Choices = Confusion

In many ways it is GREAT to have so many choices in life. Chocolate or vanilla? Oatmeal chocolate chip or plain chocolate chip? One olive or two? White or red? Chicken or beef? Choices can be great. We need choices. We’re lucky that we have choices. However, since we have so many choices nowadays sometimes all it does is add confusion and uncertainty.

I am confused.

I have been for a few weeks now. I didn’t think I was confused. A few months ago I thought that at that moment in time I had but one choice and I took it. Then about a month ago a second choice came knocking (which was actually a first choice many months ago but then turned out not to be an actual choice at all so now it is Choice B) and so I’m confused.

Technically I don’t have two choices. I made my decision and I like the decision I made. But as we all know, they are called “choices” for a reason. Choice A is great. Choice B would be great too but I’ve already chosen Choice A and I don’t know whether Choice B would actually be a good choice now or because before Choice A was an option Choice B was the only choice and that was my first choice. You know, before it became a non-choice. Are you confused? Yeah well think about how I feel!

No more calamari for you!

Train Guy got food poisoning on Saturday night. He was in New York City this past weekend to visit friends and ate some bad calamari. I guess it’s obvious it was “bad” calamari or he wouldn’t have gotten sick would he? He called on Sunday morning sounding just terrible. I can’t imagine being that sick in someone else’s apartment. THIS, among a zillion other reasons, is why I stay in hotels when I travel. In addition to getting that sick away from home, there was the predicament of getting home. I finally persuaded him to catch an Amtrak train instead of the commuter train he took in because the Amtrak trains have bathrooms. Poor Train Guy. There is nothing more humbling than being picked up by a new girlfriend who is well aware that the reason she is picking you up instead of you taking the train to your car is because you’ve spent the past 14 hours throwing up and performing other bodily functions that really shouldn’t be brought up until at least month 6 of dating.

Ahh yes.. food poisoning. I know it well. In fact, it has taken me 3 years to finally be able to eat bacon again. And bacon used to be one of my favorite food groups; bacon, chocolate, coffee and cookie dough. Take away the bacon and the fact I can’t eat sugar anymore and I’m left with coffee.. and only decaf at that. How tragic my life has become. But I digress...

I was living in Cincinnati and there was a Waffle House right around the corner from the office. I had never been to one and after driving by it for the billionth time I decided that I was going to go in for lunch with a co-worker. I got the obligatory waffles and got a side of bacon. By 4 I had to go home and by 6 I was writing out my will. For those who have had food poisoning you know what I mean and for those of you who haven’t, you will. One day, I promise.

The then boyfriend was also having an old college friend in for the weekend. Yes, nothing is more pleasant than having to try to keep the volume down to a minimum while my insides were coming out through various orifices because we had a houseguest. It was awful. I knew it was the bacon too. I’m not sure why I knew it was the bacon and not the waffles but I guess I should be grateful. I’ve probably extended my life by a good ten to fifteen years by cutting out that cured pork product. So, thank you Waffle House!!


Anyway, I survived, he survived and now he wants calamari for dinner. Seriously. I don’t know how he does it. It took me about 6 months before I would even let anyone say the word “bacon” in my presence. He must have a stomach made of iron.

Two posts in one day = making up for my delinquency last week...

I am fair skinned. In fact, “fair” probably isn’t the best word. Pasty white is more accurate. And being the pasty white, fair skinned woman of European descent that I am, I sunburn pretty easily. As I have, ahem, aged (gracefully damn it!!!!!) my skin is a bit more leathery and therefore I’m a bit more tolerant than I used to be. But one place that doesn’t build up a base is my scalp.

Every year, at least twice a year, I get sunburn on my scalp. The day after the burning I notice that it hurts like hell to run a comb through my hair and then about one week later I notice in a mirror, and usually in an embarrassing situation, that I have a very defined patch of dandruff; right in the part of my hair, about six inches long and a half a centimeter wide. And every time this happens I freak out thinking I need to race out and buy Head and Shoulders and that in a few minutes I’m going to pull an Ally Sheedy from Breakfast Club.

So guess what happened last weekend and then this past weekend? Yup, I was out in the sun. And guess what I just noticed after being introduced to the President of the company I steal office space from? Yup, my bi-yearly dandruff. And guess what I just did Ally Sheedy style? Yup, rubbed my scalp as hard as I could to get it off. No, I didn’t do it over a picture so it looked like snow. That’s gross. I have some self-respect you know! Not much, but a little.

Always the pessimist

As I got on the train this morning I saw a wallet sitting on a seat. I picked it up and looked around but there was no one in the car. I thought about giving it to the conductor and then automatically thought, I know that I will attempt to find the owner but will they? So I carried it to my usual seat, sat down and opened it up to see if there was any identification in it. It belongs to a 21 year old Temple University student. She must be worried sick. As I opened it I totally felt like I was opening up her medicine chest or looking thru her underwear drawer or something. Her wallet did have a driver’s license and a student ID but no phone number. Then I noticed that she had absolutely no money in her wallet. I realize that this is not unusual for a college student but there were no credit cards or a bank card either. She did have about 7 gift cards to various places though. Then my mind automatically jumped to, “Oh no, what if she DID have money and she DID have credit cards and someone else took them and when I finally contact her she thinks that I took them?”

I got to work, looked up her number on Whitepages.com and left a voicemail saying I found her wallet on the R7 train and that I’d be happy to mail it back to her and left my name and cell number.

As I sit here I really am worried that she’ll think that I took her money and/or credit cards. Isn’t that sad? Here I am trying to do the right thing but am thinking with about 90% certainty that someone already stole her money and credit cards and they probably just dumped the wallet on the train thinking THEY were “being nice” by not just throwing it in the trash. I never thought for a second that I wouldn’t try to find the wallet’s rightful owner but sometimes being nice isn’t the easiest thing to do…

I’ll update the post if she calls me.

UPDATE: I shouldn't be so negative. The girl's Aunt called me last night. VERY happy to know the wallet was safe. I was happy to hear the girl had no money, credit cards or bank card in it when she lost it. I told her I would overnight the wallet back to her. She told me to include my name and address on a piece of paper in it. I told her no. I told her to just do the same thing if she should ever find a wallet. Hearing the relief in her voice and knowing that nothing was missing was reward enough for me.

18 years, 2 days and counting

I turn 32 on Wednesday. I usually don’t care too much about my birthday. Not since my 21st. Actually, 16 was probably a bigger one since I was drinking well before my 21st birthday but I wasn't driving a car before my 16th, unless driving it in the driveway counts.

Since I haven’t really cared too much about getting older I have been unpleasantly surprised by how much I am dreading this one. I thought I was supposed to get depressed on my 30th! 30 was great, 31 was insignificant but 32 seems to be knocking me on my ass and I can’t blame PMS. I think that 30 was exciting because I was on my way to being an adult. Now that I feel like I am one I would like to go back please. Now I’m just creeping up to 40.

I shouldn’t complain, I own my own home, have a good job that pays the bills (sort of), I have awesome friends and a wonderful family. I live in the best city and, hell, I’m dating a guy 7 years my junior! What’s not to be happy about?!?

I guess that since 50 is the new 30 I should be happy I’m going to be one year closer to 50 instead of two years farther from 30. Yeah, I’ll think about it that way! Of course if anyone wishes me a Happy Birthday on Wednesday I can’t guarantee I won’t slug them.