Hoarder's Remorse

As you may have gathered from some of my previous posts, while I don't consider myself to be anything near an actual hoarder, I do have a tendency to collect and keep things that provide no real intrinsic value to my life.  Usually I keep these things for one of three reasons:

1. Nostalgia
2. I am almost certain that at some point they will be useful again
3. They got stuffed somewhere and I forgot I had them

Reason #1 is why I keep things like expired driver's licenses from various states.  Reason #2 is why I have clothes in my closet that are two sizes too small... because one day that diet WILL work and I will fit in those clothes again!  Reason #3 is not really a reason at all.  But it explains why I find coupons for businesses that no longer exist and pens that have run out of ink.

Moving day is usually a big clean-out day.  You must weigh the importance of keeping your junk with the effort involved in packing, transporting, and unpacking your junk.  And also finding a suitable hidey-hole in your new place in which to stuff it.

Which is why I remember so clearly that day 2 weeks ago when I looked at the binder full of print-your-own CD labels that I had bought for wedding favors over 3 years ago.  You know, the kind that if you want to make someone a mix CD you can create a personalized cover, put the paper in your printer, then peel off the sticker and slap it on the top of the CD?  They worked great for the specialized CDs we gave our wedding guests but I thought, "who gives mix CDs anymore when there's flash drives and iTunes?"  So I threw them all out.

Only today, I needed to make a duplicate copy of a DVD, and wanted a professional cover, rather than hand-writing the name of the video on the CD in permanent marker.  And there's irony for you.  I don't use the darn things for 3 years and yet, 2 weeks after I throw them away, I actually could've used them...

How to travel with big furniture and tiny cars

Today on the freeway I passed a mustang convertible, top down, with about 6 patio chairs crammed in the backseat at odd angles. The driver who, for some reason in all his 50+ years of living did not have a better solution, must’ve figured that his wife holding on to the legs of one of the chairs counted adequately in place of a tie-down strap.

I will say that one thing I’ve taken for granted since meeting Chris is the convenience of a pickup truck. Between him and his friends, there is always someone with some way to move lots of stuff from point A to point B.

Back in my single days, this wasn’t always the case. I did have a hatchback car which I took full advantage of, but a hatchback car is still a car, and therefore has its limitations. Like the time I decided I needed a new TV.

I had just graduated college, packed up all my things, and moved to Los Angeles. No job, no prospects for a job, no plan, and only a tiny savings to keep me fed, clothed, and housed until I found employment. Because the old TV was one of the sacrifices I made in the move, I decided a new TV was in order.

I found one at Wal-Mart for about $300. Keep in mind, this was before the flat-screen era, so this baby was 42” of cathode ray tube-style fun:

(This is not the actual TV)

Seeing as how I had just moved, I had no friends or contacts in the city. I happily let the nice Wal-mart salespeople load up the TV on to my cart, paid for my purchase (hello credit card), and sauntered out to my Mitsubishi Eclipse GS and popped open the hatchback. I realized at once I had a problem:

I couldn’t lift the TV out of the cart to place it in my vehicle. 

I managed to overcome this problem by standing there for a bit, looking sad and lost and confused, until finally one of the skinny teenaged boys that are forever running around collecting the shopping carts came over and the two of us heaved it into the back of my car. I realized that I now had another problem:

The TV was so big that I couldn’t shut my hatchback closed. 

The pimply-faced teenager was looking around, like some bungee cords were going to magically appear. They didn’t. I took pity on him and explained that I wasn’t going very far, so “I would just drive slow” and the kid left to go corral more shopping carts. I managed to sort of keep the hatchback closed by tying it down with a contraption made of elastic hair bands and a plastic shopping bag. I figured it would do for the 8 or so blocks that I had to travel.

I made it to my new apartment without incident, but was again faced with another problem:

How to get the TV out of my car and into my apartment.  By myself, now.

I couldn’t carry it – it was far too heavy. Thankfully I was on the ground floor, so I didn't have to manage any stairs, I just had to navigate from my parking space in the back of the building around to the front door.  In the back alley, there was still a stack of empty boxes that I had recently set out there after unpacking my things. I grabbed a box, broke it down to a flat piece of cardboard, and set it behind my car. I very carefully (re: a lot of grunting and heaving) rolled the TV out of the back of my car and on to the cardboard. Somehow managing not to have it come crashing down on to the pavement.  The cardboard then became a “sled” upon which I dragged the TV all the way around the building and into the front door of my apartment.

It was a successful move. Idiotic, but successful.

Although I must say that story pales in comparison to the time we moved a whole bed – mattress, boxspring and all – using only my friend’s Honda Civic and some ingenuity. But we’ll save that story for another day.

Incidentally, here is a photo of the actual TV, in that very apartment.  We won't comment on the VCR or cassette-tape player stereo system or the Nintendo DS, all of which were already on the verge of being outdated when the photo was taken.

Nor will we make mention of the fact that I owned an actual candelabra and a cat-shaped fan-pull.  The beer mirror that I picked up on a sidewalk sale in downtown Seattle should at least earn me back some coolness points.

Minivan castles

I say, who needs to take the kids to Disneyland, when you can just have Disneyland come to YOU:

Part 3: Dinner and an (improv) show

Maybe you remember that last year we forgot to make reservations until February 13.  And the year before that we didn’t have reservations and ended up with a three hour wait at Claim Jumper in which I was so hungry by the time we got our food I ended up with a migraine, so this year I was determined to make Valentine’s Day reservations early.

I booked us a romantic dinner cruise.  Basically, we get dressed up fancy and eat aboard a cruise ship while it does hot laps around the harbor for three hours.

If you’re not one for Valentine’s Day mushy stuff, I will admit that it’s pretty nauseating.  All these couples playing lovey-dovey and scooting their chairs so they’re sitting on the same side of the table right next to each other and there’s some Barry Manilow playing in the background and rose petals on your table and they greet you with a glass of sparkling champagne when you board.

As you can see, there's even pink napkins and chocolates and candles and such.

One thing we didn’t know when we booked is that the champagne is unlimited.  This turned out to be more of a bonus than we had ever imagined.  And not because we were the ones drinking it.

Our server was very pleasant, but a bit new.  Chris and I chose a bottle of white wine to share.  I told the waiter its name, and he had to look at the menu to figure out which one we had ordered (and it was not some fancy French name, it was a pretty simple American vineyard).  He takes the menu and he’s looking, and he’s looking, and it’s getting a bit awkward because my god, man, you only have 4 options for white wine on the menu how hard can it be to pick out one of four?!

The cruise was just supposed to be dinner and dancing while the lights of the harbor dazzled you from the windows, but it turns out we got an extra bonus:

Seated somewhat near us was a younger couple.  Early on in the night, Chris nudged me.

“See that couple?  They’ve really been knocking back the champagne.  I guarantee they are going to be completely wasted by the end of the night.”

And thus, the show began.  The rest of our night revolved around the Drunk Couple.  And making fun of the Drunk Couple.

So, after about an hour it because obvious that Chris was right and this couple was definitely on their way to being completely smashed.  The woman’s voice became gradually louder and louder, and her hand motions more and more animated.

Then they must have gotten into a fight, because the next thing we know the guy is completely turned away from her, staring out the window at nothing.  And she has her head resting drunkenly in her hands while she is texting her friends on her cell phone.

Chris and I decide to head to the dance floor to dance to a slow song and the next thing we know, Drunk Couple is on the dance floor, making out.  I guess they made up.

After a nice romantic dance, Chris and I return to our seats.  About two songs later, the Drunk Couple returns.

Only they don’t remember where their table is.  

They try a couple empty tables before they realize which one is theirs.  Then the girl spies an unopened bottle of champagne on the table that they sat down at (before realizing it wasn’t their table).  She looks around to see if anyone is paying attention and grabs the bottle off the table.  “SHHHHHH” she says, quite loudly, as she giggles drunkenly.

After a couple attempts, her date manages to coordinate himself just enough to make it into his chair.  They are seated for about 0.2 seconds before she wants to get up and go dancing again.

He doesn’t want to dance.  He wants to leave.  He stands up and puts on his jacket.

Chris looks at me.  “Where does he think he’s going to go?  Jump off the boat and swim back to the harbor?”

Drunk Girl looks up at Drunk Guy.

“You are not leaving!” she screeches.  “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

“Fine, then I’m going to the pisser.” He says.

He disappears for what seems like a really long time.  While he’s gone, she opens up the champagne bottle.  The “pop” sounds really loud in the room, and she looks over at the sweet older couple sitting at the table next to theirs.  “Would you like some?” she offers.  “We’ve had plenty, really.”

They try to defer gracefully but before anyone can blink she’s up out of her seat and chatting their ear off, completely spoiling their tender romantic moment.  Finally her date comes back and the two of them walk back to their table.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!” she slurs at him for like the fifth time.  “Now sit your ass down and then drink this champagne and then we’re going to dance to a romantic song.”

He sits but starts staring out the window again.  She pours him a glass of champagne.  She forces him into a toast but after a half a sip she is ready to go dance.  He wants to sit and stare out the window.

“Fine,” she says, “I’m going to dance by myself.”  She makes a beeline for the dance floor.  He gets up and starts to stumble after her.

“Whore!” he yells after her.

I look at Chris.  Chris looks at me.  “Did he just call her a whore?”

“Yes,” Chris says, “I believe he did.”

Right then Drunk Guy realizes that he was standing in front of the older couple’s table as he was yelling obscenities at his date.  He glances at them and offers a sheepish, “sorry.”

So he heads to the dance floor and we can only assume they are dancing.

That is, until right in the middle of some sappy romantic song, we hear a commotion on the dance floor and see a flash of someone falling down.  And in case there was any doubt, we hear Drunk Girl’s voice wail, “I fell!” and then start giggling.

Chris looks at me.  “This was the best Valentine’s Day ever, honey.  I’m glad we could take this moment to reflect on our love for each other.  And make fun of other people.  But mostly I enjoyed making fun of the Drunk Couple.”

Finally, the cruise came to an end.  Chris and I gathered up our things and got ready to head off the ship and to our car.  But not, of course, before I opened my purse and deftly scooted all the chocolate candies right off our table and into my bag.  I may not have had room to eat them just then, but I certainly could save them for later.

Why do you taunt me, California Lottery?

I mean, really.  Somebody at the lottery print shop is probably having a good laugh at that.  Yeah, why don't we give out the closest possible number to a winner, without actually letting them win anything, of course.

Figures.

Confessions of the directionally challenged

I went to the mall today, and found myself surprised by the crowds.  There were people directing traffic, there were police surveillance vans, and there were very long lines at the store registers.  I don’t know why I was surprised at this – I mean, it’s just two short weeks from Christmas.  Of course the mall is going to be a zoo.

Well, actually, I do know why I was so surprised.  It’s because sometimes I am phenomenally unobservant of the world around me.  I find myself constantly surprised about very predictable events:  holiday shoppers and rush hour traffic and the gas tank getting close to empty.  (It’s not on purpose but for whatever reason, every time the husband goes to get in the car after I’ve been driving it, he gets about two minutes from the house before the gas light comes on.  This is not very fun for him.)

Let’s face it, things like “foresight” and “advanced planning” are just not my forte.  Unless, of course, it has to do with work.  This is something that confuses the husband to no end. 

“I don’t understand,” he’ll say, “how at the office, you’re the girl who always remembers everything.  You can quote entire paragraphs out of reports, you can state the exact date three years ago that a certain event occurred, and you’ve made a reputation for yourself that you are always two steps ahead in thinking of the client’s needs.  And yet, at home, I’m lucky if you remember what time I asked you set the alarm.”

I always shrug because, really, I have no good answer for why this is.

I do try to explain to him that it’s not personal.  That sometimes there are things I don’t pay attention to or plan out that really would be to my benefit if I had.  Take, for instance, my chronic habit of looking up directions at the last minute.

Actually, and this is kind of a secret thing about myself but I guess not anymore since I’m posting it here, but I have a really bad habit of leaving for a new destination and getting about halfway there before I realize that I don’t actually know where I’m going.  As in, I don’t even have a frickin address to this place.  Like, I just get in my car and start driving in the general direction, because I haven’t thought ahead further than the first ten minutes of the journey.

This is how, one time about ten years ago when I was headed to my cousin’s bachelorette party I ended up driving around for three hours before I had to turn back home because I was operating on the mistaken assumption that where I was going was due east of my home, instead of north-east.  By the time I realized how far off course I had driven, my destination was so far away that the party would’ve been over by the time I arrived.

Yes, that’s right, I left the house with nothing more than a general sense of the direction in which I needed to travel.  Which, as it turns out, wasn’t even correct.

I think that is probably the most dramatic of the incidents, but it is certainly not the only one.  Although, with the advent of GPS-enabled smartphones, directions and a map are no more than a click away.  (And with my particular bad habit, this is a definite lifesaver.  We won’t go into how many times I’ve had to pull off to the side of the road and use this particular phone feature.)

Speaking of which, however, I’ve got a company Christmas party to get ready for.  And since I’ve never been to this place before, so I should probably look up the address and directions.  Before we leave the house.  Yeah, that would be a good idea.

The Hangover

I don't know whether it was pager-friendly, but the hotel that we stayed at in Vegas did have an actual telephone bank:

Okay, so I don't know what's up with the, like, 2 phones.  But nonetheless the sign declares it a telephone bank!!!

I just wanted to buy some stamps

I was in line at the post office today, waiting to purchase some stamps. There were two postal workers at the counter, and only a handful of people in line. It should have been a short wait. Unfortunately, it was apparently the day that all the “special” people fulfill their postal needs, because the entire time I was there, one of the workers was helping the same customer. Shortly after I walked in, the second worker finished helping someone mail a package, and the man in front of me went up to the counter. He had a small CD in a plastic case, which he placed on the counter.

“Can you tell me,” he said in his crochety-old-man voice, “what it would take to mail this?”

The postal lady looked at it and replied, politely, “you would need to get an envelope for it sir.”

“Where can I get an envelope? You-all have them back there?”

“Well we have some along our wall over there for purchase, you could probably get away with one of the small padded envelopes.”

Because I was standing between the envelopes and the crochety old man, I grabbed the envelope in question and handed it to the postal worker.

“How much is it?” he asked petulantly.

“It’s $1.26 sir.”

He became agitated. “ONE DOLLAR AND TWENTY SIX CENTS?! For an envelope?”

“You did ask me how to mail it. I’m just telling you how you can do that.” The postal lady replied, in a surprisingly even and respectful tone.

“What if I just put it in a regular envelope? How much are those?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, sir. Those are for mailing letters. This one is for mailing packages.”

“All right then, how much’s gonna cost me to mail it?”

“Where are you sending it to, sir?”

“Well, I don’t have the address.”

“Um, so you didn’t want to mail it?”

“No, I just wanted to know how to mail it. And how much.”

“Okay, well I have to have a zip code to tell you how much it’s going to cost. Do you know approximately where it’s going?”

“Michigandia.” There was a pause while the postal lady gave him a blank stare. “You know, lower Michigan, upper Indiana.”

She set the package and the envelope on the scale, typed a few things into the computer and said, “That will be $1.76 to mail your package.”

The man let out an exasperated sigh and put his head in his hands. “One dollar and seventy six cents?” he muttered loudly, looking at the floor.

“Do you want to mail it, or not?” the postal lady responded, still alarmingly polite. “That’s what you have to pay.”

“So that’s, what, $1.76 to mail the package?”

“Well sir, you still would have to buy the envelope.”

“And how much was that?”

“$1.26.”

The math here was obviously quite beyond him, and the postal lady wasn’t inclined at this point to help him out, so there was another long pause while they both stared at each other.

“Fine,” he said, throwing a five dollar bill on the counter. “I’d like to buy $1.76 in stamps.”

At this point, I had finally met my personal limit on the amount of inane conversation and line-waiting that I could handle for one day. The poor postal lady was still searching through her books of stamps to find some combination that added up to $1.76 when I turned around and walked out, empty-handed.