Ponderings and Musings

I’m a bit of a time geek. On one hand I know that time is an arbitrary unit of measurement assigned to any random moment of existence, and quite often I curse this human invention (usually when I want to be somewhere and it seems to be a long way off due to the time between me and whatever “it” is). However, on the other hand I am always aware of the current time. I need to know what time it is, no matter where I am. And I think it’s the pre-occupation with time that is slowly driving me nuts.

I left work on my lunch hour at precisely 12:30 p.m. I normally do this at noon. By leaving at noon, I neatly divide my work day into two even halfs: four hours in the morning, four hours in the afternoon, then ain’t we got fun. However, because I left for lunch at 12:30, I am now quite giddy with the fact that my afternoon half of the day is shorter than the morning half of the day, which means I will be closer to quitting time when I sit back at my desk at precisely 1:30 p.m.

I guess it’s the little things.

I’m constantly running a countdown clock in my head as well. For example, I usually have a running tab in my brain that has things like “Twelve days and eight hours until our big visit” or “76 days until spring”. I usually round to the nearest day when it’s over than two weeks. I allow myself that luxury.

Now I’m not going to freak out by yelling “Wapner Time! Wapner Time!” and start rapping on the door of a house in the middle of a cornfield the next time I’m in Oklahoma or anything. My timeliness doesn’t go down that path. Yet. But my touch of OCD keeps my preoccupation with time even more interesting as I need to have all clocks within eyeshot in perfect synchronization with one another. Part of this stems from my collection of old school clocks that are wired throughout the house; they all advance in unison, once a minute, just like they did in the elementary and high schools of days gone by. But in today’s digital era, where every electronic item has it’s own clock following it’s own rhythm, I’m presented with a greater challenge of trying to make all the digital displays advance in unison with the school clock collection. It’s become a weekly chore of synchronizing the microwave, stove, alarm clocks and one quartz clock we have with the school clock collection system, which is synchronized to all the computers, which are synchronized with the atomic clock in Colorado.

There will come a time when I will just have to sit back and enjoy the moment without assigning a series of numbers and a flashing colon to it (why does that last part sound dirty to me?) Until then, does anyone really know what time it is?

The room is dim. As you enter, your senses are overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of a typical Friday night. You feel confident. As you casually scan the room, looking over the forms that move dimly ahead of you, your eyes lock with another pair of eyes that are searching for the same thing. Fireworks explode, chimes ding, hearts sing. You have found your soul mate.

It’s a little while (minutes, days, weeks, months, years, take your pick) later that the confidence you felt that night is put to the test for the first time. Forget all that has transpired during the courtship; the home cooked meal that was successfully executed without a trip to the emergency room and the fact that your newly beloved doesn’t have a search warrant or three. Put that all aside, for it’s time to get into bed together.

You approach the bed and make your way to “your side”. He approaches the bed and makes his way to “his side”. And you hope and pray and get all sweaty nervous that the “two” sides are not the “same” side. It’s make it or break it time. Will he hop on my side of the bed? Is this a weird game of musical chairs?

Where is it written that a married/committed/adulterous/take your pick couple must spend the entire night together? Who’s idea was it anyways? Don’t get me wrong, I understand the theory behind sharing a bed. You hit the sheets, mess them up a lot with some wild action and then snuggle up next to each other in contentment, spoon style, and visit Mr. Sandman together. But does it really happen that way? More times than not Earl and I sleep very contently together, so I guess it’s a good thing. There are other times, though that he keeps me very much awake or vice versa. Once in a while he wakes up to find me sleepwalking and he has to steer me back to bed. Occasionally his CPAP machine blows a gale force wind that parts my eyebrows. But truth be known I wouldn’t change it for anything. I knew it would work out o.k., you see Earl and I went to opposite sides of the bed that first night. There’s only one side of the bed that’s my side of the bed and that’s my side of the bed (unless I’m sandwiched inside a group, but that’s a different tale I’ll save for another time)! Just for kicks we tried to switch sides one night early in our relationship and that was a complete disaster. Sheets flew, nightstands danced, the headboard was jarred, I had his knee in my groin and Tom didn’t know who’s ass to bounce off of as he made his way for the windowsill. We vowed to never do that again and nearly 12 years later I think this is the first time I’ve mustered enough courage to mention it.

Looking back, I think my grandparents were on to something with their custom made bed: I believe it was two queen sized mattresses placed side by side with a common set of sheets. It was the only way that she could tolerate his snoring; in a bed that size she was in the next zip code.

Truth be known I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Just a little extra shut-eye once in a while.

Like many of my fellow Americans, today I have officially kicked off a healthier approach to eating to keep in line with this whole New Year thing. I was rather surprised this morning when I jumped on the scale for the first time in a month or so, for while I basically grazed throughout all facets of “Happy Holidays”, I only gained six pounds. I was thinking (and felt like) I had gained considerably more than that. To celebrate this sigh of relief I refrained from drop kicking the scale per my usual yearly custom. That means no new scale. That’s o.k., this one lies well.

There doesn’t seem to be a lot of chatter about the Atkins Diet, the South Beach diet and their equally depressing cousins; instead we are being bombarded with commercials for NutriSystem and LA Weight Loss. While I could find myself easily falling for the hype of losing weight fast (and gaining it back even faster), I’ve decided to just eat sensibly and get back onto my exercise program which involves more sex, more often and faster, with a few pushups thrown in to keep up the stamina.

As recently as 48 hours ago I was pondering going to full blown vegetarianism again, and while I am still considering it I don’t see being a vegetarian as a good way to lose weight nor is it magically healthy. I mean, technically I can eat a whole bag of Doritos and chase it down with a pound of potato salad and still be a vegetarian. While quite tasty I don’t think that would be healthy. No, if I’m going to do the vegetarian thing, it would be more for the whole no harm to animals motif. I’m going to ponder that one a little longer before making a decision.

I think one of the most important things a person can do is drink water. Lots of water. I think drinking water keeps the whole system flushed and you burn a few extra calories with the extra trips to the bathroom. If you start feeling like you need to head up stream to spawn, then you’ve probably had a bit too much water though. Starting today I am giving up diet pop again. I think my odometer turned over with the number of times I’ve given up drinking the stuff. Let’s see if 2008 is the year it sticks. Without all the synthetic crap found in diet soft drinks I should remember that I’ve given up the stuff.

All in all I’m ready for a healthy approach to this New Year. Perhaps I’ll earn a few bucks in the spring by selling the clothes that no longer fit on ebay. I hear retro 90s is in.

365 Days: Day 2 on Flickr.

It’s 5:45. It’s dark outside. It’s cold. It snowed last night.

The alarm clock beeps it’s happy little tune. Trying to cheat The Man, I felt smug as my alarm clock rang it’s cursed little tune at 5:31. That 5:31 was on purpose. Score one minute for the working folks.

I am desperately trying to smile. I’d settle for a pleasant thought. I’m still trying to remember my name. The ability to speak English would be groovy right now.

“Raindrops and roses and whiskers on kittens.”

When did “My Favorite Things” become a Christmas carol? Why do the corporate destroyed commercial radio stations play that song during an “all Christmas music” sweep? It’s not a Christmas song. It’s a song about being scared during a thunderstorm.

My dreams were really good until 5:31. The content would be worthy of a hidden blog post* that would melt the tubes that connect the internet together. That’s why I’m dazed and confused right now. The dreams were good. There’s still a smile on my face.

“Yip!”

I’m starting to remember who I am. And what I do. And why I do it. I have no idea.

Pity the company that wants me to work at 7:00. I’m not really there until lunch.

Happy Friday.

*Moby does the hidden blog entry thing. I’m still trying to get it to work. Astute observers might see bits of a “test” entry from time to time. Thinking like a geek just woke me up.

I’ve tried writing several blog entries today and I find myself coming up short. So, instead I’ll just say “Happy Birthday Mom”. And yes, it’s really her birthday. 🙂

Hmmm.  What to say? Today was a beautiful Christmas day. Mother Nature made sure it looked the part. The roads were clear. Earl and I spent the day traveling to be with family and eating too much food.

Santa was generous: I have a new Flip Video Ultra, which is perfect for making videos for the blog and new Oster clippers for my barbering hobby. We also got a wonderful selection of wine (we need to have a party soon- calling all bears and bloggers!) and other great gifts.

More importantly, it was an enjoyable day all around.

Merry Christmas to all! 

I might be jinxing this by mentioning it but I do believe that Earl and I are going to have a puke free Christmas this year. Neither of us have been sniffling anywhere outside of the norm and there hasn’t been much in the way of coughing or throat clearing to raise any alarms. Perhaps the spell of someone being sick for the holidays has been broken. “Ha ha ha ha!” I yell, as I raise my fist to the air. “It’s a Puke Free Christmas!”

Keep your fingers crossed that I haven’t jinxed anything.

I said something to Earl this evening that absolutely startled him. Hell, it even startled me. I couldn’t believe the words came out of my mouth.

“I would consider moving to New Jersey.”

As I write this, I can’t believe that I just typed that phrase. You see, I have told Earl that I would live anywhere in the world with him. I’d climb the highest mountain, cross the widest sea and scale the longest desert. But don’t put me in New Jersey. That was the rule. “We will not live in New Jersey.”

I’ve been in New Jersey twice today. With Earl’s family less then five miles from the Pa.-N.J. border, it’s a natural thing for us to cross the bridge in search of cheap gas. After all, there’s a lot of diners in Jersey.

I find nothing in common between North Jersey and South Jersey. The accent is different and the attitude seems to be a little different. This evening I went shopping at Cherry Hill Mall (Cherry Hill, N.J.), while Earl played poker with his family (quick little video coming when we get back home). I didn’t find the experience unpleasant. Once I found Cherry Hill, made numerous right turns to turn left and fought a smattering of traffic, I found my shopping experience to be a pleasant one. I found that last extra Christmas gift that I hope will bring a twinkle to Earl’s eye on Christmas morning.

It was leaving Cherry Hill Mall that I discovered something very important with my acceptance of New Jersey as a potential residential destination. They have Wegmans. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, there’s a brand new beautiful Wegmans in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Since there’s a Wegmans there, it has to be a cool place. So I have decided to allow South Jersey to be a potential relocation destination.

Earl just rolled his eyes.