Soap isn't worth 10 minutes

In my scramble to do everything I need to before I leave town, I've completely lost my ability to prioritize.

Case in point, yesterday's excursion to Whole Foods to buy bar soap. Why it took me ten minutes to choose Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap (Almond), I have no idea.

Did I mention that I met Dr. Bronner's son a number of years ago? He lives in my hometown. I answered the door one afternoon when he came to pick up my parents' foreign exchange student for a field trip.

Anyhow. Second case in point. I really should be vacuuming so I can come home to a sparkling clean apartment (one of life's simple joys), but instead I'm writing this …

Point of clarification

One of the things I get to do as an employee of a small-staff publication is cover meetings. Not often; four weekends a year or so. So, while absorbed in the finer points of Robert's Rules of Order and the official documents ruling a particular non-profit organization, I've had to discover ways to occupy my time.

• Lists: Thankfully I'm leaving for Germany in a few days. This means I need to write lists of things to pack.

• Reminders: Buy parking pass, retrieve passport from safe deposit box, bank, return library book and icon, find and mail health-care reimbursement request, buy postage stamps.

• Calendar items: Today: health food store and REI. Sunday: Do laundry, clean apartment. Monday: Schedule auto body repair, bring clothing donations to work. Tuesday: pick up CD & leader guide for Meghan, finish packing.

• Poetry: Too good to share here! I always write my best poetry during boring work meetings. I hope this doesn't mean it belongs to my employer as specified in the work-for-hire precedent of most publications. (It's not exactly anything my employer would publish.)

• Graphic design: There was a layout in my in-box when I made it in this morning. At least I got to read something interesting during the meeting ....

•Small talk with other members of the press: I've been covering these meetings long enough that I also know the other media folks there.

•Daydreaming: Mmmm. Not sharing that either. They're my daydreams.

Orange purse, red shirt

In other words, this graphic designer was running late this morning.

As opposed to last October's Diwali festival where I wore a purple dress and carried my orange purse because I thought it looked cool.

Or …

Turns out the officer who issued the violation notice wrote the issue date as 03-21-2003. I intend to contest under item five on the back of my notice: "The facts alleged in the parking or compliance violation notice are inconsistent or do not support a finding that the specified regulation was violated." Obviously, if the officer doesn't know the year how can she possibly tell time? Anyone think I've got a shot at it?

Gotham City: +$160

Prologue
J. and S. both live in the city, in a heavily populated area that's a big destination for city- and suburban-dwellers alike. Especially on nice spring days.

12:40 p.m.
I parked in my usual spot, not intending to be there later than the posted parking restrictions. Ran some errands in the neighborhood and grabbed a quick bite of lunch.

1:30 p.m.
Met S. for a movie.

7:00 p.m.
Went out with J. for improv comedy and a late dinner. It'll be a month until our next date, since we're both out-of-town for weeks on end. Great show, cozy restaurant.

2:50 a.m.
Left J's house later than planned, but not soon enough to save my car.

3:02 a.m.
One minute past the posted parking restrictions, they begin towing. I saw my vehicle atop the tow truck. Pleaded with the driver. Told the cop I'd pay the fee. Cop said there was nothing she could do once the car was on the truck.

3:10 a.m.
Called J., explained the situation. J. met me downstairs and said he'd drive me to the pound, far on the city's outskirts. Eventually found it, after a half-hour drive and an additional fifteen minutes of circling the neighborhood.

4:00 a.m.
J. came in with me and waited in line with me for 30 minutes. Yes, my car was probably in the lot, but they hadn't finished paperwork. Please wait in line again. Twenty minutes. Car is probably in lot, still no paperwork. Went outside for a breath of fresh air with J. Sat in his car for awhile, then let him sleep in the driver's seat while I went through the line again.

5:20 a.m.
Finally. An hour-and-a-half after my arrival at the pound, my car was processed and I could bring it to the front of the yard. I begin the walk into the pound. Locate car, determine it's unharmed and drive to the front. Booth attendant writes my VIN on paperwork and tells me to go inside and pay.

5:30 a.m.
Before going back to pay, I wake J. up, tell him he can go home. He tells me to call if I need him to come back. I start crying at the stress of the situation and relief that it's over, and at his uncomplaining helpfulness. Also crying because I'm exhausted and our good evening ended with such a hassle.

5:35 a.m.
I go back inside to pay for my car. Another 30 minutes in line. Sunrise. Shuffled from one trailer to the next to finish paperwork and pay.

6:15 a.m.
Leave auto pound. Drive through deserted streets with grease pencil numbers all over my passenger-side window and windshield.

6:30 a.m.
Home. Remove grease pencil markings from car windows. Take out contacts. Collapse into bed.

5:30 p.m.
J calls to make sure I'm okay.

Things I learned this weekend:

• The people who love you will tell you that you look great even after you've been on a plane for three hours.

• The state of marriage can be riotously funny when inappropriately implied.

• A massage is a great Saturday morning activity.

• There is a healthy trade in reproduction brothel tokens. Market value: $3.

• Authentic brothel tokens sell for at least $10.

• The going rate for a chastity belt is $62.

• Double-entendre vegetable crate labels are hours of fun.

• Stacking rocks can be meditative.

• Stacking rocks is fun.

• With enough effort, you can stack rocks into unlikely and unusual piles.

• My friends actually like to hike. They don't just do it to humor me.

• Brandy old-fashioneds should not be ordered anywhere but Wisconsin.

• There are very few roadside toilets in Arizona.

• Paying 50 cents to use the toilet may result in a serendipitous brush with something amazing.

• My mobile phone service extends to the rim of the Grand Canyon.

• Two weeks is a long time to wait for an answer to a question.

• Patience, grace and trust are virtues of practice, not possession.

• Scatalogical humor never loses its appeal.

• A traffic accident in rural Arizona can cause a back-up for five miles and forty-five minutes.

• If you stacked rocks meditatively that morning, the forty-five minute traffic jam on the way to the airport might not disturb your peace of mind.

• The people who love you can sense you are tense despite your insistence that your peace of mind is undisturbed.

• Making your plane does a great deal to restore one's peace of mind.

• So does a weekend full of sun, positive energy, physical activity, relaxation and good food with great friends.

Who left Lipton tea bags in my car? And why?

Bank error in your favor. Collect $5

I drive a very small car. In a world built for SUVs, this can be a problem. If not for its bright color, my car would be easily lost in parking lots full of Expeditions and XTerras.

This morning, it caused a problem at the bank. I drove up to the third drive-through spot and deposited my check in the cylinder.

Then, I waited. For about ten minutes. This is not unusual. My bank is a small neighborhood branch affiliated with a larger bank.

After the requisite pneumatic whoosh, the teller spoke over the intercom: "Amber? We're really sorry. We didn't see you there. We've deposited five dollars in your account for the inconvenience."

Today I'm in love with the world.

I don't need a reason. But if you need one, you may choose:

• it's a beautiful, sunny day

• the writers I've assigned to work on an in-depth issue are exceeding my expectations

• I was up until midnight playing Rummikub with Bryan and Lorel last night

• I'm going to Arizona this weekend to see two of my best friends and the Grand Canyon

• We're going to try cactus juice margaritas in Arizona

• I went salsa dancing Friday night, got spun silly and learned to cha-cha

• I saw Thula Sizwe Saturday night.

• Janelle and Brad got engaged this past weekend

I suppose you don't need a flashy Web site when you're the only restaurant in Balltown, IA. See previous post.

I hate Randy Newman.

A friend and I wrote a list of karaoke faux pas on a napkin at a restaurant one night. Singing a Newman song topped the list.

Then, while listening to NPR recently, I heard an interview with Newman. And he sang Real Emotional Girl. He sang: "every little thing you tell her, she'll believe."

He was singing about me.

I fall in love, I get my heart broken, and I cry all the time.

And I can't hate Randy Newman anymore.

Belle of the ball

Well, not really. Actually, I was just one of about four hundred people who went to the cultural center this Sunday for tango demonstrations and lessons.

They split us into two groups for the biggest group lesson in which I've participated since the J200 pre-journalism course at Mizzou.

Having taken salsa lessons for seven weeks, I grabbed a partner and learned that tango is actually very easy. Listen for the beat, march in place, wait for the leader to walk you around, march some more.

The hardest part is the marching backwards.

Oh yeah, and watch out for Al, the instructor, given to yelling "MARCH! MARCH! MARCH! PICK UP YOUR FEET! STOP! NO DANCING WHEN THERE'S NO MUSIC! WAIT ... WAIT ... WAIT! LISTEN FOR THE BEAT. MARCH!"

So after another gal and I marched forward and backwards for awhile, I got swept up by a suave sexagenarian (hey, no wonder no one uses that word) who knew what he was doing.

Al decided I would help him demonstrate the next step, which thankfully involved me mostly marching in place, following his lead and Al doing some sexy moves around my very stage-frightened body.

Have I mentioned that before I started taking salsa classes I had a fear of dancing?

Well, no more Birkenstocks on the dance floor for this gal. From here on out it's ballroom shoes and no inhibitions.