Commute

Every morning I simultaneously develop and conquer my fear of escalators. I imagine so many scenarios that involve losing my balance with a misstep and tumbling down, knocking into the unfortunate people in front of or behind me as my body goes careening into them like a purple and pink bowling ball into unsuspecting pins. It would be the only time I would be able to get a strike, strike, strike, TURKEY! I am only able to conquer my daily re-awaken fear of escalators and speed walk up and down escalators because I have an even bigger fear of missing my connecting train or bus. Which sounds understandable and innocuous enough, until I add that I am frequently running after a bus that is parked and waiting. The bus drivers frequently give me a bored look with a slightly raised eyebrow as if to say, “…You know, I’m not moving for a while, right?” as other commuters leisurely stroll on board.

It’s okay, though. Throw in a couple daily real life reenactments of Frogger as I run across busy roads– too impatient to wait for the red-orange hand sign to change– and this is my urban workout.

Paperclip

On borrowing a paper clip:
Jenny: Do you have a paperclip I could borrow and not give back to you this lifetime but possibly the next lifetime if we meet and the roles for this scenario are reversed?
Friend:…You mean, a paperclip you can keep?
Jenny: Yes.

Contemplation of e-readers: Interlude in a jellyfish dance

Wayne’s been bitten by the tablet bug. It’s a bit delayed. He fought them (let’s pretend there were little gnat-sized tablets with wings flying around him) off for a while, having decided that his iPhone and macbook were sufficient and that the hybrid of sorts wasn’t all that necessary. Yet. He waited out the early adopters and first devices, but now he wants one.

Which is why I ended up spending my Friday night prancing around Staples– there was a promotion that offered $100 off all tablets. As he contemplated the pros and cons of the various tablets on display, I performed jetés that could never rival the dancing hippos of Fantasia– though they could have potentially rivaled the jetés of the rejected dancing hippos who auditioned just for kicks– and balancing on one tip toe while spreading out my arms and legs to curl and then straighten and repeat in an effort to be a veteran jellyfish who, despite losing many legs, still had the heart to wiggle and jiggle with the store music playing in the background.  Apparently, not being able to find my favorite Pilot G2 ultra fine pens (0.38mm makes 0.5mm look all fat and blotty) causes me to dance as a jellyfish as both a sign of discontentment and a way to amuse myself since those pens are the only interest I have in Staples.

Until I saw the Kindle and the Nook. I took a momentary break from being a jellyfish to play around with the buttons of the Kindle and the swiping abilities of the Nook. I practiced holding both thin, light, small e-readers in my hand while attempting to lounge at the same time, a difficult feat when the e-reader is tethered to the station with little give. I appreciated the portability and convenience of each e-reader and, for few minutes, mused about purchasing one. I imagined keeping it with me at all times since either fit nicely in all my bags. I toyed with the idea of not worrying about ruining the covers and pages of new books with my manhandling and travel. I pretended that I was Captain Picard seated at his desk reading Moby Dick or whatever else that “Tea, Earl Grey, hot”-guzzling, bald, Borg-bustin’ favorite Star Trek captain of mine enjoyed reading for leisure*. But then, after the moment of consideration ended, I missed my books. Holding, bending, flipping the pages. Gently rubbing a page between my fingers and enjoying the feel of the texture. Running my fingers over the printed words and delighting in the feel of the dry ink. Seeing the pale tan color of the pages. And for some books, being completely enchanted by the unevenness of the edges of the pages and the way they were cut; some cleanly, some roughly. And the weight. I missed the weight. The heaviness. For some reason, the heaviness represents a tangible invitation for an experience, an adventure, like a boarding ticket. It makes me excited for the trip in a way an electronic ticket just cannot.

 

 

* Can I point out that I love the fact that Honey Bear** and I have had conversations where she proclaims how much she HATES scifi, while I proclaim my undying love in the next line? Aw, opposites attract! Except in the case of Madewell, because then we are perfectly aligned. Because Madewell is love.

**Dear Wynee, names I call you when you’re not around: Honey Bear.

Twitter Filter

Reason why my Twitter page doesn’t have as many tweets as it could have*:

Jenny: I used more words to describe the huge-ness of my ass than anything else in the email.
Wayne: Hahahahah
Jenny: Can I tweet that?
Wayne: No.

*I get the feeling everyone is thankful for Wayne.

Good gesture, not so good thoughts

Is it wrong that the only reason I walk over to our apartment complex’s front desk to pick up Wayne’s packages is so I can snag a complimentary cookie that the front desk provides to visitors?

Mayyyyyybe.

But.

In my defense, let me clarify and say that these are seriously good cookies. Gooey. Soft. CHEWY. Yet, still with a satisfying crunch at the beginning. Or maybe it’s more of a crispy crunch into the chewy cookie.

And, oh GOD, the chocolate chips. It’s as if chips know when to melt and just how much.

And then sometimes there are little rainbow candy-coat chocolate bits inside the cookie instead of chocolate chips, which are now completely put to shame, and it’s 4th of July all over again in my mouth.

Okay, I’m a horrible person.

But I made sure Wayne got his package…so I’m still a good girlfriend, right?

The only thing I love more than breakfast

I love brunch.

It makes me feel so efficient because I feel as if I’m eating two meals at once! And I love the extra food options since brunch contains the best parts of breakfast that are asked to stay a little extra longer and entertain and the surprise!-we-knew-you-couldn’t-wait-til-it-was-actually-time-for-lunch offerings as well.

Maybe the lunch offerings don’t really matter since I always, always, always pick the French toast made from smushed and battered buttery croissants or the crispy, thin crepes hiding warm, oozy Nutella and caramelized banana slices, but at least Wayne can mix up his brunch selections and not get bored.

And that little detail of Wayne not getting bored of brunch is key so that I can keep eating and eating my French toast that was topped with strawberry butter that I thought was ice cream– too bad I was horribly wrong about it not being ice cream– because I can never get bored of eating my favorite things, repeatedly.

It’s my super power. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do anything helpful in terms of trying to save the world.

Disneyland

The past two years that Wayne and I have visited LA, we always made plans to visit Disneyland. Except, usually the morning of, we become incredibly lazy and decide against the relatively short 40 minute drive to the happiest place on Earth. Then we go back to sleep for a bit before waking up to get brunch on a weekday because I LOVE BRUNCH (and no lines!). But this time, I thought it would be really pathetic for Wayne and I to visit LA for our third time and not go to the happiest place on Earth. I never visited Disneyland when I was at USC because I had odd romantic ideas and fiercely reserved going to Disneyland until I found someone I truly loved to go with me. I wanted the cheesy couple’s picture in front of Cinderella’s castle and I only wanted to take that picture once. Otherwise if I kept parading different guys in front of Cinderella’s castle, the special-ness that I attached with mental Krazy glue on to the idea would be lost.

Before we entered the park, I created a mental scavenger hunt list of all things I wanted to find at Disneyland. Obviously most of the items were food because I care more about food than I do about…anything else.

1. Churro

2. Turkey leg

3. Mickey Mouse chocolate-dipped ice cream on a stick

4. Minnie ears (I LOVE THE SEQUINS!)

5. Couple’s picture in front of Cinderella’s castle (I have literally waited all my life for this picture– I have odd priorities)

Toddler Whisperer (ie. I have no clue why this worked)

On how to calm down a toddler (I honestly did not think this would ever work):

Little girl in a shopping cart, at TJ Maxx: [opens her mouth and starts to cry loudly]
Jenny, from a couple racks away: [smiles and waves]
Little girl in a shopping cart: [slows down her fussing and crying]
Jenny: [smiles and puts finger to lips and makes an inaudible "shhh"]
Little girl in a shopping cart: [stops fussing and looks confused]

Silence for a minute

Little girl in a shopping cart: [wiggles in her seat and makes a fussy face]
Jenny: [smiles and waves]
Little girl in a shopping cart: [confused stare]
Jenny: [smiles and puts finger to lips and makes an inaudible "shhh"]
Little girl in a shopping cart: [stops fussing]

Repeat two more times before the mom pushed the cart away while being none the wiser

After-school snack

IKEA makes me nostalgic in a different way than most people I know. For one, most people don’t really get nostalgic about IKEA. And two, if they were to get nostalgic, it would be about walking through the showrooms, trying out the couches, pretending to watch tv in the living room, cook in the kitchen, and lounge in the bedrooms. Some might remember when they tried to play in the kids’ showrooms and fit down the slide even when they were well past the age of five. I’m nostalgic for the food.

I lived ten minutes away from an IKEA and one of my best friends during my senior year of high school was obsessed with the Daim torte. While other high schoolers hung out at Starbucks or the mall, we hung out at Ikea, in the cafeteria, eating Swedish meatballs and drinking lingonberry juice while chatting about our love lives, school gossip, and looking forward to college. It was always amusing to me that our after-school hangout was a big box store; I get the feeling that we could have easily have spent a lot of our afternoons in a Target.

Puppy Talk

On miscommunication:

Neighbor dog: ARf! ARrrrrrrrrF! (Hey hey who are you?)
Jenny: ARf! ArF! (Banana ice cream! Spatula!)
Neighbor dog: ??…arf? (??…Eh?)