The tip jar at Third Place this weekend got me thinking:
Not about which one- tent any day of the week- but where? Do I get to pick my spot? Preferably also the month? Can I skip work that month?
That was a fun one. Not quite as revealing as the day the question was, “Would you rather date someone ten years younger, or ten years older?” The guy ringing me up volunteered that he was 24, so for legal reasons, he’d have to go older. The woman next to me put a dollar in each side, gave me a knowing look, and said, “Honey, at my age, you go with anything you can get.” Poor kid behind the counter washing glasses looked forlorn. 24 year old said, “Yeah. He can’t do either. He’s 15.” Awww.
Speaking of Third Place, the caffeine reduction plan lasted, oh, three weeks. Longer than usual. The first day I walked in and ordered a decaf, they looked startled, and confirmed twice that I meant that. I went half-caf after I was painting my nails one day this summer after a large coffee on an empty stomach, and my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t paint a straight line. “That can’t be good,” I said, and I cut back. Then, as soon as I ran out of decaf at home, I went back to the good coffee. I haven’t noticed a difference. What the hell, I don’t have any of the other major vices. I’d rather have coffee over all of those, anyway. And a girl has to have something, right?
Audrey told me about a heart-rate app, which checks your pulse with the camera on your phone. It’s really entertaining. Mine’s usually low-to-average; 65 if I’m sitting still, 120 walking out of yoga, 80 in an animated conversation. It was 98 the other day after a stressful event. Which is quite high indeed.
Sitting at my desk after my second cup of coffee every morning, after half an hour of drafting construction details? 53. Barely registering a pulse at all.
I’m afraid to see how low it would go without the coffee.