Lost In Furniture Candy Land

Even though it was utterly exhausting to watch those men move all of our stuff on Saturday and then later have to dig through the stacked boxes to find the damn silverware so we could eat dinner (my life is so hard), the next morning my sister and I decided to run some errands. We rented a cargo van from Zipcar for 15.5 hours (for just $130 for the day, gas and mileage included—I freaking love Zipcar). We wanted to take advantage of Massachusetts’s tax-free weekend and trek out to Target and IKEA to fill our new places with even more stuff while also making a trip up to New Hampshire to store a few things at my uncle’s. Plus, I just really like to drive.

Once we clambered into the tall van and finally discovered where the release to the emergency brake was hiding, we were on our way. But apparently I have been a pedestrian for too long, because at the very first stop light I encountered I attempted to go once the WALK signal came on. Oops. But no harm, no foul. I was able to switch into driver mode and it was smooth sailing from then on.

Kind of. I must say I drove that huge cargo van around like a champ. I was able to finagle my way into some impressive parking spots and even avoided the stupid Massachusetts drivers intent on pulling out right in front of me. But getting around the Northeast without getting lost, even with some form of GPS, is almost damn near impossible. I made the probably-terrible yet slightly-amusing decision to have my sister be the navigator. Any of you who know her also know her lack of directional skills. There were a lot of incidents that went something like this:

Me: Which street do I turn on?
Her: That one (as she points behind us).

And traffic circles. WHY DO THEY EXIST. Even our weird sister-talk (where we know what the other is trying to say even though she’s failing at actually saying it) didn’t help me here.

Me: Where do I go? Which exit?
Her: The right one!
Me: They're all right!

But we survived. And it felt good to get out of the city and drive with the windows down. (See? It’s the simple joys in life. I bet you non-city people take your daily driving adventures for granted.)

Once inside, though, it seems I’m the directionally challenged one. Who here has been to an IKEA store? Then you know it’s not entirely my fault that I got completely lost. I made the mistake of separating from Sarah at one point in search of a cart and then the even bigger mistake of walking through a door in an attempt to bypass the long line of people shuffling down the aisle. By the time I found an abandoned cart to steal, I had absolutely no idea where I was. Now some of you may be thinking, What’s the big deal? So you walk around until you find your sister. Thanks. But this is a very daunting task in a store that’s 350,000 square feet and makes you go through all of the different departments on a winding path that looks suspiciously similar to a Candy Land game board. I tried to retrace my steps, looking for something familiar, and occasionally going through a door promising a shortcut and rainbow color gumdrops. After what felt like half an hour but was probably three minutes, I broke down and called The Sister—for help? for moral support? I don’t know. But I do know I was for some reason almost in tears as I tried to make my way back to her. “I’m lost. I’m like really lost. What are you near?” Couches. “But I don’t see any couches. All I see are beds and there’s a big room of lamps back there and I’m going the wrong way down the path and everyone is glaring at me and—Oh, sorry!—and now I just ran the cart over some woman’s toe.” She stayed on the phone to help calm me down as I continued ignoring the large arrows on the floor pointing the opposite direction and passed the clocks and dishes and—couches! I found her.

It turns out I was not the only one to find IKEA a little too intense that day. We later walked by a 20-something girl crying in the middle of the aisle, telling her friend, “I’m just so overwhelmed.” Granted, she could have been talking about her life or her boyfriend or her student loans or something, but I still felt her pain.

All was right again in the world once we made it out of the maze and up into New Hampshire where my aunt and uncle had all the fixins for root beer floats. Yes, root beer floats can make everything better.

And beautiful views aren't too bad for the soul, either.
Boston's Zakim Bridge

Will I Ever Stop Being a Tourist?

I'm coming up on my one-year residential anniversary with this city, and yet just this morning I was snapping away pictures right alongside the tourists in their Harvard and “I’m the real Green Monster” t-shirts. I was walking along the outskirts of the Common, rushing to the Park Street station to get to my lunch meeting at least somewhat on time, when I looked to my left at the picturesque Massachusetts State House with the golden dome (that is covered in real 23k gold leaf, as I remember from my duck tour eleven years ago) and decided I couldn’t pass without taking a picture. What a tourist.

But I do this quite a lot. And I justify my frequent trips to American Eagle and Urban Outfitters because they’re located in Quincy Market, and the H&M is mere steps away from the old state house. So obviously I should be spending time in these historic places, no?

One of my favorite things to do downtown is to see how long I can walk on the Freedom Trail inconspicuously. I mean take each step right on that wide red line—without mowing down little children who get in my way.

At least I find a way to have fun every day, even if it makes me no better than a tourist. I like to think I see the good in things and try not to take even the simple little joys for granted.

“If you awake every morning with the thought that something wonderful will happen in your life today, and you pay close attention, you’ll often find that you’re right.”

(I’m not sure who first said this, but it’s on a lot of yoga and meditation websites…)

And vitamin gummies? Best invention ever.