Lessons From Tessa: Part I

Tessa and I have known each other for ten years. It's a long time. And in that time, she has made me smile, laugh, cringe, and, on occasion, get over myself. But more than any of that, she's taught me many, many things. Here's Part I of The List (because lists are great).

1. Regarding Salt. While salt is the best thing on earth, you must always do a salt test lest you ruin your meal. I learned this over the countless lunches she and I ate together, though I specifically remember a plate of fries and chicken fingers at Jillian's that was tragically inedible after some unrestrained salting. Note also that you need to do thorough testing of a new salt shaker before you truly adopt it as your meal companion.
2. "You get to choose." One of her favorite statements. I love it because it not only empowers you to do what you want, it makes only one person responsible for your life: you.
3. Never underestimate the importance of properly melted cheese, especially on cheese fries. We used to eat at a little restaurant which seemed to not understand this concept, even though Tessa would remind the waitress every time (and I would die of embarrassment on the other side of the table).
4. No relationship is a total waste of time if you can get material out if it. This includes not only those of a romantic nature, but friends, coworkers, neighbors, and relatives. (The best material, by the way, comes from relatives -- and usually not yours.)
5. An over-active imagination that you continue to indulge into adulthood is way awesomer than being regarded as down to earth (i.e., nice but boring and with ugly shoes). I'll take a very strong belief that your hotel room is haunted and you have to cover up certain pictures in it or an equally firm resolve that your animals are all taking when you aren't home.
6. The Importance of Lists. Lists are the most wonderful things on earth and creating them the best use of one's time. Note, however that after creating a list, it's significantly less important to actually accomplish anything on it or to follow it. Nothing better than a list.
7. It's OK to think your animals are your kids. But only if you don't actually have kids.
8. The greatest thing in earth is hitting 35. Young enough to not have too many wrinkles and still able to get away with long hair and shorter skirts without looking pathetic, but old enough to start not giving a shit what other people think. When I was 26, she told me that I would be way happier in my 30s. Told me that everything would get better, every year. Except your boobs. Le sigh. And so it goes.
9. A real friend tells you the hard truth. Ah, the verbal/written stop-being-an-ass slap. I know it well. And every time she's given it to me, I so deserved it.
10. Embrace your inner whack job. Whenever possible, bring it out and share with others. When not possible, let it run wild on the inside while appearing calm on the outside. It'll make achingly boring conversations go by faster.

No better friend than you, Tess.

Just another week

Apparently knocking on the restroom door is too challenging for some people. If one's hands are full of ... nothing(!), one may opt to scream at the door: IS ANYONE IN THERE???!!! That doesn't get old at all. Even hearing it every 40 minutes for nine hours a day. Nope, fresh and awesome every darn time.

I mentioned to a colleague that we plan to rent our house while we're abroad. When she seemed interested, I wanted to be sure that she didn't have unrealistic expectations. She was fine with the circus tent paint colors, and even with the miniscule plot size. The conversation changed course when it came to the kitchen.
Me: It's stainless but there's no granite.
Her: Oh, that's okay. I wouldn't really expect granite in JUST A RENTAL.
I'm sure she didn't mean it as an enormous insult, but ....

Stan answers the phone with a perfectly normal greeting prior to starting the script. The only problem - each and every phone call sounds a lot like this. "Hi, this is Stan Fields. Good morning, my name is Stan and I'm an account manager from ...." And nobody seems to think this is odd. Fifty to sixty times per day. Nobody mentions, "Uhh, hey, buddy. You know what might sound a little better?" Nope.

NuPerson Nancy left a disgusting bowl of revolting food on the counter overnight. Always grotesque but in a state known for the size of its roaches and ants ... sub-awesome move, dude. So even as Jayne and I were completely grossed out by the mess, there rose a tickling pleasure, a lurking joy. Our eyes met and we knew without words: When Claudia the Kitchen Cleaning Commando wandered in, there would be hell to pay. Eyes lit up, giggles escaped. We pretended to busy ourselves until Claudia's arrival. But then ... nothing. A paltry "Is she serious with the bean slop?" And nothing more. Jayne, still pretending to work, sensed my disappointed eyes boring holes into her. Without glancing up, Jayne whispered, "Don't worry; it's not over." And she was right; it wasn't over. It was explosive and beautiful. It was the shock and awe of the very best 4th of July ever. A day worth living indeed. Sometimes we need those rare and beautiful gifts from heaven to balance out the drudgery. So thanks, heaven, for Nancy and her immortal beanmuck.

Banality Defined

A summary of the past month.

"The fact that I just had to purchase a children's small helmet is in no way indicative of the size of my brain."

"I don't understand why you can't just make up an answer like every other man who has no idea what he's talking about. It's an opportunity for you to develop your creative side and for me to hone my bullshit radar. Win Win."

"When the bottle says "One A Day for Men" it definitely does not mean "Two A Day for Women." Trust me.

"I'm not sure that by pulling the measuring tape tighter you are getting an accurate waist measurement."

"We've been on the trail for fewer than two minutes and yet you've already had two technical malfunctions. 1. It's snowing, so a coat seems like a no-brainer and yet, no coat. 2. You live in Rochester; why would you own boots that are not waterproof?"

"Do you think we could eat a slice of the cake and cover the hole with icing and pretend someone else did it? No? But why?"

"I'm really glad we decided to start eating better. Tomorrow. After the cheeseburgers and fries."

"CLOSE THE BROWSER WINDOW BEFORE YOU SEE WHO WON A MEDAL! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING? You can't go online during the Olympics." "Not at all?" "Not at all. Sheesh."

"I know the difference between a human fart and a dog fart."

"I'm rooting for that guy." "Why? He's not the American." "Don't care. Dimples."

"You know what's not fair? It's not fair that you take up 62% of the bed and then Leo takes up another 10% and Mookie takes up 4.2% and that leaves me with 7% of the bed." "You are really bad at math." "You're a bed hog." "No, the DOG is a bed hog. And is supposed to sleep in his cage." "Whatever."

My week

The week started off badly. I saw The Queen of Knowledge barreling down the hall toward me and slammed my shoulder against the wall to avoid contact. Dramatically. The entire left side of my body is now brown and green and yellow. (I don't get pretty black-and-blue bruises.) Why was this violent reaction necessary? I have no clue. Perhaps because I hadn't actually used my vocal chords in three days and wasn't yet ready to speak? No clue. Freak.

How to be popular with your co-workers:
1. Stumble in at 8:30
2. Wander toward the kitchen to see if anybody else has made coffee yet
3. Hide in the ONE bathroom for five minutes waiting for someone else to make the coffee and forcing everyone else to "hold" it
4. Meander toward your desk as the meeting starts
5. Deliver your line, "Ohhhhhhh, wait. Is there coffee? Oh good! We can't start the meeting until I have coffee."

My Glambert-adoring colleagues now have a plant named Adam. Apparently when they went to see him in concert, they yanked some weed out of the ground and now nurture young "Adam." Nauseating, I know. But it's worse to hear on a daily basis:
Fan 1: How's Adam doing today?
Fan 2: Ohhhh, he looks good.
Fan 1: Of course he does. He always looks goooooood.
Fan 2: Cacccckkkkklllllle. You know that, girlfriend.
Me: B A R F.

I might get my ears pierced tomorrow. Maybe. I had them pierced when I was in high school (yes, I was the Last Girl in my class to have pierced ears). And then in college, like every other 18 year old, added a few more earrings. I permitted the extraneous holes to close up, but finally the originals got infected and closed, too. I have really short hair so I'd like to wear earrings if for no other reason than to announce myself as a huge woman rather than a large man; it's admittedly kinda tough to tell right now. So we'll see if I actually do this thing. A couple of years ago I was going to get a tattoo. Absolutely definitely positively going to get a tattoo. Then I had a couple of VERY minor outpatient procedures which should NOT have been a Big Deal at all. But they were a Big Deal. No, they were a CRAZILY RIDICULOUS HUMONGOUS DEAL. And I realized I couldn't take the pain of a tattoo. So we'll see if I get my ears pierced. Not that it's really about pain per se. It's more the fear of infection. I mean who knows if that gun is clean? And they say that piercing with a gun is the worst way in the world to get pierced. But no way am I cool enough to go to a tattoo parlor and ask for pierced ears. I'd feel like an idiot. Plus they're in the bad part of town. Although the gangs hang out at the local mall so that's not exactly the good part of town. Or maybe my skin is the kind that rejects pierced jewelry: I read about it on the web so I know it's real. That sounds like a lot of excuses. We'll see.

By the way, if you're on the phone with a client, you shouldn't say COOL. You must have alternative responses because COOL isn't the answer to every question. COOL in fact isn't a response at all. And it should never, ever be repeated 27 times on a business call no matter how young and hip you think you are. Freak. Oh wait, he just said, "Cool, man." Not sure if I'm going to count that as #28 or if I should start a tally of how many times I hear CoolMan today.

This weekend I'm going to try to make spring rolls. We used to get delicious ones at a Thai restaurant in Rochester. (It might or might not have been the same place where Gretchen saw the woman without shoes. In my imagination, it's the same place.) Anyway this place that may or may not be The Naked Feet restaurant had great fresh spring rolls with this wonderful green interesting-but-not-too-spicy dipping sauce. So I'm going to try to make them this weekend (despite the fact that I must brave the Asian market to do so!). I found instructions on how to fold them so that one end is left open; then after you make all of them, you "plate" them open-side-up in a tall bowl so that it looks like a floral (foodal?) arrangement. I'll let you know how that goes. Because I know you're dying to find out.

Three trips

Travel creates memories, both good and bad. The Hubs and I haven't traveled extensively but we've shared our ... moments.

When we flew to Santa Barbara (on-the-cheap and in pre-9/11 skies), the flight attendant literally dropped our meals on our trays and grunted, "Here's yer food." A decade later, The Hubs knows that whenever I carry food to him, he'll hear those three little words that warm his cockles: "Here's yer food."

One year we traveled to St. Thomas during the off-season. Negative: it was hotter than Hades; positive: we were the only two clients on a snorkeling trip aboard a beautiful old schooner. Although we were smaller people then than we are today, we weren't by any means average-sized people. A smallish man, the captain/owner of the schooner cautioned us both as we entered the water that he was neither young nor strong, "So don't go strokin' out on me." His care for our well-being (and his insurance premiums) was awe-inspiring, and his sentiments are repeated on the rare occasion when one of us puts forth enough energy to actually sweat.

Our first trip to St. Croix found us at a loss for understanding the lilting local West Indian dialect that is both similar to and different from what most of us think of as a Jamaican accent. When locals addressed questions to us, our responses were frequently non-committal noises somewhere between yes and no. Our hope was that one would assume the "right" answer and move on. Finally bored by the inability to communicate, The Hubs blathered on at length to a St. Croix local about some arcane piece of island trivia he'd read in a book. The only words we understood in two weeks were when the West Indian threw back his head in laughter and said very clearly, "You writeen' your own history now, mon." Yes, mon, he tends to do that.