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Wednesday, February 11, 2015

5 Tips for Success

Heh, heh. Gotcha again, didn't I? This post has nothing to do with success. I have things of import to report, but not yet. Instead, I offer highlights of my week.  Some of my readers might actually prefer this type of post to ones that purport to give information about success. 

1. I spent $13 on a chocolate bar. That's what I said. Thirteen dollars on a chocolate bar. Why did I spend so much money on a chocolate bar, you ask? Well.
  • It was French. 
  • The bar was made by a family business that specializes in small batch chocolate. 
  • I was supporting the very great cheese store in Albany run by young cheese travelers. If you recall, in a previous post I mentioned eating candy that looked like olives. Also French. Also from The Cheese Traveler. 

The cost did give me pause. Thirteen dollars for a chocolate bar. I haven’t finished it yet. I’ve hidden it from my family. It’s meant to prove my worth. What I mean is that it’s my test of myself. My willpower. Can I eat it slowly and s-a-v-o-u-r it? Can I get really mindful about that chocolate and make a little go a long way? In other words: Am I a worthy human? That’s what this $13 chocolate bar is going to tell me.

Yes, I know the label reads backwards. I used PhotoBooth and that's what I got. 

Or maybe it’s telling me I’m an idiot for spending so much on one edible chocolate item.

2. I bought jeans. Yes, I know, this may not seem momentous to you, Readers. Unless you are female. If you are male, you likely stride into the jeans store, pick jeans with your measurements, pay for them, and leave. When you get home, and put them on, they fit. No big deal. But if you’re a woman, well, I think I can assume you know how momentous this is. Jeans. Jeans that fit. Jeans that look okay. Jeans from, of all places, The Gap. Never have I been so happy to learn that midrise and high rise jeans are back in style. And I didn’t have to pay $200 for them, either.

Not that I’m a style-obsessed person. Not at all. (It’s chocolate that obsesses me.)  It’s just that I happen to have a 16 year old, as I may have mentioned, and it hasn’t escaped me that while once she wore jeans that came up to just above her hip bone, now she is wearing jeans that end at her lower ribs.

Okay, I lied. I'm not really obsessed with chocolate. And I am interested in style. Perhaps more than I should be. But that's another story. 

This look, by the way, is one that only a 16 year old should try. For moi, it was midrise all the way. Locking in that muffin top, instead of watching it drip over the top of the jeans like a cake batter en route from mixing bowl to pan.

“How vivid,” as Auntie Mame might say.

Another reason to pass the $13 chocolate bar test. Square by square.

3. I bought a desk. Yes, I did. Me very own desk. In me very own study. No longer shall I take over the dining room table, because I have a nice, wide surface in me own study. This may not seem impressive to many of you, but I assure you, it’s a big step. Admitting I need a desk. You see, the desk and the need versus want thing is very complex in me. I mean, when it comes to having the basics covered, I do. I had a desk. It was just a very small desk. It was so small that I had to work on the dining room table if I wanted to have any reference materials or paper beside me in addition to my computer. And I have a dining room table. Well, technically, it’s an IKEA table with a plank of plywood on top, covered with a tablecloth. But it’s a table. So I had a desk AND a table. What possible reason could I have to justify a different desk?

See what I did there, Readers? I can bring myself down, way, way, down, by allowing that Superego voice in my head to say, “A desk. You think you need a desk. Somewhere in Africa (or India) someone is writing a masterpiece on a plank of petrified elephant hide. You don’t need a desk. You want a desk. And wanting is wrong.”

Shut up, Superego.

4. The husband went away to a conference, as is his wont every February. This is the signal to the universe to snow, to wreak some kind of havoc on the house, or to cause everyone left behind to come down with an intestinal illness. This time, it was snow, again. But I was ready. Or my plan was to be ready. Before he left, the husband gave me instructions on using the snowblower. 

Let me pause here to beg you, please, to refrain from telling me what wonderful exercise shoveling snow is, or how bad snowblowers are for the environment. I know. I know. But I have a bad back and a bad arm and, and, and. Lord, I sound defensive.

Reroute. Anyway, I was able to do everything necessary with the snowblower, except turn it on. There is a ripcord or something that you have to pull up and out really fast to get the engine to turn over. Well, I was too short to pull it out. Just a slight problem. Luckily, there is Facebook. I took my problem to FB. I believe this is called “crowdsourcing.” One of my Facebook friends suggested I stand on something. Genius! So, in the morning, which was a snowday, while the husband was tucked into his hotel in Nashville (This is a lot better than previous locations, such as Honolulu and San Diego. Talk about grounds for grudge-holding), I stood on a stepstool and got that machine going.

5. Got my 10,000 steps on Mrs. Withingston every day. 

Thank you for reading, readers. I have news for you soon. Also tips on success. Upcoming: Pomodoro Method.