I’m supposed to be packing this weekend. Grrr.
Loading up boxes is NOT fun. But you know what is even less fun? Being evicted.
Club Sandwiches? Yes. Club Thumbs? No thanks.
29 May
Something I’m thankful for:
Not having clubbed thumbs.
I know, it’s petty. But this morning in yoga, the woman next to me had clubbed thumbs and although (presumably) she’s had 40+ years to adjust to them, she definitely took pains to keep them hidden as much as possible throughout her practice. When our hands were extended toward the ceiling, she would bend her thumb and hide it behind her other four fingers.
And no, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t doing that because she could feel my curious eyes burning holes in them. I was discreet.
Random Thought: Do Cry Babies Win?
27 May
It doesn't look quite so precious when you're pushing 40.
At the airport Monday, I was struck by the number of crying children who were old enough to speak and communicate their needs, but instead wailed.
Instead of getting irritated and leveling the parents with a deadly gaze, I instead wondered: Is crying a natural human reaction that we simply are conditioned away from by societal pressure?
Recently I’ve been under a lot of stress and while I’m not typically a crier, the thought of just sobbing when I hit my limit seems like it would be very cathartic. I am considering field-testing this with difficult clients, demanding colleagues, exhausting friends, slow-moving strangers, and anyone who happens to cross my path when I need to pee.
Discuss amongst yourselves.
List: THINGS That Make Me Happy When I Travel
26 May
I’m reading (and loving) “No Impact Man” right now. Between this book and my recent viewing of The History of Stuff, I’m becoming horrifyingly aware of my consumption of THINGS – and the resources that go into making them. So it is with a certain degree of guilt that I write this list of THINGS That Make Me Happy When I Travel.
• My iPhone: How did I ever fully explore a place before I could take a walk with my iPod playlist, switch over to find out what dining options were close to me, check the hours of the museums and take a picture of the best-smelling flower garden I’ve ever walked through?
• Alarm Clocks with iPod Docks: Yes, I seem to be Steve Jobs’ pimp tonight. It’s true that I Apple. But on this one, I’m just saying: there are three things that I know that make a hotel room feel like home and one of them is your own music pumping out a speaker. The second thing is…
• A Travel Candle: Nothing worse than a hotel room that smells like disinfectant (unless it’s a room that smells like it NEEDS disinfectant). And the third thing is…
• My Slippers: Without them, I pace my hotel in flipflops or walk on tip-toe like a ballerina, scared I’ll contract some disease from carpet that may or may not have a certain stickiness to it.
• My Fuzzy Socks: For in-flight comfort. There is nothing that makes people more envious than shucking off my shoes and peeling on my plush, striped “Where’s Waldo” socks. Not only do they keep my otherwise cold feet warm, they just make the plane feel more homey. And let’s face it – no one is going to ask me to handle their soda or peanuts after they see me slide my fingers between my toes.
• A Bag of Candy: Can’t help it. A trip doesn’t feel like a trip if I don’t have some variety of sugar to toss back by the handful. (And I can be polite and offer candy to strangers, but I’ve never had one accept. Wonder why?)
And in my next life, I’ll come back as a…
25 MayLast night I met my old college roommate Karen at Millenium Park to watch a concert and enjoy the gorgeous weather. (Getting to see Karen more frequently is definitely one of the up-sides of a crazy travel schedule.)
The band was very loud and the lead singer’s voice sounded like someone was squeezing his testicles with varying degrees of pressure. (I’m thinking the event organizer might not want to invite them back next year.)
Even so, the people watching was fantastic. I was obsessed with this girl who looked like she was about eleven and fancied herself a ballerina. She was transfixed by the music, doing all kinds of leaps and pirouettes and kicks in the grass. She clearly takes lessons (she wasn’t that bad) but it was her willingness to show off her moves in front of strangers that struck me. She had a look of such fierce determination on her face, I felt like I could read her thoughts: “Please, God, let someone here be a talent scout who will discover me and invite me to dance with a professional troupe!”
The reason I felt confident about her thoughts is because it wasn’t *that* long ago (if you consider 25 years ago a blip in time) that I was indulging in similar fantasies. Note: I said similar. As a child, I would choreograph ridiculous moves on roller skates and cruise up and down my driveway, pretending I was a rollerskating dance instructor. Because A) That’s a real job and B) There’s clearly a labor shortage in that area. Note: I said fantasy.
Sigh. If only that’s the way my brain worked these days. Instead of fantasizing about an amazing career doing something utterly creative, I spend my nights tossing and turning under the stress of an all-too-real job. The fantasies I have are more about clients suddenly expressing a willingness to truly partner with me instead of trying to score the best possible “deal” for their company.
Alas. It’s probably too late for me to resuscitate my dreams of being a professional rollerskating dance instructor, but maybe I should not have been so quick to smirk at the girl dancing wildly in public. Dreams are a good thing.
pithypants 
