Archive: July 2006

I had one of those “am I speaking a different language?” moments this week when I went to pick up my guitar from the music store after some repairs. I gave my name to the guy at the counter, who seemed to recognize it, which I admit was slightly eerie, and he laid my guitar on the counter, saying, “You’re all set.”

RA: (internally) I know I didn’t pay for this yet. Maybe he didn’t do a good job. I’d better check. (out loud, after checking) Well, it looks good to me. What do I owe you?
Guy: Nothing, you’re all set.
(pause…)
RA: When I brought this in, I wasn’t charged for anything, and I assumed that I would just pay when I picked it up.
Guy: Nope, you’re all set. No charge.
RA: Um, I’m pretty sure that I should be charged for this. I haven’t paid for anything yet.
Guy: You’re…all…set…

And so I left, guitar in hand, bewildered and baffled. What in the world just happened back there? Isn’t it customary in this country to pay for repairs and/or materials? How did I not have to pay after I practically begged the guy to charge me?

The strangest part was the whole wink-wink-nudge-nudge aspect. Whatever was going on, I so did not get the code. Maybe to this guitar guy, I was saying, “You’re really hot,” or “I’ll come back with baked goods,” and he decided to let me go without charging me the forty bucks. For all I know, I uttered the secret code to sign on for some mob operation, and I’ll miss out on the job we’re pulling this weekend. I hope that’s not the case. Even when I think about it in hindsight, it is just plain weird. I have no idea what happened.

It’s about that time in the afternoon when I get restlessly hungry. I can’t focus well on whatever spreadsheet or presentation is currently at hand, and I keep watching the clock to see if I can go home to dinner yet. My stomach growls and I wander into the office kitchen to see if anything has magically added to the supply of Wheat Thins, tootsie rolls, or pretzel stubs. Or whatever they’re called. No, nothing new! I’ve already had a handful and a half of Wheat Thins, and the rest doesn’t appeal to me. So far today, I’ve had some grapes, watermelon, and salad… How herbivore of me. Not that I want meat… No, I want carbs, glorious carbs! And not in the form of some dried-out pretzel/cheese ball variety! I want mac and cheese or a Cup of Noodles, carryovers from my hot pot-inspired diet of college days. Comfort to me is a Styrofoam cup of tangled-up yellow noodles (chicken flavored, please), with the gratuitous sprinkling of mixed, dehydrated veggies. I’m all about a balanced diet.

But I know that the drugstore down the way doesn’t even carry Cup of Noodles. It was a sad day when I made that realization on just such an afternoon. I’d have to get Easy Mac, another college revelation that was advertised toward 8-year-olds, but is actually most applicable for students, especially in its new handy packs. If I had had this in college, the number orange-encrusted dollar store bowls on top of my microwave would have greatly decreased.

Did I mention that my mom is the Queen of Making Things from Scratch? We absolutely never had mac and cheese out of a box, and I didn’t even know what Bisquick was until college. Forget about bottled pasta sauce, without which my baked ziti habit could not be fulfilled. I’ve quietly slunk over to the dark side. She would be mortified at my now-dependence on pre-packaged pasta-type products, but I can still make a mean pumpkin cheesecake from scratch. Doesn’t that count for something?

Mm, cheesecake.

That’s it. I have to go get a snack.

Sorry, Mom.

• I work at a small consulting firm that lends itself to my quirks, like my affinity for making lists and Excel spreadsheets.
• I am a proud Fightin’ Blue Hen and I love that we live only 20 minutes from campus.
• There is a 15-inch height difference between JG and me, and yes, he is the tall one.
• I am always reading and I enjoy any new book recommendations.
• I’m kind of a geek, especially when it comes to punctuation and the periodic table.
• I am startled easily.
• I love candy, with the exception of chocolate, and I know that’s strange when I’m not even allergic. If it’s there, I’ll eat it, but I could really go to town with a bag of something red, like Twizzlers or Swedish fish.
• In my spare time, and when I’m not reading, I work on this blog, knit scarves because they’re all I know how to make, watch more TV than is probably necessary, and try to learn how to play the guitar.

• I appreciate comments very much and I try my best to respond via email.
• I can be contacted at definitelyra[at]gmail[dot]com.

I watched the neon green numbers of my giant digital clock progress slowly and steadily, with each change confirming that yes, I was going to be tired in the morning. I watched the dot that designates PM hours disappear, and then started the ever-depressing calculations of how much sleep I would get. It’s not so bad, I’d mutter, I can still get 5 hours and 45 minutes… or 5 hours…

And so it went. I basked in the eerie glow of my clock, chosen for its 4-inch numbers - visible from a small distance when I am without my contacts and therefore, as blind as a bat - and its irresistible, foghorn-like blast of an alarm. A conveyor belt of a to-do list cycled through my head, despite the fact that I had no way of chipping away at it. “E-mail Amy,” it hummed, “Call about the guitar … Call Dad to wish him a happy birthday - ” Oh, crap! I forgot to call my dad! I rummaged on my crowded nightstand for a pen to scrawl Call Dad on my palm with thoughts of being The Bad Daughter flitting across the to-do list. Better late than never, right? Like sleep?

Come morning, after I somehow exhausted myself to sleep and had stressful dreams involving being late for flights and not wearing the right shoes for running, I woke up to the insistent blare of my alarm. I managed to rise eventually, but I did not shine.

I need a nap.