Japan and Vietnamese Sandwiches

Yes, I realize the only thing that relates those two items is the continent of Asia, which is pretty freakin' large and barely a connecting force.

Japan and Globe-Crossing Girls.

Hello! It's Tuesday, and I leave for Japan in eight days. I have been freaking out about this trip, at least until I found some blogs about Round The World (RTW) trips, especially this amazing girl's blog, and realized that comparatively, my trip is pretty small potatoes. We're going to Japan for twelve days, all the hotels and airfare are booked, I'm traveling with two people AND I have a few contacts in the region. This is a walk in the park compared to, say, an overland trip through Mongolia.

Luxury, Discomfort, and Buckminster Fuller.
I'm reading Tim Ferriss' book The Four-Hour Work Week, which I'm not even going to bother linking to because its everywhere, and it's fascinating--not just for Tim Ferriss' unique point of view and his language structure, which at times reminds me of R. Buckminster Fuller--but also for its use of quotes. Either Mr. Ferriss has done some extensive reading or his editor has, because there are some amazing quotes in there that I have never heard before. A key one is attributed to Jean Cocteau, which I can't find online and can't remember word for word, but it's about how luxury is only within the reach of those who are not afraid of discomfort. I need to print this quote out and glue it on the insides of my eyelids, so I can read it every time I blink. I need to remind myself that a little food and water is all a body really needs. If I'm cold, or damp, or annoyed, or poorer than I'd like, a little discomfort is surely not going to break me. I can refrain from whining or taking it out on those around me, I'm an adult and a citizen of the world. I can do better.

Hopefully I can remember this lofty goal during my trip to Japan with a couple who lives quite frugally and seems to have completely eliminated their tendency to whine. I've never seen the house less than sparkling clean--floors polished and everything--and they are both Serious Career People. It's not like they just sit on their butts at home. On the weekends they clean out their garage and basement--and they enjoy it. Much like the LT, who rushes home and fixes my microwave, saws out my lampshades so they fit non-standard 1940s-style light fixtures, and eagerly tackles bike maintenance, they have the innate ability to LOVE the chores they do, instead of only doing what they think they will love. This has been my big resolution for 2008--to convince myself to LOVE CHORES. So far I can bring myself to enjoy cleaning my kitchen. Still on the list: laundry, sweeping, vacuuming, and purging. Still some ways to go.

Speaking of Purging
Up until now I've collected socks. I can never remember to bring them places, so I end up stealing socks from my roommates, (Hi Noey! Still have a pair of your frog socks!), friends, relatives, and even boyfriends.) I had two plastic bins taking up the bottom of some wire shelving, one for white socks and one for colors, and they were both filled to the brim with mismatched socks, most of them not in pairs. It was seriously becoming an issue. And yet I couldn't throw them out, even the ratty ones. I thought, "Those socks aren't mine to throw out", or "That's a waste of good socks." Yesterday I finally thought, "Why the hell am I treating about five dollars worth of mismatched socks with such reverence?" and performed a sock purge! I now have ONLY pairs of sock that I will USE, no mismatches, no extra socks. It's hard to convey how exciting this is.

Titan Update
Titan has a new girlfriend. She lives across the hall, her parents and I are sharing dog-sitting duties, and they treat the dogs so much better than I do that Titan PULLS on the leash, trying to get to their apartment, every time we go for a walk. I would be way more hurt if I wasn't so happy that he's getting emotional support and stimulation from all different places. When I go to Japan, for those who are curious, he'll be at The Hotel Fory, aka my grandmother's house. Two weeks of dog sitting would be a lot to ask from a couple I barely know, and my grandmother likes having him over.

Final Japan Note

I bought several things for my Japan trip, in the midst of the freaking out (note that I haven't actually cracked a single Japan GUIDE yet, because buying things is easier than reading). Things I've bought include: two pairs of easy-wash, easy dry underwear, two sports bras and two tanks of the same material, and a water-proof, wind-proof, breathable jacket that can fold up tiny. I plan to wear my jeans, take a few light pairs of pants and a skirt or two, and maybe a nice shirt--and that's it. A few toiletries, including the special face cream, but I've managed to wean my hair down to weekly washings with the help of dry shampoo, which I plan to take.

A word on shoes: I'm not sure what kinds of shoes I'll take. I have a pair of nice round-toe flats that I plan on wearing, and of course a pair of slick tennis shoes. (This, however, requires socks.) Should I take a dress pair? Discuss.

Nosebleeds

Dear Blog, I hate nosebleeds. Not the occasional bloody snot--that happens--but the huge, fire-hose type nosebleeds, the kind that tie you to a sink or tub, anywhere that can be cleaned easily, You sit there, holding your nose, as your life force drips out of you, huge drip by huge drip. You count drips. You count sheep. Your fingers begin to cramp. You pray for time to pass more quickly.

Nosebleeds, whenever they happen, are always at the MOST inconvenient time ever. Your nose never starts to bleed when you're sitting in front of your computer, bored. They start when you're in the shower, late for a date already, and then forced to stand in your bathroom for an hour while your nose takes its sweet time clotting. I once got one in a very dark bar with black napkins, which means that no one noticed, not even me--I just assumed my nose was running--as I was dabbing my nose, until I happened to look at T-Town and her eyes were the size of saucers. "You have blood all over your face," she said quietly. Making a discreet exit to the bathroom is difficult under these circumstances. More difficult, though, is stopping a nosebleed when your blood is as thin as water after a couple of drinks. Forty-five minutes later, T-Town came to check on me and as she opened the door, another patron walked by and turned to look at the blood-soaked bathroom in horror. "I'm not a coke whore," I said, trying to allay suspicion. Shockingly, though, mentioning the words "coke whore" to a random stranger is NOT the way to reassure them.

I got a monster one while I was moving two years ago, and I just had one today. I sat at the sink and hoped I wouldn't run out of toilet paper, because I wouldn't be able to go to the linen closet and get more. My mother is susceptible to them as well, although it's different for her--lighter, more frequent. Me, I have no idea why they happen. Stress? I'm not really under stress, and I had an easy, if weird, day. My bank teller hit on me and gave me his card, and the guy at the diner gave me free breakfast. Not a difficult day. And yet, the nosebleed.

I'M A DESIGNER!

Everyone, oh my god, oh my god. In a burst of creativity, I submitted my house to Apartment Therapy's Small, Cool House contest, and they have decided to accept my submission! CHECK ME OUT! No, seriously, check me out RIGHT HERE, and vote for me, early and often!! (Although I'm pretty sure their voting procedures discourage repeat voting.) But seriously, do it NOW, because I only have THREE DAYS TO WIN THE CONTEST. NOW. Go vote NOW. Even Titan will be voting! Run!

A Reminder of Why it's Good to Tread Lightly Upon the Earth

Everyone who is trying to better their behavior in some way needs some reminders, from time to time, as to why in the hell they are torturing themselves in this godforsaken way. In my case, the long and never-ending battle between me and my money received a nice shot in the arm when I learned that my credit score is 714. I was happy I'd spent all that time running when I learned that my blood pressure is now 110/70. Things like that.

Another one of these things happened to me today as I was walking back from the local Starbucks with my reusable mug filled with coffee. When I had first walked out the door, I realized I had forgotten it, and then I made myself go back and get it. And I walked to Starbucks with the pooch and what have you. And then as I was circling around the block, avoiding the construction so I could have more of a Zen moment as I walked, I realized that something else was circling above me. Hmmm, my thoughts ran. That noisy flock of birds is sure upset about something HOLY CRAP THERE IS A BALD EAGLE ABOVE MY APARTMENT.

And indeed there was. He (or possibly she) was rising higher and higher on the thermals as I caught sight of her, and I just caught glimpses of the white tail and head before she got WAY too far up for me to see much of anything. Once she did that, of course, the smaller birds dive-bombing her dropped away and she was left to soar in peace. I gaped after her, awestruck. Birds of prey are relatively common in this area--it's not unusual to see a hawk or two, and I hear we have peregrine falcons as well. And there's quite a few large birds on our bodies of water--my favorite is the great blue heron, which is so huge that if one sits on a bank with its head under its wing, you mistake them for a very large boulder until they move.

Still, a bald eagle! Awesome!

Starbucks: Love.

Okay, small coffeeshops, blah blah, Starbucks burns their coffee beans, blah blah. I get it. But they have this amazing DEAL happening. (And Starbucks almost NEVER has deals.)

You're going to Starbucks. You're getting your fancy latte. And then the nice lady behind the counter informs you that you can get a free flavor and milk option on your fancy latte. Yes, you can have all flavors and milk options FOR FREE. If you buy a Starbucks card. And THEN, if you go register said Starbucks card, and you buy coffee with it from now on, you'll ALWAYS get free flavors and milk options, FOREVER.

My soy cinnamon dolce latte cost me 3.34. I can't remember the last time any drink at Starbucks has cost me less than five dollars. I can't believe they are doing this, and as a side note, they've gone back to their classic brown siren cups, with the totally sexy 70's siren, and what I am trying to say is that Starbucks has totally gone off its meds and you must take advantage of them, right now.

I Spent Three Hours Without A Cell Phone And SURVIVED.

Yes, I know. I can't believe it either.

Happy Friday to everyone! I think I've learned the art of going to salsa without ruining my entire Friday: Stick to one glass of wine. (You think I would have learned this in the five sessions I've had. But no.) Previous Fridays, I have woken up feeling run over by a truck. Today, I woke up cheerfully at 7 o'clock, attended a teleconference, went to two doctor's appointments, bought a piroshky, went to the bank, bought some bus tickets, got quarters for bus and laundry, and walked home. Hooray! (Actually, I hoofed it TO the doctor's appointments, too--I was about three minutes late. Dammit.)

Somewhere in there, though--a combination of coming home at 1 am last night and waking up early this morning and packing my bag for my Day Of Medicine--I forgot to charge either phone. And right as I arrived at my first appointment and tried to check the time, they...died. I spent the next three hours with just my book and myself, no way to call people or know what time it was, hence why I showed up an hour early for my NEXT doctor's appointment after refreshing myself with Starbucks.

Regardless, it was an enjoyable experience, made much more enjoyable by the fact that I don't have to do it again for another year, hallelujah. (For those who care, I'm finally seeing a dermatologist, and I had the Annual Thing coming up, so I scheduled them on the same day since both places are on Pill Hill, within about twenty feet of each other.)

And the most exciting news of the day: my blood pressure is way down, 110/70! Woo! Who knew regular exercise was good for you?

Google: Love.

Who can't love a company that write such elaborate April Fool's Jokes?

http://mail.google.com/mail/help/customtime/index.html

Custom Time! I LOVE IT!

Splendid Debaucherous Nonsense

I really thought I was too old for this, but I have since changed this opinion: you’re never too old to make a fool of yourself on a night of debauchery.

You’re CERTAINLY never too old to make a fool of yourself, but you are also never too old to party like a rockstar; it’s just that you eventually get too old to look good while doing it. In fact, you begin to look ridiculous. But if that doesn’t bother you, then who cares?

On a recent night—and thank Blog these are becoming few and far between—a birthday party that started out tame ended up with a huge dramatic fight between the birthday boy and his fiancé. I got hit on by a pair of quite successful looking lesbians in a Farhenheit GTI, T-Town (an ever-present help in times of trouble) and I bought bottles of champagne at a 7-11, and the Fiance, T-Town, and I successfully ditched some old high school friends by jumping secretly into a cab. At which point we went to my house and drank terrible champagne until 4:30 in the morning. (The next day, the LT said to me, “Didn’t you learn your lesson at the PREVIOUS champagne party?”)

In an amazing sequence of events, I turned out the best for wear and T-Town and I collaborated on breakfast on a fairly reasonable hour (pre-noon), meaning that we didn’t have the added guilt of ruining the whole NEXT day, something I hate. After getting a few things done around the house, I went to VegFest (which I forgot to go to last year when I was ACTUALLY vegan) and joined the Vegetarians of Washington, striking fear into the heart of the LT but to make up for it, receiving a huge bag of goodies from PCC Natural Market and others. At the end of the day, LT and I caught a showing of Stop-Loss, an excellent movie that everyone should see eventually, although you’re allowed to wait until it comes out on video. Powerful, but not too heavy, and well-paced; slow enough to allow the characters to develop like older movies, not like a typical MTV movie. It reminded me of some of the movies shot at the time of the Vietnam War, both about that war and about previous wars, although the pace wasn’t quite as slow as theirs.

A problem about debaucherous nights, though: They’re EXPENSIVE! My goal was to fund Japan entirely with ready cash, and I budgeted about $2400 for this. I may be a little short.

UPDATE: I have a personal fund progress bar up for my Japan Fund. And a little more money talk coming soon.

Smacking Myself in the Forehead

Apparently it is ALSO getting to the point where I post once a week. Whoops.

Moving on! I...well, I...well, hell, I'm just say it: Tickets to Japan for the exact time period that I wanted are now $726. From Northwest Airlines, a very reliable source.

I'll just let that sink in.

This means that I paid $200 more than necessary, had I just waited.

It also means that I should really hold my ground more. I was pretty sure I wanted to wait to buy my plane ticket. Tim Ferriss does it, and according to him he's never missed a day of travel. Also, Metafilter recommended waiting until the tickets were under $800.

OH, well. I learned some things, such as the fact that Fare Compare (that I recommended earlier) really let me down here. I swear when I checked it, it recommended a good ticket price of 1000 bucks. I thought I was doing super well with my ticket price of $925. Now Fare Compare lists a good price at $732.

I also think that the money I paid earlier was probably worth it, if not for my own peace of mind, then for the peace of mind of my traveling companions. I'm traveling with two other people, after all, and it's important in cases like these to take the needs of your travel partners into consideration. While I tend to make hotel reservations as early as I can and then cancel them if need be, my travel partners didn't want to live by the skins of their teeth (Whaaaaaaa?) and wanted to nail down an itinerary. Because I did this, Mrs. Travel Partner did all the hotel research and booked all the reservations herself, saving me LOADS of time, work, research, thinking, you name it. There is a lot to know about Japan.

So, in summary, I'll stop smacking myself in the forehead. There's no point to it. I'm traveling with two other people, of whom I need to be considerate, and I've never traveled to Japan before. Surely not everyone gets it right the first time?

HOWEVER, on the next time that I travel, especially alone, I'll plan out the whole trip, but hold off until a month and a half or so before the trip to buy plane tickets. I will trust Metafilter's opinion. If I feel that I need to make hotel reservations sooner, I will do so, and plan to cancel them later if they don't work. (Probably, though, I won't even make hotel reservations. I'm on-the-fly like that.)

We live and learn, yes?

Confessions From an Apartment Kitchen

It's getting to the sad point where I can taste the difference between onions bought at Trader Joe's and onions bought from the Farmer's Market. Someone please help.

I'm not TOTALLY over the edge yet, though. The spinach dish I had for dinner last night consisted almost entirely of store-bought, "convenience" items, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I made this recipe from America's Test Kitchen, a pretty amazing site, and instead of washing and chopping fresh spinach, like it calls for, I USED FROZEN. And then I used PRE-CRUSHED GARLIC out of a JAR. And if that wasn't enough, I USED LEMON PEPPER IN THE PLACE OF THE LEMON ZEST. All things provided by Trader Joe's, obviously, because I worship at the feet of that store.

And I'm here to say that it doesn't matter. I used a bunch of convenience things and the dish was still pretty awesome, especially with a little fresh-grated parmesan over the top. (I have a small grater from IKEA, of all places, and a hard block of parmesan from Trader Joe's costs about four dollars and lasts forever in the fridge, an affordable luxury). In fact, it was super yummy and an instant addition to my recipe rotation.

Other things that I definitely use that you're not supposed to:

Salted butter. I can't understand for the life of me why Real Cooks Are Only Supposed to Use Unsalted. A little extra salt in a dish surely can't hurt. However, I don't add any salt to the dish while cooking it, even if the recipe calls for it--I salt it at the end.

I have a big hunk of butter (from TRADER JOE's, obviously) that I cut off in chunks at a time and put in an old clean margarine container, which I leave out on the counter. This way the butter stays good, in the fridge, but I also always have spreadable butter.

I thought I had way more kitchen confessions than I do--they've all run away from my brain. Hope everyone's Thursday is filled with good food!

I've Been Tagged, and Why Not?

After YESTERDAY's monster of a post, surely I can come up with seven things about me, right? After all, I love reading OTHER people's me!me!s. I just don't like completing them, and I have no idea why, because I love talking about myself. Maybe I have a hard time deciding which [arbitrary number of facts] I should list?

Oh well. Here goes.

THE RULES:
1. Once you are tagged, link back to the person who tagged you.
2. Post THE RULES on your blog.
3. Post 7 weird or random facts about yourself on your blog.
4. Tag 7 people and link to them.
5. Comment on their blog to let them know they have been tagged.

And the facts about me:

1. I wash my hair once or twice a week, on average. It's a big deal if I wash it three times in a week. While vegan, I did all kinds of crazy stuff: I washed it in baking soda and with apple cider vinegar as conditioner, I discovered that baby powder, arrowroot flour, or cornstarch can be dry shampoos, and I let go of my "Oh My God my hair is so oily I must wash it" routine. Now, although my hair grows very quickly, my color barely fades at all. I have to let it grow out to get new highlights.

2. I produce GIGANTIC amounts of heat when I sleep. Anyone sleeping next to me at a slumber party, on an airplane, in a classroom (joke!) will instantly begin to sweat. It's especially a problem on airplanes, when a seat mate once remarked that he could actually feel the heat waves radiating from my skin.

3. I'm a terrible driver. I'm often distracted, even if I'm not on the phone or fussing with my GPS system--I'm thinking about my novel, or the State of the Union, or dinner, or whatever. Compounding this, I'm terrible with directions and often realize I'm in the wrong lane for something, and so execute completely illegal U-Turns, Swerves, etc. Naturally, I expect the world to accommodate me.

4. I LOVE public transportation. I love it in theory and practice. I have an obsession with route maps and timetables for every kind of public transportation there is, including trains, buses, and ferries. I like to pick up four copies of each kind of schedule in case I lose one. Even taking the ferry to see the LT for a year and a half didn't deter me from this obsession. T-Town is probably moving to Portland, and I'm super excited that she is because it will give me the chance to TAKE THE TRAIN DOWN THERE!

5. I'm long-winded.

6. I am impossible to reach on the phone. I usually have my phone on vibrate for work, and I forget to take it off. Entire Friday and Saturday nights have gone by where I've felt lonely and unloved because no one was calling me, only to discover at 1:00 am that my phone's been off the whole time and six people have left messages wondering if I wanted to hang out. This has happened WAY more than once.

7. I refuse to get anything hemmed, telling myself that I'll just wear heels all the time. Because of this, I have ruined the cuffs of three pairs of pants.

HA! DONE, SUCKAHS! And you thought I couldn't do it!

For tagging, I'm going to GO WACKY: I want my READERS to respond to this tag. Just reply in the comments, and don't worry about length--I've seen veritable essays written in comments before. I'm going to pick seven people, because I have no idea who reads this blog although people TELL me they read it all the time, and if your name is there, please join the fun! I'd love to know seven things about you! And if your name is NOT there, totally respond anyway. I would love to know seven things about just about everyone on Planet Earth.

1. T-Town, who may update her blog again if she has a purpose.
2. LT. I would love to know seven things about my boyfriend!
3. A Parental Unit. (Mom and Dad, you can respond together, or assign the duty to just one of you.)
4. Anna S-B! I'd love to know seven random things!
5. Amy, Amy, Amy. Yes, you, from Pittsburgh.
6. Skydiamonde, who has a blog and can actually post on that if she desires, although please let me know, and
7. Quaotes, which I can never spell correctly.

On Dating Your Father

Okay, all you Neo-Freud-sters, step up to the plate and bat. I'm talking about that moment in every girl's life, at least the life of every girl born past 1920 or so. We've heard, at length, about this tendency that women have to date men like their fathers and we have all SWORN, on our VERY LIVES, that we will not do this. Because, EWWWWWW.

And yet, in spite of our best efforts, this is exactly what we do.

Unfortunately for me, my father is a veritable SAINT, a man who expresses every single good characteristic of the conservative Christian lifestyle--solid, dependable, holds a steady job, puts family first--without displaying any negative traits, like hatred of everyone else, bigotry, hypocrisy, misogyny, homophobia, etc. So in order to date a man not like my father I'd pretty much have to date an prison inmate, or else chase after a series of gay guys who haven't yet come out to themselves. Neither of which I have ever wanted to do, as my father ALSO raised me with a sense of self-respect (and Mom also contributed big time, but this particular post is not about her) and therefore I'm stuck trying to find a nice guy who is not like my father, almost impossible. Or so it would seem.

Because I've learned that women don't date men EXACTLY like their fathers. We carefully avoid men who display characteristics that are OBVIOUSLY like our fathers', not even realizing that the men we eventually choose displays several SUBCONSCIOUS traits that match our fathers' exactly. This post is not about the ex boyfriend of mine who bore my father's actual name, for example, nor is it about when T-Town dated a man (for four years) that bore HER father's actual name, nor is it about the fact that I broke up with a man who watched TV even for one hour daily, because I swore I would never date a man who watched TV when I wanted to take a walk around the neighborhood. It's about the LT, of course. And my father.

My father, despite all his other very charming characteristics--besides all of the above, he does not stay out late, calls my mother every night when he's away, cooks, CLEANS, and wouldn't raise his hand in anger to a housefly--he does have a fault or two. And one I swore I would stay away from in particular: my father, despite tithing regularly and giving to a multitude of other worthwhile causes, is not a particularly generous man.

He gives well to strangers and causes, yes, and that is very important. But my father is not the kind of man who, if out with a group, would offer to pay for the whole bar tab on his card if his friends paid him back in cash "when you can". He does not give the benefit of the doubt in monetary exchanges, he does not offer to "spot" people. At a time in my life when I desperately needed to stay somewhere warm and forgiving, he wanted to charge me $600 a month to rent out my old bedroom. I wish, three years later, that we had both been calmer when we talked about this, because I would have happily paid rent had he charged me a more reasonable price, and he might have happily charged less had he known what the market would bear and understood that I was WILLING to pay a price. This is water under the bridge, but still: this is the kind of man he is. A man who has been on his own since he was 17, a man who put himself through college, a man young for his year and who had to assume the head of household role relatively early; he does not accept slackness or lackadasickal behavior in others, particularly his own progeny.

Meet the LT. A man who has been on his own, ALSO since 17; a man who is young for his year, a man who put himself through college by giving his youth to the Navy and for them traveled 2000 miles outside his tiny hometown to a Super Fancy Engineering School, and fought in a war, and yelled at men twenty years older than he is, and become the kind of man that causes lesser beings to tremble at his approach.

And since he has fended for himself for all of his adult life, neither does the LT accept slackness in others, particularly not his own girlfriend. Saving random people from occasional mishaps, fine. Continually fending off questions about when his girlfriend is going to arrive somewhere and then PAYING for his girlfriend when she arrives because she has no cash, not so fine. Not when it drags on for a year and a half.

I was three weeks late for my own birth and will be late, I think, my entire life. Sometimes I'm better, other times I'm worse. Overall I hope I'm getting better, but introduce new wrinkles, like bus schedules, into my routine and it's a lot worse. On average it might take me five times, FIVE TIMES, taking the exact same route, to arrive somewhere even less than five minutes late, a big accomplishment for me. The first time I have to be at a new place, all bets are off. I might be an hour late, or I might never arrive at all. Lots of my faults I've improved, over time: I'm better with money, I'm no longer in debt, I try to let other conversational partners have the floor once in awhile--so I hope that I'll get better on this, overall. Or it's possible that I might not. My mother, at Over-45, is just now forcing herself to pad her schedule by half an hour for every appointment she makes, and I STILL arrive at our lunch dates ahead of her. (And she is the ONLY person, in the world, that I've ever beaten to a date.) And in spite of my improving relationship with money, I will never, hardly ever, have cash on me.

So when I show up to a St. Patrick's Day celebration half an hour late with no cash, and then ask the LT to pay for me with what little cash HE has, you can imagine how that conversation went. Worse, still, that I asked him in front of our friends. They didn't say a word, but the LT--who hardly ever feels guilt--felt the weight of their unasked questions bearing down on him: Why aren't you buying her at least one drink? Is something wrong?

There was nothing wrong, apart from the fact that his girlfriend had showed up late without money again. He was simply tired of enabling me. And then forced to buy me a beer. My own father, had I happened to be out drinking with him on St. Patrick's Day, would probably have laughed in my face and thanked me for volunteering to drive him home, since I couldn't afford any beer of my own. (This is really an impossible analogy, as my father doesn't drink, but the point is there.) Did the LT eventually buy me a beer? Of course he did, although I took him at his word when he said he didn't have enough cash and found my own beer. Would my father take pity on me eventually in my life? Of course he would, and did; I stayed with them for three weeks (rent free!) at the very start of this blog, and when I was considering buying a condo, he called my phone and left a special message on my voicemail, saying he'd be happy to have me stay with them for free while I looked. It's not that the two most important human men in my life won't take pity on me eventually, it's that they'll probably feel used while doing it. My father is still speaking to me after 27 years; I can only hope that the LT will be doing the same.

What I Get Up To When The LT Is Out Of Town

LT left on Sunday for a conference in Disneyland (some people have all the luck) and after a normal weekend of us running around like chickens with their heads cut off and going skiing and all that, I was looking forward to SLEEPING. The LT seems to have some secret source of one-hundred-percent renewable energy that many governments would probably kill to get their hands on, so no one tell any governments, okay? I swear the man is unstoppable. After working twelve-hour days, he fills every evening with maintenance work on FIVE (5) vehicles, pushes all of his lazier and less disciplined friends (including me) to attend Happy Hour on a regular basis, would be rolling me out of bed at 5:30 to be on the mountain every Saturday at 8 am if he didn't think I'd break up with him for it, and may for all I know be planning his world domination tour.

In California, he spent Sunday night out with his fraternity brothers and Monday night driving to Santa Monica, getting about four hours of sleep each night. I can't compete with that. Who could?

In contrast, I have done nothing that requires leaving my apartment except going to work. Well, and going grocery shopping. And tutoring. And I went running twice. And working out and doing yoga, except that doesn't require leaving the apartment. And I swept out my apartment, scrubbed my tub, returned a package to FedEx, cleaned my bathroom, and baked bread. And I added a few pages to my novel.

But aside from THAT, I did nothing.

Salsa + Wine = Hungover

Okay, Mom, just close the "I'm worried about you" email you're about to start. This is not about judgment. Thank you.

But yes, salsa! I went, even without a date (LT had a work event, and surprisingly, all my friends that I pinged at the last minute actually had lives that they couldn't drop to go with me) and I enjoyed myself IMMENSELY. I went to the lesson first, which was well-taught and easy to follow, and then the dancing started. I was worried I was going to be sitting on the sidelines, with no partner, but I spent very few dances sitting down, even though I'm a rank amateur. Everyone was very friendly, and there were some really amazing dancers. I probably didn't need a glass of wine. I should have just stuck to water, especially on an empty stomach. Because after working out, not eating, and drinking wine, I woke up this morning DEHYDRATED.

But it does not matter! Salsa is awesome!

Ridiculous Advice

While running errands by bus on Friday, wearing my spiffy new J. Crew silk cargo jacket (Ebay!) and my aviators, and feeling almost well-dressed enough to go into Nordstrom downtown--until I tried on a pair of $144 shoes, without which my life was no longer complete--I was trying to juggle about four bags, my phone, and the requisite cup of coffee as I was talking to my mother.

"Hi, Mom. I have to go skiing tonight, go skiing tomorrow, and then go to a big party tonight. Titan will be have company for about two hours out of 36. I'd like to take him to Grandma's. When do I do it?"

"I can help," she said, my enabler as always. "Should I come pick him up at midnight tonight after you're done skiing? Tomorrow morning at 6:30 before you leave for skiing? Should you meet me in Auburn?"

"Let me call LT," I said, and called him.

After I laid out all the options, at great length, I said, "So, baby? Do you think we can fit Titan in the car with all the ski stuff AND Sydney (the girl, not the city) tomorrow morning? What do you think?"

"I think you should take something off your schedule," he said.

WHAT? Who DOES that?

Titan Update

He's good to go! Parasite search results were negative, and as of this morning, he's finally pooping normally. That dog has a stomach of steel. (This is the dog who happily eats chocolate with no problems.)

The parasite test for $50 was TOTALLY worth it, though. I felt much better about the whole situation once I knew that a) he was clean, and b) I had thrown some money at the problem. Such is the weirdtastic nature of the human mind.

On Waiting It Out

WARNING: Post of a graphic nature follows.

Saturday: Titan gets into the trash. He eats about fifteen teabags and two ounces of brie, still in the wrapper.

Sunday: LT, Robb, Titan, and myself go to the dog park. He spends a great deal of time in the water.

Monday: Uneventful.

Tuesday: I awake to A LOT of vomit on my throw rug, both solid and liquid. I take him for his walk, and turns out he has the runs. I assume he has a stomach bug, which he's had before, and withhold breakfast.

Tuesday Lunch: No vomit! Yay!

Tuesday Afternoon: Vomit. Dammit. And he still has the runs.

I clean everything up and put my throw rug in the washer. I call the vet's office. "Well, sounds like he could have an obstruction, which could potentially be life-threatening," says the cheerful woman on the phone. "You can either bring him in here for a drop-in, or you can take to the emergency vet hospital."

I dither.

I call the emergency hospital. "Sounds like he should be looked at. Bring him in. That will $95 for the exam, $50 for the blood work, and $150 for the x-rays."

I dither some more.

The thing is, Titan has had stomach bugs before--not this bad, but they have happened. I normally withhold food for 24 hours and then start feeding him small meals of chicken and rice, easy to digest food, and pretty soon he's back to normal. Titan does not like the vet and I hate to take him someplace and pay them $300 for them to tell me that he has a stomach bug, most likely the case. We wait it out at home on Tuesday evening, me stressing out and calling the LT, who forces me to lay out my options. I decide I am definitely not going to the vet's when Titan almost pulls the leash out of my hand chasing after a cat. Clearly he's fine.

Wednesday: Eats breakfast of rice. No vomiting! Still has the runs. Dammit.

Call the vet's office again. They recommend me coming in to drop off a stool sample, but say he's probably fine for another day. He's drinking water and not vomiting, so whatever it is, it's not a stomach bug but he's not over it. Humph.

This Morning: Drop off sample at the vet's, still dithering. Vet technician calms me down: "If it was an obstruction, it would have already gotten way more complicated by now, even though this is the dog that ate all those teabags and wrapped cheese." Titan is famous! For his stupidity, sadly. Vet goes on: "Has he been at a dog park or in the water recently?" Yes and yes. "It's probably [some parasite that I can't pronounce], it's prevalent around other dogs and especially prevalent around water. A test should prove it."

Well, okay! Awesome!

This afternoon, Titan is still fine, relatively, and enjoying his diet of rice. (People food! Hooray!) Could I have rushed off to the emergency hospital? Yes. Can I afford it? Technically yes. Did I think it was worth it? No. He wasn't throwing up water, a sign of extreme dehydration, and he wasn't lethargic, a sign of a real obstruction. Was I needlessly stressed out? Yes. Was $300 too steep a price to pay for peace of mind. Again, yes.

Before you get all animal-rights on me, keep in mind that I put off going to my OWN doctor to have my arm looked at for at least a month, and a year and a half ago when I had terrible bronchitis, I ALSO put off going to the doctor for at least three weeks, getting so bad that the doctors thought I might have whooping cough and two friendships ended.

A lot of other posts on this topic:

Frugal Homemaker Plus talks about her $1000 rabbit.

Ada Calhoun at Salon talks about her $1300 cat.

Emily Yoffe's How to Say No to Your Vet piece that started it all.

Monday: YAWN.

LT's friend Robb (yes, with two B's) came into town this weekend to enjoy some Pacific Northwest skiing, and then almost punched both LT and myself as we blithely complained about the snow quality in front of a man who lives in a paved-over swamp. (D.C., not New Orleans.) Seeing his irritation at us taking the snow and mountain ranges that we enjoy for granted, I re-thought my feelings on the East Coast. I've always missed it and wanted to move back, at some point, but the reality of "NO MOUNTAINS" hadn't really occurred to me. Ouch. How could I live in a city with no skiing?

In other news, I have eaten nothing but crap for about a week. In Norfolk, having eaten mainly vegetables for three days, trying to get rid of all my fresh stuff, I looked in the mirror and thought, "Hey...pretty foxy." This morning I looked in the mirror and thought, "What the HELL happened to my skin??"

This just in: eating crap? Not good for you! Who knew??

From Zero to JAPAN!

7:00 am: Receive yearly bonus.
7:15 am: Pay off ENTIRE AMERICAN EXPRESS BILL! I am credit-card debt free! Hooray!
12:30 pm: Buy ticket to Japan.
12:31 pm: No longer credit-card-debt free.

If anyone needs information about buying tickets to Japan, definitely call me, because I have done about 86 million hours of research and obsessing, and I have learned about everything there is to know.

1. The cheap tickets (for 864 or whatever) on Kayak.com are a sham. When you go to the site to book the ticket, there's an error message saying they're no longer available. I don't think it's meant to be a sham, but what I've discovered about trying to book tickets to Asia is that some prices are listed with tax and fuel surcharges and some aren't. I think it's a mistake of the code or something.

2. DEFINITELY spend a month or so, if you can, watching ticket prices on various search engines. It'll give you a good idea of what a low price is for the time of year you're traveling. For example, flights to Japan fluctuate DRAMATICALLY between winter and spring; I found tickets for as cheap as 479...if I wanted to go in February.

3. Check out FareCompare.com AND Kayak for international flights. Especially Fare Compare will give you excellent history of pricing so you can see a whole year's pricing at once. FareCompare is how I learned that Japan is so cheap in winter months.

4. Query the hive mind: check Metafilter. I really need to buy a membership to this site, it's awesome.

5. I eventually found my ticket on GatewayLAX, although I also looked at IACE. I paid $925 for a round-trip from Seattle, non-stop, and I think that's a pretty good price for non-stop Japan in May!

So, yes! Had a zero American Express balance today for about five hours! Have bought a Japan ticket! Woo!

Running in Norfolk

Not quite the same as Walking in Memphis, I guess.

I got one of those emails on Monday of last week that read, "How soon can you be in Norfolk?"

I said, out loud at my desk, "WHAT?"

So near the end of last week I packed up all my stuff, flew to Norfolk, gave someone else's presentation--more difficult than it sounds, my boss has a totally different style than I do--and worried a lot about the time change. I don't sleep well in hotel beds and my insomnia flares up dramatically when I switch time zones, and to make matters worse, I was flying a red-eye out there. And so I made sure to bring my shoes and my sports bra and my iPod and some running gear. I touched down about 10 am, completely disoriented and with no clue what day it was, and I had to be at a presentation dry-run at 2 pm. I tried to answer some email and gave up after I couldn't figure out where to place my fingers on the keys. I thought about taking a nap, but wasn't sure I'd wake up and didn't want to ruin the possibility of me sleeping later, so I strapped on my running shoes and took off.

It worked. I saw another runner, way faster than I was, and he nodded at me just like I was a real runner instead of a fake one that had only been running for a month. It was a gorgeous day in Norfolk, sunny and bright, although cold. I'm just now at the stage where I'm running for all twenty minutes. I'll do this for a week and then try to add time. My goal is three miles, five times a week.

In the mornings.

Yes, you read that right. I keep thinking that I should be exercising in the morning--that way I won't have to do it at night. The only problem is, I SUCK at mornings and I think it will take longer, because I'll have to spend more warmup time. At night I won't need as much warm up time, and as an added bonus, it won't be morning. Which sucks on general principles. (Side note: the last time I had a gym habit, I went at night and it didn't seem to bother me. I'm not sure why this seems so different--maybe because I have more going on at night now, between tutoring and happy hour plans. (Hey, gotta make time for the happy hour!)

Anyway, for right now I'll keep running in the evenings and see how it goes. And last night I couldn't find my earbuds--I think I left them with T-Town--and I went running ANYWAY. WITHOUT MY IPOD. I can't believe it.