Halloween

After last year, I vowed that as a teacher, I would never again attend school on these two days: Halloween and Valentine's Day. Reason: Candy. I don't think middle schoolers should be allowed to eat candy ever. They get all greedy for it, and then they eat candy ALL DAY on Halloween and Valentine's, and they wreak havoc on everyone who crosses their paths. Turns out this resolution was thankfully unnecessary, but it did come to mind and induce a bit of a cringe as I observed the general public's Halloween preparations over the past week.

I don't really like holiday seasons. This is a picture that I took three days before Halloween, standing in line at one of those Halloween Spirit stores to buy pumpkin carving kits for a company event. Of course I'm not surprised that the store was crowded (with many whining children and parents), but is anyone actually in the mood to endure a transaction at a seasonal store so close to a holiday? So there's one thing that I don't like about the holidays. Stores get crowded, often with children who are greedy.

I also don't understand the need to wear and display tacky and impractical things. I'm not going to give examples of this. Since the Halloween weekend is now officially over, if you don't know what I'm talking about, walk into any department store and you'll see what I mean when you get practically slapped in the face with Christmas decorations.

I do like Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Thanksgiving. Because those are the days for actual family time and relaxation and not for being greedy and tacky. Also, there are usually Law & Order marathons on those days. The holiday seasons, though, I could do without. A quote from a favorite movie:

"Christmas is not only getting too commercial, it's getting too dangerous."

- Linus, A Charlie Brown Christmas

The Social Security Office

One of my duties at work is to run errands. I like doing it because sometimes when I'm staring at the computer for more than four consecutive hours, I feel like I might go blind. So if everyone else is having a hard time tearing themselves away from their computers to run to Safeway for birthday party food and paraphernalia, then I'm happy to give my eyes some rest. Also, when I was teaching I used to get my exercise by speed-walking through desks during lessons, and now my only exercise is pretty much walking to and from my car. (Oh, and all those early morning jogs I go on, Dad!)

My favorite work errand so far was definitely the trip to The Social Security Office. One of our new employees Those offices are always in the middle of some really weird dilapidated office building. You walk in the building and follow the signs toward the Social Security Office, and then you know you're getting close because the lights start getting dimmer in the hallways and there's "NO CELL PHONES!!!!" signs that make you positive you'll be arrested by that cop who stands just inside the Social Security office if you attempt to check a text message. He's basically a bouncer. There's even a sign above where he stands that strictly instructs you NOT to ask him questions: "The officer does not have any information about social security documents. Do not ask him questions." My subconscious even interrupted me when I started to question the sign... Well, he stands there all day in the Social Security office, you'd think he might pick up a few things while he's just standing there, and he looks really friendly. I'll just ask him a quick-- NO. Do NOT ask him questions.

The Social Security Office loves signs. Their number one goal is to have as little talking as possible. When I again reflect on my former life as a teacher, I empathize with this sentiment. The Social Security Office has determined that the best way to combat talking is with signs. They have signs for everything. The signs tell you not to use your cell phone, not to talk to the security officer, how to fill out the forms, what documents you need, etc. When I was in college, I covered my walls in pretty pictures from magazines. The Social Security Office covers their walls in instructional signs. My favorite is a sign that gives detailed written instructions for how to proceed if you are visually impaired.

The Social Security Office has probably always loved signs. Their new thing, I noticed, is marketing campaigns. They have this Star Trek campaign going on with George Takei and Patty Duke that makes me just beside myself in confusion. The Social Security Office is now trying to trick us into thinking that the Social Security website and application are easy, or even fun!?!? Social Security is neither of those things. Especially if you're coming from another country and you have NO idea what any documents in the United States are. They played this PSA on the TV screen when we were waiting for our number to be called:

You don't have to watch it again. I'll recap:

Patty: You've navigated through astroid belts, right?

George: Oh sure, plenty of times.

Patty: Compared to that, navigating socialsecurity.gov is a snap!

Wait. Raise your hand if you think navigating through astroid belts is easy. That's what I thought. You are the only person raising your hand, George Takei. My takeaway: If you can navigate through astroid belts, you can use this website. So basically only Commanding Officers in outer space can navigate the website. Scary.

Groupons

One of my favorite things is to like something, start a trend of liking that thing, then discontinuing to like the thing because too many people like it.

Example: I used to love wearing headbands. People would compliment me on my headbands all the time. Then everyone started wearing headbands (Okay, I didn't actually start "headbands," but I did wear them before they were super cool.). That's when I stopped wearing headbands.

Non-example: I love bacon. Everyone loves bacon. I still like bacon...

When trends go crazy before I've caught on, I like to stay away from those things because it makes me feel like a poser to like something seemingly because "everyone else is doing it." Exceptions: bacon, designer jeans, Justin Bieber. So when Groupons became super popular, I was not about to join in on the revolution. Reasons why I don't like Groupons: Everyone is doing it. "Groupon" is such a stupid word. I am not about to fall for the trick where I look at all the things that are on sale and decide I need them solely because they are on sale, and not for any functional purpose. My mom taught me to justify these silly purchases by saying, "I can't afford not to buy it!" Inevitably, people buy Groupons for things they would never want or use. It's like a coupon, but worse, because coupons are at least sometimes for things that are normal. Like dish soap and animal crackers and TV on DVD. But Groupons are for things that are the opposite of normal. Like "medical-grade chemical peels" and an "urban spy adventure" and -- my favorite -- 75% off studio recording time. (This is probably what made Rebecca Black's "Friday" happen.) I know that these offers exist because about a month ago I was really bored and I signed up for Groupons in my city and all the cities surrounding me.

I'm exaggerating about the uselessness of Groupons, unfortunately. I say "unfortunately" because now every morning when I wake up and check my email, I have to go through the sometimes painful motions of deleting all my Groupon Daily Deals. I say "painful" because as each day passes, these deals seem a little less ridiculous. I find myself increasingly rationalizing the idea of purchasing some Groupons because I think to myself, "Samantha, you've never actually tried Trapeze Arts, and now you're getting the opportunity to try something that could be awesome for 56% off! Or how about that theater show that no one has ever heard of? How do you know it's bad if you don't try it out? It's such a great discount...! You can't afford not to buy it..." Uh oh. This is the point where I hit "Archive" instead of "Delete" in my email. So I can think about it for a little longer.

Remember earlier when I was starting to argue that I'm immune to the social pressures of trends? Maybe I'll revisit that self-evaluation at a later date.

I decided that my favorite Groupons to wake up to are the ones for things I hate. Then I can delete the Groupon from my inbox to my heart's content. Like the one in the picture up there. I hate bowling. Actually, anything related to exercise, I can delete without a second thought. Or Groupons for sugary things. Or anything for holiday decorations.

I guess I could just unsubscribe. Nah. Someday I bet there will be a Groupon for something I really need.

Just a little puff of air...

About a year ago, I went to the eye doctor because my contact lenses were running out. I had to get my prescription retested before he'd order new ones for me. Not-So-Fun Fact: Every time I go to the eye doctor, I am told that my prescription has gotten worse. I estimate that I'll be blind in about five more visits. It's probably because I spend too much time staring at the computer screen. It is now about that time that I'll have to bring myself back to the eye doctor to check things out... I only have a couple of months of lenses left.

It's around this time that I start to consider permanently switching to glasses.

In general, I would consider myself an excellent patient. I've never actually asked a doctor what makes a good patient (Dad?), but I imagine I have the qualities that doctors would look for in a patient. I am very prompt when arriving at appointments. I make an effort to be somewhat cheerful to all doctors and nurses (since I assume they often spend all day with people who would rather be somewhere else). I am good at following directions. I don't make sharp movements or loud noises around needles or other weird looking instruments that I don't know what they are. I don't ask stupid questions.

However, there is one thing that I HATE about going to the doctor -- not seeing a physician or the dentist, but the eye doctor -- and that's the glaucoma test.

In case you don't know what glaucoma test I'm referring to, it happens when you get to that station of the eye doctor where there's a series of chairs you have to sit in and look into a series of machines, and most of them you have no idea what they actually do, but with one of them, you know exactly what it does. And even though you know exactly what it does, the doctor or assistant tells you. "Now just rest your chin on the chinrest and look forward at the red dot; you will feel a little puff of air--"

Uh, no. This is the part where I do make a sharp movement away from the machine. If I am sitting on a swivel chair, I probably just slid to the back of the room, because listen up: I am absolutely NOT doing that. I would rather be blind for the rest of my life than feel that "little puff of air" being shot with a .22 caliber air gun into my eye. I am going to just close my eyes until you leave the room and then I'm going to walk out and never come back.

But that's not what happens. I think to myself, maybe it won't be so bad this time. Maybe this time, it will be a "little" puff of air, and I want want to throw a temper tantrum when I accidentally blink and have to do it again. So I slowly position my chin on the chinrest and squint my eyes in the general direction of the red dot in the machine that is humming like an automatic baseball launcher, my ears practically bleeding in anticipation. "Open your eyes a little wider," the doctor/assistant/torturer says. I open my eyelids, but I still can't look forward, so I hope I can get away with an off-in-the-distance stare slightly to the left. "Look right at the red dot." I can't. I can not look at the red dot. My eyes are watering. Maybe my tears will shield my eyes from this inhumane torture. I brace myself against the impending blow by digging my fingernails into the table. The eye-torturer waits. I finally look at the red dot. BOOM! An explosion of air into my eye practically throws me aback off of my chair. Finally, it's over.

"Okay, let's try that again. This time, don't blink. Look straight ahead at the red dot..."

Oh great.

Leaving the house

When I leave the apartment in the morning, this is what it's like:

8:45am Turn off whatever episode of L&O I'm watching and be proud of myself for being ready to leave for work early.

8:53 am Find my cell phone (usually either buried in the sheets, in a corner of the kitchen, or in between some couch cushions).

8:59 am Find my car keys.

9:00 am Walk out the door. On time!

9:01 am While locking the door, realize that coffee mug is still inside.

9:04 am Find coffee mug. Head back to the door.

9:05 am Realize that I'm pretty sure my cell phone is not actually in my purse.

9:11 am After searching for phone in various key places in my apartment, begin digging through purse.

9:17 am Find phone in purse. Make the following mental notes:

1. So that's where my phone charger is...

2. Twenty dollars? Where did that come from?

3. This month's AT&T bill... never going to want to take care of that. (Blog post re: automated customer service on its way soon)

4. Why do I have a six-month old movie ticket in here?

5. Clean out purse.

6. So much for being ready to leave early.

Keep in mind, this whole saga used to take place at 6:00am back when I was teaching. At least now it's light outside when I'm attempting

to locate all these things. On the other hand, I used to be able to bring Courtney in for back-up when I was a disheveled mess.

I'm not very good at leaving the house. I have been meaning to come up with consistent places to keep my cell phone, my keys, my coffee mug... At least maybe a checklist by the door? Once, I was looking through a Sharper Image catalog (or was it SkyMall) and I saw these pager keychains that help you find all of your stuff. You attach the pagers to your different stuff and then have a remote control by the door so that when you need to find something, you just push the button that finds it, and it vibrates or sets off a siren or flashing light or explosion or something so you know exactly where to find it. Here's one I found on Amazon.com, made by Brookstone.

Until I save up the $79.99 for this silly thing (or if I find one that sets off explosions or fireworks, however much that one costs), I guess I'll just have to save an extra 30 minutes to go through my current Leaving the House regime.

Sushi

I like sushi. It's very sophisticated and fancy and organized. It's rare to find something that is both "fancy" and "organized." I like the taste of sushi. I have a lot of respect for the people who can make sushi... it seems like it's an art. The first time I ever thought about eating sushi was when I saw Molly Ringwald's character in "The Breakfast Club" eating sushi at Saturday detention. Even though everyone else in detention made fun of her, I thought she looked super classy. At the end of the movie, when Molly Ringwald gives Judd Nelson a diamond earring, I thought it would be almost as cool if she gave him a piece of sushi. The only reason that didn't happen was obviously because sushi that has been sitting out for six hours is obviously not as classy and fancy as a piece of fresh sushi or a diamond earring. Another thing about me and sushi is that one of my friends last year started calling me "Sashimi Deluxe" for no reason. As far as nicknames go, I don't mind being referred to as a piece of sushi because it makes me feel sophisticated and fancy and organized.

Anyway, last night, I was eating and...

I realized that I never actually have the desire to eat sushi. I was in the city attempting to narrow down dining options for the evening... I like most food genres, so Process of Elimination is never the most efficient way to decide what is for dinner. When a friend suggested a sushi place, I was oddly unenthusiastic. He said, "You don't like sushi?" I thought about it. I do like sushi. I just would always rather eat something else. Like a cheeseburger. With bacon. Sushi is sophisticated and fancy and organized, but it doesn't make my stomach and heart as happy as a cheeseburger bacon does. Sushi is a lot of work. It's a lot of work for someone to make for me to ungratefully pop a piece in my mouth to chew for five minutes, swallow, and still feel hungry. Sushi takes a lot of chewing. I don't really get "full" when I'm eating sushi, just tired.

Does eating sushi count as exercise?

- Sashimi D.

MHBP: Follow-up

In April, I blogged about Mental Health Best Practices. This was during a time of my life when I was told for eight consecutive months that "Don't worry, this month is the worst month of teaching. After this, it's all downhill..." April was in fact the worst month, and after that, it got better. But during the month of April, I was determined to find my MHBP-- that one thing that might help me retain my sanity in a morass of rollercoaster weeks. Courtney promptly suggested that "cleaning" might be my MHBP. At first, I thought this was just a sneaky ploy for her to get me to clean the apartment, but it is true that I am much more efficient in a clean work/play environment... and general cleanliness and organization gives me a little peace of mind. Now, when my brain is a little tired from work, I try to remember to clean the kitchen instead of doing some other more destructive worse practice, like throwing things or eating everything in the refrigerator.

The best things about cleaning the kitchen, as a MHBP:

1. I can take out aggression on food stains on counters or dishes.

2. Dish soap is has a very non-abrasive scent, as far as cleaning products go.

3. Who doesn't love a new dish towel?

4. I can definitely knock out an episode of Law and Order while I'm cleaning the kitchen.

5. Other than the dishes, everything else can be cleaned with Lysol.

6. When I'm finished cleaning the kitchen, the surfaces sparkle.

7. The *hard surfaces* vacuum is much lighter than the rug vacuum.

8. If all else fails, I can throw a dish on the floor for a really satisfying solution to frustration...

9. After mopping the floor, I can do this really cool trick to walk across the floor: Rip two new paper towels and put them on the floor. Step one (bare) foot onto each paper towel and shuffle across the floor to my intended destination. Result: no footprints on the floor, and now a dry path for me to back-track across if I realize I left my cell phone on the far end of the kitchen.