Black Friday Fun

Every year, for about the past ten years, my aunt, my sister, and I go shopping on Black Friday. I know it sounds crazy, but it's not as bad as people think. We normally get to the stores around 10:00, when everyone is leaving. The crowds are never that bad and the sales are phenomenal. This year, my cousins' wives joined us and we went to Cherry Hill Mall. I have to say, the absolute worst part of Black Friday is trying to park. I really think malls would make a KILLING if they had valet parking. I would definitely do it. It would be worth not having to deal with maniacal drivers whose only goal is to beat you to every open spot. I swear, the normal rules of parking lot etiquette go right out the window on Black Friday, and really, the rules are few to begin with: if someone has their turn signal on while another is pulling out of a spot, they have the right to that spot, etc. Parking lots on Black Friday are a complete free for all. I think next year, I'm starting a valet parking company just for Black Friday. Let me know if you want in.

This year, the deals were even better than those in the past. I'm assuming companies are desperate to get themselves out of the red by the end of the year, and just want people in the stores and buying. The five of us trekked through the mall, heavily laden with our many purchases, and by the end of the day, were utterly exhausted. The absolute best part of the day was not getting 40% off at Ann Taylor, or my sister getting 40% off on her scratch-off ticket at Steve Madden. It actually had nothing to do with a purchase at all. While at H&M, my cousin's wife was trying on sweaters in front of the mirror. The line for the changing rooms was long and she was wearing a tank top under her shirt, so thinking nothing of it, she took off her top shirt and placed it on the rack next to her in order to try on the clothes she had. Five minutes later, she calls me over, "Have you seen my shirt??" Someone had taken her shirt off the rack! We spent the next 10 minutes searching for that shirt on other racks, in people's arms in line for the dressing rooms, in line to buy. I even yelled to everyone in line to check their items for a striped shirt from Old Navy. They just looked at me like I was crazy and checked nothing. Finally, I saw a girl in line for the register with the "stolen" shirt. I went over to her. "Excuse me, but is that shirt from Old Navy?" Naturally, being at H&M, she gave me a strange look and said, "Um, no." I took it from her and looked at the tag. Sure enough, it said Old Navy and I explained the situation. She apologized and gave it back, still looking completely confused. I would have loved to have seen her face when she got up to the register and was told it was not an H&M shirt! The moral of the story is to always keep your stuff with you. If you're trying on things throughout the store, put your shirt in your bag, so no one mistakes it as merchandise.

I'm still reading The Geography of Love. Haven't gotten too far since I've been crazy busy for the past five days, but I do have another recommendation. Last night, I went to see The Nutcracker with some friends from work. One of the hostesses at the restaurant was in it (she was amazing, by the way) and the owners bought us tickets. I haven't been to the ballet since I was a little girl and I was so excited to go. It definitely lived up to my expectations and got me in the Christmas spirit. It is absolutely amazing to me the way these people can dance and move their bodies. The time and dedication that goes into something like that is incredible. So this holiday season, get in the Christmas spirit and go out and support the arts.

Love

"God never promised life would be fair or even that life would be pleasant - only that you do not have to go it alone."

- The Geography of Love, Glenda Burgess

I'm reading The Geography of Love right now. This sentence made me stop and think. People look to religion for answers, concrete responses, physical things, problems to be solved. I thought, what if God is only there to provide love? That might not seem enough from religions that boast an omnipotent being who rewards humans for good behavior, but to those who are unloved, it might mean everything. All this time, for centuries, people have looked to God for solutions, angry He could not provide more. But what's more than love? Love, hope, is more powerful than we choose to believe. I believe it's life-saving, not just life-making. Even Harlow's monkeys were distraught and depressed without mothers, without love. All it took was the illusion of love, the hope that their mothers were there, in the form of a fur-covered tin, to bring happiness and comfort. Even if God is someone invented by religion, the illusion of the love and hope he offers could be enough to give comfort.

People often speak to the power of prayer and hope performing miracles, prayers answered. But I think the prayers themselves are the answer. Hope, love, optimism can do wonders, even perform miracles. I think the strength of love should never be underestimated. And if that's all God provides, maybe that's enough.

On my nightstand:

Since my last post, I've read The Story Sisters and am now onto The Geography of Love. The Story Sisters was good, though I wouldn't say great. The main protagonist acted out, was manipulative, even mean. She wasn't a strong and I found I really couldn't relate to her. She frustrated me and angered me. Although I guess that could be considered a great book since it evoked a strong emotion, but I didn't enjoy it as much as I have other books. I enjoyed the beginning and the end, the middle just frustrated me.

The Geography of Love, on the other hand, is great. It's a memoir by Glenda Burgess, no one I had ever heard of. It's sweet, real, and touching. It was lent to me by a friend, who told me it made her cry, which is why I haven't picked it up until now. I'm tired of being the crazy crying girl on the train. But I had finished my book the other day and the train station stopped selling magazines, so I needed something to read and that book was in my car. And now I can't stop even though I know it'll make me cry pretty soon. It's amazing. Don't be afraid like me, and pick it up.

New advice

On my way home from work last night, I got a text from Kurt about the new recommendations from the government about breast cancer screening. A federal task force is telling women not to get mammograms starting at age 40, that they should wait until age 50. Furthermore, a mammogram isn't needed every year, but every two years. Check it out here if you haven't heard about it: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/33974452/

When I got home and read about the new advice, I was appalled, but I tried to be objective. I read the facts. Beginning yearly mammograms at age 40 costs money, saves only one life in thousands, and leads to countless "scares" and unnecessary biopsies. I get it. I'm a practical person. I understand the financial issues with this. But I am also a woman, and a woman who has lost her mother to Breast Cancer. I think I'd rather have a "scare" than wait ten years and find out I have cancer and that's it's too late. What's wrong with being a little liberal when it comes to Breast Cancer screenings? Breast Cancer is the most common cancer in women. I think that's reason enough there. The thing that really got me upset was when the task force said that self exams do no good, that they are worthless. I have to disagree wholeheartedly on that one. I am not a doctor, but come on, anything we can do to catch it early should be done.

My mother was 48 when she was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer. While she only survived another 5 years before a second bout killed her, if she had waited until she was 50 to get a mammogram, she might not have had those extra years. Before her, my family had no history of Breast Cancer whatsoever, but the doctors said they thought her cancer was genetic. So how can they say that women without risk factors shouldn't be tested? We don't even know what all of the risk factors are. We know so little about cancer and what causes it that I'm not sure how they can be so sure of themselves. I know they did extensive testing and research, so I'm trying to see the "business" side of it, the scientific side. Saving one person out of thousands is not enough to support expensive testing. But what if that one person was me, or you, or your mother or sister? Why is that one life considered less important because it's only one?

I think it's important to listen to your body and to trust your doctor. If you disagree with your doctor or think something is wrong, get a second opinion. And please continue to do self-exams and get mammograms. I know it took a lot of guts for these scientists to come out and say what they did and I'm sure they believe it, but I don't. It's always better to be safe than sorry.

I am a Samoa-addict

Hello, my name is Amy Ricci, and I am a Girl Scout Cookie addict. I have a problem. I LOVE Girl Scout cookies, specifically Samoas. When I say love, I don’t mean the sweet, innocent, exciting love, I mean the all-consuming, addicting, needy type of love. Today was Girl Scout cookie day at Random House. They put up flyers last week advertising this momentous day and I’ve been anxiously awaiting the arrival of those green clad, patch-covered girls. During a meeting today that was running late, I worried that I might miss out on the “good” boxes. Once the torturous meeting ended, I raced down to the cafeteria to get in line. After throwing some elbows and getting myself a spot at the front of the line, I happily walked away, my wallet lighter, but my bag heavier. I was overjoyed. At Hale & Hearty, after suffering through my tasteless salad, I opened the first box. Oh, the joy of the first bite of the year. That’s where this pleasant little story turns ugly. It’s barely an hour later and I’ve already made it through half a box. I feel sick, as though if I eat another, I might explode. But still I want more. I can’t stop. I put the box away, out of sight, but I can hear it calling me, taunting me, mocking me. I hope to make it home before I overdose.


On my nightstand:
I'm almost finished with Firefly Lane by Kristin Hannah. It's a beautiful, touching story about the friendship between two girls. It is incredibly well-written and real. Every ordeal, every fight or shared secret, reminds me of my life and my friendships. It's definitely a tear-jerker though. For a week and a half I've had to hide my face while blubbering like an idiot on the train, trying to sniff as quietly as possible. (And when I cry, I can't hide it, it shows in my face. My nose gets red and my eyes get puffy almost instantly. It's these days when I wish I was one of those people who look serene and beautiful when they cry. I am definitely not one of them). I'm sure half of my fellow-commuters think of me as "that crazy crying girl" now. But it's worth it. I couldn't put it down. I love love love when a book so thoroughly captures my attention that I miss the stops on the train. Almost every day since I've been reading, I look up when we've reached my destination, confused because I don't remember stopping at the other stops. The relationships in this story are so real, the emotions so raw. It really is incredible. Full of love, jealousy, friendship, and life, this is definitely a book worth reading, even if it means crying on the train.

What I think about on the train after I've finished a book and have nothing else to read

Everyday on the train, the conductor passes by, glances at my ticket, and punches two holes in a strip of paper that he places on the seat in front of me. Proof that he has seen my ticket. I always assumed the punches were random as there seemed to be no rhyme or reason for the placement of the holes. But, I've been observing. I finished my book today and having nothing else to read, I began paying attention to the conductor's activities. It now seems to me that the conductor can tell passenger origin and destination from these seemingly random holes. I wonder, what else can he tell? Gender? Age? Frequency of rider? I'm intrigued. How can two little holes, and sometimes a tear mean so much? Does the length of the tear signify distance? Does one hole mean something different than two? So many things to ponder. If someone reading this knows train ticket language, please, enlighten me.

Slumlords

I'm one of those people who needs the change in seasons. I could never be happy living in a place where it never snows, or never reaches 90 degrees. By the end of one season, I'm almost always ready for the next. So I'm happy that the weather is getting colder. It means breaking out my cozy sweaters and snuggling on the couch under a blanket. It means crunching leaves and smelling fireplaces. And because apparently everyone in Allentown has a fireplace and actually uses them, the town smells like winter for months on end. It's wonderful. But the change in season also means turning on the heat, always interesting in a centuries old house.

I'm pretty sure our radiators are original and our thermostat is much older than me. On Monday, our landlord came to replace the antiquated thermostat with a new, digital one. I came home from work yesterday to a bright, shiny new thermostat. I could hardly contain my excitement. Our landlord had left a note for us. He had programmed it for us. Now, we have an interesting situation. Since our apartment and the one above us used to be a one family house, there is only one thermostat for both apartments, and we control that thermostat. It's a lot of power, frankly, and I'm very uncomfortable with it. On the one hand, I don't want to waste heat and money (we pay our landlord a flat fee each month for heat), but on the other hand, I don't want to come off as the evil slumlord who won't crank up the heat. Apparently, we are the latter. In response to a note to our neighbor (let us know if it's ever too hot or cold!), we received the note (crank it up!). Fair enough. The problem? Kurt and I like it cooler. But whatever, I've been fighting Kurt on it and sneaking over to the thermostat to turn it up while he opens the windows. So I was very hopeful when we got our pretty, new, programmable thermostat. No more slumlords! On Tuesday morning though, I woke up freezing. I went over to the thermostat immediately. It was set at 62 degrees. 62 degrees?? Seriously? Of course, that meant our poor neighbor was probably freezing too without any control over it whatsoever. Needless to say, I felt awful. Also needless to say, we will be reprogramming the pretty, new thermostat.

We watched Land of the Lost last night. I've decided Will Ferrell should rule the world. How much better would the world be if he was in charge? The only problem I foresee would be worldwide stomach cramps from laughter.

(Random) Houses of Horror

Halloween is a time for celebration. An excuse to tell spooky stories, wear silly (and sometimes slutty) costumes, and throw parties. At my company, Halloween is the most important part of the year. Every year, we throw a huge Halloween party in the cafeteria, complete with an employee graveyard, jello shots, and of course, a costume competition. Now, this contest is extremely competitive. Departments begin planning their costumes sometimes up to a year in advance, it's that important. This year, every single person in our department participated in our little skit. During our staff meetings for the past month, the last item on the agenda was "Halloween Party". We were interrupted numerous times by our President, who walked in expecting to hear some brilliant marketing ideas being tossed around, and was instead greeted by stony silence. When he asked what our costume was, he was told, "You'll see." The costumes are kept a secret until the party. This is serious business. What was our costume you ask? We were the next hot thing in paranormal romance: ghosts. Now, if you're not in publishing, it's not really all that funny or even clever. But we are in publishing, so our skit was, thankfully, met with laughs and cheers. We "re-designed" our competitors covers (The Host became The Ghost) and presented them while wearing white plastic tablecloths. Our VP presented each of the new covers while dressed as a Ghostbuster. I have to say, it was a lot of fun to get into the Halloween spirit and dress up, even though I was sure I was going to suffocate under the plastic tablecloth. The party was a success (our Fun Committee did an amazing job). And to top it all off, R.L. Stine, the king of scary stories, was our guest judge. What better way is there to celebrate?

Tonight, Kurt and I, along with my friend and her boyfriend and mom, went on the annual Ghost Tour of Allentown. The money from the tickets went to support the public library and we figured it would be nice to contribute while learning more about our town and finding out if our apartments are haunted. Logic would tell you that if we haven't experienced ghosts in our apartments yet, that we should assume they are not haunted. But as most people know, fear isn't always logical. Thankfully, it appears that we're safe from spectral visitors, at least as far as the library knows. I loved hearing about the hauntings at the salon (a Revolutionary War soldier plays music), the pet store (each morning, the owner finds bags of cat food on the floor), and one of the local houses (strange noises and haunted dolls). I have to say, the haunted doll freaks me out the most. I used to have nightmares about my dolls being possessed when I was little.

I don't know about any of you, but I believe in ghosts. I believe that our spirits either choose to move on to the next adventure, or linger to haunt the living. I myself have never experienced a haunting, and while I know I would be scared shitless, as Kurt would say, if I ever saw a ghost, and I would never be able to fall asleep or be alone ever again, part of me is curious. For now though, ghost tours and documentaries on Discovery satisfy that curiosity, because at least those ghosts are haunting other people, and not me.