I meet men in the strangest places. Today, it was the salad bar at Stop & Shop just 1/2-mile down the road from work.
Over the last few weeks, I've made substantial changes to my diet, not because I have any idealistic notions of losing weight, but because I'm trying to ensure I'm getting enough vitamins/minerals. I've cut-down on greasy and sugary foods and replaced them with healthy alternatives and, for the most part, I feel great because of it. But with this new healthy diet comes the burden of having to prepare something for lunch every day, which I'm notoriously bad at.
Today, I ventured out of the office shortly before lunchtime to get something healthy for this afternoon. When I turned on the radio in my car on the way to the store, one of my favorite songs (John Mellencamp's "Hurt So Good") was playing, which immediately put me in a good mood. I made it to the store before the last chorus ended, belted out the last refrain, updated my Facebook status, and made my way inside... When I got there, I noticed a man not much older than myself at the salad bar. He was wearing an air force uniform and was fairly good looking. He also wasn't wearing a wedding ring, which didn't mean anything really, other than I have about a 75 percent chance that he was actually single. Being the shyest person on earth, however, and thus not willing to initiate a conversation, I grabbed a to-go container and circled around to the opposite side, careful to avoid eye contact. Minutes later, I was standing in line behind him with an elderly woman between us. Before Mr. Air Force made it to the cashier, the woman turned around and offered me her spot in line.
"You've only got the one thing, go ahead," she said.
"Are you sure?" I asked and she nodded. "Thank you very much." I really do appreciate it when people are pleasant. It makes it so much easier to be happy.
"Would you like to leapfrog again in front of me?" Mr. Air Force asked.
I declined. He only had a few items and that way I could surreptitiously admire him.
"No, I'm all set, thanks. That would be far too much generosity to pay forward," I said.
He laughed and said something else I can't quite remember and we went back and forth a few times.
Was I really trying to flirt with this guy?
He told me I'd still have to do something nice for someone else to pay forward the elderly woman's generosity, to which I replied that I would be courteous and allow someone to cut in front of me out on the road.
"You'll only pay about 40 percent of it back, though" he said. "That's not gonna cut it."
We continued on in that fashion for another minute or so and he paid for his items and left the store. I wasn't too far behind him and as I was walking out toward the parking lot, I spotted him climbing into a pickup truck not too far from my car.
I wish I could say I had the nerve to actually introduce myself to him or get his name, but I haven't quite worked myself up to that point yet. I did, however, slip into the conversation that I worked for the local newspaper, so maybe if I'm nice and "pay it forward" a bit, Karma will return the favor and somehow put us in touch again.
And just in case I needed to push things along, I wrote an editorial for this week about the importance of paying it forward. If he reads the paper, or if he happens to pick one up this week on a whim (what are the odds?), he'll see it.
We'll see if fate intervenes on my behalf but until then, I'm gonna suck up to Karma for awhile and be as kind and considerate as possible. It couldn't hurt, right?
Monday, September 26, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Breathe and reboot.
Last night, the unthinkable happened.
My computer fell to the floor from its precarious perch on the narrow arm of my futon and now I'm waiting with baited breath to see if it finally dies. I mean, I hope it doesn't, but I've lost other electronics in a similar fashion in the past, so there's kind of a precedent set in my life for this sort of thing.
One might wonder what my trusty laptop was doing balancing on the thin wooden arm of a futon, and the answer is simple: I was trying to obtain a wireless Internet signal from my downstairs neighbors and that just happened to be the only place in the apartment where I can actually find a signal. Go figure. During that time, while sitting with legs crossed on the couch, a half-empty (or maybe depending on your philosophical slant, a half-full) bottle of Poland Spring in my hand, I felt the faintest tickle on my back, which I immediately presumed was a spider and lashed around in defiance in an attempt to kill said arachnid. Apparently, in so doing, I knocked over my computer. Who didn't see that one coming?
Did I mention there was no spider?
So here I am, sitting at my desk at work wondering if I should compulsively save everything I'm writing in the event that my computer crashes. It is running a bit slow today, but I can't tell if it's any slower than usual.
Every time I click on a webpage or attempt to access my email account and I see the "red rainbow wheel of death," I have a minor anxiety attack. I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until my page finally loads and I can let it out and breathe again.
I guess Carrie Bradshaw summed it up best in that Sex and the City episode: "After all, computers crash, people die, relationships fall apart. The best we can do is breathe and reboot."
My computer fell to the floor from its precarious perch on the narrow arm of my futon and now I'm waiting with baited breath to see if it finally dies. I mean, I hope it doesn't, but I've lost other electronics in a similar fashion in the past, so there's kind of a precedent set in my life for this sort of thing.
One might wonder what my trusty laptop was doing balancing on the thin wooden arm of a futon, and the answer is simple: I was trying to obtain a wireless Internet signal from my downstairs neighbors and that just happened to be the only place in the apartment where I can actually find a signal. Go figure. During that time, while sitting with legs crossed on the couch, a half-empty (or maybe depending on your philosophical slant, a half-full) bottle of Poland Spring in my hand, I felt the faintest tickle on my back, which I immediately presumed was a spider and lashed around in defiance in an attempt to kill said arachnid. Apparently, in so doing, I knocked over my computer. Who didn't see that one coming?
Did I mention there was no spider?
So here I am, sitting at my desk at work wondering if I should compulsively save everything I'm writing in the event that my computer crashes. It is running a bit slow today, but I can't tell if it's any slower than usual.
Every time I click on a webpage or attempt to access my email account and I see the "red rainbow wheel of death," I have a minor anxiety attack. I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until my page finally loads and I can let it out and breathe again.
I guess Carrie Bradshaw summed it up best in that Sex and the City episode: "After all, computers crash, people die, relationships fall apart. The best we can do is breathe and reboot."
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Plotting the novel: The real reason writers are neurotic
Writing is more than just chasing ambulances and fire trucks and spending countless hours harassing the cops for information... or so I've read.
Last night, I finished reading Lisa Gardner's latest book, "Love You More," which was phenomenal. To be honest, I think the best part of the whole book was the acknowledgments, not because the substance of the book was bad, but because in her acknowledgments section, Gardner was much wittier and more candid than I would've expected from a suspense writer. I burst out laughing on at least two occasions while reading those two pages alone, although throughout the week I was reading the book, I did post a number of quotes as my status update on Facebook.
I'll admit part of the reason I so enjoyed this book was because its characters were Boston police officers and Massachusetts state troopers. And Gardner put both entities through the wringer. In retrospect (and for her sake!) I really hope they have a sense of humor. The whole time I was reading, I thought of my cop/trooper friends and it struck me that I could easily do this. I already write for a living, and I know I do that well. How much harder can it be to write a book? The trick, according to Gardner, is to conduct research and learn "new and inventive ways to commit murder and mayhem," as she so eloquently wrote in the acknowledgments. "Oh, and, um, also spending quality time with law enforcement officials who remind me why a life of crime really isn't a good idea, and thus I should continue to hope the whole writing gig pans out." Haha. She said it so perfectly and I'll take any excuse to spend time in the company of the cops. They're a pretty fascinating group of people.
That said, I have been toying with the idea of writing a novel lately, but I'm not sure what kind. Given that I've never written a book before, I can't really be squished into one category, i.e. suspense or romance, etc.. I love reading cheesy, girlie novels otherwise referred to as "chick lit" but I'd kill to write a suspense-type book like Gardner's... if only because I'd love to create some mahem and - ahem - kill someone. Figuratively, of course.
During the last few weeks (as always), I've been mulling over a few ideas, and after reading Gardner's acknowledgments (and subsequently, her website), I think I may have to bite the bullet and give it a go. This could be fun. I tend to have an active imagination anyway, so this might prove to be the perfect outlet. Maybe I can finally get what I want out of life, even if I am only giving it to my characters (although not without a little stumble here and there!). All I have to do is come up with an idea, throw in a few crazy plot twists, exacerbate conflicts and character development with sexual tension and, oh yeah, create a little mayhem... how hard could it be?
Last night, I finished reading Lisa Gardner's latest book, "Love You More," which was phenomenal. To be honest, I think the best part of the whole book was the acknowledgments, not because the substance of the book was bad, but because in her acknowledgments section, Gardner was much wittier and more candid than I would've expected from a suspense writer. I burst out laughing on at least two occasions while reading those two pages alone, although throughout the week I was reading the book, I did post a number of quotes as my status update on Facebook.
I'll admit part of the reason I so enjoyed this book was because its characters were Boston police officers and Massachusetts state troopers. And Gardner put both entities through the wringer. In retrospect (and for her sake!) I really hope they have a sense of humor. The whole time I was reading, I thought of my cop/trooper friends and it struck me that I could easily do this. I already write for a living, and I know I do that well. How much harder can it be to write a book? The trick, according to Gardner, is to conduct research and learn "new and inventive ways to commit murder and mayhem," as she so eloquently wrote in the acknowledgments. "Oh, and, um, also spending quality time with law enforcement officials who remind me why a life of crime really isn't a good idea, and thus I should continue to hope the whole writing gig pans out." Haha. She said it so perfectly and I'll take any excuse to spend time in the company of the cops. They're a pretty fascinating group of people.
That said, I have been toying with the idea of writing a novel lately, but I'm not sure what kind. Given that I've never written a book before, I can't really be squished into one category, i.e. suspense or romance, etc.. I love reading cheesy, girlie novels otherwise referred to as "chick lit" but I'd kill to write a suspense-type book like Gardner's... if only because I'd love to create some mahem and - ahem - kill someone. Figuratively, of course.
During the last few weeks (as always), I've been mulling over a few ideas, and after reading Gardner's acknowledgments (and subsequently, her website), I think I may have to bite the bullet and give it a go. This could be fun. I tend to have an active imagination anyway, so this might prove to be the perfect outlet. Maybe I can finally get what I want out of life, even if I am only giving it to my characters (although not without a little stumble here and there!). All I have to do is come up with an idea, throw in a few crazy plot twists, exacerbate conflicts and character development with sexual tension and, oh yeah, create a little mayhem... how hard could it be?
Thursday, September 8, 2011
The power of positive thinking
Some say when you really, really want something, you need to set your mind upon getting it. Positive visualization and all that.
Last night, while watching reruns of Criminal Minds before bed, I was poking around various websites out of sheer boredom when I stumbled on HigherEdJobs.com. And I thought, "What the hell, it's been a good three months since I've tackled the fruitless task of conducting a job search, so why not?"
And there, I found it... my dream job (sort of!) right here in Springfield.
Because I have both a full-time and part-time job that more or less covers my living expenses, I have given myself the luxury of time as far as the job search has gone. In the last three years or so, I've applied to countless positions, some of which I really wanted, others I know I was barely qualified for, just to say I've been looking. But it's always been with the thought that I don't have to settle for something I don't really want... unless the salary is too good to pass up.
On a whim, I logged into HigherEdJobs.com and found an Editorial Assistant position open at Springfield College. The job description reads as follows:
Under general supervision, prepares written material for publication, performing any one of the following duties: copyedits and proofreads to detect errors in spelling, punctuation, and syntax; verifies facts, dates, and statistics using standard reference sources; rewrites or modifies copy to conform to publication's style and editorial policy and marks copy for design, using standard symbols; maintains photography files, selects photography upon request, builds relationships with photographers and assigns and assists in photo shoots; prepares updated drafts of text upon request; serves as compiler of Class News & Notes for the College's flagship magazine; utilizes advanced computerized word processing programs and techniques to produce documents and/or narrative materials.
This position requires a minimum of an A.A. degree or equivalent with a minimum of three years related experience preferred. Strong knowledge of Chicago Manual of Style, Associate Press style, and punctuation and syntax. Familiarity with Macintosh software programs that impact design (Photoshop, Illustrator, Quark) helpful but not essential to performing the duties of the position. Position requires: a) Utilizing computerized graphic programs or word processing in the development and formatting of reports and documents; b) compiling and preparing text from copy, notes, voice, or other format; and c) proofreading and editing documents in accordance with pre-set guidelines.
If that's not the perfect job for me, I don't know what is. The added benefit, of course, is that the job is at a college -- which has been the primary focus of my search so far. Ideally, I'd like to go back to school and get my master's degree or another bachelor's degree, and working at the college level would likely only aid me in that mission.
So, to whatever higher power is looking down on my life -- I want this job. I know it's perfect for me and I'm perfect for it. Let's throw a little luck my way this time, huh?
Last night, while watching reruns of Criminal Minds before bed, I was poking around various websites out of sheer boredom when I stumbled on HigherEdJobs.com. And I thought, "What the hell, it's been a good three months since I've tackled the fruitless task of conducting a job search, so why not?"
And there, I found it... my dream job (sort of!) right here in Springfield.
Because I have both a full-time and part-time job that more or less covers my living expenses, I have given myself the luxury of time as far as the job search has gone. In the last three years or so, I've applied to countless positions, some of which I really wanted, others I know I was barely qualified for, just to say I've been looking. But it's always been with the thought that I don't have to settle for something I don't really want... unless the salary is too good to pass up.
On a whim, I logged into HigherEdJobs.com and found an Editorial Assistant position open at Springfield College. The job description reads as follows:
Under general supervision, prepares written material for publication, performing any one of the following duties: copyedits and proofreads to detect errors in spelling, punctuation, and syntax; verifies facts, dates, and statistics using standard reference sources; rewrites or modifies copy to conform to publication's style and editorial policy and marks copy for design, using standard symbols; maintains photography files, selects photography upon request, builds relationships with photographers and assigns and assists in photo shoots; prepares updated drafts of text upon request; serves as compiler of Class News & Notes for the College's flagship magazine; utilizes advanced computerized word processing programs and techniques to produce documents and/or narrative materials.
This position requires a minimum of an A.A. degree or equivalent with a minimum of three years related experience preferred. Strong knowledge of Chicago Manual of Style, Associate Press style, and punctuation and syntax. Familiarity with Macintosh software programs that impact design (Photoshop, Illustrator, Quark) helpful but not essential to performing the duties of the position. Position requires: a) Utilizing computerized graphic programs or word processing in the development and formatting of reports and documents; b) compiling and preparing text from copy, notes, voice, or other format; and c) proofreading and editing documents in accordance with pre-set guidelines.
If that's not the perfect job for me, I don't know what is. The added benefit, of course, is that the job is at a college -- which has been the primary focus of my search so far. Ideally, I'd like to go back to school and get my master's degree or another bachelor's degree, and working at the college level would likely only aid me in that mission.
So, to whatever higher power is looking down on my life -- I want this job. I know it's perfect for me and I'm perfect for it. Let's throw a little luck my way this time, huh?
Monday, September 5, 2011
Murder mystery
I need to remind myself not to read books about serial killers or watch tv shows like Criminal Minds alone at night right before I go to bed. I tend to freak myself out this way.
Yesterday, I was laid up in bed (or rather, on the couch) with a cold so I decided to read "A Murder in Belmont" by Sebastian Junger, a book about the Boston Strangler. I am fascinated by the Strangler stories. I started reading them a year or so ago when I was visiting my mother in Dracut and I took a book out of the local library on that subject. I never got a chance to finish that book before I had to return it, but the fascination remained. When I saw the Junger book on my friend's bookshelf a few weeks ago, I knew I had to read it.
I've got conflicting emotions while reading this book... On the one hand, I want to yell and scream at the Strangler victims to exercise a little more self-preservation than they had, but I also can't help but wonder if perhaps the killer was just that enigmatic. Maybe they were all just doomed. After all, Ted Bundy was an educated, good looking man who probably disarmed all his victims with only a smile. Perhaps it was the same for the Strangler victims — most of whom were women in their early 60s. Nevermind the fact that the 1960s was a different time; maybe there wasn't as much reason to be concerned for safety as there is today.
In any event, I was reading the Strangler book last night right before I watched two episodes of Criminal Minds, which happened to be right before I decided I wanted to go to bed. By the time I shut the TV off and settled under the covers, I was convinced every sound I heard meant someone was out to get me. This isn't the first time I've felt that way either. Once, while dog-sitting for a friend in a rural neighborhood in Ware, I watched a Criminal Minds marathon right before I decided to take the dog out for his last potty break of the day. It was about 11 p.m. and pitch black outside. I lasted less than three minutes before the shadows (and Barkley's incessant barking) convinced me something sinister was lurking and I made my way back to the relative safety of the house.
I'm all about watching murder mysteries on TV or reading true crime stories about them, but I'm all set with becoming a victim.
Yesterday, I was laid up in bed (or rather, on the couch) with a cold so I decided to read "A Murder in Belmont" by Sebastian Junger, a book about the Boston Strangler. I am fascinated by the Strangler stories. I started reading them a year or so ago when I was visiting my mother in Dracut and I took a book out of the local library on that subject. I never got a chance to finish that book before I had to return it, but the fascination remained. When I saw the Junger book on my friend's bookshelf a few weeks ago, I knew I had to read it.
I've got conflicting emotions while reading this book... On the one hand, I want to yell and scream at the Strangler victims to exercise a little more self-preservation than they had, but I also can't help but wonder if perhaps the killer was just that enigmatic. Maybe they were all just doomed. After all, Ted Bundy was an educated, good looking man who probably disarmed all his victims with only a smile. Perhaps it was the same for the Strangler victims — most of whom were women in their early 60s. Nevermind the fact that the 1960s was a different time; maybe there wasn't as much reason to be concerned for safety as there is today.
In any event, I was reading the Strangler book last night right before I watched two episodes of Criminal Minds, which happened to be right before I decided I wanted to go to bed. By the time I shut the TV off and settled under the covers, I was convinced every sound I heard meant someone was out to get me. This isn't the first time I've felt that way either. Once, while dog-sitting for a friend in a rural neighborhood in Ware, I watched a Criminal Minds marathon right before I decided to take the dog out for his last potty break of the day. It was about 11 p.m. and pitch black outside. I lasted less than three minutes before the shadows (and Barkley's incessant barking) convinced me something sinister was lurking and I made my way back to the relative safety of the house.
I'm all about watching murder mysteries on TV or reading true crime stories about them, but I'm all set with becoming a victim.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Mother knows best...
It's taken me awhile, but I think I've finally learned to listen to and trust my body.
A few weeks ago, while in the midst of our total market coverage (TMC) editions, which are sent to every residence in the town I cover, I started to feel rundown but I pushed it aside in an effort to get all my work done. TMC weeks are, arguably, the biggest editions of my paper each year; this year, because our back-to-school edition was the week following TMCs, I had three super-stressful weeks at work. Like always, the second the stress subsided, I was walloped. It took just three days for a cold to set in.
In the past, if I was sick during the workweek, I'd power through and "rest" on the weekend. I always feel like as a reporter, I have a responsibility to my paper, to work as hard as I can to put out the best-quality publication as I can. But in the past, when I tried to work through the sickness, I'd been sicker, longer. Today, I didn't think twice about taking the day off from work to rest — and boy did I need it!
Growing up, my mom always made me spend the day in bed whenever I was home sick from school. I always hated being cooped up, but I now officially understand the value of my mother's wisdom. I spent today on my couch after waking up at my usual time and, although I wasn't doing anything strenuous, I felt exhausted fairly quickly. Whenever those moments hit me, I would close my eyes to rest/relax, and ended up falling asleep for over an hour each time. Now, although only dinner time, I feel more refreshed and alive than I have in days. I have no doubt I have my mom to thank for this.
Never again will I put my job before my health. I love what I do (and I do it well), but I realize I'm not doing anyone much good by going to work in the cloudy fog of sickness like I have these last few days. I know I don't always listen to my mother's pearls of wisdom, but perhaps I should. After all, if this is any indication, mother knows best.
A few weeks ago, while in the midst of our total market coverage (TMC) editions, which are sent to every residence in the town I cover, I started to feel rundown but I pushed it aside in an effort to get all my work done. TMC weeks are, arguably, the biggest editions of my paper each year; this year, because our back-to-school edition was the week following TMCs, I had three super-stressful weeks at work. Like always, the second the stress subsided, I was walloped. It took just three days for a cold to set in.
In the past, if I was sick during the workweek, I'd power through and "rest" on the weekend. I always feel like as a reporter, I have a responsibility to my paper, to work as hard as I can to put out the best-quality publication as I can. But in the past, when I tried to work through the sickness, I'd been sicker, longer. Today, I didn't think twice about taking the day off from work to rest — and boy did I need it!
Growing up, my mom always made me spend the day in bed whenever I was home sick from school. I always hated being cooped up, but I now officially understand the value of my mother's wisdom. I spent today on my couch after waking up at my usual time and, although I wasn't doing anything strenuous, I felt exhausted fairly quickly. Whenever those moments hit me, I would close my eyes to rest/relax, and ended up falling asleep for over an hour each time. Now, although only dinner time, I feel more refreshed and alive than I have in days. I have no doubt I have my mom to thank for this.
Never again will I put my job before my health. I love what I do (and I do it well), but I realize I'm not doing anyone much good by going to work in the cloudy fog of sickness like I have these last few days. I know I don't always listen to my mother's pearls of wisdom, but perhaps I should. After all, if this is any indication, mother knows best.
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