Monday, January 19, 2015

The 17.5 Item List of How My Brilliant Plans Unraveled

It is Monday evening.  My plan for today was to wake up, have a smoothie while driving to Ikea in College Park, buy a few items for the apartment, price out a few options for bookshelves, be home by 11:30, have bread rising by noon, cook the remaining items for the bowls, bake the risen bread, change into running clothes, run down to the Mall to meet M (who was at his volunteer Mall guide gig), go with him to buy some new clothes for his swanky new job, and be home by seven for a nice relaxed dinner.  

It sounds like a lot but it is totally doable, in exactly that order, in precisely the proper amounts of time. 

Meanwhile, that roaring noise you hear is everyone I've ever known, laughing at me.  

This is how my day ACTUALLY went. 

The waking up and making a smoothie part went fine.  We are experimenting with spirulina, which is supposedly a good source for vegetarian protein and filled with vitamins.  Some people called it "Nature's multivitamin".  I just call it funny looking.  It's a dark, blue green powder that adds a dark blue green color to smoothies and a very faint taste that I can't quite pinpoint. I will gladly keep experimenting with it.  Smoothie drunk, and morning conversation had, I climbed into the Beetle and went on my way. 

1. Decided to stop for gas on the way home. Had I stopped for gas on the way OUT, it is likely that I would have saved buttloads of time.  Le sigh.  

2. Arrived by 9:40.  In I go.  Yay!  Free breakfast today!  But since the store was open, I decided to get breakfast a little later.  I really shouldn't have deviated from what I've always done every other time I've ever been to IKEA.  Le sigh, again.

3. I found what I needed at good prices, and before heading downstairs to finish my list, I went for my coffee.  That was where I discovered... no wallet in my purse.  

4. Dammitall.  I had changed bags that very morning, and I was quite sure I had left it in the other bag.  So dammit.  Very, very much dammit. 

5.  Headed back home... now on a dangerously low gas level that totally didn't bother me an hour ago but now knowing that I couldn't fill it up if I needed to... naturally DOOM AWAITED!!!  You know Skeletor, from the old He-man cartoon?  I'm pretty sure that is what doom looks like.  He-man is pretty creepy too... the blond bob just doesn't do it for me.  Never has.  Arrived home, found miracle parking spot in front of door.  

6. 30 seconds later, wallet in hand, I'm back on the road... with the gas nearly out. Smart people will notice that this is being written, and will surmise that gas was found while my Beetle still had two lines left in the tank.  You could also delve into anxiety and agony, as I did, fearing that I would run out of gas and have to fight maurauding hordes and walk six miles to a gas station. I've never run out of gas in my entire life.  So naturally, I fear it SO MUCH.

7.  Back to IKEA. It was now, of course, mobbed.  I HATE parking!! Circling for the parking?  Makes me want to set things on fire. I park about ½ mile from the store entrance, cheerful to get my extra steps in. Cheerfulness is overrated... because...

8.  PSA: Some parents have sleeping infants or rowdy toddlers in tow.  A few have both.  More power to you, parentals.  You are braver people than I.  I especially like the parents who plunk their child down in the bed and say, "stretch out so you can save mommy the measuring."  

9.  Items in hand, I stand in the longest line in the universe, which was about three people long.  

10. And then... the cashier holds up the bolt of fabric I had selected for a small house project, which turns out to be discontinued and doesn't ring up.  15 minutes later, after consulting other IKEA agents, the floor manager, the product manager, the store manager, the regional manager, the district manager, and the President of the United States, they give me a price.  $4.99.  Seriously, folks?  

11. There is no debit card in my wallet.  The cashier says, "It's ok.  Take your time."  I do not reply with shrieky high pitched hysteria voice.  I return to car, now one mile away.  

11.5.  It is now 12:55.  I had intended to be in and out of IKEA by 11.  I was supposed to be home.  Baking bread.  

12.  In purse, I have located the gas reciept.  I turn car inside out.  No debit card.  In hysterical moment, consider just giving up and leaving IKEA.  Except I had left my shopping bag inside. Return to store, which is now 2 miles away.  Phone tells me I have reached ½ my steps goal.  Yay?

13.  I retrace my steps.  Zilch.  My options are now: card was left at gas station, card was dropped, or I've been robbed, pickpocketed and mugged.  Despite my natural anxiety, I'm at least confident it's not option #3.  I think I'd remember a mugging. 

13.5. Returning to the checkout lane, I collect my bag and have moment of inspiration to ask for Lost and Found.  Directions are given. 

14.  I locate Lost and Found, which involved going through a door marked for employees only, climbing about 7 flights of stairs, and decoding a puzzle to open the correct option of three doors. 

15. Tell the Lost and Found man sitting there that I'd like to report a lost Oregon debit card.  He lights up and smiles, and holds up paperwork in one hand... and the card in the other.  It had literally been turned in one minute prior.  

16. Card back in hand, I head downstairs to long-suffering cashier and purchase items.  It is now nearly 2PM.  I buy the 2 hotdog deal and snarf them down.  Stress eating, much?  Don't judge.  Give me my delicious, delicious stressdog.  

17.  Back home, my spoils include two loaf pans (because for some wacky reason, I did not put my loaf pans into my "unpack now" box and all my loaf pans went into long term storage), two magnetic knife racks, a wall mount for the TV, and fabric to make the kitties a privacy shield for their litter box.  Yes, that's right.  The litter box is in the bottom of a hall closet and they are super bashful.  Given Origami's recent history of bladder stones, we can't afford to give him any reason to not pee to his little furry heart's content. 

17.5  You're welcome, kitties.  Who are extremely happy tonight because they figured out how to open the sealed, airtight box where we keep their dry food.  The dry food that is just a snack.  



So that was my day.  

It is now 10 PM, and I finally have flour ground and dough rising.  I am determined to make a freakin' sandwich loaf for tomorrow so I can have a freakin' sandwich with my freakin' soup, which is damn delicious.  

I am excited, though, that we got one fun chore done.  M has recently scored a swanky exciting new job with the Federal Government, which he starts next week.  After spending the last few years in uniforms or jeans, his workaday wardrobe was pretty much nonexistent.  So we went to buy him a few pairs of trousers and I got to buy him some ties, so he can tie a tiny little noose around his neck and head off in to the wild, wild world of defending our artifacts against the scourges of time.  

And yes, his lunches will be amazing.  












 

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