Gator State Randoms

So Simon and I have moved back to Florida for the winter.  We’re going to be working at Cape Coral Hospital for our third winter in a row.  We’re excited to be back.  Florida is nice in the winter, although since Minnesota seems to be in some sort of freak heat-wave this winter, it’s really not much warmer here than up there...yet.  I have faith that Old Man Winter will remember Minnesota one of these days, although for the sake of my friends and family living there, I can only hope that you can go an entire winter without snow.  Well, maybe some snow for the fields...they need that.  

Simon and I are once again living with Ellen for the winter, our roommate from last year.  Instead of renting a townhouse, we’ve rented an entire house that sits on a boat canal in Cape Coral.  It’s a pretty sweet arrangement, if I do say so myself.  Our house has a pool and hot tub, but since we’re paying the electric bill this time around, we have yet to heat either of them.  We’ve heard that heating a pool/hot tub can run the electric bill upwards of $350, and we’re just too cheap for that...hahaha!  For those of you coming to visit, we can make an exception and heat them while you’re here.  The house itself is all right...it’s not as new or as nice as the townhouse that we rented last year, but that’s okay.  I’m pretty sure the owners of this place are elderly.  If the lightly garish wallpaper didn’t give that one way, the shower chair, commode, and walker certainly did.  Not that a person has to be elderly to use any of those items, but more often than not, being elderly is the case.  And how weird is that?  Were I an elderly/disabled person vacationing in Florida, I wouldn’t feel comfortable using someone else’s shower chair or commode.  That’s kinda gross.  Were I in dire straights and my only two options were to either soil myself or use someone else’s commode, I guess I would use the commode...maybe.  I’m glad that I don’t actually have to make that choice at the moment.  The house also had an elderly smell to it when we moved in...kinda like grandma’s house.  Not necessarily unpleasant, but just old smelling.  Unfortunately now the place just smells like dog.  My little ones are in need of a bath and here I sit, typing about how they stink up the place.  I’m such a responsible pet owner, yes?

Living on a canal in Florida definitely has its benefits.  Just last week we had a manatee and her baby hanging out just off of our dock.  So cool.  It’s amazing how mesmerized a person can get by watching a big, blubbery, moss covered, puggish-looking mammal come up for air.  And then go back down again.  The mom and the baby were taking turns surfacing, and we would squeal with delight every time they surfaced.  We’re pretty sure at point one of them let loose with about a minute-long fart.  As far as I know, there are no oxygen vents in the canal to cause that sort of bubbling.  No stink though, so that was good.  We also see fish, birds, and are hoping to see some dolphins.  Ellen’s boyfriend Fred lives on a canal just south of us, and he sees dolphins every now and then in his canal.  We’ve also heard that alligators, bull sharks, and the occasional salt water crocodile make their way into the canals, but we haven’t seen either of those yet...thank goodness!  Of course now I’m all paranoid about a chance encounter with one of those three scary beasts.  

Being an avid Yelp.com user, I’ve been a little disappointed to see that Yelp hasn’t quite caught on down here in Florida yet.  I don’t know if it’s because there isn’t much of a tech culture here, if the popularity of Yelp hasn’t made it down this way yet, or if it’s true that Yelp is more frequently used by younger people and this part of Florida is populated with mostly old people.  I guess it could be any number of reasons.  So I’ve taken it upon myself to leave reviews on Yelp for all the places that I visit.  Frequently my review is the first.

I’ve decided that there’s something about living in a warm, sunny place that makes a person want to sit out in the sun with a cold alcoholic beverage.  I guess that would explain why we see scores of retirees at the liquor store with carts full of alcohol.  Yes, you read that right...carts.  These people don’t mess around.  The other day Simon and I went to the Total Wine store which has the largest selection of beer, wine, and hard alcohol that I’ve ever seen, and we had to leave without buying anything because the place was so crammed with the AARP crowd stocking up on liquor.  It was absolutely insane.

You know what I find insanely annoying?  When people make a heart symbol with their hands.  I know you’ve seen it, because everyone from 3 years old to 90 years old is doing it these days.  I hate it.  I want to punch the TV, the computer screen, and the magazine when I see people doing it.  I have no idea why...it’s just one of those temper triggers.  First of all, if it’s not done correctly, it doesn’t even look like a heart, thereby making the offending finger puppet person look like an idiot (of course, I think they look like an idiot anyway just for attempting).  I get even more irate about when I see adults doing it.  It’s childish.  I about threw a Victoria’s Secret catalogue across the room the other day because a bunch of the models were doing it.  Again, I have no explanation for why it bothers me...it’s not hurting anyone, and it’s a purely innocent gesture.  I just don’t like it.  

Back in November Simon and I finally made the upgrade to iphones.  I know I had said that I was going to wait until Ol‘ Pink died before I got a new phone, but dangit that phone just would not die.  It still works, and it probably feels abandoned and neglected all sealed up in a ziplock bag, cast into a junk drawer in Minnesota.  Sorry Ol‘ Pink, I know that’s no way to treat something that’s actually worked longer than anyone ever thought.  So the iphone.  Part of our motivation for getting new phones before our old ones had died was for convenience.  Kind of like how we held off on getting a GPS for so long and were completely reliant on Mapquest, getting lost, and asking for directions.  Who knew a GPS could have made life easier (although our current GPS is borderline retarded).  Since we move around all the time, we frequently find ourselves in strange cities without the faintest clue where the nearest grocery store, gas station, Trader Joe’s, or LuluLemon happen to be (these are important).  Now we don’t get lost as much anymore...wish I could say we never get lost anymore, but that would be wishful thinking.  It’s nice to have an address book at my fingertips all the time...makes going to the post office a little less stressful.  That’s a lie, the post office is always stressful and it has nothing to do with an address book or a smartphone.  I think part of the reason I was holding off on getting a smart phone for so long is because I honestly didn’t think I needed one.  That and I have this thing about being self-reliant, and feel as though giving myself over to the iphone puts me in a vulnerable position.  It really doesn’t since I’m the one running the thing, and I have control over how much I rely on it.  And let’s be honest, I’m not getting any younger and my memory’s not getting any sharper...in fact, it’s quite the opposite.  It’s kind of nice to not have to try to remember every little thing.  I just have to remember to make the iphone remember.  Hmmm.  There’s been a little bit of a learning curve with it also.  Owning a Mac has helped with the transition, but every now and again I catch myself going into PC mode, which usually ends in frustration.  With the addition of the Mac, the iphone, and the ipad, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve made a full Apple transition.  I have joined the flock, I have drunk the kool-aid, I’m wearing the white sneakers, etc and so on.  

I spent the better part of an hour last night watching videos of parrots swearing on youtube.  I want a bird.  I want to teach it swear words.  Simon says that I’m not allowed to get a bird, even after all my dogs die.  He would rather I have a pug than a bird.  He would actually prefer that I have no pets at all, but I don’t see that happening.  I have decided though that if Simon ever lets me get a bird, it will either be an African Grey or an Indian Ringneck.  :)

Within the last few years I feel like it’s impossible to go anywhere without seeing red velvet cake.  And you know, I got sucked into the red velvet cake thing for a bit there too.  Until I actually sat down and ate the cake independently of the cream cheese frosting and realized that it has about as much taste as plain yellow cake.  How disappointing.  Here I thought I was getting some kind of decadent dessert, and it turns out I was just paying extra for red food coloring.  It was almost like finding out that Santa isn’t real.  Terrible.

Don’t call it a New Year’s resolution, but I’ve been going to the gym.  I know, it’s hard to believe that with all my disdain for exercising that I would even set foot in a gym, but I have.  And you know all that stuff that people are always saying about how exercise makes you feel good, gives you more energy, helps you sleep better, etc?  It’s true.  Part of me wishes that it wasn’t so I could tell all those exercising people that they were full of crap, and thereby give me an excuse not to exercise, but unfortunately, they were right.  So I continue to exercise.  And I’m actually starting to like it.  And it’s not like I hate all forms of exercise, just most forms of exercise...running, in particular.  I like to paddle board, I like to kayak, I like to play volleyball, I like to bike (but only on bike paths...I don’t like dealing with cars, and I don’t like lots of hills), and I like to go on long walks.  Unfortunately, I can’t have paddle boarding as my main source of exercising because I have to be near a calmish body of water, and it has to be somewhat warm.  The same thing goes for kayaking, although it doesn’t have to be quite as warm, and doesn’t have to be as calm.  Walking I can do anywhere (but I don’t), and volleyball...well...I’ve never had much of a competitive spirit, and that doesn’t really bode well for competitive sports.  That and I’m really not all that good at it.  And you can’t play volleyball without at least 4-6 other people.  Of course, those are all excuses.  If I really want to be serious about exercising for my overall well-being, I need to suck it up, join a gym, and get to it.  So I did.  With the encouragement of Ellen, Simon and I joined the Wellness Center that is affiliated with our hospital.  I go to spinning classes about 3 times a week, and go to the gym at least one other day to do machines and lift weights.  I think that from here on out, I’m going to have to join a gym in whatever city I end up in, because it’s been really nice and I’m really happy with my accomplishments thus far.  And our gym is really nice.  It’s kind of new, and it seems to cater to the AARP sect (there’s lots of those down here...and at least half of them at the gym are in better shape at 60 than I am at 32).  The trainers and instructors know almost everyone by name, and if not by name then by face.  What’s also nice about it is that there’s no competitive air to the place...there’s no dudes strutting around like the cock on the walk and there’s no women putting make-up on before hitting the machines (at least not that I’ve seen).  Not that I should care since what they’re doing has no effect on what I’m doing, I just don’t care to see it.  I had a membership to Lifetime Fitness back when I lived in St. Paul, and it felt like speed dating with treadmills...it was uncomfortable.  Again, being intimidated by women in make-up and men flexing their muscles shouldn’t be reason enough for me to not exercise.  So when I find myself in a different city with a membership to a different gym, I’ll just need to get over it.  I hope I’m able to maintain the motivation to continue to exercise.  We’ll see where I am in a month.

A few weeks ago I bought my first pair of leggings.  Yes, I told everyone that I would never do it, but then I went ahead and did it anyway.  And I like them.  They’re comfortable and they’re actually more flattering than I would have thought.  I’m still coming to grips with having so much of me exposed though...it’s weird.  It almost feels like I’m not wearing any pants, even though I am wearing pants...if you can call them that.  What is going on?  I’m exercising, I’m wearing leggings, what’s next?  This is all so bizarre.

For those of you who like to read memoirs, I recommend Adam Carolla’s.  Hear me out now, I know he’s kind of a douche, but his book was really good.  It’s interesting to read about how he grew up, where he came from, and how his career became what it is today.  Well, I think he’s still doing stuff today, I guess I don’t really follow him and haven’t kept tabs on him since the Man Show.  I was a the library and grabbed his book on a whim, and I honestly really enjoyed it.  He seems unexpectedly intelligent, and seems to have a good head on his shoulders.  Who knew the man who showed clips of Juggies jumping on trampolines had it in him?  I certainly didn’t.

There was one day a while back that Simon and I were riding along in silence in the car, and I was thinking about the way people talk.  Having lived in so many different places in the country, I’ve found that people have very different ways for saying essentially the same thing.  At first I used to think that everyone else said things wrong, and that I was saying everything right.  But then I got to thinking, just because I learned it one way, and they learned it another way, is either of us wrong?  Are we both right?  For example, in the South I notice that people generally say “I’ve not been...” instead of “I haven’t been.”  I used to assume that they were using improper grammar.  But then I broke down the phrases without the contractions.  Both phrases are essentially the same: I have not been.  The contraction is just different.  So which one is right?  Are they both right?  I have no idea.  Maybe those of you with some English education backgrounds could help me out on that one.  And then there’s the soda vs. pop argument.  Granted, everyone knows what pop is, and everyone knows what soda is.  Doesn’t matter where you’re from, they’re both shortened versions of soda pop.  Why some areas of the country use one instead of the other is a mystery.  I used to be a pop girl.  I hated hearing the word soda and scowled every time I heard someone use it.  However, after moving all over the country, I have to admit that soda is more widespread than pop.  In fact, saying pop gets me more weird looks than saying soda does.  So over the years I’ve adopted soda.  It still sounds weird to me, but I avoid confusing people.  I think that’s a big reason why people pick up accents and local dialects when they move from one part of the country to another.  If you say things the way the locals say things, you avoid confusion.  After a while it just becomes second nature.  See what happens when Simon and I don’t have anything to talk about in car?  I start thinking about things, and nothing good can come from that!  ;)

I’m also kind of a grammar and spelling nitpicker.  People who incorrectly use their/they’re/there or you’re/your incorrectly drive me up the wall.  And I see intelligent people making these same mistakes all the time.  How does that happen?  Seriously!  So I was ranting away one day about people and their errors, and Simon sheepishly pointed out that I use the phrase “Me and Simon” all the time.  Unfortunately, I’m aware that I do this, and in fact, I do it on purpose.  I don’t know why, but the phrase “Simon and I” sounds so stuffy and formal, even though I know it’s correct.  “Me and Simon” sounds cute and laid back, if not a little juvenile...it’s also a little closer to how I sound when I talk, and I like the feeling of bringing my speaking personality to my written word...even if makes me sound kind of stupid, which I’m sure it does.  I know I should switch to referring to myself as “I” instead of “Me,” but I just don’t like how it sounds.  So for those of you grammar nitpickers such as myself who have noticed my indiscretions, I’m doing it on purpose.  Sorry for that.  And Adam, I have to apologize to you specifically because I’m double spacing between all my sentences.  I’m trying really, really hard to quit doing that, but almost 20 years of double spacing is a hard habit to break.  I’m working on it.

And finally (yes, finally), for those of you wondering about my choice to switch from Facebook to Blogspot for my blogs (if you were, in fact, wondering at all).  I’m not all that thrilled with Facebook as of late.  They’ve made a lot of changes that I don’t really like, and when Simon and I compare News Feeds, we see very different things, despite having a lot of the same friends.  I feel like a lot is getting missed, and I don’t like the idea of Facebook deciding which friends to show more updates from, and which to show less.  They should let me decide that, since after all, these people are my friends and I have my reasons for wanting to see more from one person and less from another.  I know they have those filters and you can label people as acquaintances, top friends, etc., but I didn’t really find those to be all that useful.  I do like what they’ve done with Timeline...that looks really nice, but it’s just not enough.  Part of me also wanted a blog with which I had more control over customization.

So there’s that.  I’m hoping that with the new blog site I’ll be more likely to blog more often so the entries will be shorter!  Yay!  Everyone wins!  :)                          

California Recap

Okay, so I’m REALLY behind.  I don’t even remember the last time I actually sat down and wrote something so I’ve got a lot to catch up on.  And to deviate from my regular format, I’m going to TRY to keep things short.  We’ll see how that goes.  ;)

When Simon and I were living out in California, it’s safe to say that we were living near some of the most beautiful scenery in the country.  Now I’m not getting up on a high horse and saying that California is more beautiful than other places in the country...I didn’t turn into one of those people who thinks that there’s California, and then there’s everywhere else.  In fact, as I was leaving Minnesota for the California assignment, my mom said to me, “Don’t turn into one of those California girls.”  She could have meant a number of things, but I think what she meant was “Don’t forget where you came from.”  And I’ll be honest, my opinion of California, prior to actually living there, was very poor.  I thought California was nothing but a materialistic cesspool filled with nothing but plastic surgery, fast cars, designer handbags, bumper to bumper traffic, and celebrities thinking their poo doesn’t stink.  That is still my opinion of LA.  Again, having never spent more time than a few hours in LA, I’m probably way off base, but maybe not as far as I think.  As I’ve put in other posts, the San Francisco Bay area is chill, unassuming, and humble.  I loved it.  *Getting off the soapbox*  Okay, so back to the scenery.  So while we were in California, we had the pleasure of visiting Yosemite National Park, which was hands-down one of the coolest places I’ve ever been.  In my entire life.  I could have spent a whole week there rather than just an overnight.  From the giant sequoias to the waterfalls, there was just so much to see.  We also went to the Big Sur area, which I learned is not actually a national or state park, but is an area of the coastline.  The hiking trails here were harder to find because they‘re not marked very well.  Basically you just drive along the Pacific Coast Highway until you see a bunch of cars pulled over on the side of the road.  Usually you’ll find yourself a trail-head.  The water along the coast is so beautiful.  I used to think that the color seafoam green was something made up in a color lab, but I saw that exact color in the water along the California coast.  As the waves were breaking along the rocky shore, the water color ranged from deep deep blue to caribbean blue to seafoam green.  Gorgeous.  And mesmerizing.  To the north of where we were living was Muir Woods, home to some of the giant coastal redwoods.  Trees just don’t grow like that back home.  Tall and straight and multiple feet in diameter.  It’s easy to see why these trees were practically logged into extinction...the amount of lumber you could get from one tree has to be multitudes to what you get from your average oak or pine in Minnesota.  So those were a few of the places we visited while we were out in California.  

Going that direction, we had a coworker at Stanford who was picking our brains one night while we were at work.  At that point, we had only been to Muir Woods and San Francisco.  He sat there expectantly as I told him those places, and then waited a beat before he realized I was done.  “That’s it?  Those places aren’t even an hour away.  You haven’t been to LA or Yosemite or or or...” The list of places we apparently should have visited by then went on and on.  And it got me to thinking.  Simon and I travel across the country multiple times a year for work, and usually we end up living in some pretty cool places.  But when it comes to taking a trip for the sake of taking a trip...we don’t really do that.  Our trips consist of visiting places that usually fall within a 100 mile radius of where we live.  The last “trip” we took for the sake of taking a trip was our shortie cruise to the Bahamas...we were gone all of four days, and only had to drive 2 hours from where we lived to catch the boat.  And I don’t even really count that.  Had we not been living in Florida at the time, we would never have taken that cruise.  With us, it all seems to be about proximity.  And I’m okay with that, I just had never thought about it before.

I was once told by a friend in Minnesota that if a person ever lives in California, it would be irresponsible for them not to learn about wine (he was born and raised in California).  And prior to going out to California, my palate for wine was very small.  I knew that I liked reds better than whites, but the reds vary so much from bottle to bottle that I frequently was left with a ‘take it or leave it‘ opinion on it.  So, since we were out in California, where they grow tons of grapes for wine, I figured we should probably learn a little bit about wine.  And that learning mostly consisted of trying different glasses of wine at the restaurants that we frequented.  It was there that I found the red wine for me.  It is called Pinot Noir, and some might recognize it as the wine that Paul Giatmatti’s character was obsessed with in the movie Sideways.  Pinot Noir (sometimes just referred to as Pinot, which can be confusing because there’s also Pino Griggio, which is a sweet white wine) is a smooth red with very little dryness, making it perfect for me because I hate dry wines.  I don’t understand the palates that do like dry wines...it’s like purposely giving yourself cotton-mouth.  Anyway, so I’ve decided that Pinot Noir is my go-to wine from here on out.  Enter Sonoma Valley.  Sonoma Valley was about an hour and a half drive from where we were living in California.  Sonoma Valley is the lesser known cousin to the famous Napa Valley, and being that these two places are known as producing some of the best American wines, I figured we should probably pay them a visit since we were out there (it would have been irresponsible not to, right?).  Some people argue that wines are better in Sonoma.  I don’t get involved because either I like a wine, or I don’t.  Location (at that point) didn’t seem to play much of a part into whether or not I like a wine.  So Simon and I went to Sonoma to visit the Benziger winery, an estate that I had been to in the past and had really liked.  They do this type of farming called Bio-dynamic, which I understood to mean that they take their farming one step further than organic.  They don’t use pesticides or commercial fertilizers, and any waste products from their harvests are put back out in the vineyards as fertilizers.  They also have little ‘bug gardens‘ where they grow specific flowers to bring in “good” bugs who then fly out into the vineyards to eat the “bad” bugs.  It actually seems pretty cool.  So we went there and took the tour and got to have a private tasting in the wine cave.  Everyone there was very nice and friendly.  We made a few other stops at some other vineyards, tasting all the while.  We happened upon another winery called Ty Caton, and I had had one of his wines previously and had really enjoyed it.  So we swung in there and had some tastings there.  We even got to meet Ty, which was pretty cool.  It was there that one of the guys behind the counter told me that we needed to “work on my palate” since Pinot Noir was just unacceptable to him.  He didn’t come right out and say it, but I got the impression that he regards Pinot Noir about the same way one would regard Arbor Mist...wine for beer drinkers, not wine drinkers.  And what does he care what I like anyway?  I’m obviously not the only person that likes to drink Pinot Noir or they wouldn’t make it.  I had heard about wine snobs loitering about in California, but I hadn’t actually encountered one until that day in Sonoma.  It was then and there that I decided that a $10 bottle of wine is just as good as a $100 bottle of wine.  And here’s the thing I learned about wine...it does make a difference where the grapes are grown.  I might like one Pinot from California, and not like another grown in Oregon (for reference, the Pinot Noir that I seem to like the best is grown in the Santa Lucia Highlands in California...how's that for specific?).  Location matters, and the only way to find out what region you like your wine from, is by trial and error.  I’d rather make errors with $10 bottles than $100 bottles.  Just because a wine is expensive, doesn’t mean it’s going to taste good. 

When living in California, I noticed a little habit I had developed somewhere along the line in this traveling life of mine.  Whenever Simon and I were going on a day trip, I would always post a little status update on Facebook saying where we were going.  I figure that if something bad were to happen to us while we’re out and about, knowing where we were going is a good place to start to try to put the pieces together.  I know, it’s weird, and it’s only a facet of this “fear of death” thing that I’ve got going on.  So, if you see status updates detailing where I’m going for whatever reason, it’s a clue to where to start looking should I disappear off the face of the earth. 

I know I’ve talked about the dogs in California before, but I just have to mention how weird they were.  They’re incredibly aloof.  All of them.  I’ve never encountered dogs before who didn’t want to meet strangers.  If not for a little pat on the head, then for a swift nose to the crotch.  I didn’t get crotched by a single dog in California...not that I minded, of course, but I thought it was odd that these dogs had so much self control.  Maybe people in California do a better job of training their dogs to be good canine citizens, and that it’s impolite to shove one’s face in someone else’s crotch.  I have no idea.  All I know is that there were a ton of dogs living in our neighborhood in California, yet I had little to no interaction with any of them because they ignored me.  It wasn’t that they were well aware of my presence and held back to watch, they ignored me as if I wasn’t even there.  Some of the dogs even ignored my dogs, and how they managed to do that while my dogs were practically hanging themselves at the end of their leashes is still a mystery to me.

While living out in California, I noticed that my pants had gotten tight.  Yes, I probably gained weight while I was out there because the food was so good and the physical activity was uninspiring, at best.  I found it weird that when I was living in Florida, I went for 3-6 mile walks at 3-4 times a week, sometimes more.  Then I get out to California and all I want to do is sit around, go out to eat, and...yeah, I have no idea what else I did.  A lot of the roads in Palo Alto were very straight, and they all went through neighborhoods, and maybe I just got bored with walking by them.  Although, I really like looking at houses, so I don’t think that was it.  Maybe it’s because it was so flat, although Florida is really flat too.  I loved wandering around San Francisco when Simon and I would go there for the day.  The hills there are so steep, it’s a good work-out.  Maybe if we had lived in San Francisco I would have gone out and walked around more.  It’s weird how in some places I’m really inspired to get out and exercise, and other places I’m just not.  It shouldn’t matter, really.  I wish I liked to exercise, that would make this whole thing a lot easier.  And my pants would fit better.  :)

Simon and I were watching and episode of How I Met Your Mother, and the characters were talking about the phenomenon known as “graduation goggles,” the feeling of nostalgia you get when you’re leaving something familiar, even if that something familiar wasn’t all that pleasant.  For example, the name graduation goggles comes from that wistful feeling you might have had when graduating high school...even if high school really wasn’t all that pleasant, it was still familiar and something you had gotten used to.  The fear of the unknown causes graduation goggles to appear, and make it seem as though high school really wasn’t that bad after all.  I feel like graduation goggles are most frequently applied when in a relationship with someone you really don’t want to be in a relationship with.  Suddenly memories of all the good times come flooding back in, and you think to yourself that maybe staying with that person won’t be so bad after all.  Months later the relationship is on the skids, and even the graduation goggles can’t save the train wreck that is your relationship/job/family member/etc.  Simon and I had graduation goggles as our last days of Stanford drew close.  I remember one day, one of my last days, Simon and I were in the staff lounge at the end of our shift, and one of us (I don’t remember who) made the comment, “I’m actually going to miss it here.”  It was then that we realized we had graduation goggles on.  There’s no way I was going to miss working there, and in fact, would have to think long and hard about ever going back.  Being aware of the goggles is the half the battle.  

One funny thing I noticed about people in California is footwear.  Well, I notice footwear everywhere, but I was frequently perplexed by some of the footwear I saw in California, particularly by what people were wearing in Big Sur, Yosemite, and Muir Woods.  Keep in mind that there is hiking, sometimes strenuous hiking, to be done in all of these places.  We saw all manner of flip flops, Converse, Uggs, and even one man in loafers on the hiking trails.  How does one hike in those kinds of shoes?  I would have had to turn back after the first half hour...maybe even sooner than that...especially in the flip flops...or the loafers.  But I don’t own any loafers, so I guess I wouldn’t have been out there in loafers in the first place.  Maybe other people don’t have feet issues.  Maybe people like hiking in flip flops.  There were a lot of people in California that wear those barefoot shoes, both with the individual toes and without.  Those are weird too.  I want to try on a pair but so far I haven’t.  I believe those shoes are designed for running, and since I abhor running, there seems to be little point to even bothering with them.  

I guess that’s it for my California recap.  I do miss it out there, and lucky for me, I have a job that’ll most likely take me back there again someday.  :)

Hello...and Welcome!!

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California Love

I remember reading in the bathroom reader that 90% of the time, the first stall in a public restroom (meaning the one closest to the door) is the stall that is least often used (they also state that 80% of statistics are made up on the spot, so make of that what you will), and therefore usually the cleanest.  I’ve used a lot of public bathrooms in a lot of different states and cities, and I’ve found this little tid-bit of information to be mostly true.  Yes, from time to time the first stall is the bearer of a turd left behind or a dribble of urine on the seat, but for the most part there are very few surprises, and the first stall is almost always open.  

So Simon and I have decided to put a ring on it.  On both of us, actually.  And no, we’re not engaged and there’s no wedding in sight.  Marriage to us is two people making a serious commitment to each other, and we don’t really feel the need to declare that commitment before the government and/or the church.  So there you go.  People have thrown out the term “promise rings” for individuals who wear rings on their left ring fingers who are not “officially” married, as if it’s something negative and reserved only for lovesick teenagers.  Isn’t a wedding ring basically a promise ring?  A token of a promise to love, honor, cherish, etc, all the days of his/her life?  And perhaps it’s more than that...it’s a declaration of tolerance for one’s shopping habits, acceptance of hoodie obsessions and spider fascinations.  It’s the embracing of gassy dogs and bearded, gun-toting, overall clad, right wing in-laws.  It’s the attempts at spending holidays with two different families who live 5 hours apart, and the car rides to get there.  It’s traveling across the country together with 3 dogs and a trailer, and never turning the radio on because there’s always something to talk about.  It’s the knowledge of a favorite movie, a favorite song, and a favorite food.  It’s sitting next to each other for hours at a time to watch 6 episodes Modern Family.  It’s about being a good sport about winter activities, and exercising against one’s will just so the other won’t have to do it alone.  It’s a promise to stick together during good times and bad, long car rides and short ones, garlic breath and bad gas.  I guess that’s what marriage is to us.  And just to be clear, we don’t begrudge people who get married in churches or in front of a judge, it’s just not important for us.  We don’t have the rings yet, but we have them picked out.  Call us hippies if you must, but the rings are made from recycled silver and fair-traded gemstones.  That’s something that was important to both of us as a couple.  We got our ring fingers measured yesterday, and it was kind of surreal.  As we were leaving the jewelry department (we got measured at Macy’s rather than Tiffany & Co so we wouldn’t feel obligated to make an effort to look interested in anything they had to offer), I grabbed Simon’s hand and giggled and said (rather loudly, of course, since I only have one volume most of the time), “We’re getting married!!” 

Being in California where it’s sunny 99% of the time, there are a lot of motorcyclists here...all kinds, from sport bikes to crotch rockets to cruisers.  And you know, I usually reserve a decent amount of disdain for people who ride crotch rockets, but not here.  Crotch rocket riders out here just blend in with everyone else...they’re not tearing around corners as fast they can go, they don’t pop wheelies and they don’t gun their engines to see how quickly they can make it from one red light to the next.  I barely even notice them.  Like everyone else in Palo Alto, they just do their thing and don’t draw attention to themselves.  I will have to say though, when we’re sitting in traffic and a motorcycle flies by whilst riding the white lines (that’s legal here...or maybe it’s not enforced to not do it), it always catches me by surprise.  There are enough bad drivers out here that I wouldn’t trust them enough to scoot between them while going 60 miles an hour.

Which brings me to the drivers.  Oy.  There are some terrible drivers here.  Simon penned it perfectly when he said that drivers out here can’t just drive.  They have to be doing something else while driving.  9 times out of 10 (statistic made up on the spot) when someone is driving like an idiot, they’re either on their phone (illegal in California) or they are looking down at something in their laps, most likely a phone.  We passed a guy the other day who was holding onto the steering wheel with his left hand, holding his phone like a platter in the right hand (weird) and was reaching across his body with his left hand to shift gears.  Yes, he was driving a manual with one hand, and not with the hand closest to the stick.  Now, I had a one-armed teacher in high school that drove a stick shift...why, I have no idea, but he at least had an excuse to be driving with one hand (he also used to balance a cup of coffee on his stump, but those are stories for another time).  These idiots out here?  No excuse.  Just tonight we saw a guy driving with a paperback novel in one hand, and he would open the book to read at each red light.  Really?  How much of the story can one really absorb while looking up every 2 seconds to check to see if the light has changed?  And then not put the book down when he began driving again.  I can’t think of any book that would be that good of a read to rationalize that sort of behavior.  And I almost have to wonder...do bad drivers know that they're bad drivers?  I think I'm a decent driver, but do the people with whom I share the road think I'm a good driver?  A good buddy of mine has an elderly grandmother who maintains that she is a good driver because she never gets in accidents.  He says the only reason she feels this way is because she never looks in her rearview mirror to observe the mayhem left in her wake.  This is a woman who will swerve into oncoming traffic after getting the car washed to avoid a puddle.  I don’t know if it was being in Minnesota recently or what, but I’ve been much more honky than usual since returning from my trip home.  I honked twice yesterday and once today, and that was with restraint.  I could probably honk at idiot drivers every time I leave the house if I wanted to, and that includes while on foot.  Perhaps I should take some lessons from the one-handed drivers out here and drive with one hand on the wheel, and one hand firmly on the horn.

So there’s this photo website that I’ve been using in the last few months, and it’s a site with the intention of having pictures of every place on earth posted by people that have actually been there.  Being a newcomer to the vast world of photography, I was really intimidated by some of the photos on this site.  Obviously, all photographers start out somewhere, and even professional level photographers have pictures in the archives that are a little under exposed and a little out of focus.  What I liked about this site is that it posts the details of the photo itself...the shutter speed used, the aperture settings, the light sensitivity, even the type of camera that the images where shot with.  So I posted a few pictures on there, mostly from my travels from the last couple years.  What’s a little confusing to me about this site is that there’s a rating system for the photos, and users can look at other people’s pictures and give the photo either a thumbs up or a thumbs down.  I get the thumbs up.  I don’t get the thumbs down.  Well, that’s not true...I get that there are photos out there that people aren’t going to like for whatever reason, but I feel that on a site that has some sort of artistic feel to it, a thumbs down is counter-productive to creativity.  If the person giving the thumbs down had to give a reason why they were giving the thumbs down, then that would at least be constructive.  Case in point, I posted a picture that I took while on the beach when I was in the Bahamas.  The photo is of a Bahamian beer sitting in the sand, with a few beach bodies and the light blue ocean fading away into the background.  At last check this photo had a rating of -10.  Why, I can’t tell you, since users aren’t required to document their disdain.  Oh, and the rating only gives a cumulative score, which means that I probably had more than 10 thumbs down, because the photo itself initially had a positive rating, but there’s no way to see how many positives it had before taking a nose drive into the red zone.  Was the composition of the photo bad?  Was the subject matter offensive?  Were there some “landscape purists” out there that took offense to me including a beer can in my photo?  Did people feel that it was an unfair portrait of Bahamian culture?  I may never know.  Another photo that I posted was of a sailboat marina in San Francisco, also with a -10 rating.  Honestly, what is so offensive about sailboats?  After  these negative ratings on my own photos, I took to the site to see if there were any other photos that had negative ratings, because surely, mine couldn’t be the only ones.  I found one other photo with a negative rating.  One.  Granted, I didn’t sift through the thousands of photos on the site, but talk about discouraging.

You know, I was thinking the other day about how much I hate poop.  And I know, I talk about poop all the time and I have a vast library of poop stories, but in reality, I really don’t like it.  I loathe it, in fact.  Every day when I take the dogs out and I have to pick up their turds, I’m disgusted.  Simon is still perplexed how after over 10 years of dog ownership, I can still exclaim “this poop stinks!” every time I clean up after them.  As if I was expecting a different result or something.  My pugs literally just got done with a diarrhea episode that lated for 3 weeks.  I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered euthanasia as an end to the problem.  And I hate pooping.  Sure, nothing feels better than an extended sitting session when you’re uncomfortable, but the whole process from beginning to end is just gross.  And I would like to take issue with the obvious design flaw that placed our most intimate body parts right in the thick of our most disgusting ones.  Seriously.  Did it all have to go right there?  It’s as if all the orifices had to be grouped together or something.  When I’m at work and have to clean up someone’s poo, it’s not as big of a deal.  It’s part of the job, much like a waitress refilling your water glass at a restaurant.  It’s expected of me, I deal with it, and I move on (granted, some blow-outs are way more gross than others).  But poop in my personal space, I just don’t like that at all.

Yesterday as Simon and I were returning home from work, we parked in front of our neighbor’s apartment, and I pointed out to Simon that the man in there was not wearing a shirt.  Simon was quick to chime in, “and also no pants.”  Sure enough, there he was in only his underwear, feeding his kids breakfast.  Ah, the perils of a ground floor apartment.  And this man’s blinds are always open.  Apparently the risks of being seen in one’s skivvies do not outweigh the benefits of being free to wander around one’s apartment in one’s skivvies.

For our trip home to Minnesota over Labor Day weekend, we boarded the dogs at a private residence rather than a kennel, which is what we usually end up doing.  It was quite the process.  First I had to have a conversation with the woman running the operation so she could get a feel for me as a person.  Then we had to have a “meet-and-greet” at her house so she could get a feel for the dogs.  After passing those two things, we had to have a full day of doggie day-care so she could get a feel for how they would behave when I, their favorite person, am not around.  Against all odds, they were accepted.  I really had no worries about Lady, since she just goes with the flow and keeps to herself, but the pugs are another matter.  Brie is getting up there in years, can’t see very well, and is very defensive.  Cooper feels the need to control whatever situation he’s in and will attack any dog who gets in his way, regardless of size.  I saw him knock over a malamute at the dog park once, not necessarily by the strength of the launch, but I think mostly by the element of surprise.  There is no reason that a 100 pound dog would expect a 20 pound smash-faced borderline retarded pug to morph into torpedo mode and launch himself with all his might.  I certainly wasn’t expecting that.  So I had misgivings about how they would behave around a couple of strangers and a house full of dogs they didn’t know.  Turns out they did all right.  Until the last day when Brie was starting fights.  Apparently she had had enough of the butt sniffing and whatnot.  Really, I don’t understand how dogs can sniff butts so often and for so long.  Mine still sniff each other’s butts and they’ve been living together for years.  Isn’t there a “been there, done that” thing that should kick in after a while?  But no, there’s a daily sniffing, usually multiple times.  So where I was going with this whole train of thought...at the end of the boarding, the man who assists with the boarding said that he would be more than happy to take Lady off our hands if it were ever our intention to get rid of her.  I basically told him to get in line.  Everyone wants Lady.  I’ve had multiple people tell me that if things ever don’t work out with her, they’ll take her in a heartbeat.  She’s sweet, she’s quiet, she’s smart, and she’s extremely loyal.  No one ever wants the pugs.  I was told that they had to sleep in the kitchen while they were being boarded because they snore too much.  Welcome to my life.

I don’t know if it’s just my personality, or if I just encounter things that I feel should be changed, but I feel this intrinsic need to always be fixing things.  I use that an excuse for why I dated such messed up men for so long.  One in particular who told me after dating for a month that he wanted to marry me...I told him to 1) get a job, 2) get a checking account, and 3) get a credit card before I would even consider such a silly idea.  I didn’t feel that these were outlandish things to ask of a 24 year-old man.  Unfortunately I had to let him go after 6 months because he had accomplished exactly none of those things.  He preferred to be paid in cash from the family business whenever he felt like it, and to sit on my couch and eat all my food while I was at work, which resulted in an empty pantry and a boyfriend who was 30 pounds heavier at break-up than he was when we met.  Did I ever try to straighten him out though.  I really gave it my best shot, and in the end decided that some things just can’t be fixed, and it’s really not my place to fix them to begin with.  I couldn’t see the logic in spending not only the rest of my life, but another day with someone who just couldn’t take responsibility for himself.  So here I am at a hospital that has staffing policies that I just don’t agree with (i.e., they need to be “fixed”).  And this isn’t the first hospital...I’ve made a stink at several different hospitals...usually with little or no outcome, but a stink was at least made.  After voicing concerns early in this particular assignment, one email to the manager and a meeting with said manager, very little has changed.  I recently received a mass email from one of the assistant managers about how our unit has the highest patient fall rate in the entire hospital.  I was offended and insulted and immediately responded once again with my staffing concerns.  As if we were standing by and letting the patients fall.  As if we were ignoring them.  Honestly, I’m tired of hearing about it, and I’m tired of taking the implied blame for it.  When a hospital unit is under-staffed, what do they think is going to happen?  Good patient outcomes?  I think not.  I sometimes wonder why I even bother.  As a travel nurse, it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation.  On one hand, I feel as though I can voice my concerns without fear of repercussion, mostly because I’m a temp and I don’t have to worry about long-term negative outcomes because my time in one place is limited.  The idea of getting fired doesn’t scare me; I’ll just get a job somewhere else.  And really, if I’m going to get fired for raising legit concerns about patient safety, then maybe that’s a place I don’t want to work in the first place.  In the same vein, I feel as though being a temp puts me at a disadvantage for being taken seriously.  Travel nurses who voice concerns are often branded as “difficult” or “complainers.”  I know some travel nurses have the thought that it’s best to just weather the storm, don’t make waves, you can deal with anything for 13 weeks, and move on when the contract is up.  I wish I could do that, but I just can’t.  A job isn’t just a job for me.  I care about the patients, and I care about my coworkers.  I care about my work environment, because limited time or not, I still have to work there.  I don’t like being taken advantage of any more than the permanent staff does.  Some of my nurse friends and I joke about going all Patch Adams and making our own hospital...hahaha!  And I know that there are so many factors that influence the way a hospital is staffed, factors that I’m not even aware of.  I know that medical units (which I work on most frequently) tend to actually lose money for hospitals (lack of insurance, high volume of medicare/medicaid) and therefore have smaller budgets than other units that generate revenue.  I don’t know why the other units can’t just share the wealth, we are one hospital system, after all.  I only see it from one side.  And it’s because of this limited view that I don’t have any answers for how to solve the problems, I just have the means to complain about them.

So it turns out Ol‘ Pink (my cell phone) isn’t dead after all.  It just needed a new battery.  It’s alive!!  I know I said in an earlier blog that I would make the transition to the iphone when my current phone no longer worked, and I was almost there.  I really was.  And then my cousin’s boyfriend alerted me to the fact that my phone’s issue didn’t appear to be mechanical, that it sounded as though it just needed a new battery.  Why didn’t I think of that?  I should consider myself lucky for having gotten 5 years out of the original battery, and maybe 5 years of good battery life was the reason I didn’t even think of it when things started going wonky.  For $6 and free shipping I got myself a new battery off ebay and Ol‘ Pink is up and running once again.  I do want the iphone, and I’m sure within a year I’ll have one.  I’m just putting it off as long as I possibly can.  It seems silly, kind of like how I put off getting a GPS for so long, and now I can’t imagine going to a new city without it.  I just don’t want to become one of those people who and play with the phone all the time.

Which brings me a huge beef (there’s always at least one).  Simon and I recently went to an outdoor concert in a fabulous venue in Berkeley.  I love outdoor concerts.  So we’re watching the show, and I couldn’t help but notice all the little glowing cell phone screens everywhere.  The woman seated directly in front of us was actually playing some sort of scrabble game on her phone throughout the show.  The man she was with frequently leaned over to watch.  Okay, so is someone playing scrabble on a 4 inch screen really all that interesting, and is it really more interesting than a concert being played by talented musicians?  And if this is how they spend their time at a concert, what do they do when there is really nothing to do?  Probably the same thing.  I just don’t get it.  Other people’s behavior with their smart phones has been the biggest deterrent to getting one myself, because I don’t want to turn into one of them.  I know that smart phones keep the world at your fingertips 24 hours a day, but is 24 hours a day really necessary?  And then I wonder why I even care...someone playing on their phone throughout an entire concert doesn’t affect or harm me in any way, so really, what’s my big beef?  I guess I just think it’s sad.  It’s sad that people can’t take a couple hours of their time away from their phones to sit and just listen to some good music.  And mostly, I think it’s rude.  People that play with their cell phones in the company of others are basically saying that the people on the other end of the phone are more important than their current company.  It’s like the internet is providing social ADHD.  Multi-tasking and social networking have completely ruined the idea of doing one thing at a time.  I hope none of you are reading this while driving...or while doing any other activity that might involve machinery, another person or animal, etc. 

Anyway, that’s enough nagging/ranting/complaining/announcing from me for one sitting.  Brie has gas (again) and I need to move away from her.  Ick.  If she were wearing pants, I would seriously question if she had pooped them.     

The Golden State indeed

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.

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.

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.    

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.