How sleep and Pizza Hut saved my life (Or, "Confession #2")

Are you ready for this one? (Mom, you may want to not read this. You're going to shake your head in dismay.)

I once called in to work for three days in a row just to help my roommate defeat a playstation game.

Yeah, you read that right. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Well, OK, I am a little. But it was SOOOOO fun! It's like a little guilty pleasure...some people were in the Scott Baio fan club, I was obsessed with Walt Disney World Magical Racing Tour. Here's the story:

First of all, you'll need a little background. When I worked at Walt Disney World, they had this fantastic high school-esque policy regarding call-ins. Your whole hired/fired status worked on a point system (a la demerits). Three points got you a reprimand, and three reprimands within 12 months got you fired. So you got points for different things: being late, leaving early...some things were partial points and some things were whole points. Calling in for a personal day cost you a whole point for each day, but calling in sick only cost you one point for three days in a row. More than three days and you needed a doctor's note (so you couldn't go on vacation and call in sick for 6 days, have just 2 points, and get away with it easily). OK, so knowing that...

I came home from work one day frustrated and tired. My roommate Mindy had rented a Playstation (1, back in the prehistoric days before PS2) from Blockbuster and she had rented a game. As soon as I walked in the door she mauled me jabbering about some game her boyfriend had rented for his playstation that was SOOOOOOOOOOO fun and we had to play it. So I sat down and joined her. Within 5 minutes I was hooked. The game is designed so that you are Disney characters racing go-karts through the rides at Walt Disney World. I think I probably got home that night around 9:30, and we might have gone to sleep around 3am. We left both the Playstation and the TV on lest we lose all the work we'd put in beating different "rides" and levels. We had conquered the first level on each of the rides, but the increasing difficulty was making the second level slow-going. Oh, and we slept on the floor in front of the TV to protect it in case our other roommate, Ali, came home and tried to turn it off. We also wrote her a note telling her not to touch ANYTHING. We were quite serious about this.

Woke up in the morning amidst blankets and pillows and shook Mindy awake. Immediately began working on the game again. Within the hour we realized a power outtage could ruin all our hard work, and paused the game, wrote another note for Ali, and left for Wal-Mart to purchase a memory card (that's right, a memory card for a Playstation we didn't even own). While out, we realized sustinance would be key to our ability to focus. Not wanting to lose precious time, we hit the McDonald's drive through and headed home. A few hours later, when it was time for me to go to work, I decided we'd never conquer the game and find out the "surprise" at the end if I had to waste 8 hours at work. I called in sick (knowing full well we'd never beat the game in just the one day and not wanting to get a reprimand for taking three personal days to beat a video game) and thus it began. The trip to WalMart was the last time I left the house (or the spot on the floor in front of the TV, for that matter) for the next three days. We ordered Pizza Hut when we were hungry, napped in front of the TV when we were tired, and had a fort of pillows and blankets to keep us comfy.

You may ask, why are you admitting this to us, Kristy? Well, a few weeks ago I was checking the news at work and discovered this story. Clearly the man was an amateur. Or Pizza Hut and sleep saved my life. Either way, I had a good chuckle remembering my days of hooky-playing back in O-town. And, I take some satisfaction in the idea that I cheated death. =)

(Mom: if you're still reading...this adventure was not for nothing...Fear Not: we beat the game. You can rest easy now.)

Confession #1

I know, two posts in as many days. Try not to have a heart attack.

OK, time for some confessions. Number one: I have become the person I used to make fun of. Read on....

I have never been a coffee drinker. I just don't like the taste of it. I don't like tiramisu for this reason, and and I don't like coffee ice cream. I just don't like any of it. I'm sure you do like it, and I'm happy for you that you do. I don't. I'm actually kind of proud of it. I made it through both college and grad school without ever forcing myself to start "liking" coffee enough to keep awake to do all the crazy things I had to do in the midst of doing all the crazy things I wanted to do.

Now, don't think I made it all this time without the aid of caffeine. In college it was diet coke and iced tea. And then, sometime while I was living in Florida, someone introduced me to chai tea. It's funny, I have no idea who did it...and I can't really remember hitting up too many Starbucks for chai in Florida, but I remember having the obsession with it long before I moved up to Massachusetts. In any case...whoever introduced me to chai (maybe it was Laura? now that I'm thinking of it I think it was her...she gave me some of hers in Carytown one day as we were walking and shopping....hmmm....) sent me down a path I can never retrace.

I used to make fun of the people obsessed with coffee, and how they'd get all happy when they discovered some new flavor or new way to have it. The people who could speak in all the shortcuts of the Starbucks lingo: "I'll have a grande half-calf triple non-fat extra foamy caramel latte with a shot of hazelnut please." Seriously? Order your coffee in english. And what's with the sizes? Tall, Grande, Venti? Is Starbucks really trying to pretend like they're spanish? Or italian? Which is it anyway? C'mon! None of those sizes sound small, but I see small cups. Why must it be so hard?

This is what I used to think. After my introduction to chai tea, I've been addicted to it as my form of caffeine. It's just so damn tasty. And Starbucks has a great, very sweet yet still spicy blend. But I still felt justified in making fun of the coffee drinkers, because I would go into starbucks and order either a small, a medium, or "the biggest size you have." And I just ordered a chai. Nobody walks into Starbucks and orders a "coffee." You go there because you want to qualify your coffee with something crazy in it. You want a coffee you'll go to 7-11. But I was separate from the regular Starbucks patrons because my order was simple ("chai"). Monosyllabic, even.

Now, as it turns out, you can get whipped cream on your hot chai. And it melts into the chai, and makes it even sweeter and creamier and yummier than it already was. So my order got more complicated ("chai with whipped"), and the distance between me and those I made fun of got a little smaller. Then I discovered that you could get your chai tea made with nonfat milk, which fit better with my plan to eat healthier and lose weight, as long as I didn't order the whipped cream. So my order stayed about the same complexity ("non-fat chai"). Then I discovered the beauty of icing your tea when it's hot outside and you'd like a cool refreshing drink, increasing the complexity yet again ("non-fat iced chai"). But I still felt some sort of distance between me and the coffee drinkers, as I hadn't figured out the lingo entirely yet. I was still ordering small/medium/oh-my-god-if-I-don't-get-caffeine-I'll-never-stay-awake sizes, and I ordered my non-fat iced chai as "iced chai made with skim milk."

Today, all that changed. I walked into Starbucks, ready to order with the lingo - venti (the biggest) non-fat half-ice chai (half ice because then you get more drink that way, and it stays just as cold and gets less watery when the ice melts). And I found out YET ANOTHER way to sink me to the level of those I used to make fun of: the woman in front of me ordered a SOY chai.

Now, I'm lactose intolerant. So anytime I want to have a chai I usually have to pop some lactaid, which I don't always have on hand (although I try to carry a stash with me). But if they use soy milk, I don't have to take any lactaid. I wish you could have seen the joy on my face as I ordered my venti half-ice soy chai.

But this isn't even the worst! The worst is that as I walked out, I was thinking, "I wonder if they have non-fat soy milk?" I'm almost afraid to ask, because then I will be fully the person I used to make fun of as I order my venti non-fat half-ice soy chai.

But you know what? I'm going to enjoy it soooooo much that I won't even care. =)

In the words of Annie Lennox....

WHY..............

It amazes me how little people really think about anything these days. Myself included. The girls for whom I babysit, now two and a half, are in the "why" stage. This means everything is "why?" It's actually kind of funny, because when I say "everything is 'why?'" I mean everything. Some of it makes sense, and some of it doesn't. For example:

Girls: Why carrots and apples and cheese for snack today?
Me: Because that's what your mom decided to make for you to eat today.
Girls: Why mom make that?
Me: Because your mom likes you to eat healthy, so you can grow up to be healthy and happy adults.
Girls: Why?
Me: Because that's what most parents want for their kids - health and happiness.
Girls: Why?
Me: Because they love you and want the best for you.
Girls: Why?
Me: Uhhhh...welll....because....OK. You love mommy and daddy, right?
Girls: Yes.
Me: Do you want bad things for them?
Girls: No.
Me: What kind of things do you want for them?
Girls: Good things!
Me: Riiiiiiiiight. And they love you, just like you love them, and so they want good things for you just like you want good things for them.
Girls: Oh.

So that all made sense to me. But then we have exchanges like this:

Girls: Why door?
Me: What do you mean, "Why door?"
Girls: What's that? (pointing to door)
Me: You know what that is. What is that?
Girls: Front door.
Me: Right.

What the hell? "Why door?" But the thing is, I think it's great that they have so many questions, and want to know about the world, and I don't want to squash that by saying something like "Just because." Kids' whole job is to learn about the world, and as their babysitter it's my whole job to help them. So I try really hard to answer their questions. Which reminds me that although I like to think I'm a person who really thinks about life and explores the depths of knowledge available to me, I really don't. I have to get really creative sometimes to answer their questions, and sometimes I have to tell them I don't know or pull out my laptop and google it for them. Jay's favorite example of my creativity follows (Jay being the man I have found to kiss, mentioned in a previous post):

Girls: Why the truck make a lot of noise?
Me: Uhhh...well, because machines that do big jobs make a lot of noise.
Girls: Why?
Me: Uhhh...because they're working so hard they can't be quiet. You know how when you make a big poop sometimes you grunt? Because you're working so hard? The machines are like that - they're working SO hard that they have to make noise.
Girls: Oh.

It's not entirely untrue, is it? It's at least true in a general sense and it's on a level they can understand and relate to. But when I think about it, why do big trucks make so much noise? Is there a way to make them quieter?

It just goes to highlight the old adage of "the more you learn, the more you realize how little you know."

But this not thinking phenomenon extends further than myself, the two year olds I babysit, and big trucks. File the next story under the "If I ran the world things would be run a different way" header...

At the beginning of this summer I established Massachusetts residency, thus becoming an official "Masshole." Establishing residency is pretty easy - get a liscence, transfer your voting privileges up here, and you're set. So I headed out to the Boston RMV (Registry of Motor Vehicles) to get my lisence. Now, I prepared myself. I brought a book. I know how the RMV is. We all do. It's slow and long and painful. So I was ready. I got my number and sat down for an interminable wait. Here's the thing: in a city that is known for its vast number of higher educational institutions and thus known as a center of knowledge and culture, the RMV is apparently run by idiots. Wanna know how I know that the RMV is run by idiots? The benches are wicked uncomfortable.

Seriously, folks. It takes TWO seconds to think about things like this. You know you're running the RMV, you're planning it out, and you think - Hey, it would be nice if people weren't so mean when they came up to the counter. How can we help them not be in a bad mood? I know they thought about these things because they installed things like the number system so you can track how close you are to getting up front, and they allow you to review your picture and if you don't like it they'll take it again. Now, how hard is it to think about ordering comfortable benches? Or at least something designed to sit on? I'm telling you - these benches are clearly ornamental in nature and not functional in the least. Anyone who's been to a Massachusetts RMV will back me up - I've been to one other office and have friends who have been to even more offices and the benches are all the same. In a city that produces tens of thousands of smart graduates on a regular basis, how in the hell did they manage to hire someone who doesn't think to do this simple job? OY.

In any case, it just reminds me to be more mindful in my work. So, for my part, I'm going to try and think more about things like other people's perspectives, how what I'm doing affects other people, and try to learn more about the world around me. And I'm going to warn people before they go to the RMV that they should bring their own chair. =)

music: What else? "Why" by Annie Lennox