a day at the beach

The first thing that I need to put out there is that I am somewhat challenged when it comes to fashion. Just a few weeks ago I learned that print shorts and print t-shirts should not be worn together. The evening before my day trip to the beach I spent several hours trying to find something to wear that was not only comfortable, but also matched. I came up with a pair of tan shorts and a green t-shirt and was oh so proud of myself.

 

It has been said that having a bird poop on you is good luck. I guess this is going to be an excellent week because as I was walking on the boardwalk last Friday a seagull unloaded a three course meal all over me. Thankfully, it was me and not my friend whom I was with at the time. She seemed to be just as traumatized by the experience as I was. She quickly instructed me to remove my shirt, sacrificing her newly purchased "life is good t-shirt" and offered me a wet paper towel to clean up the mess.

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon wearing a shirt that didn't match.

sleep

This one will be a little bit different. Let's call it a work in progress. Check back for updates.

 

Sleep.

 

I envy the people who are able to pass out as soon as their head hits the pillow. It takes me anywhere between thirty minutes to an hour to fall asleep at night. If and when that happens it doesn't last long. It seems like I am up every two hours to use the bathroom. Yes, that is one of the downfalls of being properly hydrated and having a small bladder.

 

I watched The Exorcism of Emily Rose a few months ago and for several weeks following, feared waking up to see the clock read 3:33AM.

 

But that is neither here nor there and if you didn't see the movie then it's actually nowhere.

 

And so my whole point here is that I wanted to share with you a list of things that wake me up in the morning. I encourage you to leave your own comments with some of the things that wake you up too.

 

Trash Collection

 

Recyclable Collection (love the sound of glass bottles clanking around!)

 

In the fall, leaf collection

Air compressor (gotta make sure those tires are inflated at 6AM)

 

The dishwasher being emptied

 

An alarm that is not mine, snooze, alarm, snooze, alarm

 

The dog barking at the cat

 

The neighbor whistling for the cat

 

The dog barking at the neighbor whistling for the cat

 

The newspaper hitting the step

 

Birds chirping, specifically the "I need you" bird

 

Landscapers

 

The neighbor's car from 1985 trying to start

 

UPDATE 5/19/08: An angry fox "popping off" at the neighbor's cat. Have you ever hear a pissed off fox? It is not a pretty sound.

 

Update JUNE:

 

- charlie horse

- poison ivy

- the neeighbor's new and improved whistle for the cat

- wood pecker pecking at the aluminum siding on the house

UPDATE FEBRUARY 2009

- shovels and snow plows

unexpected surprises

I don't particularly enjoy unexpected surprises. That is the reason why I tend to stay away from the haunted house scene at Halloween time. I don't see the point in paying money to have people pop out of the dark and scare you.  

Other examples that fall into this category include: turning the corner to find someone walking directly at me, getting into my car and discovering that the seat is wet because it had rained the night before and I did not roll the window (yes, I said roll) entirely shut, waking up in the morning and the first thing I see when I open my eyes is a spider crawling across my pillow.

Don't get me wrong, there are some unanticipated events which are pleasurable, such as seeing someone at the gym who is wearing a pearl necklace and moccasins while working out or going up to the self check out at the grocery store to find that the person who had used it before you forgot their change. The other day I was walking to my office and saw a hair extension lying on the sidewalk. No doubt, that put a smile on my face.

I'll catalog the next one in the "neutral" category because while it wasn't enjoyable at the time, it has made for a good story.

Here's how it all went down:

I was talking on the phone and left my bedroom to get something in the bathroom. I walked out of my bedroom door and looked down the hall, where I saw a bird sitting on top of the ledge by the linen closet. I screamed, which probably made my friend on the other line one step closer to going deaf and told her that there was a bird in the house and that it was probably a good idea if we ended our conversation.

I called for my dad. He asked me how I thought we should get it out...because apparently, I must think like a bird...I instructed him to shut all of the doors except for the bathroom and then to open the bathroom window (mind you, I am barking out these orders from my bedroom, through a one inch crack in the door). Then, he took the swiffer (the dry swiffer, not the wet swiffer or the swiffer sweeper, or the swiffer duster) scared the bird into the bathroom and closed the door. I tapped on the door about every fifteen minutes for the next hour or so until I no longer heard him stirring.   I figured he found his way out the window, but let me tell you, using the bathroom for the next week is going to be a little nerve-wracking.

two for the show

All in a day's work:

It's Saturday morning and I drive to a house in North Philadelphia to meet a subject (aka research participant) to interview. He greets me and we move into the dining area to sit at the table. The room is open and his siblings are playing Nintendo and watching TV. Five minutes into the interview I heard a noise, but dismiss it, thinking that it must be either the TV or the video game. Another ten minutes go by and I hear it again. This time I figure that it's probably the battery on my cell phone about to die. When I hear it a third time I stop and ask "Was that a rooster?" and the guy responds "Yeah."  He said it in a matter of fact tone, as if a hearing rooster in north Philadelphia is a common occurrence. "Oh," I said and proceeded with the interview, but the rooster chimed in again. "Where is it coming from?" I asked.  He told me that it belongs to the neighbors and that it just runs around in the yard. I tried to play it off, like everyone has a rooster in their yard. "A rooster," I said, "that is like the male version of a chicken, right?" "Yeah," he said. "Oh," I said, "so I guess they have it back there with a chicken for eggs or something or they eat it or whatever."  At that moment, his younger brother walked up to the table, holding both index fingers about five inches apart. "I just killed a mouse that was this big" he said. I thought to myself, maybe they need to get a rooster too. Then, I continued with the interview questions.  This is just one of the many reasons why I love my job.

  

The original chicken sandwich:

A few months ago my mom-mom (aka grandmom) went into a nursing home (I like to call it a long term care facility). Soon after, she began to complain about the food. I have done my best to visit once a week and bring her a meal so that she doesn't have to eat and overcooked turkey burger  with a side of red beets or something that resembles a sausage on a piece of bread with mystery red sauce. She has taken a liking to the original chicken sandwich from Burger King. In fact, now, that has become her only request on the evenings that I visit. My routine is as follows: drive to the Dunkin' Donuts across the street from the facility and get a small coffee with the cream on the side. Then, back across the street to the Burger King which is next door to her facility for the original chicken sandwich and a small order of fries. When I enter her room she is, wheeled up to the table and ready to go. As instructed, I pour half of the coffee into a plastic cup "you take that half" she says. Next, I cut the sandwich in half and take my end. We sit and talk and she gobbles down fries, telling me to "eat more" because she cannot finish them. Inevitably, at some point during the course of the meal she becomes distracted and I shove what's left of my sandwich into the bag. I have convinced myself that those calories and fat really don't count.

Half of the original chicken sandwich, a few fries, coffee in a plastic cup and a memory that will last forever.

bugs, horses, turkey and fingernails

A few days ago I went to fix myself some eggbeaters. After pouring the contents of the container into the pan I looked on the box and read, "consume within seven days of opening." It had been more than a week, more than two weeks since I had opened the container, but I was hungry and decided to take my chances. That was Monday and nothing has happened to me yet, so I think I'll be fine.

 

The real reason I wanted to post this blog was to share that story with you because in my own special way I felt as though I was living life on the edge. I realized that was not sufficient enough and so, here are some random pieces of goodness for you. Hopefully, these will make reading this worthwhile.

 

 

BUGS

 

On average, a firefly's lifespan will be one or two years, but it spends only 1-2 weeks of that life in its adult stage as the flashing insect most are familiar with. The rest of its life is spent underground in the larval stage.

 

Ladybugs gather in groups when they hibernate. Most live only for one season. But, some hibernate under logs, tree bark or in a house until the next spring.

 

 

HORSES

 

Why do they say, "I gotta pee like a race horse?"

 

Racehorses are commonly given Lasix (aka Salix), which is a powerful diuretic. They pee a lot right before they race; we're talking gallons and gallons. The medication is thought to help prevent nasal bleeding, which sometimes happens when racehorses supremely over-exert themselves.

 

 

TURKEY

 

"Cold turkey" is a slang expression describing the actions of a person who gives up a habit or addiction all at once. That is, rather than gradually easing the process through reduction or by using replacement medication. 

 

The etymology derives from the phrase talk turkey, in which someone deals matter-of-factly with a subject.

 

Some, however, believe the derivation is from the comparison of a cold turkey carcass and the state of a withdrawing addict, most notably, the cold sweats and goose bumps. It is often preceded by the verb "to go," as in "going cold turkey."

 

 

FINGERNAILS

 

The practice of adding color to fingernails appears to have begun with the Japanese and Italians around 3000 B.C. The color and condition of a person's nails has long been an indication of social status. In ancient times women were identified and separated from men by the color of their nails. Different tribes had different nail art; for example the Incas were well known for the eagles decorated on their fingernails.

 

Nail condition also identified common laborers, as they worked with their hands, having a finely manicured set of nails was not only impractical for them; it was an extravagance they couldn'tafford. Thus, only wealthy aristocrats from ancient times were seen with finely trimmed and decorated nails.

 

get yer gym on

Recently, I have been working out longer than usual. During these times I have noticed an array of characters at the gym. Here are my favorites:

  

1) The guy who doesn't wipe off the equipment: I used to be friendly with him last summer, but won't even say hello to him now. I don't understand why he thinks he doesn't need to wipe down the treadmill, especially after he sweats all over it. I have actually made a few friends as a result of his poor hygiene habit. When he gets done running and someone new goes to get on his treadmill, I warn them that he doesn't clean it off. They are always thankful that I have passed this information along to them.

 

2) Golf shirt man: Always wears a golf shirt when he works out. I have noticed three different varieties, but my favorite is the light pink with tan stripes.

 

3) Little T: Picture a huge, older black man in bike shorts, a long pink t-shirt and a short white half shirt over top of that. He wears the same thing every day, but I have never noticed that he smells badly and wow, can he get busy on the inclined sit up board.

 

4)  Stinky: He is a first year law student. I met him over the summer when he was apartment hunting, then I saw him at the gym and we made small talk. I began to notice a pattern that whenever he was on a treadmill the entire area smelled like sour feet (and that is being kind). One day my friend Lauren and I were down in the weight room. She said that she smelled something foul. We looked over and there he was, bench pressing his little heart out.

 

5) Heart Rate Boy: He rolls in every day between 11:00 and 11:30am. No matter how cold it is he is always wearing shorts, accompanied by a fleece pull over and beanie hat. He carries a Nike bag, not a gym bag, but more like a nylon sack with strings. He never puts his stuff in a locker. He always sets it next to the treadmill he is using. He has a small bottle of water which he places in the cup holder. His routine goes like this...crank the treadmill up to 11.3 and pound your feet while sprinting, then, half way through, hold on to the top of the treadmill...do this for approximately two and a half minutes and then hit stop...stand on the treadmill while holding the heart rate sensors...release your hands and lean against the side of the treadmill...put your hand over your heart to feel it beating...take a sip of water from your little bottle....put your hand over your heart again...repeat this four or five times.

 

 

Makes me wonder what people are thinking about me.

what goes around comes around

I was walking from the gym to my car on Tuesday afternoon when a man stopped me and asked me if I could spare any change because he "needed to make a phone call." I looked in my bag and the only thing I could come up with was my quarter, the one I put in the locker every day at the gym. I gave it to him without hesitation. The next day when I went to work out and opened the locker I always use, a quarter fell out.

Last night, I ordered sushi take out. I pulled into the parking lot and a man called out to me "excuse me, sir" which didn't phase me at all because after all it is winter and I am wearing my knit cap (please refer to previous blog posting). He was completely honest with me. He said he was homeless and wanted to know if I could spare any change. I told him I would give him something when I came out from picking up my food. I gave the guy a dollar and then he asked me if I could spare forty cents more, but I had no change.

Some day he will get his.

Karma fuck: A noun form of "what goes around comes around." When you've been screwing over everyone else around you, pissing off the universe and being a generally lame person, when you get screwed over it's your bad karma fucking you over.