When It’s Okay to Lie

Last Saturday, in the middle of an otherwise goal-oriented shopping excursion, I took a brief side trip into the world of cheap shoes. I didn’t find anything that I just had to have, but I did have a quick encounter that intrigued me.

Teenage girl holding up two pairs of shoes: “Which ones should I get?”
Me: “The ones with the pink lining.”
Teenager: “That’s what everyone says.”
Me: “Well, they’re more unique.”

Had I been at all honest with her, I would have mentioned that both pairs were so ugly that I couldn’t possibly advise her to buy either. But I assumed that she wouldn’t be terribly enthused with that opinion. On the other had, if she was so crippled with indecision that she was asking shabbily-dressed strangers for advice, she may have wanted to hear the truth. I decided not to bet on that one.

I Thought I Was Sending a Clear Signal

About a year and a half ago, I acquired a set of noise-canceling headphones. Now I can’t imagine flying without them and the down blanket / pillow combo my dad gave me for Christmas a few years back. Muting everyone from flight attendants to chatty neighbors to screaming children certainly makes air travel more enjoyable.

Over the weekend I flew from my real home (Maine) to my current home (California). I drifted in and out of wakefulness on the early morning flight from Portland to Detroit, cocooned in my snuggly blankie and the soothing tones of my iPod.

Not only was the flight from Detroit to San Francisco completely full, the plane had less legroom than anything I’ve ever flown in. Before take off I made small talk with the couple sitting next to me. On their way to visit the grandkids. Yadda yadda yadda. As soon as we hit 10,000 feet, I put on my headphones, pulled out my book, and tried to find a Zen-like state. Thankfully, I found myself drifting off . . .

Only to be awakened by a distinct poke in the arm. I pried one eye open to find the woman next to me poking my arm, pointing to the flight attendant coming down the aisle, and mouthing the word “Coffee?” About two hours later, it happened again. This time it was for the drink cart.

Seriously? Barring oxygen masks appearing for immediate use, I cannot imagine a circumstance where it’s appropriate to wake a sleeping stranger on a plane.

Guess I'm White

If you believe the assessment of Stuff White People Like, there's no question about my color. In case there was any doubt, post #106 solidified it. I just can't get enough Facebook.

Well That’s a First

I felt “off” almost all day yesterday. From brushing my teeth in the morning through the drive home at night, something just wasn’t quite right. It nagged at the back of my mind until, while I was making supper, a thought occurred to me.

Before I go on, I offer a brief bit of history. I got my first pair of contact lenses in December of 1988. And, I’ve been wearing them everyday for the last twenty years (with rare exception).

With that in mind, when I came up with a hypothesis about my off-kilter day, I quickly dismissed it. I’m a contact pro; no rookie mistakes for me. But by the third time the idea popped into my head, I couldn’t dismiss it. I tested out my theory, and much to my own amusement, it was spot on.

I had spent the previous twelve hours with my contacts in the wrong eyes: right in left and left in right. Now thankfully, that was a first.

What Happened to Those 41 Items?

Last year this time I was lamenting about how much stuff I had. 147 items to be exact. That was when I made the grandiose goal of reducing my stuff by 5% each time I moved. With this wonderful target in site I made a few runs to my local Goodwill stores, and several runs to the dumpster.

Now I’m down to 106. Perhaps I went overboard. Or, more likely, the crew who packed my belongings to leave California did a much more thorough job than the crew who packed me to return. Leaving: each pair of shoes was wrapped in packing paper before being placed in a box. Returning: a large glass vase was wrapped in a single sheet of paper, then placed in the corner of a box holding a whole lot of other stuff. Suffice it to say, the shoes made it in better shape than the vase did.

I haven’t even attempted to start a charity pile this go around. It doesn’t necessarily feel like I have any less stuff than I did a year ago, but it also doesn’t seem like I have anything extra. (And foils to that day I sorted my closet in Stamford! I really wanted to wear a green shirt today that I apparently decided to donate to the local charity. Word to the wise: never make these kinds of decisions while under an unpacking deadline!)

So I think I’m done getting rid of things. I’ll always be a perpetual closet cleaner, but no more full carloads of stuff to donate. I’m too busy trying to figure out what I can wear in place of that green shirt.

Taking Time Off

Turns out I live in a pretty amazing place. Wouldn't you know that now that I'm leaving I've finally spent just enough time in the city to declare that I'm absolutely, head-over-heels in love with Manhattan.

338 Days In Exile

It didn’t really hit me until I went back, but it’s been 11 months since I’ve been in California. My memory wasn’t wrong: the air really is softer there. But I’m not quite sure how I forgot Jacaranda trees (a lovely surprise) or lane splitting (a startling surprise). It does feel a little strange to be heading west again.

I’m happy to report that every time I go apartment hunting I’m a little wiser. This time around I ensured that I saw both an exact model of the available apartment I was investigating (not just the model that they show everybody), and the precise location within the complex. No more dubiously-named first-floor apartments for me. I’m sure there’s something I missed this time around, but at least the hot and cold water come out of the same tap. (I always double-check that one based on the less-than-ideal face-washing experiences of my first post-college apartment.) Who knows what San Jose will add to my list of items to watch out for?