly thankful that I am able to enjoy Thanksgiving for what it is, instead of dreading it and spending all my time trying to figure out how I can make it through the weekend without anyone noticing that I'm not eating.

The holidays are a stressful time for many people.  There's the gift-buying, the travel, the company, and the relatives.  For people with an eating disorder, this is all compounded by the abundance of food and the pressure to eat.   Food messages are everywhere during the holidays.  Starbucks is selling pumpkin pie in a cup.  Stores windows are graced by gingerbread house displays.  People everywhere are talking about what they're going to cook and eat.  And on January 2nd, the weight loss industry will spring into overdrive.  It's hard for everyone, but it's murder for someone with an eating disorder.   

I am so very thankful to have left that behind me.   My heart goes out to the many, many people who are suffering with anorexia, bulimia, compulsive overeating, or any combination of that trifecta this year.

I am also thankful that my family shares my views on the holidays: they should be fun, not stressful.

I am thankful that there was virtually no traffic on I-95 this weekend.

I am thankful that after perusing all the Black Friday ads, Joel decreed that we did not need to go Black Friday shopping this year.

I am thankful that at least Joel's apple pie turned out well.  (Mine was a little... crispy.   I cannot read instructions.   "Wrap crust in foil halfway through baking time" does not equal "wrap crust in foil after pie is baked", apparently.)

I am thankful that the pie with blackened edges still tastes fine.

I am thankful that I am able to enjoy it.

And I am thankful to you, dear internet friends, for indulging my Thanksgiving post four full days after Turkey Day.   I hope you all had a wonderful holiday (and for the non-Americans out there, I hope you had a lovely weekend)!

Just in time for Black Friday

It's that time of the year again.  The time when the whole world goes insane.

I don't do holiday shopping.  I can't.  I can shop with the best of them when I'm in the mood.  I can spend hours perusing the grocery store!  And don't even get me started on the time warp that is Home Depot.  Or Petco.   I can kill an afternoon looking at the different types of cat food.  But going near a mall any time after October 31st is just not in the cards for me.

I hate crowds.  I hate crazed shoppers.  And I hate what the holiday season does to people.

Case in point:  Yesterday I decided that my task for the day would be to leave the house, ending my weekend-long quarantine.  I dropped Joel off at his gym and set out to hit the Home Depot and Barnes and Noble.   Home Depot was bursting at the seams with holiday spirit, but since I got what I needed (six Alberta spruces, two sets of lights and a partridge in a pear tree and a refill canister of propane) with absolutely no hassle -- not even from the automatic propane cage system! -- I have no complaint to register with the home improvement overlords.  Barnes and Noble, however, has apparently been hit early by the spirit of Christmas Stress.

I had a 20% off coupon and I was really only looking for one book.  The last time I used a single item coupon, they were kind (or absent-minded) enough to apply the discount to my entire purchase, so I figured why not try my luck again?  I'll just pick up a few more books I've been meaning to read, and if they don't give me 20% off, well then shucks.  I guess I'll just have two more books to read. 

The line to checkout was long and slow-moving.  People were irritated.  Eye-rolling, sighing, making friends with strangers in the line to complain about how ridiculous this is, you'd think with it being the holidays they'd hire some more help, goodness, don't they know anything about retail? 

Then another woman stormed over and marched right up to the counter.  Before anyone could politely remind her that THERE'S A LINE HERE LADY, DON'T BE TRYIN' TO CUT (trust me, they were all thinking it) she yelled at the cashier "IF NO ONE IS GOING TO ANSWER THAT PHONE, JUST PICK IT UP AND HANG IT UP FOR CHRISTSAKE!  ITS DRIVING EVERYONE IN THE STORE CRAZY"

And everyone looked at each other and said "Wha??"  And then, listening very closely, we could hear it.  There was a phone ringing, gently.  Almost inaudibly.  And I guess that is all it takes to make people snap around this time of year.   When the irate woman came over to stand in the line, she loudly grumbled about how she was going to report them [to the phone police?] because these people need to change a few things around here and the first is ATTITUDE.

People, it is not even Thanksgiving.  It is too early for this level of stress to exist.

This is why I don't holiday shop.  I just don't see the point.  (And thankfully, my family and friends agree -- or at least pretend to agree to indulge me).  Everyone gets stressed out running around spending money, trying to find the perfect gift for everyone they know.  I enjoy giving gifts as much as the next person, but I HATE being pressured to find a gift for everyone at the same time.  When everyone else in the world is also out shopping.  And in grumpy moods. 

Back in high school, my friends and I decided to declare a gift-giving truce one year, and in lieu of presents we'd go into New York one day in December and go out for dinner.  It morphed into a yearly tradition that lasted through college, and it was so much fun every year.  Sadly, the tradition is now dead since several parents have moved and many of us don't come back to New Jersey for Christmas, but still.  It was FAR better than exchanging picture frames and Body Shop gift baskets.  My brothers and I soon subscribed to the same gift moratorium philosophy with each other.  And then we extended it to birthdays, because really?  Do I want my little brother stressing over what to get me for my twenty-seventh birthday?  (The answer is no, I don't.)  Instead, we decided that a card and a phone call are more than sufficient sibling gifts.   Joel and I don't do Christmas gifts for each other, either.  We do usually do birthday gifts, and since his birthday is the first week of December and mine is the first week of January, THAT IS PLENTY.  I don't need to be coming up with TWO gifts for him in one month.  There are only so many DVD box sets in the world.

And that leaves the office.  My office is officially out of control with Ye Ole Holiday Spirit.  So I had to go ahead and opt out of that nonsense too. 

So my holiday shopping list is 1. Mom, 2. Daddy.  My mom will give us several ideas as to what she would like (mom?  ideas?), as she does every year, and my brothers will buy a round of golf for my dad and that will be that.  Done. 

Honestly, I don't know how people handle the holidays any other way.  I love gift-giving.  I love seeing something that I know someone would love and buying it for them.  Holiday shopping ruins that for me, because I feel like I either need to save it until Christmas (that's no fun, I'm impatient!) or not get it because I'll just have to get them a Christmas gift too (I'm not made of money!).   Just thinking about it stresses me out.  And because of this, I've been labeled as The Holiday Grinch around the office. 

And you know what?  Me and my six Alberta Spruces are OK with that.

Getting into the spirit

I feel that there may be misconceptions floating around; rumors being spread.  People may be thinking that I am a pure and evil grinch.  This is just untrue.

See for yourself.  Me and my two brothers can tear it up with the best of 'em.

Also, I'd like everyone to know that this weekend, despite being deathly ill, I managed to purchase not just one measly Christmas tree, but SIX!  So what if they're all going to live in the planter box outside of our house?  They're still trees of the evergreen variety.  And I even got lights to put on them.   If that's not a freaking Christmas tree, I don't know what is.

Holiday shopping, however, is still on my No Fly list. 

glitch

Stephanie alerted me this morning that this site was showing 43 new posts in her reader, all posted supposedly at 11 last night.  I have no idea what is going on with that, but my own ready is showing 41 "new" posts from OPH, which are an assortment of really old posts from last year.   I'm trying to figure out what's going on.  I think it must be a typepad error, because I am also showing an impossible number of updates from other sites in Google Reader.

So just ignore them, I guess?  Mark All As Read, and carry on?

May the Good Lord smite me down

Once upon a time I broadcast to the internet all the gripes I had with my new phone.  And then my phone was taken away from me for five days and I learned to never take it for granted again.  Even if the ring tone does still make me want to stab my ear drums with a number two pencil.

Around the same time, I talked some smack about the flu shot.  It was offered for free at my place of employment, and all my coworkers went and got one.  Not me.  I don't do needles, I told them.  Plus, the one time I did buckle down and get a flu shot, I was rewarded with not only a (painful) needle-stick, but also with three days of "flu-like symptoms".  Color me crazy, but I call flu-like symptoms THE FREAKING FLU.  Whether it is caused by a dead virus injected (painfully) into my arm or a live virus sneaking in through my nostril, I still felt like crap for three days and I swore I would never again get a flu shot.  You know, until I am ninety years old and at risk from actually dying from the flu.  (And even then, probably not).

No, I said.  I'll just take my chances with the regular old flu.  Ya'll can contribute to the development of resistant virus strands by getting unecessary vaccinations if you want, but not me.  Thanks but no thanks.

WELL GUESS WHAT, INTERNET.  I THINK I HAVE THE FLU. 

What is this, some sort of curse?  If so, I'd like to go on record saying that I will NEVER, EVER win the lottery.  No, siree.  I am POSITIVE THAT THIS TICKET IN MY HAND IS A LOSER.

Blog Share: Breathe In, Breathe Out

Today I am participating in the Blog Share.  The post below was written by an anonymous blogger.  While the writer shall remain anonymous forever and ever amen, he/she does know that this entry is being posted here, so any comments left will reach the author.

Wow, that sounded all official-like.  Enjoy! (But not too much, because I'm coming back tomorrow.)

*********************

When -R- brought up the idea of Blog Sharing, I was quick to jump at the chance. Being able to semi-anonymously share my taboo worries elsewhere seemed like a great idea; a bit like guest posting just with a little more oomph, for lack of a better word. I say semi-anonymously, because in my mind I like to imagine that a few people might recognize my writing style and figure out who I am. If so, hi! Am busted!

Being the owner of a blog is a strange, strange thing. I have a fairly open stance when it comes to blogging, and of course am thrilled when readers re-visit and take the time to respond. I'm fairly happy to have people I know drop in from time to time, though most don't tend to stick around like other bloggers would. But I do censor myself in certain areas, more as a precautionary measure. And some of that censoring occurs because of my boyfriend.

I actually hate using that word - boyfriend, partner, other half, whatever you'd like to call it works for me. Without going into too much detail, I love him to pieces, but the knowledge that he occasionally lurks on my blog is always present in the back of my head when I'm creating a post. Particularly if that certain someone is the foremost thing on my thoughts, or when I'm in a grouchy frame of mind. It's not that I would be blurting out anything that is super important, but it would be nice just to be able to do it, should the need arise. I suppose that's the downside of willingly sharing your blog with your loved ones.

All of the above rambling brings me to what I feel like discussing today; and (not) surprisingly, it's related to the male species. In actual fact though, it's not just about that - it's more about me. For a long, long time, I've been wanting to take my relationship further. I suppose I've always been in the mindset that if things are good, why wait? Why not make a commitment, make it serious? I'm the more emotional one in the relationship, whilst he is the logical one. (Some days, it would be really nice for it to be reversed, even just for a few short moments...)

Years have passed and other than the occasional talk about the future, things haven't gone much further. Until now, that is. It's really happening. We're moving forward, we're moving out. Or moving in, really. Together. For the first time. To say that I'm excited is an understatement, but in actual fact? It all feels too surreal. And I'm terrified, completely and utterly terrified. I have so many "what if?" scenarios rushing around my head, I have so many things to think about. It's shaken me. People ask me how I'm feeling, and I respond with the usual - "Looking forward to it!", "It'll be great!", "Yeah, really excited!" when on the inside I'm wondering how in the world it's all going to go down. I need somebody to pass me a stiff drink, please. Or just fast forward a few months until this whole process is said and done and I'm a wee bit calmer.

Phew. There you have it; my worries out there for the world to see. Thank you to Operation Pink Herring for allowing me to steal some space on your bloggy home, and thank you to -R- for your organizational genius-ness.

Reunited (and it feels so good)

My phone and I were reunited yesterday.  After our five day separation, I had three missed calls and two unread text messages.  Am soooo popular.

Tomorrow I'll have something special for you here: the first ever OPH guest post!

Bon Jovi, the Big Easy and gray hairs

The Bon Jovi concert was pretty cool.  I'm not exactly "into" Bon Jon... don't get me wrong.  I like his music.  I just don't have REALLY STRONG FEELINGS like some people (ahem, my friends) do.  I think the problem is that I wasn't cool enough in the 80s to be into the popular music.   Jon's songs don't so much remind me of the good ole eighties as they do frat parties freshman year of college.   The only new songs of his that I know are the ones on the radio.  I really do love the "Who says... you can't go back" song that is the theme song of the NJ Tourism commercials.  Now that makes me feel nostalgic.

I had been led to believe Daughtry was opening, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I had never heard of Mr. Daughtry and his self-named band before.  My coworker asked me if Daughtry was opening last week and I said "uh... yeah" because I didn't want to admit that 1. I had no idea who was opening, and 2. I had no idea who Daughtry was.   After a quick Google search and the help of my brother's CD, I realized I knew a few of the songs from the radio.  OK.

Then Joel looked up the concert and told me that in actuality, the All American Rejects were opening.  AWESOME.   Is it weird that I love them?  Like, a lot?  And that I was sort of more excited to see them than Mr. Bon Jovi?

Is it also weird that I just depend on other people to organize things and I have no idea what is actually going to happen until I show up?  That's just how I roll.

Unfortunately, we got distracted by the sangria and tapas we were having pre-concert and we missed nearly all of the opening act.  I got to hear Move Along while we were waiting in line for beer, so it was OK.  That's really the song I love them for.  In fact, I'm not sure that I know any of their other songs.  And our seats were so far up that I wouldn't have been able to see anything anyway, so hearing the song in the beer line = good enough for moi.

Here's a picture of Jon.

That's him, I promise. 

Unfortunately, even when I zoomed in all the way, I still couldn't see how white his teeth were.  Sorry, guys.

And here's a picture of what I saw during the ENTIRE CONCERT.

These ladies DID NOT SIT DOWN AT ALL.  I have a problem with this.  My friends tell me that I'm the one that's in the wrong here, but I really don't see how standing up during a show demonstrates your superior love for the performer.  Sure, stand up and clap when he comes out.  Jump up and dance during your favorite song.  But for the majority of the show, SIT YOUR ASS DOWN.  People pay for seats at a concert, not a square foot of cement to stand on.   But because they decided to stand up, I had to stand up.  For three hours. 

(You know what else pisses me off in the exactly same manner?  People who put their seats back on airplanes.  I know that, again, I'm in the minority here, but I think it's just RUDE. If one person puts their seat back, that means that the person behind them has to either suffer in a teepee-like formation for the duration of the flight, or put their seat back as well.  And then the person behind THEM is faced with the same dilemma.  RUDE.)

(It's possible I've been traveling a bit too much lately.  Ya think?)

Jon puts on a great show.  He played the new album from start to finish, which I guess would have been awesome if I were more familiar with his new stuff.   Then he played the old favorites.  Then he played some more.  And more.  For three hours.  (My feet really, really hurt).

And then it took us two hours to get to my friend's apartment in Harlem because the subway line wasn't running and the Path was late and blah blah blah I didn't get to sleep until 4am.  It's possible I'm still a teensy bit cranky from lack of sleep.  I took two naps today.  Enough said.

Yesterday I flew directly from Newark to New Orleans for work.  I actually got to see a bit of the city (unlike last time) on this trip, and that was really nice.  The 75-degree weather was also pretty awesome.   

I am not at all impressed with the Sheraton for a bevy of reasons that would be very boring to list out (wireless internet is spotty!  Ozarka brand bottled water tastes funny!  No shower cap in the bathroom!  See?  BORING), but I did get a room with a kick ass view. 

I'm going to have to get up at dawn, seeing the sun rise over the  Mississippi while I groggily try to find the shoes packed at the bottom of my suitcase is a pretty good consolation prize.

The view straight down was not at pleasant for someone with a teensy fear of heights, so let's not talk about that.

(32 floors up, window DIRECTLY on the side of the building, in case you were wondering)

We went to the Orleans Grapevine for dinner last night, and it was great.  The food was delicious and the atmosphere was adorable.  Tin ceilings, chandeliers, and stuffed flounder.  Yum.   Today I had a lot of free time, so I did a lot of walking around and had lunch at a cute little coffee shop whose name I can't remember.  I was going to treat myself to some beignets, but I am feeling particularly unhealthy after all this travel (which automatically means less-than-healthy eating, for me at least) and I thought I might not fit into my pants if I stuffed three giant donuts down my piehole.  Of course, I don't think that the turkey and bacon wrap sandwich I got instead was exactly Weight Watchers approved, but at least I can tell myself that some actually nutrition was included in those calories.  (Just not in the bacon.  Or the ranch dressing.  Both of which were delicious.)

I finished reading Water for Elephants (which I really liked), and then walked along the riverwalk.

When I came back to the hotel (oh God, I just accidentally typed "home" instead of "hotel"), I was taking a picture to document Operation Grow Out Brassy Highlights, I found this bad boy:

That is a bona fide gray hair, people.  So much for being 23 at heart.

I think that is enough links and pictures for one day, dear internet, so I'm off to pack up my hundred pounds of crap and get some sleep before my 8:25am flight tomorrow.    Happy Veteran's Day to all, and to all a good night.

Complain and Ye Shall Lose

You know what will teach you to stop complaining about how much you hate your fancy new phone?Being without it for five days.

My friends and I had tickets to the Bon Jovi concert in Newark on Friday night. Say what you will about New Jersey, but there is no better place to see Jon (we’re on a first name basis) than NJ. There were perms. There were feathered bangs. It was perfect.

In order to get to this concert, Jenny and I planned to meet on the #86 train. She caught it in Richmond at 8am, and I planned to hop on in Baltimore at 11:08am. I caught a cab to Penn Station, arriving at 10:41. I remember exactly what time it was, because I kicked myself for stressing myself out about being LATELATELATEOMG when, really, I had all the time in the world. Plenty of time to print my ticket, get cash from the ATM and get myself some coffee before settling down on a bench to call my mom and tell her that I probably wasn’t going to be able to stop by while I was in NJ. I fished around in my new bag for my phone and came up empty-handed. I put down my coffee so I could look with both hands. I took everything out. I put everything back in and took it back out again. No phone.

FUUUUUCK.

Just then the board clackity-clacked its updates into place and the #86 train’s status changed from “On time” to “15 minutes delayed”. It was 10:56.

I don’t really need my phone. If I leave now I can go back and get it. What if I miss the train? I think I can make it if I leave right now. But what if I miss the train? Jenny will kill me. But I’m sure there are other trains to Newark today. I really need my phone. I’ll just call Jenny and tell her I may miss the train. OH WAIT I CAN’T BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE MY PHONE. I have to go back and get it.

I left my coffee on the bench, grabbed my stuff and ran outside to the taxi line. The driver sped home and turned the car around while I ran upstairs to get my phone. I was certain I’d left it on the bedroom dresser, where I’d put it down that morning when Jenny called to make sure I was awake.

Except it wasn’t there.

FUUUUUUUCK.

I picked up the house phone so I could call my phone and find it. House phone was dead. I ran downstairs and got the OTHER house phone and called my phone.

Ring, ring, ring went the house phone’s receiver. No corresponding ring from the cell phone. Voicemail. I tried again. Ring, ring, ring went the house phone. Nothing from the cell phone.

FUUUUUUUUUCK.

It was now 11:07. I hopped back in the cab and sped back towards Penn Station, convinced that I had now arranged it so that I was going to miss the train AND have no cell phone. We arrived at the station at 11:20 and I flew out of the cab with my wallet $27 lighter.

They hadn’t even announced the track for the #86 train. My coffee was still on the bench where I’d left it. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not going to lie: after a moment’s consideration, I picked it up and took a big, delicious chug. I didn’t really care if it was roofied. I needed some damn coffee and I’d just blown $27 on a fruitless cab ride and my cell phone was still missing.I managed to kill the cup just as the train was announced.

Because Jenny is a smart girl, she’d told me what car she was in. I found her and we called my phone several times, my ear to my suitcase to listen for its telltale BEEEPPP BEEEEPPP.

And then, on the third try, someone picked up just before the call cut out. SOMEONE PICKED UP MY PHONE. WHO HAS MY PHONE?

We called back and learned that the thief on the other side of the call was actually my first taxi driver. Whoops, I left my phone in the cab! No problem, he said, he would bring it to me. Where was I, he asked. I’m on a train, I told him. Somewhere in Northern Maryland. I don't think you want to meet me in Newark, NJ to return my phone.

No problem, I’ll take it to your house, he said. I gave him my address a bit skeptically since I’d caught the cab several blocks away from home and as nice as the guy was, his English wasn’t great. Our street name is difficult to pronounce and even harder to spell. I was just hoping that if he dropped it in our neighbor’s mailslot that they’d forgiven me for watching the Netflix that the mailman accidentally delivered to our house. (It was Elizabethtown and it sucked anyway).

And that was all I could do. I called my mom and told her I wasn't coming by. I called Joel and told him my phone might be on the floor when he came home. That was all I could do. Time to relax and forget about it.

Except I can’t stop myself from instinctively reaching for my phone a million times a day. It wasn’t so bad while I was in New York this weekend, with Jenny’s phone to depend on. But this morning I flew all by my lonesome to New Orleans for work and I AM GOING CRAZY. I feel cut of from the world. As much as I hate the thing, I am completely dependent on it. And I promise that when I return on Tuesday, I will give my fancy phone a big, sloppy kiss and never say a bad thing about it again.

I swear.

Happy birthday to me! Apparently I'm turning 23 again.

It's open enrollment time for my insurance carrier, and this year we got a special treat: a personal online health risk assessment.  It was supposedly not mandatory and we were assured that the data would be used in aggregate only.  As an incentive, everyone was promised $100 additional benefit dollars (which decreases the amount I pay out of pocket for insurance) for completing it.   Add that to the $100 decrease in benefit dollars we all received this year, and I'm breaking even!  Yes, Virginia (NOT Woolf), there IS a Santa Claus!

Luckily for me, I love two things: saving money and filling out forms.  You think I'm kidding about the forms, but I'm not.  I heart them.  Online forms aren't quite as satisfying as good ole paper, but I'll take what I can get on a Thursday morning.

The survey was a lot of typical BS questions.  Do you smoke?  Do you drink?  Do you eat your fruits and veggies?  Do you eat frozen pizzas from Safeway multiple times a week?  I happily filled them out, worrying only mildly that I might be shooting myself in the kidney by admitting to my insurance company that I have high cholesterol and a mile-long family history of diabetes.   Big Brother, are you out there?  My med school friend said my cholesterol is nothing to worry about because it's my HDL that's through the roof, not the LDL.   Please make a note of THAT in my file.

After I clicked submit, I was treated to a lovely personalized report on how I could better my health.   Kick Dr. Google to the curb and get yourself an appointment with Online Survey, MD.  Then you, too, could be treated to helpful and scienfic information like this: 

8 Health Age

Your choice of health practices, to a large degree, determines how fast you will age. In a study of some 6,900 people followed for 15 years they found 7 health practices to be good predictors of longevity. Your health practices are compared to this study population to determine your "Health Age."

Current Age: 26 years (based on your number of birthdays)

Health Age: 22.9 years (based on your health practices)

Potential Health Age: 21.2 years (This is your potential if you were following all 7 of the good health practices.)

Years of added life: 1.7 years (This is how many years you can add to your life expectancy by following all 7 of the good health practices. More importantly, you can add life to your years.)

I'll be heading to Whole Foods immediately after work so I can stock up on more fruits and veggies and add that extra 1.7 years to my life.   And more importantly, add some life to my years.

Cell phone rage

Awhile back I mentioned that I hate my new phone and Erika mentioned right back that she would LOVE to a post listing all the many, many reasons why this is so.  Well, I aim to please people.  Let the raging commence.

The first problem is that I really hate replacing things that are perfectly good.  My old phone was fine.  It worked.  I knew how to use it.  It wasn't supersleek or stylish, but it was good enough.  And then Verizon started sending me emails that it was time for my "new every two" phone.  I ignored their emails.  This was back in May.  I would have been happy to continue to ignore their emails, living in happy ignorance with my aging but utilitarian phone.  But Joel would hear none of that.  You can't just pass up FREE STUFF, he said.  Let's go to the Verizon store and check out all the cool new phones you can get!

I thought that sounded like an awful lot of work.   So I decided I would just go online and order a new phone.  And then I promptly forgot about the whole thing.

Until I went to a certain bachelorette party and was blown away by my friend Jenny's supercool texting phone.  It had a full keyboard!  And it took great pictures!  And she could text people in about 1/10th of the time I could.  Not that I really text that often, but I WANT to be a texter.  I decided I needed a new phone rightnowOMGandIwantonejustlikeyours.

I went home and immediately got on the Verizon site.  Unfortunately, the phone Jenny had wasn't a Samsung, and I wanted to stick to Samsung so that I wouldn't have to get all new accessories.  My old phone was a Samsung and I figured that if I showed a little brand loyalty, I'd be able to use my spare charger, car charger, and hands free set with my new phone.  I found a Samsung that had a full keyboard and I hit "buy".

The next day it arrived. 

And that is when the poop hit the fan. 

First of all, all Samsungs are not created equal.   My old charger does not fit my new phone.  Which means I need to shell out for a new hands-free set and a new car charger.  Or just go back to living without these commodities, which, so far, is going OK.  This was annoying, but hey.  My own stupid fault for not researching the new phone more carefully.

The real problem started when I went to test out the ringtones on my new fancy phone.  My old phone had a ringtone that I LOVED, it was a little melody that has already slipped from my brain into oblivion.  Come back, my beloved song!  I can't even remember what you sounded like.   The ringtones offered on the new phone are beyond awful.  There is not a single option that I wouldn't be humiliated to have go off in a public place.  One sounds like La Cucaracha.  Another is more like some sort of techno-mambo.  Trust me when I tell you they are all AWFUL.  There is no standard ring ring.  Even the "Bell 1" and "Bell 2" make me want to stab a carrot peeler in my eardrum.  So I have my ringtone set so low that I never hear my phone ringing, which is very efficient and useful way to use a telephone.  I suppose I have to download a ringtone like all the kids are doing these days, but that just sounds so... hard.  I just don't want to.  I want my phone to come with at least one decent ring.  Is that so much to ask?

Apparently so.

Speaking of downloading things, guess what I discovered the first time I was bored in a taxi and decided to see what sorts of games my fancy new cell phone had to offer?   NO GAMES.  Oh, you can download lots of fancy games!  For just a small monthly fee!  What's that, you don't like paying monthly fees?  Well for just a slightly higher one-time payment, you can have unlimited access to games like Sonic the Hedgehog and Tetris Mania!

Fuck that.  I'm not paying for cell phone games.

Also, Mr. New Phone is not at all intuitive.  That sucks, but with some practice I'm now starting to catch on to his little tricks.   Like, when I hear a beep signaling that I've gotten a text message, I know to open the phone in rotated mode just in case I should want to reply using the qwerty keyboard WHICH WAS AFTER ALL THE WHOLE REASON I GOT THIS STUPID PHONE.   Because if I open the phone in regular mode (like a regular phone) and open the text, I cannot simply rotate the phone to reply.  It will close out the second I go into rotated mode and pretend like it didn't know that I was looking at that text message.  Oh, I thought you were done with that, it says.  I'm sorry, now you'll have to start all over from the main menu.  What were you doing again?  Trying to download some games for a small nominal fee, right? 

Hmmm, what else?  There's the fact that although I have a full qwerty keyboard which is visible in phone mode, I also have tiny abc associated with the 2-key, def with the 3-key and so on.  And if I am scanning through my phone book to make a call, and I want to say, call JENNY.  WHO TRICKED ME INTO THIS WHOLE MESS WITH HER FANCY PHONE.  I cannot hit the big "J" button.  That is just a tease.  I need to hit the 5 button, which also means jkl, but only in phone mode!  In rotated mode that key means D.  Don't get confused! 

Also, the front display when the phone is closed goes inactive after 1.2 seconds.   I like to use my phone as a watch, and now I have to go to the trouble of opening it up when I want to know what time it is.  Sigh.  Just thinking about all the energy THAT takes is making me tired.

But I'm OK, internet.  I'm going to a support group and I'm learning how to channel  my anger in positive ways, like texting all my friends OMG THIS PHONE TOTALLY SUX WANT TO THROW DOWN SEWER DRAIN.

Which reminds me that I really need to go and sign up for a texting plan, because i have a feeling that when I get the fancy bill for this fancy phone I am going to realize just how fast 15 fancy cents per message can give a girl a heart attack.

But I don't hate it anymore.  Really, I don't.  As soon as I figure out how to download the theme song to It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia as my ringtone, I might even be able to say we're friends.

Na-Blo-Po-HELLZ NO

Well, I guess anyone who was wondering has by now gathered that I am, in fact, not participating in National Blog Posting Month.  Aka, NaBloPoMo.  Aka, NOT Na-Po-Bla-Mo, which is how I have been saying it in my head for the past year. 

Oops.

My schedule this past month was insane and unfortunately, my little piece of the blogosphere has born the brunt of my neglect.  But it's not the only thing that's been forgotten.  May I present to you: My laundry pile.

October was insane.  Two trips to Chicago, one trip to Connecticut, one wedding weekend, one trip to San Francisco, two trips to Occoquan, VA to watch Joel's team race, and one emotionally draining family event that I am still building up the stamina to write about later, it's over.

Phew. 

November is going to be busy, too, but I am determined not to let that stop me from posting every day every other day at least twice a week whenever I can.

Starting today!  I know you're excited.

So, Daylight Savings Day.  It's my least favorite day of the year.  I love summer, I love daylight and I hate when it gets dark at 5pm.  I was going to wear all black yesterday in mourning of my beloved daylight, but... then I forgot.  Instead, Joel and I went hiking in Gunpowder State park.

It was purty.  And because I FINALLY got to see some freakin' foliage, I temporarily forgave The Worst Day of The Year.

On the way home we stopped by the grocery store for a few essentials, you know, carrots, celery, eggs, and cream cheese (we eat some weird shit) (and I've been trying to eat less meat, hence all the veggies).  We got home, unloaded the groceries, took showers, made dinner and watched some TV.  I was totally ready for bed.  I looked at the VCR and the timer said it was 7:30pm.

Well, I thought, at least that's one good thing about Daylight Savings: it's the first time I can remember that we've eaten dinner before 8pm!  We always mean to eat earlier, and then stuff happens and whoops!  It's 10pm and the pizza isn't done baking.   

I was in the middle of patting myself on the back when Joel told me he hadn't changed the VCR clock.  So it was actually 6:30pm.

I was in bed by 10 and asleep by 10:30.  I woke up this morning feeling rested.  It was bizarre.  I guess turning back the clocks isn't 100% bad.  But I still think it's 99% suckitude and I just might cry tomorrow when I walk out of my underground office at 5pm and find myself in total darkness.