Operation Pink Herring

Aliens are feeding them information. I know it.

I have a profile on LinkedIn, although I'm not sure why.  When I first read about it a few months ago I was curious and wanted to look around... and, of course, it wouldn't let me do that without creating a profile of my own.   So I have a profile, but there's nothing in it -- mostly because I'm not planning to make a long-term career out of my current position or field, and partly because "networking" in general makes me break out in hives.  But hey, it can't hurt, I figured.  Sometimes Joel uses my login to look people up, so it's not useless.  I have exactly four contacts (and two of them are bloggers).  My profile is only 55% complete, whatever that means.

Today I logged in to look something up -- I honestly cannot remember what -- and I spit coffee all over my computer monitor when I saw the welcome screen.  There was a list of "People You Might Know", and on that list were:

1. A dude that was in a couple of my grad classes who now teaches English in Turkey.  I was on his mailing list for awhile and got periodic updates about his life in Istanbul, but I haven't heard anything from him in over a year.
2. Y from Joy Unexpected.  I read her blog.  Once, she replied to one of my comments.  That's as far as our relationship goes.  I doubt she would be pleased to find out that LinkedIn showed me her real last name.
3. My friend's sister. 
4. A girl from my ex-sorority that I haven't talked to in years
5. A friend of a friend -- I thought this one was an error because I didn't recognize the name at first, but when I read her job history I realized that I actually do know her.  Well, sort of. 

So LinkedIn is right, I do know every single one of these people.  But how do THEY know this?  And more importantly, is LinkedIn throwing my name out to random people that I used to get drunk with at sorority formals?  WTF?

I am seriously freaked out.  I want to go home, unplug my computer, and spend the rest of the afternoon making tin foil hats for my kitty cats.

I know that the internet can be a scary place; I understand that nothing on the web is really private.  Heck, I don't even EXPECT things to be private -- I write about my life on a public weblog, for crying out loud.   But sometimes I tend to forget just how much information is out there -- and although I have nothing to "hide", it still freaks me out.  I've been contemplating taking down all the profiles that I don't ever use (MySpace, LinkedIn, etc), but I figured there was really no harm in just leaving them up -- and let's face it, I'm lazy.  But now I'm thinking that maybe that would be a really good project for this weekend -- and I'll make sure to wear my tin foil hat while using the computer from now on.

Checking in

Hi, internet.  What's up?  Oh, me?   No, I'm fine!  No, not really that busy.  It's just a bit of blogger's block.  No, nothing serious, I'm sure.  Yeah, I'll go to my doctor if it gets any worse.   Maybe I'll call in sick tomorrow if I'm not feeling better by then.  Don't want to pass this think around to the whole office, ya know?

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So, my week of "baching it" flew by uneventfully.  I successfully became a vegetarian for the week, if you don't count the lasagna leftovers I ate for two lunches.  Fine, and two dinners.  But otherwise I would have had to throw it away, and how is throwing perfectly good (delicious, meaty) lasagna in the trash saving any cows?  Exactly.  So I'm saying I was vegetarian for the week and I'm proud of myself.  It was actually easier than I thought, and that's probably because I had Honey Nut Cheerios for dinner several times.  And also for breakfast.  And pop tarts for lunch.  Being vegetarian doesn't mean being healthy, who knew?

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Joel came home from his annual Spring Break coaching trip with a nasty cough/bronchitis/Asian bird flu.   I am pretty sure I got myself put on some sort of watch list when I bought every cold and cough medicine the pharmacy had on its shelves.  Dude, I'm not a meth dealer.  But I'll take any spare percocets you guys have lying around.  Hey, just offering.  Waste not, want not and all that jazz.

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As much as Joel's bronchitis/Asian bird flu sucks (a lot) (for him), at least that's all he brought home.  YES, WAY.   SAME CAMP JOEL WAS AT. Needless to say, I've spent the past three days asking Joel if he could check his bags for snakes just one more time.  And what about under the bed?  And in the closet?  Under the sink?  Under the couch?   Oh, AND THEN THERE'S THIS.  Hey, did I ever tell you guys about the boa constrictor that we found living in the dropped ceiling of Joel's old house?  Man, that was a riot.  FUCKING SNAKES.

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In other news, Max went to the vet last night (looong boring story involving calcium levels, but they threw out the big C, and who's NOT going to take their beloved fatty in for the test when they throw "IT COULD BE CANCER" at you?  Not me, that's who) and when they printed out the receipt for me it had a little picture of Max's face in the top corner.   That made paying $179 for a cancer test much more bearable, for some reason. 

Max would like me to note that he does not agree.  NO MOARZ NEEDLZ PLS KTHXBAI.

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We went for a walk last night, and it was downright idyllic.  We were thoroughly enjoying the springtime weather and the lingering daylight until Joel suggested that we walk around the boat/duck pond in the park and came upon quite a ruckus.  A big white duck was trying to drown a smaller mallard duck.  I know what you're probably thinking: he wasn't trying to drown her, stupid.  That's what we call mommy and daddy duck's special time.  Well, that's what I thought too.  At first.  But the more we watched (oh, shut up, you would have watched too), the more suer we became that he was not uh, "loving" her, but in fact drowning her.  Horrified, I turned to find a rock to throw at him and I almost picked up a dead, squished rat.   Ah, Baltimore.   

I found a stick to throw (missed by a mile), and some neighborhood hooligans arrived and managed to actually hit the white duck with their projectiles, giving the female mallard a chance to run off.  As funny as it was watching a duck try to run, for the rest of the night I couldn't stop wondering why that one duck was trying to drown that other duck. 

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Will you guys still be my friends if I admit that I've been watching The Pussycat Dolls Present: Girlicious?  And that I sort of love it, but not as much as I loved The Pussycat Dolls Present: The Search for the Next Doll?  There is too much Robin Antin and not enough of Mike the choreography dude yelling at people in this season.  But still... love.  It's like America's Next Top Model but WITH CHOREOGRAPHED DANCING.

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And... that's all I got.  Time to go check for snakes under my desk.  Again. 

My new shoes. Let me show you them.

I've got a bunch of half-written posts about real stuff, like my love-hate relationship with our house, my hate-hate relationship with painting and ladders, that 2007 Books post I've promising since, oh, December, and all the fun things I've been keeping myself busy with to preemptively stamp out any bachelorette-induced loneliness.   Every morning I resolve to finish them.  And then I get distracted by things like watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia clips on YouTube and whoops, it's 1am and I haven't showered all day.  Or eaten dinner. 

Today, my distraction of choice is this:

I tried on a pair of Privos at Filene's basement this weekend and I almost bought them because they were without a doubt the most comfortable shoes I've ever put on my feet (and I'm including my beloved Asics Gel Kayanos in that statement).  It was like a thousand little angels were massaging my heels and arches with every step and after a few laps up and down the shoe aisle I died and went to heaven.  The End.

But then I talked myself out of buying them for the following reasons: 1. The one pair in the store, which was a different model than those pictured above, were sort of ugly.  There was some sort of meshy screen-like material involved and it was not attractive. 2. They were too big for me. 3. I had just purchased three new pairs of shoes the day before, and 4. I'd never heard of Privos and I was afraid that they were actually an old lady brand of shoes and I just didn't realize it because I AM an old lady.  So I didn't buy them, I went home and promptly forgot about it.

Then this morning I got an email from Endless.com advertising all sorts of magical things like free shipping and millions of styles and world peace and I thought to myself, I wonder if they have any of those Privo shoes?   And lo, they did.  Some were kind of ugly, but some were cute.   Very cute.  And comfy looking.

But still, I feared that Privo was some sort of secret Old Lady Brand.  What to do?  Who to consult?  Hmmm... I seemed to remember a certain blogger's recent quest for the perfect comfy, yet fashionable shoes to wear on her Italian honeymoon, and since and she's and young and hip and a dedicated shoe maven. 

And guess what?  Angela picked the same shoes I did!  And she did an incredible amount of research to find the perfect honeymoon shoes, so I stopped thinking about it and just hit "order" (in two sizes, thanks free shipping and free returns!).  They'll be here tomorrow and then I'll no longer have to embarrass myself by walking to and from the office in my work clothes and sneakers.   

And now I've moved on to wondering if I can't find a way to justify also buying these:  

The End.

Champion of the sun

I have a confession and a question.  First, the confession.

Bless me interweb, for I fear I have sinned.  I have been led astray by my fancy and somewhat annoying phone.  I no longer think evil thoughts about my phone, but I still could not move past the horrific ringtones.  And then one day I went to visit my brother and he had this ring tone from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and now I have one too.

Day Man is my phone's ring tone.

Actually, the version that plays when my phone rings is this one, but I hesitate to post it because it makes the show look totally insane.  I mean, the show is totally insane, but not in a weird way.  Well, not THAT weird. I swear. And I'll start watching How I Met Your Mother if you'll all jump on the Sunny bandwagon (when new episodes come back).  Deal?

And now for the question: Just how annoying am I?  I love that ring tone.  It's loud enough that I actually  hear my phone, it's distinctive enough that I don't just think "eh, it's probably Joel's phone.  I'll just ignore it".  It's a little injection of happiness every time I hear Charlie and Dennis singing "Day Man! (Ooooh!) / He's the fighter of the night man! (Oooooh!)"

But the sad truth is, no one watches Sunny.  No one gets how funny my ring tone is.  So should I just give up and go back to Bell 1? 

Tell me the truth.

Diary of an insomiac

I never emailed that lady about that project.  Crap crap crapcrapcrap.  I need to do that first thing in the morning.  FIRST THING.  Don't forget!  Maybe I should get out of bed and write it down.  No, I'll just make a mental note.  But what if I forget?  I really don't feel like getting out of bed.  But I don't feel like worrying about forgetting either.  Oh, fine.  I'll just write it down.

Maybe I should just go and email her right now.  Would it look psychotic if I email her at 12:30am?  Maybe I'll just set the email to time delay so it goes out at a reasonable morning hour.  But I don't feel like going downstairs and starting up the computer and dealing with our crappy internet and oh, whatever.  I'll just write it down.   I won't forget.

When am I going to go to yoga this week?  I'm going to New Jersey on Friday, so the weekend is out.  Maybe I'll go on Thursday after work.   Oh, I can't go on Thursday, because I have to drop Joel's car off after work for him to pick up when he gets back on Saturday.  I have to do that on Thursday, since I'll be leaving on Friday.  I cannot forget to drop his car off on Thursday!  God, that would be awful.  He'd be stranded up there and it would all be my fault.  Maybe I should write that down too.  No, I'll remember.  Thursday: drop off car.  Shit, I better write it down.

Great, now I'm all awake.  But I'm so tired.  Maybe I'll try to read for a little while.

I should go to the chiropractor while I'm up in Charles Village on Thursday dropping the car off.  I think I have an appointment scheduled for Monday night, but I can't make it since I have photography class.  I can't forget to call and reschedule that appointment.  I've spaced out on the past three and they totally hate me.  Whatever, I can't be the only one who occasionally forgets appointments and they should be happy to have my continued business.  But I should really go on Thursday, since I'm going to be up there on Thursday anyway to drop off Joel's car.  Thursday: Chiropractor and car.  Don't forget!

Reading sucks.  I'm just going to go to sleep.  I'm so tired.

How am I going to get home after I drop off Joel's car on Thursday?  Maybe I should ask someone to give me a ride.  Or I could just take the bus.  I need to look up the schedules and see when it runs at night.  Or maybe I could just run home.  How far would that be?  Maybe it's too far.  I should look it up on Google maps tomorrow morning.   Thursday: chiropractor, drop off car, possibly run home.  Got it.

I wonder what time it is.   1am.  Well, that's not so bad.  I'll just read a few pages and then hopefully I'll fall asleep. 

Maybe I can go to yoga on Wednesday.  I wonder if they have a class on Wednesday night.  Oh, shit.   I have to go to book club on Wednesday night.  I haven't read the book.  But I backed out of going the last three months and they totally hate me.   I should just up and quit instead of flaking out every month.  But I already RSVPed yes for this month, so I can't back out now.  OK, so Monday: photography class.  Wednesday: book club.  Thursday: drop off Joel's car and run home.  Wasn't there something else?  Oh, chiropractor.  I'd better write all of this down.

Henry, you cannot sleep on my head.   I can't breathe when you're sleeping on my head.  Go sleep on Joel's side of the bed.  I'm too tired for this.

So I guess I'll go to yoga on Tuesday.  Man, that's only like one day away.  That means I'm not going to get to the gym once this week.  What a waste of money.  Oh well.   I like yoga better anyway.  I wonder if I can make it home on Sunday night in time to go to another yoga class.  I think my card is about to expire soon and I already paid for ten classes.  I wonder how many I have left.  I should ask them.  Next time I go there, don't forget to ask how many classes I have left pre-paid and when that expires.  I never should have gotten the ten class card.  That screwed me last time, too.  Next time, just get the five class card.  And don't forget to ask how many classes are left on the current card.  On Tuesday.  Tuesday: yoga.

I wonder what time it is now.  1:45!  Shit.  I am going to be a mess tomorrow. 

When am I going to take Max to the vet for his follow up?   I should do that next week.  I need to call them for an appointment.  I guess I should go on Wednesday, that way I can work out on Tuesday after being totally sedentary at work and then the photography class on Monday night.   That reminds me, I have to charge the camera battery.  And call the vet.  Next week: Max vet.  Don't forget to call. 

Two am.  Sweet.  Now I'm not even tired anymore. 

Man, and the week after that, Henry has a vet appointment, plus I have my last photography class on Monday.  That means two days that week I won't be working out.  Which means I need to work out both days on the weekend to keep my five-day-a-week promise.  Dammit.  I hate working out on the weekend.  I guess I can go to yoga both days, at least that way I'll be using up my pre-paid card before it expires.

Screw this, I'm going downstairs to watch TV until I fall asleep.

I never cleaned the house today.  Man, it's such a mess.   This blanket is covered in cat hair.  I really need to wash it tomorrow.

Henry, you still can't sleep on my head.  Go sleep on my stomach.  At least that way I can breathe.

This Law and Order about dog fighting is so sad.  Good thing I'm not sleeping tonight, because it would definitely give me nightmares.   Come up here and snuggle me, Henry.  Sorry I said you couldn't sleep on my head.  You can do anything you want as long as you don't get used as bait for a dogfight, OK?

Did I just doze off?  What the hell is going on in this episode?  Let's just rewind and let's see... hmm, this is the last thing I remember.   Awesome, that means I just slept for half an hour!   I wonder what time it is now.  No, I shouldn't look.  It just makes everything worse.  But what if I set my cell phone alarm wrong?  Better check it.  Yup, it's on for 7:15.  Crap, it's 4am.  At this point I might as well just stay away and try to go to the gym before work, at least that way I'll be worn out tonight and...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

What the hell is that noise?   Oh, it's the alarm.  Ow, what was that?  Henry, get off my neck.  I need to move.  I have so much to do today.  I need to call the vet, when did I decide to take Max in?  And what do I need for photography class tonight?  Oh, shit.  I was going to take those jeans to be hemmed today.  I forgot to try them on.   I'll deal with it later.  I have to go to work.  I'm going to be late.  Do I have anything I can take for lunch?  Oh, forget about it.  I'll just figure out something when I get to work.  Maybe I'll splurge on pizza at the coffee shop.  I'm so late.  Maybe I should call in sick.  No, then everyone will think I'm hungover from St. Patrick's day.  Oh!  I have leftovers from Friday at the office, I can just have those for lunch.  Awesome.  Where's my coffee mug?  We're almost out of cat food.  I really need to vacuum down here.  Didn't I just vacuum a few days ago?   What time is it?  Crap, I'm so late!  Maybe if I walk really, fast I can still be on time to work. 

I'm going to need a lot of coffee today.   

When it rains, it pours

Last weekend my social calendar had more items on it than the previous three months combined.  On Saturday I drove to DC to meet up with Erika and then we continued down 95 to meet up with Lindsey and Sarah and it was excellent.  Then I drove the three hours back to Baltimore, took a power nap and went out for a Daylight Savings Day celebratory dinner (Daylight Savings Day is my favorite holiday of the year and I cannot even express how happy I am that it’s extended this year) at a (semi) new Lebanese restaurant, followed by a movie at the (somewhat) new Landmark movie theater downtown.   Verdict on the restaurant: de-freakin-licious; verdict on the movie theater: a little pricey and possibly too trendy for its own good, but well worth for the sole reason that it’s within walking distance and we didn’t have to cruise around for three hours looking for a parking spot when we got home.

I rang in the new year of Daylight Savings by staying up with insomnia until 3am, which was actually 4am thanks to the pesky lost hour that comes with my beloved DST, and then I got up bright and early and drove to Annapolis to meet up with my friend Tinna.  We got kicked out a bridal shop for not having an appointment (dear snotty peoples: WE WERE JUST LOOKING!  No need to follow us around like we were about to stuff a wedding dress into our purses and run), went out for lunch and did some shopping. 

And then I came home and passed out for three days because that’s more fun that I usually have in a year.

This weekend, Joel left for spring training with his team and I have exactly NOTHING planned.  I have no problem being alone and I don’t consider myself codependent or anything, but last year I was unpleasantly surprised at how lonely I got on the weekends he was gone.  Most weekends, I am on my own while Joel is away at races or practices.  I have no problem filling my time, and the weekend always flies by at an impossible speed and Monday morning is hitting me in the head with a baseball bat before I can say “TGIF!”  But without the knowledge that my betrothed is coming home at some time, even if he leaves before I wake up and comes home when I'm already asleep, this weird time warp takes over our house and the weekend starts to drag on.  I think I almost looked forward to going to work for a milisecond last year, and that's unacceptable.  Weekends must be enjoyed for all they're worth and must -- by definition -- be too short.

So here’s "baching it", to keeping busy, and to watching enough Law and Order to make my eyes bleed!

Rats of the sky

Until Heidi mentioned it a few days ago, I'd never heard the term rooster-cat, but BOY DID I KNOW WHAT THEY SOUND LIKE.   Unfortunately, I can't follow Heidi's lead and shut the window on the damned thing because our neighborhood rooster-cat LIVES WITH US.   He sleeps in our bed and he's cute and cuddly and adorable most of the time.  Except for when he sees a pigeon, then he morphs into hunter-cat and becomes more than a little bit psychotic.  Henry, he HATES pigeons.   HAAAAATES THEM.  He expresses his deep-seated hatred for all of pigeonkind by howling a strange, awful crow-meow at them and trying to jump through the window when they make their early-morning flybys. 

Henry talks a big game.  You should hear the names he calls those pigeons, and all the things he says he's going to do to them.  He's going to kill them, maim them, eat their babies and make sure there's not a pigeon left alive to tell the tale, that's what he's going to do.

At least, that's what he said until a big, scary pigeon had the audacity to land on our very own window ledge. 

Pigeon watching from Pink Herring on Vimeo.

Most boring video ever, or thrilling documentary one brave pigeon who wouldn't back down?  You make the call.

Things Fall Apart

On our family vacation a few years ago, I blew through the book I was reading faster than I'd expected and found myself sorting through the books my mom had brought along to choose some new reading material for a day at the beach.  She recommended Things Fall Apart and I finished it in just about two days, that's how entrancing it was.  We were discussing it when my brother noticed that the cover looked familiar to him and he announced "Hey, I think I remember that book!" .  "You should," mom responded, "this is your copy.  You were supposed to read it for that World Literature class you took."

Now, my brother and I have this in common: we never read any of the books that were assigned for school.  I have something against being told what to read (for this same reason I'm thinking I should probably quit the book club I'm in) and K just isn't much of a reader. 

We have something else in common:  we're both highly skilled bullshitters.  I am an artist when it comes to test-taking, and I actually perform better when I have no idea what I'm talking about.  K can pick up on tiny bits of information and spin them into a totally believable tale, and he enjoys doing so just to see how far he can take you before you realize he's making it up as he goes along.  I'd like to claim that I taught him everything he knows, but in truth he was born with The Gift and he's a far better BS-er than I will ever be.

K took another look at the book's cover and my mom and I both knew he had no idea what the book was about.  He hadn't even been paying attention to our discussion.  But that didn't stop him from joining in.  "Oh, right!" he said.  "I'll tell you what happens in that book:  Things fall apart.  Tragic, really.  Great book, though."

Whenever I feel like things are totally falling apart around me (which is more often than I'd like to admit), I can't help but think of that story and smile. 

But, internet, things are falling apart here.  Seriously.  Send halp.

Our bedroom is finally finished paint-wise, but all our furniture is still pushed up against the bed and I don't have the energy to even think about moving it back.  If I hadn't bought three new sweaters at Ann Taylor this weekend (for a grand total of $40) I would have had nothing to wear to work today because our laundry pile is overflowing and the dressers being pushed up against the bed makes it impossible to open them to get clothes out.   

When I tried to attack the mess that has taken over our newly painted bedroom yesterday I ended up breaking Joel's rowing trophy and then I had to tell him about it on his voicemail because I was late for the first session of my Photography for Dummies class.

In class I was paired up with the hott guy my two friends and I had been eyeing, and after they despaired that they were single and I am not and it's not faaaaair that I got paired up with the hott guy, I turned on my camera and the forty jillion pictures I took of my own hand came up on the screen.  If he wasn't impressed by that, I'm sure he was floored by my intelligence when I admitted that I thought the little flower icon meant "nature shot".  (Turns out it really means "close-up".)

Oh, and I was going to upload some pictures of our newly painted bedroom, but I can't find the camera cord.   It's probably in one of the dressers that are pushed up against the bed.

I was an hour late to work this morning, and I wish I could blame it on Daylight Savings Time but I just messed up the alarm.   And I left my coffee mug in my car.   

I was even later to work because I was looking for the misplaced mug, but I couldn't find it.  By "it" I mean THE CAR.  Anyone seen a black pigeon-poop covered Jetta?  With a dirty coffee mug jammed into the console betwee the seats?

I'll be waiting for my Nobel Prize!

Question:  Is there a word that sounds like "bench" and could realistically be used in conversation after the words "You're a skinny ____ "?  Because when I dropped my ring off for resizing this afternoon, I'm pretty sure the saleslady called me a skinny wench.   It was sort of noisy in there, but she definitely said "You're a skinny something" when she looked at the size card and I'm guessing that calling customers skinny bitches is probably against the rules for Fancy Jewelery Store Ladies. 

God, I wish I had this problem with a part of my body other than my fingers. 

In other news, let's reminisce.  Remember the good old days, when we all took pictures with real film?  And we didn't have the luxury of instantly reviewing our pictures, and you needed a darkroom to mess around with coloring and lighting instead of Photoshop?  Well, I've actually never used photoshop (the horror!) but at least I know how to use MS Paint and Flickr's editing tools.   Speaking of flickr. remember when we had to lug around photo albums to show pictures to other people?   Boy howdy, how times have changed!  I remember when we all walked to school barefoot and helped Papa in the fields.  When we weren't too busy whitewashing fences and getting into mischief, that is.

Kids these days, they just don't know how good they have it.   They'll never experience the excitement and mystery of coming across an old, forgotten camera with a dead battery and a half-taken roll of film still inside.  They'll never get to spend $11 a sixpence on a new battery, only to open the wrong compartment when they're trying to install said battery, thus overexposing the entire roll of mysterious film.  They'll never learn the art of being patient while they wait for the overexposed film to be developed at Safeway the corner Five and Dime.  And they'll know nothing of the joy of ripping open a newly printed packet of photos and tearing into them, not knowing what you'd see.

They'll never get to flip through the stack of photos and come across a forgotten masterpiece like this one:

Even better, they'll never be reminded of that old futon they used to have and the glorious, peaceful days when cats didn't outnumber humans in the house:

Hey, look at this!  Evidence of a rift in the space-time continuum!  Call NASA!

I don't know why I signed up for that photography class that starts on Monday.  This picture is clearly evidence that I know everything there is to know about taking excellent photographs.

But by far, this one is my favorite:

I mean, what's not to love about this picture?  The skin, the hair, the overall sense of glamour!  And the fact that Madison is smiling for the camera while he simultaneously pulls out my hair and tries to suffocate me -- that's just pure art. 

And we wonder why I have trouble sleeping.   

Man, kids these days.  They just don't know what they're missing.   Nowadays this picture would have been deleted immediately upon discovery.   But I've had three years to grow as an individual since this was taken, and now that I'm older and wiser, I realize that sometimes vanity has to take a backseat so that the internet can experience art like this.  Plus, my skin looks much better now. 

Vindicated

Hey, you know that fear of turning into a bridezilla?  Still there. 

When we picked up the newly sized ring a few weeks ago I was a little bit skeptical of the fit in the jewelry store.  When we’d dropped it off, they sized my finger with their little key-ring sizer thingy and I was officially declared to be somewhere between a size 4 and 4.5.   The consultant we talked to recommended that I go with a size 4.25 since that would be tight enough to keep the top-heavy solitaire ring in place, but loose enough to provide some room for hand swelling once summer rolls around.    That all sounded very sensible to me (and besides, I was sweating through my shirt just by being in the presence of so many fancy people), so we handed the size 6 ring over and started counting the days until my new 4.25 ring would be dropped off by the ring-stork.   

We waited and waited, made up a story about a Fake Engagement Party to cut the wait down a bit, and waited some more.   Finally, on February 15th, we got to pick up our little bundle of joy ring and everything was great.  Except for one thing.   The ring still felt too big to me.  The customer service girl assured me that it was a good fit, that I’d get used to it, that we needed to leave some space for hand swelling in the summer.   We walked out happy as could be and I crossed “get ring re-sized” off my to-do list.

Every day since then I’ve spent a fair amount of time trying to assess whether the ring is really too big or if I’m just overanalyzing things.  In the morning it would fit well and I’d tell myself that all the fretting was silly.  Then, when I got to work and went to wash out my coffee mug, it would be practically falling off my finger.  Every time I washed my hands or put on lotion, it would feel extra slippery -- to the point where I was actually afraid it would fall off and be lost (good thing that insurance paperwork got sent in, huh?).  At the gym it would move around and irritate me while I was running or using the elliptical machine.  When I got home, I’d have to take it off before I showered because there was no way it would stay on my finger with water and soap on my hands.   And then it would just stay in my jewelry box until the next morning because it was impossible to do dishes with it on, and I was too afraid to sleep with it, lest it be lost in the bed and spirited off by feline jewelry thieves (Henry likes to hoard shiny things.  He is part dog, part magpie).  I’d fall asleep thinking that it was definitely too big and pondering how that could be remedied without my looking like a total bridezilla. 

And then in the morning it would fit pretty well again and I’d decide that all that worrying the day before had been nonsense.

This cycle has been repeating on a daily basis for the past two weeks, and let me tell you, I FELT TOTALLY CRAZY.   But when I was tossing wet laundry into the dryer my ring actually slipped off and flew into the dryer!  That can’t be right, can it?  And so, finally, I got up the nerve to go back to store filled with well-dressed, big-busted sales ladies tell them I know this may sound crazy and annoying, but I think this ring is still too big and could I possibly have it sized down a teensy bit more?   Oh, and could that be done without surrendering my ring for a month this time?  Please?  Is it hot in here? Is anyone else sweating?

The customer service dude (who was no less intimidating than the gaggle of sales ladies) gave me a little speech about how it had only been two weeks, I mean, he was happy to see if they could size it down, but he didn’t want to be stuck with a too-small ring once it gets hot out in the summer, and you know how hot it gets here in July, right hon?  I nodded and told him I still wanted to have it sized down a little bit, maybe just a quarter size.  So we sized my finger AGAIN, determined AGAIN that I fall between a size 4 and 4.5 and that a 4.25 would be the best bet for  me with this type of ring.  And then he sized the ring.  And it was a size 4.5, a quarter sized bigger than I’d ordered.  He was very quick to explain that sometimes the manufacturer doesn’t actually make quarter sizes and in those cases they just have to choose the closest half size and let me check, yup this manufacturer is one of those and that’s why they sent a 4.5 instead of what you ordered, hahaha oops!

I would be annoyed if I weren’t so relieved BECAUSE THIS MEANS I’M NOT COMPLETELY INSANE.   I also think that I sort of asked for this when I requested that they get it back to me in two weeks so I’d have it in time for my Fake Engagement party, and I completely understand that they’re not going to manufacture a special size just for me – but it would have been nice to KNOW that it was a quarter size bigger, you know?  But, whatever -- the important thing is that the ring really is too big and I’m not crazy.  I’m taking it in on Thursday morning to be re-sized, which is apparently different than re-ordered, so I’ll have it back by Thursday evening.  And then I’ll have a ring that fits and everything will be great and I cross this off my list and move on to wondering if it’s just me, or is there a pea under this mattress?