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So, I’ve come to understand that there are a few unrealized goals in my life. Recurring unrealized goals. Two in particular that just keep coming ‘round to whack me in either the gut or the wallet. The two goals in question: I will stop eating Doritos (fail) and I will stop shopping (fail). With the Doritos I suffer from temporary lapses in judgement, which is better than it used to be. I can go weeks without them and not miss a beat. And then I fall off the wagon and eat half a bag in one sitting. But I’ve been worse. And let’s be honest. Stop shopping? That’s pretty much impossible. Without shopping I would not be able to eat. However, if I were to stop shopping at places that provided no food-stuffs whatsoever, that would probably help. Over the years, the “I will stop shopping” goal has been modified countless number of times, including (but not limited to): I will stop shopping for things I can’t eat (fail), I will start shopping less (depends on your concept of less, but ultimately, fail), I will stop online shopping (fail), I will stop going to the mall (I’m actually really, really good at this one and would consider it a success, but only because online shopping has taken its place), I will stop online shopping (repeat goal, repeat fail), I will not buy any more shoes (fail), I will not buy any more dresses (mostly fail...since my roommate Ellen is no longer around and I live in a cooler climate, the drive to get dresses has significantly diminished, if not disappeared entirely...however, I will be moving back to Florida again for 6 months where it is warm, I will be living with Ellen again, and the drive to wear dresses will predictably increase). And on it goes. So today, with all of you as my witnesses, I’m going to try to stop shopping again. And here is the catalyst: I’ve been living in California for over 2 months now. I have been working the entire time and have received 5 paychecks, the most recent of which is today. I have put money in my savings account exactly one time, and have otherwise been basically living paycheck to paycheck. This is not good. This is very poor, in fact, considering that I’m making almost as much money as I was in Florida, and while in Florida, I was able to bring my savings account from nearly zero to five figures in only 4 months. And all of that was in the thick of living with Ellen and buying dresses and going to Target a minimum of twice of week for random things that I didn’t need. I thought that being out here with just Simon would make me spend less, not more, especially since the Targets out here leave quite a bit to be desired. Couple things to contribute...California is much more expensive than Florida. It doesn’t matter what we do, where we go, or what we buy, we pay more here. Depending on where we’re buying, the tax on said items is anywhere from 8.5 to almost 10 percent. So there’s that. We’re taking two big trips while we’re out here which require plane tickets, car rental, dog boarding, and any expenses we have while we’re traveling. I cover all of the dog boarding myself since they’re my dogs. I don’t expect Simon to help me pay for them. So there’s that. And outside of those expenses, the rest of it is just me. I happened upon this clothing store called Lululemon, and I’m in love with everything they make. Unfortunately everything they make is ridiculously expensive. New goal: No more shopping at Lululemon...with one exception (of course). If the Sing, Floss, Travel Jacket comes out in any color other than black, I will buy it. Hands down, this hoodie rocks my world. It is the best hoodie ever made (in my opinion), and I would not feel bad owning more than one. Well, I already have two, so I should say I would not feel bad owning more than two. I’m holding out for red, but they don’t seem to make red, so I guess I’ll be waiting a while. Which is all right. Good, got that out of the way. More goals: No more shoes. No more dresses. No more dog toys (they have enough). No more fancy dog treats (they don’t appreciate them and most of those treats give the pugs diarrhea...dealing with that right now, in fact). No more grocery shopping for perishables until we eat what we have (I‘m kind of a grocery nut...I get these ideas of all these things I want to make, buy the supplies, and then go out to eat instead because I’m too lazy to cook). Decrease going out to eat. That ought to be a good start.
Interestingly enough, I’ve been able to narrow down these shopping behaviors of mine to a psychology, of sorts. I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a hoarder, and I don’t think the term collector quite applies. What I do (and what I’ve been doing) is preparing. For what, I don‘t know, but I don’t want to ever be caught unprepared. If that means having a pantry stocked with 8 different kinds of pastas and a closet full of multiple pairs of jeans that are the same style and color, just to be sure that when the time arrives for me to be decked out in a pair of my favorite jeans whilst preparing any manner of pasta, I’ll be ready. I get attached to things too. I’m very picky about what I wear and what I eat and I am resistant to change. I have a sense of unrest knowing that all the things that I like the most will someday cease to exist, meaning (obviously) that I should buy as much of them as possible while they’re here. It’s knowing when I have enough that’s the problem. It’s also the logistics of having enough (or any at all) that is also a complication. If for some reason my favorite jeans are randomly destroyed, it gives me comfort to know that I have a back-up pair (or two). The thought of the time and effort required in trying to find a new favorite pair of jeans is exhausting in its own right. So yes, I latch on to things. Is it healthy? Probably not. Is it logical? In a way, I guess. Can I help it? I don’t know if I can help it, but I think being aware of it is the first step. It’s taken me a long time and multiple trips to Goodwill (donating countless items of clothing all in the same style but in varying colors) to get to this point. My girlfriends absolutely love my yearly closet purges because chances are good they’ll get a pair of pants or a pair of shoes that have never been worn, sometimes with the tags still attached. Simon has been very good for me in this regard. He lives on so little, and it’s inspiring and challenging to me to try to do the same. Frequently moving across the country has also given me a reason to pull back on the shopping in multiples. I physically cannot take it all with me, and therefore am forced to limit my favorites to a select few. It’s all part of the process. We all have our vices. I should consider myself lucky that one of my biggest vices is having too much stuff...it could be worse.
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In that same vein, I have come to the conclusion that I will no longer strive to keep up with the Jones’s of the fashion world. I will leave all that to my less fashion-impaired friends. For one, dressing in the latest trends is a lot of work. It requires forethought (which I can’t be bothered with), it requires effort (those high-heeled boots aren’t going to break themselves in), it requires a certain amount of expense since the trends are always changing (although with constant change, the trends eventually come full circle, meaning every now and then, I’m in perfect style), it requires confidence (which I don’t have), and it requires a certain amount of discomfort (fashionable clothing is not as comfortable as a broken-in pair of jeans. I refuse to sacrifice comfort for fashion). Last summer almost all the high heels I had been collecting over the years got the boot. All those blouses in my closet that restrict my movement in the slightest will be next. The sun dresses, the jeans, the t-shirts, and the hoodies get to stay. I’ve been wearing the same style since high school, what’s the point in fighting it now? Being comfortable in what I’m wearing gives me confidence, and therefore I don’t spend the entire night wondering if I look all right in the latest fashion experiment. I have more time to take part in what’s going around me. I guess if I spend the rest of my life in comfy jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, I’m okay with that. And that right there is why it’s so important that I have multiples of my favorite things! Hahaha!! :)
In an effort to combat our waistlines, Simon and I share meals when we go out to eat. It’s something that we’ve always done, and I feel like it’s a big part of the reason why neither of us put on that “new relationship” weight when we first started dating. Neither of us are very big eaters, and we’ve found that splitting a meal is more than enough food for the two of us (in most situations...we always get our own 5 Guys burgers). It’s kind of funny the way it usually plays out. Traditionally, the guy is the bigger eater. And with Simon and I, that’s the case as well. However, when we go out to eat, I’m always the one that orders the big meal with all the trimmings, and Simon orders the cup of soup. Waiters are always baffled by this, always pausing after Simon orders his soup, waiting for him to order the rest of his meal. When he just sits there and looks at them, they usually get flustered and respond, “that’s it? That’s all you’re going to have?” And when he says yes, they wander away as if insulted. We make quite the pair...me ordering the big meal with all the stipulations and questions (no Cilantro, dressing on the side, is that sandwich warm, can I have tots instead of fries, are the crab cakes chunky, etc), Simon with his little cup of soup. Sometimes I just order for the both of us while Simon sits there serenely and doesn’t say a word. We get even stranger looks when we order that way. They probably think he’s been browbeat to death by his big-eating ball-and-chain. Part of the reason we order that way is because I’m picky about what I eat, and Simon is content to eat anything. Rather than having him order and forget to ask that the meal come without cilantro, thereby leaving me to refuse to eat, it’s just easier for me to nitpick the order and look like the pig at the table.
A former school-mate of mine recently passed away from a rare form of stomach cancer. While I didn’t know him well, I knew him enough to be completely shocked by the whole thing. He was only 34, three years older than me. It’s incredibly sad and incredibly scary at the same time. How much time does anyone really have? I remember when I was a new nurse and all my patients were older than me. They were all sick with one thing or another, but they were all older than me so I was “safe” from what ailed them. Fast-forward 10 years and now I’m not younger than all my patients. I’m older than some of them, in fact. It’s true that illness can strike a person at any time and without reason, but there are certain diseases that follow a fairly predictable pattern. I feel like I’m getting into the early age of the patterns, and it’s only going to get worse. Not that I lose sleep over it (okay, maybe sometimes) but it gives me pause. Am I doing everything I can to keep myself as healthy as possible? Well, given my penchant for Doritos, I kind of have to say no. I do try, but am I doing enough? Does it even matter? Is there any point to even worrying about it? In light of all this, I’ve realized that it’s more important to be happy and to do the things you want to do, spend time with those you want to spend time with. I get that there are financial and familial and work obligations, but what are we working for if not to have a little spending money and a little time to enjoy ourselves? Take the early retirement, take the decreased work-week, take the weekend flight to visit friends and family out of town. We only live once, and I’m not banking on an after-life to finally do all the fun stuff.
The other day I added Gillian Michaels’ 30-day shred to my shopping cart on Amazon. I haven’t purchased it yet, it’s just sitting there for consideration. I know a few people that do it and really like it, and more importantly, have seen results. I’m kind of excited to try it. Simon is skeptical. He’s done the video with his sister and he knows that it’s difficult. Given my lack of athletic prowess, I told him that I could make it through at least the first 15 minutes. He said the workout is only 20 minutes long, so 15 minutes would be impressive. So I shortened my predicted length to 10 minutes. I do not push, I do not endure...when the going gets tough, I just quit. I have no problem with quitting. This is why I don’t run marathons, or 10K, or even 5K. This is why I don’t stick with an exercise regimen. This is why I don’t have toned arms or a flat stomach. Because I quit. I like to go for long walks, and I like to paddle board. I like to do circuit training, but I don’t have the equipment and I rarely take the time to do it. I am a quitter. I need to quit quitting.
On one of my first days at my new job here in California, someone asked me if I knew who Steve Jobs was. I said that I did. They then asked me if I knew what he looked like. I did not. I was then told that I should become familiar with what he looks like, because he lives right here in Palo Alto and that I will definitely be seeing him around. So I Googled Steve Jobs. Ah yes, a non-descript balding, bespectacled, middle-aged man in a black mock-neck turtleneck. He ought to be easy to pick out in a crowd. And if I did see him, what would I say to him, if anything? I’m sure he would definitely not be interested in hearing about how much I love my MacBook, and the journey I’ve taken in switching from a PC to a Mac. Odds are good I’ve probably already bumped elbows with him down on University Ave and didn’t even know it. He doesn’t seem like the type to travel with an entourage. And I’m so unobservant to begin with that I would probably have to have someone point him out to me. That’s what’s so crazy about living out here. I probably pass people on a daily basis that have contributed in some way to my life as I know it. Whether it be the internet sites that I visit on a daily basis, or the computer I use to do it. I’m surrounded by intelligent, creative people every single day, but they don’t draw attention to themselves. They’re just doing their thing. In their jeans and hooded sweatshirts. I should probably just stay out here. I already have the wardrobe, and as long as I don’t talk too much to give away my non-tech abilities, I’ll fit right in.
A random observation from all the places that I’ve lived: there are Steelers fans everywhere. Doesn’t matter where I go, there they are. I can say with confidence that I have not noticed any other sports team with a following as widespread as the Steelers. I have no explanation for it, nor do I find fault with it. I just find it interesting.
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So there’s this farmer’s market here in Palo Alto that is just delightful. One of the best farmer’s markets I’ve ever been to. In particular, there is this little Indian stand that serves traditional Indian food to the market-goers. And I’m obsessed. The chicken tikka masala is awesome. Combined with some rice and wrapped in a fresh piece of naan, it’s the best. So knowing that my time here is finite and that I will someday not be able to have this particular chicken tikka masala, I have it in my head that I need to learn how to make it myself (this all goes back to that thing about surrounding myself with my favorite things). My friend Dave forewarned me that the reason Indian food is more expensive than you’d think isn’t because of the ingredients, it’s because you’re paying for the experience of the secret recipe, and that Indian people are the only ones who know how to make good Indian food. He had tried and failed for 2 years to produce the perfect chicken tikka masala recipe, so I suppose he would know. I am still undeterred at this point. My first attempt at chicken tikka masala was a complete and utter failure. Simon, to his credit, managed to eat almost all of it before finally giving up and tossing the rest away. I ate two bites of it and would have nothing more to do with it. I got my particular recipe off of an episode of Throwdown with Bobby Flay on the Food Network. If you’re not familiar with the show, Bobby is a famous chef and goes around the country challenging other chef’s go-to recipes. I elected to go with the recipe of his challenger. It did not end well. So I took to the internet to find a recipe that seemed similar to the stuff at the farmer’s market. Apparently there is no “standard” recipe for chicken tikka masala, and the only constant ingredient from recipe to recipe happened to be chicken, some form of tomato, and some form of cream/yogurt. I’m not quite ready to give up. I think I know what direction I have to go, and that’s to start out with a tomato cream sauce and add spice as I go. That’s the plan.
It’s hard to get a good haircut these days. Based on some positive reviews of a salon near my apartment, I recently subjected myself to a haircut. And let me tell you, 6 months of growing out a too-short haircut was completely negated in 20 minutes by a little Asian woman and a pair of scissors. It was horrific. I even brought in a picture of the hairstyle that I wanted, which was not all that different from what I already had, but a little bit shorter and with a few more layers. Instead my naturally thick, voluminous hair was reduced to a style reminiscent of a swimming cap with a tail. I kid you not. For a while there, it actually looked like a mullet. What little bits of my hair that are left can almost be pulled into a ponytail that has the same diameter as my index finger. I have skinny fingers. After the haircut she made the comment, “You have a lot of hair!” It took a lot of restraint for me not to say, “You mean I USED to have a lot of hair!” I don‘t know where everything went wrong. Was it the language barrier? Did the woman even look at the picture I brought? When I said I didn’t want bangs, did that translate to her as me wanting bangs? It’s a week post-shearing and I’ve made my peace with the bangs, although I wish there were less of them. The rest of my head...well...that’s a bit of a wash, and there’s nothing to be done about it at present. Just grow it out for another 6 months and hope that the next cut doesn’t end so disastrously.
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I was talking to Simon recently about how people are wary of my dogs because they think the pugs are growling all the time. I said I thought it was weird that people thought that, because I feel that there is definitely a difference between grunting and growling, and I feel like even if you’re not overly familiar with dogs, the difference should be apparent. What he pointed out to me is that most dogs don’t grunt. In fact, there are very few dogs that grunt on a regular basis, and to someone that’s not familiar with dogs, a grunt is not a bark or a whine, so therefore it must be a growl. I had never thought of it that way. As I sit here and type this and hear the pugs snoring and grunting away on their dog bed behind me, I guess it would be weird to hear all that noise coming from a dog when you don’t expect it.
And that’s it.
