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Four reasons I dislike Finter*

15 Dec

I like fall. And I like winter. I do NOT like the unnamed season between the two, which is where we are right now. I’m choosing to call it Finter. Here are my chief complaints:

  1. It feels like it’s always cold and rainy. Not cold enough for snow, but somehow cold enough to ensure your feet turn into ice cubes that require a long soak in the tub to thaw.
  2. The leaves that fell and haven’t been picked up by the city are disintegrating into massive piles of pulp. In addition to being ugly, they’re super slippery – I’ve almost wiped out WEARING SNEAKERS a half dozen times in the last week. And regardless of how well you wipe your feet, you WILL track this leaf confetti into your home.
  3. The other issue with the leaves: they’re blocking storm drains, so whenever it rains (see bullet #1: always), water backs up until it’s about 3-4 feet away from the curb, ensuring that whenever you leave the sidewalk, you WILL step into at least an inch of standing water.
  4. It’s dark out at 4pm. Tonight I was sitting here reading my Kindle in the dark and I thought, “Well, I guess I’ll brush my teeth and call it a night…” then I looked at the clock and realized it was only 5pm. It felt like midnight.

SIDE NOTE: I just went to find an image for this post and I googled “pile of leaves.” This was on the first page of image results, and honestly, Google, I think you’re kind of an asshole:

Screen Shot 2019-12-15 at 6.57.47 PM

Please, help me: what is redeeming about this non-season? Anything?

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It’s like origami with clothes.

3 Dec

Look, I have no idea how to create and insert a poll on here, but if I did, it would ask the following:

  • When you encounter an inside-out shirt, do you turn it right-side out before donning it, or do you use the act of putting it on to turn it right-side out?
  • Follow-up: how would you categorize your gender identity?

I ask because I’m working on a theory, based on Alan’s look of confusion when I started to put on an inside-out shirt last week and reversed it during the act of pulling it over my head.

“Wait!” he cried. “Did you just put that shirt on inside-out?!”

I looked down at it. “No. It’s right-side out now.”

He shook his head, looking baffled. I shrugged and moved on.

But in the days since,  I’ve hatched a theory, which is this: Because most women learn to put a bra on upside down and backwards, we have hyper-developed spatial logic skills, making it easy to take a reversed piece of clothing and use the act of putting it on to set it correct.

What do you think? Am I onto something here, or was Alan just sleepy? Or am I stretching too much in my celebration of #girlpower?

Now seriously, please respond to my poll.

Also: someone actually made a how-to video, though I think most ladies will agree with me that his skill-level is pretty basic. Anyone worth her salt knows that if you lead with your arms, the effect is more magical and the head-hole follows automatically. No awkward fumbling to put the arms on later like he does. Check it out:

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Pool rhymes with fool. Coincidence?

20 Nov
underwater-photography-of-swimmer-711187

Photo by Sabrina Schulz from Pexels

The year I turned 40, I celebrated by logging over 100 miles in a pool. Not all at once, but over the course of the year. (I know, not nearly as impressive, but c’mon – when did YOU last swim 100 miles?!) I wasn’t a daily swimmer, so I’d hit the pool twice a week and knock out a mile each time. I enjoyed the routine because it was both a form of meditation and reflection and it kept my waistline in check without much effort.

So when’s the last time I swam a mile? Um, probably the year I turned 40. Sadly, I abandoned the habit shortly after I hit 100 miles. I can’t remember the TOP reason I stopped, but I do know it was some combination of the following:

  • I stopped my gym membership to rejoin a yoga studio.
  • I started growing my hair out and was tired of it breaking in my cap and getting discolored from the chlorine.
  • I heard a story about how much pee is likely in a public swimming pool.
  • And then I saw a study that said most people getting in a pool have a nickel-sized dollop of poop on them. Yeah.

Actually, now that I review this list, I’m pretty confident that the final bullet point was the catalyst for my abandoning the pool. I mean, I kind of just dry-gagged just typing it.

And yet – I decided to get back in the pool last week. Maybe I’ve gotten more comfortable with human waste (I haven’t) or maybe it’s that my clothes are fitting too tightly (they are), but for whatever reason, I decided to get back in the pool. 

So here are my observations after a 5+ year hiatus: 

  • I can no longer swim a mile without stopping. That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. A good reminder that if I want to be able to do something at 90, I better not stop doing it now!
  • Miraculously, my suit still fit, but I think that’s mainly because the elastic is shot. While doing the breaststroke I had to look down to make sure I wasn’t *literally* doing the breaststroke – the top of my suit was so loose it felt like I was swimming topless.
  • I still managed to lap someone (who even got in the water after I did!), which made me wonder when she had last been in a pool.
  • Someone had spilled Chewy Mini SweetTarts in the pool and:
    • It was recently enough that they still retained their color;
    • They were on the bottom of the pool – I was surprised they don’t float; and
    • It was a confirmation that children regularly (and recently) use the pool and don’t respect the rules, which means they are probably ALSO peeing in it and NOT showering the nickel-sized dollop of poop off their butts before entering.

So now I’m at a crossroads:

  • Do I go all Sheryl Sandberg and “lean in,” knowing that this form of exercise likely entails ingesting poop? (And yes, this metaphor actually works on a lot of levels – she’s currently defending Facebook for not taking measures to prevent election interference, so…)
  • Or do I throw in the towel on swimming?

Stay tuned.

Lunch Break Overload

16 Nov

I usually eat lunch at my desk, hunched over my keyboard. Bad habit, I know, but my days often don’t even hold time for bathroom breaks, so the idea of having 30 minutes of solitude to dine seems rather far-fetched. (Maybe there’s a new year’s resolution in there?) 

Friday, however, I was forced to venture outside my building to pick up food because I hadn’t brought anything from home. I was in a hurry (ten minutes between calls) so the best option was Pret-A-Manger, since they are located right below my building and have pre-made soups/sandwiches that allow me to just grab and go.

While my break to pick up food was only ten minutes, it still provided enough space to switch gears, make some observations and think about something other than work for a brief spell. Here’s where my head went…

As I walked through our building’s lobby, I saw that our concierge, Frank, had a vase of flowers bearing a sign that said, “Happy World Kindness Day, Cecil!” I stopped briefly to compliment them on the flowers. “Those are beautiful, Frank. But why do they say Cecil?”

Frank – who seems to be eternally cheerful, despite his chronic limp that makes me imagine he was mangled in an industrial accident of some sort before moving to the US – smiled and said, “Cecil is my name.”

“Then why do we call you Frank?” I asked, puzzled.

“That I do not know. Frank is my last name,” he told me.

Hmmm. For almost three years, we’ve been greeting him by his last name? And he’s cheerfully wished us – “his cherished tenants” – a wonderful day anyway? Yeesh. “I’m sorry, Cecil! From here on out, we’ll use your first name, OK?”

“That does sound like a splendid plan,” he answered, smiling.

I was still scratching my head as I walked out and saw a homeless man rattling his cup for change. I looked around and noticed that most people walked past wearing earbuds, not even hearing the coins he shook. I found myself wondering how iPhones and earbuds have changed pandhandling.

And because I’d been working on sales training at work, my mind jumped to the increasing challenge salespeople face in connecting with buyers via the phone. “Interesting,” I thought. “As technology becomes more advanced, it’s harder for both salespeople and beggars to reach their prospects. Hmmmm…”

Before leaping to the conclusion that many salespeople could be classified as salaried beggars, I found myself in Pret-A-Manger, where I grabbed a small tomato-feta soup and was out the door two minutes later. This prompted me to create a quick list of what I love about Pret-A-Manger:

  • The packaging (it’s minimal and recyclable)
  • The efficiency of the purchase (just grab and go)
  • The convenience of the location near my office
  • The fact that they control the napkin distribution and don’t offer them automatically (which I assume significantly reduces waste since most people grab fistfuls of napkins that they subsequently throw away, unused, when left to their own devices)

Do you notice what’s missing from that list of what I love about Pret-A-Manger? Um, yeah – the FOOD. Whoever determines their menu has a love affair with mayonnaise, thus ruining everything but the tomato-feta soup for me.

I momentarily got excited last year when they introduced bacon mac and cheese – until I tried it and realized it contained cauliflower lumps. WHAT? I’m not a pre-schooler who hates vegetables – please don’t sneak them into my food, screwing with the texture and ruining my go-to comfort food.

Actually, on second thought, maybe their menu planner is a mom from Ohio. I’ll keep my eyes out for new casserole options that feature CheezWhiz and condensed cream of mushroom soup as ingredients.

Without realizing it, I was back at my desk, hunched over my tomato soup, answering the phone for my next call, and amazed by how much ground my mind covered in such a short walk. Maybe there’s something to be said for stepping away from your desk…

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What Katie Couric DIDN’T show us…

9 Jun

Time for Ye Annual Colonoscopy. Which always gives me flashbacks to Katie Couric being heralded for being so brave and broadcasting hers. She makes it look simple – which the actual procedure is. What she didn’t spend much time on (and why the procedure has a bad rap) is the prep.

The face of excitement.

The face of excitement.

Since I’ve ranted about the entire experience before, I won’t bore you with a redundant entry. Instead, I’ll just share a few quick updates and observations from this year’s scope. Note: this post may be a bit too much information for you if colons (and their functions) make you squeamish, so you may want to skip it. I consider it a Public Service Announcement for people who must also undergo this procedure.

First – surely they can do better than the 3 Liter jug of GoLytely they prescribe as part of the prep. In fact, I happen to KNOW they can, because about 10 minutes after I started drinking it on Monday night, I had multiple people ask why my doctor hadn’t prescribed the new 1 Liter option that apparently everyone but me is using. My short answer: because he is a sadist. My more considered answer: I probably earned it because I ate an entire bag of popcorn before my last colonoscopy.

Second – I finally figured out a method that makes the prep a wee bit less traumatic. I took the entire jug, a tumbler of ice and a lemon lime Vitamin Water to the loo with me. I normally would NEVER advocate eating/drinking in a bathroom (unless you are in the bathtub with a book), but this method both reduced the amount of wiping needed and the constant “I’m about to shit my pants” feeling that are hallmarks of the prep.

Ready for it? The trick is to sit ON the toilet while pounding the GoLytely so it can just shoot through you. Break it up with a few sips of Vitamin Water so you don’t throw up from the horrible taste, and VOILA – you will be done with the GoLytely in one hour and out of the bathroom in 90 minutes. Using this method, I was actually able to crawl into bed and get six hours of sleep before the second round of GoLytely hit.

Also: I draw a face on the jug so I can feel as if I have a companion there in the trenches with me. It happens to be my enemy, but a companion nonetheless. I think the word is “frenemy.”

GoLytely Face - (c) 2015 pithypants.com

Third – because I am too cheap to take a cab, or too hell-bent to get my 10,000 steps in, or too stubborn in general – I decided it was a good idea to WALK the 1.25 miles to my appointment. This, only three hours after completing the GoLytely. Let’s just agree: probably not the wisest decision. I arrived at the office making a beeline for the bathroom before even checking in. It was my way of playing, “Guess What I’m Here For” with the other patients in the waiting room.

Fourth – turns out, doctors don’t find it funny when you quip, “Guess I’ve flatlined” when they remove your heart monitor and the bleeps turn into one long BLEEEEEEEEP.

Fifth – if I were a nurse, I’d want to work in the recovery room. Because people coming out of anesthesia must say some pretty hilarious stuff. I can’t remember the FIRST things to come out of my mouth after they woke me, but I do remember some of my early sentences being, “Tell me, did I make a big mess in there?” and “Remind me, do I need to fart or something so you can spring me from this joint?” And I really wasn’t trying to be funny. I can only imagine what’s on “best of” reel.

Sixth – everyone should have a sister like Alicia. I went to bed relatively early on Monday night, having completed the first half of the prep and hoping to sleep as much as possible before Round Two commenced at 4am. When I woke at 4am, I found that she had filled my Facebook Feed with anything funny she could find on the topic of colonoscopies – just so I’d have some early morning entertainment to get me to the finish line. Example:

Someecards.com

Finally – everyone should have a partner as awesome as Alan. Not only was he there to collect me and whisk me home at the end of the procedure (helping me navigate since I couldn’t quite walk straight), he showed up with two juices and a box of chocolate bon bons for me to snack on immediately since he knew I’d be thirsty and starving.

Even better – as we walked up the sidewalk to my building and I said, “Um, I think I might be leaking – can you see anything on my skirt,” he just said, “Here – let me walk behind you,” instead of directly answering the question on the table. That’s a keeper, folks!

Poked, prodded and probed – all in all, I’d still say I’m a pretty lucky lady.

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