tangentwoman

Friday, April 25, 2008

Good karma; waiting for it to bite me

Oh, what a week. I did a two-day eventin D.C. with a bunch of middle-school students, and I had to be a good role model for clean living and healthy eating (somehow, chocolate chip cookies made their way into the boxed lunches the first day, and people got seriously bent out of shape about it; they are super hard-core). So, no Diet Coke in public, and I had to sneak up to my hotel room every couple of hours to get a fix. I felt as guilty as if I were sneaking out for a cigarette break, or a nip of whiskey in the middle of the day.

To reward myself for a job well done, I got Ben & Jerry's before hopping on the train back home, and was lamenting to the cashier that the Ben & Jerry's across the street from my office closed, so I wouldn't be able to get a free cone next week. And he said, "Oh, I wish you'd told me before I rang you up; I'd have given you that for free!" Which was awfully nice in and of itself, but then he dug up a coupon for a free ice cream, handed it over and said, "There you go! Free cone, right in your bag, any time you want!" A nice cap to a long first half of the week.

So I got home at like 11:30 Tuesday night, then returned to D.C. first thing yesterday morning for a half-day meeting. The earliest return train I could make didn't stop in Metropark, but I couldn't bear the thought of being in D.C. any longer, so I took Amtrak to Trenton, and hopped on New Jersey Transit to my car in Metropark. Only I realized, with a fairly audible "Oh, shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhiiihhh-iiihhh-hittttt!" that I had inadvertently gotten a ticket to Metuchen, which is one stop closer to Trenton, and the place I most wanted to be in the world, but not without my car. Rather than buy another ticket, I decided just to chance it and hope it'd be one of those trips when the conductor doesn't walk through the car at every station stop.

I just looked it up online, and it turns out that the ticket price is exactly the same, so probably no one would have cared about my mistake, but I got all worked up about it, wondering whether the conductor would think I was trying to put one over on him by playing the dumb, ditzy girl. As opposed to, you know, actually being the dumb, ditzy girl that I've been for the better part of this week.

But anyway, karma was on my side, I guess, because the conductor did not come through before the Metuchen stop, and I stood waiting by the door pretty much as soon as we left that station, so when he finally did walk through before Metropark, and sized me up, trying to figure out whether he needed to take a ticket from me, I just said, "Oh, I got on in Trenton, and I'm getting off at the next stop." All of which was true. Phew.

Funnily -- to me, anyway -- I ran into some colleagues in Trenton right after I'd gotten the wrong ticket, and they were like, "Ha! Hope you get busted." I emailed them to say I'd gotten away with it, and it turned out they got on the train to Pittsburgh instead of the train to D.C. So, ha!

That does make me wonder, though, when my own luck's going to turn. My fingers are crossed that it doesn't happen this weekend at the Bodies exhibit, because that could be pretty gross.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Stress eating

I can't remember if Minnams blogged about this, or if we've just talked about it extensively, so apologies if she's already got this one covered. But we were talking about how some people must be secret eaters, because in the lunch room they make healthy food choices and exercise portion control, and you may even see them in the gym or running outside. But somehow, they gain weight, and you wonder whether they secretly go home and devour an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's every night.

I'm not quite that bad, although I do love my ice cream (and anyway, more often than not, a cookie, and/or something fried and/or something with heaps of carbs makes its way to my lunch tray). But I've realized in the last month or so that I am a ridiculous stress-eater at work.

Right now, the cabinet over my computer is stocked with a tub of orange slices and a bag of Twizzlers that was full this morning. Actually, the bag of Twizzlers is now sitting right next to my computer, clipped shut with a mini binder clip, because I ate about 10 of them in a five-minute period without even thinking about it. And the link is dramatic: Read aggravating email, open cabinet, remove tub of orange slices, eat four, respond to email. Or, today, hang up the phone after person on the other end yells at me, on a day when I was already fairly close to the brink, dissolve into a puddle of tears, pull myself together, open bag of Twizzlers, eat 10, blog.

What's that about? I know I'm not hungry; I know that I'm eating in response to stress; I know I will look at the bag and be horrified by my behavior.

I don't abuse the emergency granola bar that lives in my work bag for those times when I'm legitimately hungry and cranky. Most days, I get a banana at breakfast time that I like to eat around 3 in the afternoon, but I rarely turn to that when I'm stressed out. I don't even abuse the Peeps.

I don't know what's up with me. I think I just need to enforce a zero-tolerance policy on the chewy, sugary things in my office, and I'll be all good. Starting on Wednesday.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Playing hooky, kinda

Even though it's one of the busiest times I've had at work in recent memory, I took a half-day today for an annual doctor's appointment that managed to slip to 14 months (sort of like my haircut, which I should get probably every two months, but I can't even remember the last time I had a cut -- I don't know why I don't just consistently make my next appointment as I'm leaving the salon). So I worked at home in the morning, and headed up to the doctor's office around noon. I should probably find a doctor closer to home, or even to work, but I've been going to this guy since I was 19, and there's something comforting about having some consistency with the person doing your annual exam. He has soothing pictures on the ceiling, and always makes excuses for me when I've gained a pound or two over the course of the year, and he always asks how my mom's doing, so I'm sticking with him (although I'm sort of concerned about his respect for HIPPA -- I could totally overhear everything he and the woman ahead of me said).

The other bonus of going to the doctor closer to where I grew up is that our family jeweler is around the corner, so I can go get my ring cleaned and browse all of the pretty, sparkly, shiny things in their display cases. And, I stop by my parents' house on the way home, which today was especially nice.

It was a beautiful day, the first day that's really felt like spring, a perfect day to be out of the office. I had some lunch, a sandwich adorned with the pickles that our local grocery store no longer seems to carry (Dear Stop & Shop: The Bread & Butter sandwich slices suck; please restock the Hearty Garlic. Love, Tangent"), and then went for a walk with my parents. Suddenly, a car was honking, and my sister -- who lives in the same town -- pulled up next to us, her three kids in tow. Which was a lovely surprise, and my littlest nephew, who just turned five, invited me to his first t-ball game tonight, and how could I turn that down? So I went back to my parents', took a little nap in the sun room, and woke up in time for dinner before the game.

What is it about my mom's cooking? Seriously, she made meatballs and spaghetti, with fresh Italian bread, and that was it, but it was heaven. I don't even like spaghetti, and I'm pretty certain that the sauce was straight out of the Ragu jar, but it tasted divine. And even before I could say that out loud, my mom mused, "Do you really enjoy eating here with us? Because I remember going home to your Gammy's house and even the simplest things just tasted better."

And it was true with my grandmother, too, my mom's mom, Gammy. She would make me scrambled eggs that were buttery and fluffy and perfect -- I always ate them with a cocktail fork, for some reason -- and she let me drink 7Up from the cans she kept in the fridge, and even the 7Up tasted better at her house. My mom's special thing for her grandkids -- and her kids, and her husband, and herself, really -- is that her freezer is always stocked with homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Following the food nostalgia: softball nostalgia. I remember my sisters coming to my games when I was in second and third grades, huddled under a huge comforter; it was freezing during those early-morning games, especially at the beginning of the season. Tonight, despite the beautiful, warm day, by the time 6 o'clock rolled around and the sun was starting to dip, it was quite chilly at the t-ball field. But we rallied for the three-inning game, which was the most hilarious thing I've seen in a long time. And also the sweetest: the kids were just running around gleefully, not a care in the world, and the coaches, half a dozen dads, had endless reserves of patience. Whenever there was a hit, at least four kids in the field would run toward the ball, piling themselves in a heap. About half of the kids at bat would forget to run after they got a hit; they seemed sort of shocked that they'd actually hit the ball, and were so focused on watching it, they forgot about the running part.

And no one cared; none of the players laughed (although I might have, a little) or booed when the kids whiffed a swing, or forgot to run, or got beaned in the head with the ball because they were looking at bumblebees instead of paying attention to the game.

I know that in a couple of years, these kids will be playing competitively, and some will excel -- you could already see that some of these kids are natural athletes, and that they'll be really good at baseball -- and they'll start keeping score; they'll start groaning when the weaker players are up at bat, or make the wrong play in the field. And I think that's good; I hate this trend where there are no winners and losers, so no one's ego gets bruised. But for today, it was pretty great to see these five year olds, exuberant just to be outside, to be wearing their oversized baseball caps, to have the chance to run around with their friends and be rewarded with juice boxes and snacks at the end of the hour.

Tomorrow, back to the rat race, but once in a while, it's good to run around aimlessly, to bask in the warm glow of sunshine and nostalgia.

Monday, April 07, 2008

Happy Monday!

So, it's already no fun to be on either end of a 9 a.m. job interview on a dreary Monday morning, right?

Let me tell you, when the candidate pukes in your office, it's even less fun.

But I guess it was way worse for her than for me.

Yeesh.

Friday, April 04, 2008

Today, I...

...got completely discombobulated at the 7-11 when I realized that they were out of The New York Times.

...got drenched by the rain, and got my finger pinched in the dispenser, when I got the newspaper out of the machine at the train station instead.

...enjoyed 90% of my job, and decided I'm really good at 90% of my job (there's roughly an 80% overlap between the two).

...realized that an 8lb., 11oz. baby is reeeaaaaaaaaaaalllly big for someone as teensy as M.

...slipped on the floor of a public bathroom, skidded into the wall, and banged the hell out of my knee.

...ate a scrumptious soft pretzel.

...couldn't help smiling at the guy next to me on the train, who was laughing aloud fairly regularly as he read a Harry Potter book.

...realized that if you look really tired and are wearing a business suit, or if you have ginormous breasts and are wearing a really tight, low-cut top, you are less likely to get carded at the liquor store, no matter how young you look.

...wondered if maybe I've finally really started looking old, and can't blame it on the tired eyes and the suit.

...felt, and am feeling, remarkably happy and grateful to be home, in my jammies, eating Thai food and watching mindless television with my little family.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Black flies in my chardonnay

I'm feeling generally fairly happy today: even though it was freezing this morning, the sun has now peeked out, so it looks like spring out my window, at least. And I had a meeting-free morning, which is a rare treat, so I actually plowed through a ton of tasks that have been sitting, ignored, on my to-do list for days or even weeks. But still, I can't help finding reasons to be cranky, including:

-- The woman who checks me in at the gym, who at one point was insanely friendly toward me, and who I think still loves the Smelmooo, but who has been absolutely icy to me since I've returned from my injury-related hiatus. She barely acknowledges me these days, despite my best efforts to be chipper and pleasant no matter how draggy I feel. Today, I offered a pretty sunny, "Good morning!" to which she said, "We open at 5:30 now." In a tone that made me feel like she was scolding me for not showing up until 6:15, as though I were late for an appointment and had kept her waiting without calling first or offering any explanation. I am fairly certain that wasn't her intention, but it totally came off as judgment, rather than information.

-- Chronic misuse of the word "everyday" when the user means something other than "ordinary." I think I have a heightened sensitivity to this one ever since reading a Harper's story about it years ago (an excerpt, at least, is here, although I recall the exchange going on way longer in the actual magazine), and I feel vaguely annoyed whenever I see it on my shampoo bottle in the morning. And I have been a right bitch about this with my team at work, and I know they think I'm an insane person for getting so worked up about it, but I think that if I take the time when I'm editing a document to insert a comment specifically explaining why something is wrong, that I should not see that mistake cropping up repeatedly. It's not like it's a complex grammar rule.

-- My secret admirer. I guess this isn't a true pet peeve, but I am puzzled and curious. I arrived at work on Monday to find on my chair (1) US magazine, which I knew immediately was from Minnams (yay, Reese and Jake! Love you!) and (2) a package of Peeps, which I assumed were also from Minnams. But no luck. And I've now asked five other people at work if they're behind the Peeps, and no one is owning up to it. Very puzzling. But also not the worst thing in the world; regardless of the source, there are certainly worse things I could stumble upon in my office on a Monday morning.

-- Meredith Vieira.