The Next Stage in Our Relationship

Madison and I have entered the next stage of our relationship.  We are now at the point in our love affair when I can give someone directions.

Whenever I move to a new city, I have a fear that someone will ask me for directions before I know the answer.  I must subconsciously send out a vibe to people in my immediate area that screams, "please, oh please, ask me for directions!  I am too nice to ignore you!  And even though I am avoiding eye contact, it is just my coy way of getting you to talk to me," because people ask me all the time.
Someone in NYC would ask me for directions on a daily basis.  At least.  I was fortunate enough for most places to be tourist traps, and therefore I knew exactly which direction to point people in.  You want to know where Times Square is?  No problem.  The High Line?  I got this.  The Empire State Building?  Grand Central?  The Williamsburg Bridge?  Come on, give me a hard one!  By the time I left New York, I felt confident.  Driving played a huge role in that confidence, and it was a great feeling to have.  Oh, Philippe....

Living in Madison was a whole new can of worms.  Where is the Square?  Good question!  Because if I can't see the Capitol building, I don't know.  Where is the Terrace?  The what-ace?  Where is the lake?  Ooh ooh!  I know this one.  Oh, the other lake?  It's, uhh, that-a-way... I think.

Walking Wilbur around the city has helped me to learn my way around.  I try to take different routes on our walks.  We walk to the dog park one way and a different way home.  Sometimes we get lost, but we always end up back at the apartment.  And I end up with a few new streets added to my ever-expanding mental map of the world.

But walking a dog makes you an obvious local.  I'll admit that technically I am a local, but I don't feel like one.  So every time I walk past the obvious tourists in town, I drop my gaze, talk to my dog, and keep on walking. 

Over the weekend, everything changed.  My eye-contact-averting tactics didn't work, and the man on the bike asked me if I could point him in the direction of a street.  My eyes lit up and I said "oh my gosh!  Yeah!!"  I think I probably came closer to yelling it than saying it based on his reaction, but I was so excited I could say yes!

Sure enough, the biking tourist wanted to go to my street!  Of course I know where it is, because I live and walk on it every day!  With an ear to ear smile I pointed him down the hill and to the left.  He rode away and I walked in the opposite direction, becoming increasingly more confident in my relationship with Madison.

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I want to write

Yesterday I tweeted about how my job is getting in the way of my recreational writing, and I meant it.  How am I supposed to publish all the blog posts I think about, write notes about and begin writing when I am now required to work for at least 8 hours a day?

My mind is always filled with blog post ideas.  As I walk the dog, take a shower, grocery shop, eat my lunch, sit in meetings, ride the bus, watch television, read, and just about everything else, I am thinking of blog posts.  I wish I could hire someone to transcribe all of my thoughts. 

Just after Wilbur finishes his breakfast, a little after 5:15 am, as we cross the street on our walk, I begin thinking in writing.  How I will begin the story, what quotes I do not want to forget, and how I will describe each of the characters races through my head as Wilbur tries to find the next tree to sniff. 

On an unrelated note, there must be a new dog in the neighborhood, because Wilbur has been stress-sniffing every single tree for the past two days.  Someone is new in town.

Not all of my posts reflect the amount of effort I described.  Let me correct myself, most of my posts don’t reflect the effort I described, but I wish they could.  If you could read all the reams of thoughts in my mind, I’m sure you would be impressed.  Unfortunately, the time to write doesn’t exist at the moment.  I wish I could sit around and write all day and every day, but as soon as I say that, I realize how ridiculous it would be.  If all I did was sit and write, where would my stories come from?  It’s my trips to the grocery store, days at work and random real-life experiences that make this blog what it is.  My real life is what gives me my material and my desire to write.  Some posts are deeper than others, but they all stem from the same thing: my every day. 

So as much as I would love to devote my life to writing, I don’t know what I would write about! (I also don’t know how I would pay for anything, but that is beside the point…)

Until then, I guess I’ll keep going to work (and getting a paycheck), writing blog posts in my mind, making lists in my notebook, and writing when I have the chance.

My Carless Life

No, not my careless life, my carless life.

My mom and sister stole my car.

They flew into Chicago, forced me to drive over three hours to pick them up, let their suitcases vomit their belongings all over my apartment, and then left with my car.

This has been planned for a long time, but oh my goodness, these have been some long days. 

My mom and sister took my car to drive to Jackson, WY.  Two ladies on the road in a sexy convertible...  Am I jealous?  Absolutely.  Am I excited for them to come back to Madison?  You know it!

The only issue right now is the silly bus schedule.

There is a direct bus that goes from Capitol Square to my office, but its schedule is quite limited.  With class all last week, I had to be on the 6:10 bus every morning.  As a shout out to my time in Thailand, I will say that it was "supahh suppah early!" 

For five days I was at work from 6:49 am until 5:37 pm.  This really means that I was out of my apartment from 5:45 am until 6:45 pm.  They were very, very long days.  My poor puppy has not been happy with me.  I was used to waking up at the crack of dawn to take him for a long walk before I left for work.  But, this past week I was waking up at the crack of dawn just to catch the bus, and the long walks were saved for after work.

I got a lot done at work, but I have felt trapped.  Even yesterday, Saturday, I wanted to go into the office for a few hours to finish a project, but I couldn't.  I was on a roll Friday evening, but I had to leave it to catch the bus.  When I arrived home, I realized my internet wasn't working.  And so I was stranded.  No internet, no chance to finish my project, and no car to run errands left me with lots of time for walking with the pup.

Wilbur and I spent the entire weekend together.  We walked, played, tried to learn new tricks, did laundry and broke the iron.  Well, Wilbur only participated in the tricks, playing and walking, but he was close by for the rest of the thrilling weekend.

I felt a bit trapped this week, but I know this next week will be much better.  Without class at 8 am, I can take the 7:40 bus.  That gives me more than enough time to go for a walk in the morning and take my time getting to the square.  It also gives me the opportunity to get to work after 8 am and not have to worry about a parking space!

The bus schedule may not be perfect for my 8am mornings, but so many things about taking the bus are wonderful!  I love that I can read on my way to work.  I love that I don't have to think about parking.  I love that I don't have to worry about traffic.  And gosh, I love how inexpensive it is!

I will love having my car back, but I'm not giving up this whole bus thing yet.  I'm a mass transit lover, and so far Madison's is just fine with me.

Garvey, think of all the gas I'm saving!  And I didn't buy a Prius to do it!  Aren't you proud?

Who Knew Grocery Shopping Could Be So Challenging?

Where did I move again?

Last time I checked, Wisconsin is in the same country as New York.  But every time I have gone to the grocery store I have thought otherwise. 

Moving to a new city and finding a grocery store is challenging enough without dealing with Crazy Grocers, Inc. of Madison, WI. 

There are probably six different Targets around the Madison area, and I have been lucky enough to go to most of them.  As my lists grew longer I would break down and take a trip to Target.  While I was there I would usually end up walking through the grocery section to pick up the few things I needed.

But two weeks into this game I knew it was time for a change.  My fake grocery shopping wasn’t going to cut it forever.  And, I wanted to learn and feel comfortable with a grocery store before I lived here for six months and would only shop at Target.  And, let’s be honest, Target is fantastic, and the fact that they have grocery sections is wonderful, but real grocery stores are so much better.

So I sucked it up and went to my first grocery store.  I went to Metcalfe’s.  Before you ask, yes, I went to a grocery store next to Target.  I guess I used it as a security blanket.  Maybe I was thinking that if I was too nervous to shop at the real grocery store I could park in the lot, and just stroll right into Target.

Am I sounding like a crazy person?  Am I the only one that stresses out about shopping in a new place?  Because I do!  I get nervous when I’m trying to find a new store.  To help defend myself, think of your grocery shopping experience.  I am going to assume that you usually go to the same store, or possibly one of two stores.  You know which door you will walk in before you arrive.  You park your car closest to that door, take a cart or basket from the same place you always do and shop for the things on your list.  When you think of your grocery store, can you picture where your favorite type of apples are?  Do you know where to get peanut butter?  How about your ice cream?  Do you know which brand of milk to purchase?  And what color the 1% milk is?  Because I have news for you, different milk percentages have different colors in different places.

You probably all passed that test with flying colors, so now take a moment to feel my pain.  Walking into a brand new grocery store you don’t know any of those answers.  Heck, I couldn’t figure out which milk to buy!  And in America’s Dairyland, that is a little bit of a problem.  We have all tried plenty of new grocery stores, but there is a very big difference between a home shopper and a visiting shopper.  The home shopper knows all of the answers and usually fills a cart or basket with the basics and essentials.  The visiting shopper is on vacation or just headed to a party on the other side of town, only breezing through the store to buy beer, potato chips, and maybe a birthday cake.  I’m the home shopper, or at least I’m trying to be, but I’m the girl blocking the aisles, flipping u-ees, and walking the entire store three times before completing my trip.

Now that I feel I have your sympathy, I’ll continue. 

I walked into Metcalfe’s and immediately felt under dressed.  The employees were wearing collared shits, ties, and full aprons.  It was nice, but far from Price Chopper polos or Target red.  The floors were beautiful and the lighting was pleasant.  I paced back and forth through the produce section, almost being tricked into purchasing organic items on more than one occasion, before making my way to the deli counter.  With no numbers in sight, I stood directly in front of the display case, deciding on the turkey that wasn’t the absolute cheapest, but pretty darn close.  The deli ladies were both busy, but saw me standing there, each saying, “I’ll be right with you.”  Then, one by one, female shoppers walked up to the counter, placed their orders and were served before me.  This happened three times!  What happened to “I’ll be right with you?”  Or what happened to a simple, “I’m sorry, this woman was here before you, I’ll be right with you.”  Are women in Madison blind?  Or does the whole Midwest nice thing not apply within grocery store walls?  Luckily a man was the next to approach the counter.  While I glanced over at him he kindly said, “oh, go right ahead.  You were here first.”  It must have been my staggering good looks that finally got me my turkey.  And the wedding ring on his finger that didn't get me the date.

When I arrived at the checkout line the sixteen-year-old pimply stick of a girl started ringing up my items as she asked the famous paper or plastic?  When I said plastic she and her equally pimply and awkward bagger looked at me like I had three heads.  I didn’t feel the need to defend myself, but in my head I thought, don’t you know that dog poop has to be picked up?  The bagger boy began putting my items in fancy schmancy plastic bags- the kind of heavy duty plastic bags that don’t even work for dog poop.  When I noticed that the bagger also had normal plastic bags, I asked if he would use those.  He gave me a look like I was completely crazy.  Okay, I was going to have to explain myself…  I simply said, “I use the bags when I walk the dog, so I don’t need really nice ones.”  He looked at his cashier counterpart who gave a typically teenage eye roll and then back at me.  He said, “uhh, we only use those bags for frozen things.”

I knew I wasn’t going to win this one, so I gave up.  When the last of my fancy plastic bags were in my cart the cashier mumbled, “you want a drive up?”

“Excuse me, a what?”

“A drive up.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is…”

Major sigh in disgust….“We stand with your cart and you drive your car up”

“Oh, gosh.  That won’t be necessary.  Thank you.”

And I left Metcalfe’s with my tail between my legs, absolutely exhausted, and with only one dog poop bag holding my ice cream.

When I told coworkers about my experience they all agreed that they had never heard of a drive up, and that maybe Metcalfe’s was too upscale for my taste.  I was told to go to Copps.

The next week I went to Copps.  I got myself a Copps card and had a decent enough experience.  The next week, I returned.  When I checked out, I felt confident handing over my card, and excited to be acquiring gas discounts.  As the woman finished ringing me up and I swiped my credit card she said, “are you playing Monoploy?”  I thought I must have misheard her. 

“What was that?”

“Are you playing Monopoly?”

Nope.  I was right, she did ask me about Monopoly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means…”

“It's a game.  Monopoly.”

Think, Meaghan, think.  Of course Monopoly is a game, but why would I be playing it?  What does this mean?  And why are all grocery store cashiers crazy?  Oh!  I got it!  My telephone is in my hand!  Maybe there is a Monopoly app that is popular!  That has to be it!

“Oh, no, my telephone is off.  I’m not playing.”

With that, the cashier rolled her eyes so hard I thought they would get stuck, picked up a random piece of paper from behind the register and said, “no!  Monopoly.” 

"Oh."

I pushed my cart away. 

After speaking with my office mate the next day he informed me that Copps is playing Monopoly, similar to the way McDonald’s has done it in the past.

… and I was supposed to know this how?

Needless to say, I am still searching for a grocery store.