Mr. Gobbles

During my Senior year of college, I interned at a company in Kendall Square in Boston. The building I worked in was more or less a "U" shape, with a small courtyard where the smokers would gather. For weeks, I drove to work, swiped my access card, parked in the lot, swiped my access card again, and entered the building; each day like the one before. Then, one morning, I walked into the building and happened to look into the courtyard to my left. There stood the largest, proudest turkey I have ever seen. It was standing in the courtyard, staring at itself in the reflection of the windows, its colorful feathers puffed out. I practically ran to my office to share the news with my officemate. This was, by the way, February in Boston, the temperature rarely above freezing. "DID YOU SEE THE TURKEY IN THE COURTYARD??" He barely looked up from his computer. "You mean Mr. Gobbles?" "He has a name!?" "Sure, he's been here for years. He just looks at himself in the windows all day long." My mind swam with questions. Where did he come from? Where does he live? Why is he in a city of all places? Is he someone's pet? Isn't he cold??

To say Mr. Gobbles was the largest turkey I've ever seen is not hyperbole. I would never want to be face to face with that thing. But he intrigued me. He seemed to completely ignore all the people, cars, and concrete surrounding him, and focused only on his reflection (presumably thinking it was another male). I've never known a turkey to be described as regal before; clumsy, awkward, even tasty, sure. But Mr. Gobbles was a regal bird. He'd strut around the courtyard, flashing his colorful feathers, putting on a show for anyone who would watch.

He had become somewhat of a mascot at the company. At some point, long before I'd arrived, he stopped being "that turkey in the courtyard" and became Mr. Gobbles. Everyone at the company accepted him as part of the landscaping, walking by without a second glance. Everyone, except new people like me, that is, who took every opportunity to watch him. Eventually though, he became just another part of my workday, his presence no longer novel. He was still an anomaly, a great story to tell, just not something to marvel over each day. 

I stumbled across this article today. It seems his mate and offspring have made Kendall Square their home. I know Thanksgiving is a day to be eating turkeys, not reminiscing about them, but every year around this time (ok, yes, fine, while I'm eating one of his brothers (or sisters)) I think of Mr. Gobbles and wonder how he's doing. 

Have a happy Holiday, Mr. Gobbles and may you never end up on a Thanksgiving table.

Some thoughts on Sunday

Sundays are sleeping in, bagels, long runs, brunch, bellinis, lazy, two-hour naps, getting lost in a good book, recuperative, relaxing, sunshine, errands, football, no makeup, dinner with the family, dreading Mondays.

What do Sundays mean to you?

An Overdeveloped Sense of Empathy

Have you ever bought something just because you felt bad NOT buying something? I've been there. Too many times. I'm too nice. I know I am. I want to please everyone, all the time. So, when I'm shopping for something in particular, I usually refrain from asking for help or advice in a store because I end up feeling terrible if I don't buy something. In May, I was looking for a dress for my bachelorette party. We were going salsa dancing, so I wanted something fun, but not too restrictive, different, but not weird. I went into a store on my way out of the mall after a particularly unsuccessful shopping trip and was met by a sweet, helpful salesgirl, about my age. I explained to her what I was looking for and she came back with piles of dresses and shoes. I was overwhelmed by how genuinely excited she seemed to be helping me, but let's just say we didn't have the same tastes in dresses. Most of the dresses she brought over were matronly, or more flamenco, and less salsa. Or just plain ugly. I tried my best to hide my feelings about the dresses and thanked her profusely for her help. Each time I told her I didn't like a dress (or rather that it "was super cute, but didn't really look that great on me"), her face seemed to fall a little more. She was actually breaking my heart. It wasn't one of those "Oh no, I'm not getting a commission" sort of look. It was more "she doesn't like my taste. Maybe I don't know what I'm doing" looks. I swear, I almost bought something just to make her happy (and then return it later to another location). Has this ever happened to you? Please tell me it's not just me who avoids salespeople at all costs just so I don't have to hurt their feelings. I'm sure I read WAY too much into this and these people end up forgetting about me the second I leave the store, but I always worry that I'm hurting someone's feelings.

This overdeveloped sense of empathy is most problematic at craft fairs, or farmers markets, where the merchandise has actually been made by the seller. Typically, at these places, I follow the crowds, never going up to a stand by myself. This way, I avoid being singled out, having to smile politely, apologetically, and leave empty-handed. Normally, I hate crowds, but in these situations, I welcome them and the anonymity they promise. 

There is a seasonal farmer's market in the next town over every Monday in the Spring, Summer, and early Fall. Two local farms have large stands, piled with watermelons, peaches, radishes, tomatoes, corn. One farm stand has lower prices than the other. Logic and simple math would tell you to buy from the cheaper farm stand, thus saving money. What do I do? I buy from both, every time. I tell myself it's because I'm trying to support local farmers and really, how could I choose between the two? But really, it's because I don't want to hurt one farmer's feelings by passing over their stand and going straight to the other. So, I buy peaches and tomatoes from one, watermelon and potatoes from the other.

This is why I started shopping more online. I actually prefer the tactile shopping experience of retail shopping, feeling the clothes, trying everything on. But online, there's no salesperson or vendor to disappoint. Although, now I return items much more often (usually in-store because it's easier), which causes another issue: that awkward situation wherein the cashier asks why you're returning it. I never know what to say. "I just didn't like it" just sounds mean. What is wrong with me?

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Everyone has certain things, memories, people, places, that bring back warm, happy, childhood memories. Mr. Rogers is one of those things for me. And if you grew up in the States and were allowed to watch tv, chances are, he is for you too. (Unless you're Kurt who thinks, and swears he always thought, Mr. Rogers was creepy.) Watching television was allowed at my house, in moderation of course. Most of my memories are of playing outside with the neighborhood kids in all types of weather. But the tv was on, tuned to PBS or the Disney Channel, whenever I was inside. And I loved Mr. Rogers. I can't even begin to tell you the many things I learned watching his show. Even now, seeing old reruns brings me back to a simpler time when the biggest decision of the day was whether to play freeze tag or TV tag.

I came across this article today (thanks Ruth!) that only solidified my warm and fuzzy feelings toward that kindly be-cardiganed man. These days, it feels like we too often find that our childhood idols were less upstanding citizens and more flawed, dishonest people, nothing more than actors playing on our emotions. It's comforting to know that somone I admired and loved as a child was truly everything he seemed to be, and more. Let's face it, we could all stand to be a little more like Mr. Rogers, a little more neighborly.

Looking Good Vs. Seeing Well

I am getting Lasik. Or rather, PRK, which is akin to Lasik. Here's a little background: I started wearing glasses in the 3rd grade and have worn contacts since I was 13 and convinced my mother after YEARS of begging to let me stick little round pieces of plastic in my eyes, (I got them the day after I got braces. It was the braces that did it in the end, I think. Glasses she saw no problem with, but glasses AND braces AND an unfortunate bob-like haircut AND the awkwardness of 13? Oh no, we couldn’t have that). I have wanted Lasik since I first heard about it years and years ago. Of course, my eyes were still changing, so I had to wait. And wait. And wait some more. I am now at the point where the astigmatism in my left eye is so bad that contacts can no longer correct my vision fully (Not to worry, Lasik still can) and my left contact moves around all day long while I pretend to ignore it.

About a month ago, Kurt found a deal on Groupon for almost 60% off Lasik at one of the most reputable Lasik places in the area. He called them to confirm and after being reassured there wasn’t anything sketchy going on (they’ll refund your money if it turns out you’re not a candidate), we bought them and made appointments for consultations. Ok, he bought his and made his appointment while I argued with myself, trying to decide if I should. My thoughts went something like this: Should I get it? I don’t think I’m a candidate. My prescription changed a TINY bit last time. But maybe it’s just because my eyes are strained because contacts don’t work anymore. Oh, screw it, I’ll never find a deal like this ever again. THEN, I bought my groupon and made my appointment.

By now, I'm sure you’re all aware that I have some issues. I don’t like people touching my neck, or my belly button (I don’t think you knew that yet). While (surprisingly) I have no qualms about touching my own eye, it creeps me out to think of a laser, a BEAM OF LIGHT, touching my bare eyeball. Actually, what I worry about is that I’ll flinch or move and the laser will blind me. That’s really what I’m worried about if I’m being completely honest. Nevertheless, I went to my appointment to find out if I’m a candidate. I expected a very lengthy, indepth testing process. This is my vision we're talking about after all. Instead, I sat in front of two machines; one of which somehow automatically focused an image to perfection to determine my prescription, the other took 50 pictures of my eye in the span of about 3 seconds to determine the thickness of my cornea.
 

(As a sidenote, my prescription is really bad. Every new eye doctor I go to, and this one was no exception, feels the need to tell me just how bad it is, as if I've never been told that before. I can see clearly 2 inches in front of my face and closer. That's it. The technicians and doctors never seem to take this into consideration. This particular technician took my glasses from me, had me take out my contacts and said, "Ok, now look at the pinwheel." "I see a white blur." "Oh, ok, well it'll become a pinwheel." Then she gave me reading material on Lasik. Because, you know, I can read it perfectly fine. I am at an eye doctor's office WITHOUT MY CONTACTS IN. I also never make eye contact with the doctors during this process because I have no idea if they're looking at me or not. So to avoid looking socially awkward, I look away...and then manage to look socially awkward because I'm NOT making any sort of eye contact. Does anyone else have this problem? Just me? Great.)

After the two incredibly technologically advanced exams (I consider myself an intelligent person, but I still don't understand how either machine does what it does), the doctor came in to speak with me. She began by telling me how bad my vision is. Really? I had no idea. As it turns out, my cornea is too thin for Lasik (who knew?), but I am a candidate for PRK. It's apparently safer, the same price, and easier for the doctor's (I don't know about you, but when I have a major surgery, I always care about how easy it will be on THE DOCTOR). So why doesn't everyone get this? Why haven't I ever heard of this procedure? There is significantly more downtime and discomfort afterward. Without going into too much gory detail, instead of making a flap like they do for Lasik, the doctor will perform the surgery directly onto my corneas, essentially scratching them. The downtime and pain are similar to having a scratch on your cornea if you've ever felt that (which I have not). I will be out of commission for 4 days and should have 20/20 vision after a week or so. So am I doing it? That would be a resounding YES. I'm looking forward to waking up and being able to see, to opening my eyes underwater again, to not having to blink a gazillion times a day to readjust my contacts. Even if they had to take my eyeballs out of their sockets to perform the procedure, I would still be doing it.

One of the hardest parts of having this procedure has been the scheduling. I can't wear my contacts for 10 days straight before it, which meant it had to be scheduled after my half marathon and after New Years (who wants to party in glasses?). AND, I can't wear makeup for THREE WHOLE DAYS before the surgery. I think I've done that once since I discovered mascara in 8th grade and it was only because I was uber sick and in bed for 3 days straight. I will actually have to go out in public, to work, without makeup on. It is THAT, and not the wearing glasses for 10 days nor paying a doctor an obscene amount of money to scratch my corneas, nor the "intense pain" that a "few" people experience afterward, that I'm most worried about. At least I have my priorities straight. Right? I scheduled the procedure for January 19th and have been counting down the days ever since they confirmed the date, planning, of course, to avoid as much human contact as possible.

So here's my question for you. Have you or do you know anyone who had this alternative to Lasik? How did they fare? Have they been blinded for life? Actually, if they have, don't tell me. I think I'd rather not know. Just give me the good stories.

No Real Than You Are

Does anyone else find this hilarious? And perhaps a little creepy? Just me? Ok, then.

Apparently, a giant Lego man has washed up on the shore of a Florida beach. I really don't know what to say about this. Where to begin? First of all, the grammar nerd in me is writhing in pain looking at that sentence fragment written on his shirt. If you're going to go through all that trouble to make a giant Lego man and find a way to have him wash up on a Florida beach, causing a national sensation, wouldn't you want to make sure your grammar is correct? 

I honestly thought I had mistakenly stumbled across The Onion website when I saw this. The headline is the best part. I love that he's being held "in custody." As if he were real. Or is he?

One thing's for sure; it will be haunting my dreams tonight. The sentence, not the giant Lego man, in case there was any question.

I Have Created a Monster

Last Friday night, Kurt and I decided to be productive and run some errands. We are one wild and crazy couple, let me tell you. It's Friday night? Let's go crazy and buy some furniture. While we're at it, why don't we get a cane and some dentures as well!

I've been wanting a little end table to go next to our armchair in the living room. Do you know how expensive furniture is? At least, any piece of furniture I like. I have very expensive taste, but my lack of funds usually means I try to make do with what I have or what I can fake to look up to my standards. I am beginning to see the appeal of flea markets and discount stores. We headed to TJ Maxx. And this is where it gets weird. Kurt is now a full-fledged "Maxxinista". Maxxinisto? Whatever. Either one. He now loves TJ Maxx.

A word on TJ Maxx: I get stressed in these stores. The lack of organization alone gives me hives. I shiver just thinking about the complete randomness that is their clothing selection. Larges are mixed in with smalls, Calvin Klein dress shirts next to flimsy, poorly made halters. It pains me. It really does. I also, inexplicably, feel dirty, like actually covered in dirt, every time I walk in. But, on the rare occasions I'm in the mood to dig through racks of discount clothes, I head to TJ Maxx and almost always walk out with some ridiculously discounted item. The one section of the store I love is the furniture and home section. You can always find a great price on something you absolutely need, even if you didn't know you needed it before you walked in.

TJ Maxx is usually hit or miss for me. I never have high hopes for furniture there, but when it's a "hit" day, it's pretty fabulous. So, on a mission for a new end table, we headed to the furniture section. And Kurt fell in love. We didn't find an end table (I found countless other pieces of furniture I loved but could never fit in our tiny apartment), but Kurt found the following items: a canvas picture, a paper towel holder, a cheese slicer ("we NEED this!"), slippers, an antiqued globe (no, not an antique globe, but instead, one that has been made to look antique), an oversized hourglass, and Darrel Lea Soft Eating Licorice. "TJ Maxx is awesome!" he yelled. Logic eventually won out and we left the store with just the essentials: the paper towel holder, the cheese slicer, slippers, and licorice.

What about the end table, you ask? I had a slight epiphany when we returned home from our fruitful (depending on whom you ask) excursion. We had an old, miniature chess table sitting in our bedroom, covered with random things that could be placed elsewhere. This little chess table is now our end table. I kind of love it.

(By the way, I just discovered CB2. As in Crate & Barrel 2! Now, I love Crate & Barrel, but cannot afford nary a tea towel from that store. I am frequent visitor to the outlet store in Cranbury, NJ where I can at least buy a tea towel, but I had NO idea there was a discount Crate & Barrel! It's like Crate & Barrel and IKEA met and had a baby. A beautiful, fashionable, colorful, reasonably priced baby. How has no one ever told me about this AMAZING website? I mean, most of the stuff is a little modern for me, but mixed in with comfy pieces? Eclectic perfection.)

Best Onesie Ever: The Babe With The Power

If you have no idea why this onesie is the Best Onesie Ever, go to Netflix and put Labyrinth at the top of your queue. Stat.

If you are a child of the 80's and have no idea why this onesie is the Best Onesie Ever, SHAME. ON. YOU.

If you would like to purchase the Best Onesie Ever for your Babe With The Power, click here.