On why I can never live in the Sahara OR be a vegetarian.

Over the last few nights, CB and I have been watching a series on the Discovery Channel called “North America.” It’s pretty rad and definitely worth checking out. However, every time I watch any sort of programming that revolves around nature or “the cycle of life,” I realize that I would possibly be the first gazelle eaten at the watering hole should I come back next time as a gazelle.

I also realized that I should probably be a vegetarian since I literally made CB put the show on mute while covering my eyes with my t-shirt as a pack of Killer Whales attacked a not-killer whale baby. Also, once they attacked and killed said baby whale, a bunch of Grizzly bears ate it and I think maybe also a wolf or two? I don’t know, I had my eyes closed.

But the point here is that CB just shrugged and said “the Killer whales and bears have to eat, too. Survival of the fittest.” To which I responded by drowning my sorrows in chocolate covered pretzels dipped in peanut butter and contemplating whether I could go without chicken or beef for the rest of my life. And then I concluded that I could, but will choose not to, and then I shut up about how watching baby animals get eaten gives me a sad.

Anyway, while I’m fascinated by all that is the cycle of life, while traveling for work over the weekend (hence the no blogging on Monday – sorry guys!), I realized that my cycle of life either means that I (a) am highly evolved or (b) should not be allowed to travel alone in the future.

There’s a subtle, yet distinct, line to be drawn between those two things, and so I’ll let you all be the judges.

1. At the entrance to the hotel room I was staying in, there was a large closet with mirrors on the outside. The first time I entered, I startled myself by my own reflection. The second time I entered, I startled myself by my own reflection. The third time I entered, I startled myself by my own reflection AND made a mental note to not be startled next time I walked into the room. The fourth time I entered, I startled myself and then cursed at myself for still being afraid of my own reflection after two days.

Which reminds me of the time that I moved my garbage can at work from one side of my desk to the other, and proceeded to throw my trash on the floor for three days until finally moving the garbage can back to where it originally was.

2. Someone please explain to me why on earth any architect would ever design a bathroom so that the switch is on the outside of the actual bathroom itself. Because, while waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, I searched around with my eyes closed and the eye mask half-covering my face for at least 60 seconds before concluding that perhaps the architect simply forgot a bathroom light switch.

Normal conclusion.

So I took care of business, went back to bed, and forgot that whole thing ever happened.

However, the next morning when I went to take a shower, I actually did forget that it happened, and so I did the light-of-day awake search for the switch and took far too long to realize that it was on the very outside of the door. And then I spent the entire shower thinking about why someone would design a hotel room that way, because I’m guessing that 99% of the people that stay in that hotel have bathrooms at home with the light switch on the inside of the room. Which lead me to think of other things about hotel rooms that make no sense, like why they pile up the bed so that at least half of it is covered in pillows so that you end up being concerned that maybe you’re doing pillows wrong at home? And WHAT are those log pillows for? You know the ones that are literally shaped like logs and aren’t used for any actual resting purposes? I refuse to believe in decorative pillows, and so they must have a purpose.

Also, these are the things that I think about in the shower. Maybe not really survival of the fittest stuff, but important nonetheless.

3. I don’t know which way is north. To be fair, I also don’t know south, east, or west. That’s not to say that I don’t know which way these face on, like, a map. I’m not an imbecile, I made it through the 1^st grade. But when someone starts giving me directions outside of New York City and uses compass directions, I get incredibly flustered and embarrassed. And usually I also get lost.

For example: the concierge at the hotel was trying to direct me to the gym. While I knew that it was on the 6^th floor, I wandered around the 6^th floor for about 10 minutes before worrying that people would think I was some sort of craigslist bandit in gym shorts who didn’t belong in the hotel at all. So I decided to do the sensible thing and ask for help.

You know, like the gazelles.

Me: Could you please tell me where the gym is?
Concierge: Yes ma’am, it’s on the 6^th floor on the north side of the building.
Me: Ok, great!

 Pause.

Me: So if I go up the elevator and turn……left?
Conceirge: Yes ma’am.
Me: Then I’ll be going north?
Concierge: No ma’am, that’s east.
Me: Wait….ok, but I can only go left or right, correct?
Concierge: Yes.

SERIOUSLY?! Who’s on first?

Me: So I should turn left and then go…..
Concierge: Right at the next hallway.
Me: Wait….but then wouldn’t that be south?
Concierge, getting flustered: Wait, ok, turn left out of the elevator and then…..
Me: Left at the next hallway?
Concierge: I think that’s right, yes.

Ok, cool. So the concierge doesn’t know which way north is, either. I don’t feel so bad. Also, I never did find the gym.

4. Sometimes I forget that people can see me, which may mean that, in a prior life, I was a chameleon.

Example: I went to the hotel restaurant to get some food to go, and while waiting, I wandered over to see all of the celebrity pictures on the wall. Three walls of pictures of sports players, actors, musicians, and politicians posing with a bronzed Harry Caray statue in the restaurant lobby.

And then I saw it.

Happy Wednesday, everyone!