Magnet Theory and why I shouldn't be trusted with documents

Our magnets arrived several weeks ago.

I had them sent to my work, and I was so excited when they arrived that I cut two of my fingers opening the box. With a scissor. I'm not sure how that happened. And yes, I was ridiculed for it.

So we were all thrilled and gung-ho and we sent out a batch of magnets to the people whose addresses we had readily available. We had a big outing to the post office and made sure we had enough postage on the ones going to faraway places like Europe and South Africa.

And on a side bar: What we've discovered from this first batch is that not everyone we sent them to - even just across town in DC - has gotten them. I was wondering if USPS was screening for magnets and holding them up.

And then Nick suggested that maybe some of them stuck to other magnetic things. Which makes sense - they were all sticking to each other through envelopes when we mailed them.

So it's conceivable that someone will get an extra envelope stuck to the back of theirs and hopefully will post it. Or some random stranger will wind up with one. Who knows.

So anyway. Then we agreed to collect the rest of our addresses. And then neither of us did anything about that for a while.

It's not like it's so hard to send an email or ten asking for an address, but even so, it's an easy thing to procrastinate on.

And then in the meantime, I went ahead and lost the list. THE LIST. Which was really just a printout of the Excel spreadsheet of names. I didn't realize it was The Official Document from which we were working.

It was a grotty piece of paper, dog-eared and rumpled from being repeatedly crammed into my purse. I just happened to have started writing on it and checking off names.

But according to Nick, I was keeping track. Where's OUR list?

If I'd known it was OUR list, I'd have given it to him to keep track of, because he's all organized and files things and makes spending spreadsheets and stuff. Plus I probably wouldn't have smeared chocolate on it or torn off a corner to throw away a piece of gum.

Heh. It's true.

But no. Not knowing it was an important piece of paper, I sashayed off into the sunshine with it firmly crumpled in the bottom of my bag. And then somehow didn't return to his house with it.

How could I lose The List?

The good thing was, I knew I hadn't lost it; I just didn't know where it was.

I found The List yesterday lying gently in the middle of my living room floor.

Magnet mailing can resume!

In which I am a lucky duck and my ability to share improves drastically

Let me preface this by saying two things. One, that I was taught at a very young age not to gloat about your fortunes. Which I think is important.

And two, as a child, I sucked at sharing. I wasn't selfish; I just didn't get it. I'd either give all of my candy away to everyone, leaving none for me, or share none of it.

I know it will shock you to hear that there was no moderation, no middle ground.

I have postponed writing this because I didn't want to sound all, "lucky me lucky me lucky me!" And have you maybe think I am a big jerk. But the thing is that kindness and generosity and sparkly surprises just can't go unacknowledged.

As you know, I did this yippee dance a couple weeks ago, all kinds of delighted about a present from SD, all jump up and down-y -- in a virtual sense, of course.

Except in person, where the Quad heard me exclaim, "A present! I got a present!" And jump up and down.

And so I have to just admit that I'm doing it now. Even though I just did it. I hope you don't think I'm gloatalicious.

Because the thing is, I feel so ridiculously lucky. And I want to put thanks on LG.

Here's what happened last week. A box arrived. A wedding present! From my friend HKW! And this one, this one I was able to make myself wait until getting to Nick's office to open.

HKW gave us the Joy of Cooking! You have no idea how much we need this book. She picked it to help us start a home. But she helped us more than she could imagine. It would be hard to convey how much help we need in this area.

Because one of us? Is used to eating steamed vegetables and popcorn for dinner. And the other? Would butter his steak if he could get away with it. And pair with a side of sausage. Wrapped in bacon.

So we have asked for a couple cookbooks, and I know for many, the Joy is a staple. It is hugely wonderful.

That night, I was at Nick's office, waiting. I often commute with him, which means that at the end of the day I wind up sitting in his office for a while. He's rarely done before 7:30, and if he intends 7:30, it often means 8 pm. And so I try to remember to have reading material.

Nick apologized for taking a long time to wrap up, and I said, "No worries - I'm just reading some of the recipes in my present."

"Your present?"

"Yeah - the one from my blogfriend? The we just opened?" The tone of this sentence? Duh. You were right there opening it with me.

"Your? Your present?"

Oh. Oops.

"Our! Our! Our present!"

And then - and this is what tipped me over the edge into "stop worrying and just post it already" - earlier today, I got another box! From Nicole! Lovely Nicole who helped me so immensely with all kinds of insight into knives, espresso machines, and other things foreign, kitchen-y, and daunting.

She sent wedding presents! A salad dressing whipper upper - a kitchen power tool! - that I seriously cannot wait to use! And a salad spinner. So awesome!

She had no way of knowing (or maybe in the way that all of us are connected in the world she just knows) how into salads we are lately. And how we are trying to be creative yet not crazy fattening with the dressing. And even though I generally agree with her that more is, in fact, better. . .when it comes to squeezing into a wedding dress (or tux) - um, it isn't.

And so will continue in this salad-obsessed manner relentlessly and tirelessly until approximately September 27.

Nick loves it, I assure you.

So, HKW and Nicole, thank you both again and again. You so incredibly sweet and kind and generous!

Lucky me lucky me lucky me!

I mean. . .Lucky us lucky us lucky us!

I am the last person to speculate on normal, but I do know you shouldn't miss your turn

So I note interesting Google searches leading to LG, even if I don't write about them all that often.

And this one - "what is the normal amount of time to take a poo in a day?" - caught my eye. Because I've gotta say, while I don't have an answer, I do spend an inordinate amount of time thinking and talking about poo.

And for those of you who hate this topic - sorry in advance for this post. You're gonna hate it.

It's true. Sometimes you'll have a really bizarre poo - maybe an unusual size or color - and you'll want to share the experience with someone else, and you'll maybe even be about to. . .and then you'll realize that, um, it's poo. And you just need to flush and wash your hands and pretend you're a normal human being.

But that pretense of normalcy doesn't necessarily stop you from telling your closest friends or family about it.

Or maybe you won't poo for several days - and that merits discussion as well. In fact, that often means more discussion, because when is it going to happen? And if you are traveling it becomes a daily question. Maybe you stop asking, but returning from the bathroom garners raised eyebrows.

Which I realize is not the international symbol for, "Did you poo?" But in context, you know.

Hopefully raised eyebrows. . .Head shake. . ."Ah, well. Maybe later."

So anyway.

If I tried to answer, I'd say we're all different. But you can probably divide the the poo world pretty accurately between men and women. Because one of the major differences I've decided there are between men and women - and please correct me if I'm wrong - is their approach to poo.

Men at the office will very cavalierly walk towards the bathroom with the office copy of the Post under their arm. And I'm thinking "Note to self: read the Post online."

Walking toward the bathroom with a newspaper is tantamount to waving on your way out the door and saying, "Yup! Off to defecate! And catch up on the day's news! I'm a multi-tasker!"

Honestly. I haven't noticed it at my current office, but I've certainly seen it. And while I know these men aren't wiping their asses with the paper, I still don't want those potential poo molecules on my news.

Plus - and this is actually something I envy - I get the sense that each guy is programmed with his Time Of Day. Whatever time it is - first thing in the morning, mid-day, whenever - is The Time. The Time to head to the bathroom with one's reading material or BlackBerry.

Seriously. There is a guy who walks through the gym in our building right around 1:00 pm every day. If I'm working out mid-day, I'll see him come through. He walks through, goes to the locker room, emerges about 20 minutes later, and leaves. Unless he goes in there to masturbate, I think 1:00 pm is his Time.

Truthfully, I think this scheduled approach would be convenient. You'd know to clear your calendar during your daily poo time. Oh, no meetings from 10:30-11:100! That's Poo Time!

And men will spend extraordinary lengths of time in the bathroom. It makes me wonder if it actually takes that long or if they're used to that schedule, so stick to it and just wait for it to happen. Because they have the reading material until it does.

Me, I never have any vague idea. It could be any number of times today. Or not till tomorrow. I might suddenly be all, oh! have to poo! And then I'm in and out in five minutes. It might be at a completely inconvenient time, but there's nothing to be done about it. Because you don't want to miss your turn.

I had a friend whose mother used this term to teach her as a kid to go when she needed to.

"Sweetheart, you don't want to miss your turn!"

Because you could skip your turn and then who knows when it'll be your turn again?

The notion of knowing ahead of time, and setting aside the time to read an article or answer email, while odd to me, would be kind of nice. You'd have your routine, and the private time (albeit on a toilet seat) and that would be that.

It's not like anyone could reasonably claim during that time that their task was somehow more immediate or urgent.

Purely coincidence?

I heard from the Dementor yesterday.

And here's the weird thing. I was wearing my emergency shoes - the ones I'd bought for a date with him ages ago.

I haven't worn them since last year, because it's just now getting warm. And so I thought of him, purely because I connect him with these shoes.

In fact, Steve had just complimented my outfit, and I'd just gotten done saying, "You vetted this shoe choice! These are the emergency shoes I bought for that date!" (And yes, he knew what date I was talking about. And he is a man who thinks about shoes.)

And then the email arrived.

Totally innocuous - he's in DC and can't come to town without thinking of me. How am I? Still engaged? Or married already? He hopes I'm well.

It's not that the content of the email was meaningful, but the timing was bizarre. I had been thinking about him, had literally just been talking about him.

Do you ever think of someone and then hear from them? Or call or email a friend, who immediately says they were just thinking of you, or just about to call you?

I feel like these kinds of things happen too often to be utterly random.

Nick, on the other hand, thinks these are pure and utter coincidence. You think about people regularly, but the times that it coincides with them contacting you stand out in your mind.

So I've probably thought about him a number of times - when passing a restaurant we went to, or something along those lines. But this time seems remarkable because he contacted me right afterwards. It's coincidence, nothing more.

I'm not so sure.

So fine, I'm a Philistine

Last night I had an entirely free night.

Free as in, didn't cost anything. And free as in, I went out with my friends and slept at home in DC. It felt like a mini-vacation being back in my old life. I woke up in my bed, in my sheets, in my periwinkle room, to my old alarm.

Personally, I hate Nick's alarm, which wakes you up to NPR - loud. Because honestly, do you really want to wake up to 14 dead in Baghdad? Heavy traffic on the Woodrow Wilson bridge? The recession?

I think not.

I like my beeping alarm, inches from where I can snooze it. It is a sound Nick hates to wake up to. How we will compromise on this, I'm not sure.

Anyway. It's not that I want to be apart, but last night it was so nice to be in my old life.

Laura and another friend and I were talking about when I'm moving to Virginia. They both said they don't like this move across the river one bit. Because, for those of you who don't live in the area, while moving to Virginia is not like getting on a train car to Auschwitz, people don't tend to come back.

Nick takes it as a criticism of him, of his place. Which it is not. It's more that people go to the suburbs and you lose them.

You leave the city to go home after work? You don't come back in for a quick beer with your friends. It's too much effort. And your friends don't tend to want to come out to you. And I can't blame them - especially the ones without cars.

And this morning I rolled out of bed late, because, um, it's a 15 minute walk to work. So I can. Yum.

But Wednesday evening with my friends. Local 16 had a party sponsored by Peroni on their upstairs deck. It was a gorgeous evening. And it turned out they were offering free beer! And they had all these trays of hors d'oeuvres. Free sausage!

So I'm a Philistine, because does it get any better than free beer and sausage?

Hardly.