I have a feeling I might take things too literally sometimes.
Yesterday, I was heating up a cup of soup for lunch. Reading the directions on the label, I saw this:
So what did I do? I reached over and shook the microwave before opening the door. Knowing full well that Campbell’s wanted me to shake the soup, but hoping to prove a point and helpless to resist because the label was confusing at best, if not downright poorly written. Plus, how could I let such a perfect comedic moment go to waste?! Never mind that the lunchroom was empty. After giving the microwave a good shake, I put my soup in and heated it up. You know what I don’t understand? How Campbell’s can possibly sell enough soup to stay in business. I’m sorry, but their product is awful. (Except for Chicken & Stars. That one I slurp down like a champion). Seriously, even though the soup is already packed with sodium, it tastes like it needs a ton of salt, no matter the flavor. Which I never add, because see above (it’s already packed with sodium). So on the rare occasion when I eat Campbell’s, I’m left choking down flavorless soup.
And trust me, shaking the microwave does not help in the least.
I guess because Andy Warhol painted the ubiquitous red and white cans, called it “pop art” and got rich, the product has earned a place on grocery shelves forevermore.
So, you know how Peyton Manning has been calling out “Omaha” lately? I might have inadvertently committed to taking a trip there this summer. Early in the playoff game against New England, I excitedly said to Tara, “If the Broncos really do go all the way and win the Super Bowl, we should go visit Omaha in tribute! How fun would that be?!”
Tara’s expression suggested it would be anything but fun. I disagree. I already have a weird kind of fascination with the midwestern city, having once declared out of the blue I wanted to live there. Granted, I’ve never even been there, which just indicates to me that there are forces at work behind the scenes much bigger than you and I. How was I to know, years later, it would become a catchphrase for the greatest quarterback of all time, and catapult my favorite team to the Super Bowl? It’s destiny, I’m telling you.
Especially if you look at the date of that blog post. July 14. Over and over again, I have mentioned the significance of that number in my life.
We’re already hoping to take a road trip through Yellowstone to Rapid City later this summer. Why, Omaha is just 7 hours and 25 minutes away! We have to go! Mainly because we sports fans can get a tad superstitious. No sooner had I thrown that suggestion out there (half-kiddingly, I’ll admit) than Tom Brady started to suck. He missed an easy pass that might have led to a touchdown, and could have changed the course of the game. Do I really believe my pseudo-promise of a trip to Omaha affected the outcome? Of course not.
The fact that I refused to budge from my “lucky seat” the entire game had everything to do with it.
Lest you think I’m crazy for entertaining that possibility, plenty of fans adopt sports superstitions of their own. There’s even a series of Bud Light commercials poking fun at these rituals, like this one.
Which is why, should our team win the Vince Lombardi trophy, Tara and I are going to seriously consider a side trip to Omaha this year!
When I told my boss about our plan, he said we’d be in good company, since Warren Buffett still lives there, in what is actually a pretty modest house. At least by billionaire standards.
“Wow,” I replied. “He’s still raking in the royalty checks for “Margaritaville” after all these years, eh?”
I’m pretty sure my boss knew I was kidding.
On The Market
Last night, we met with the realtor and signed a listing agreement. The townhouse is now officially for sale…and priced to sell fast. I’m asking $125,000, which is a steal for a two-story, 1300+ square foot end unit townhouse with three bedrooms, 2.5 baths, central air conditioning, two-car attached garage, covered patio, vaulted ceilings, etc. And far less than what I paid for it over 7 years ago, but then again, that’s why I’m doing a short sale in the first place.
I have mixed emotions over this. On the one hand, there are a lot of memories in that place. On the other hand, they are MY memories. I’d like Tara and I to have a fresh start and find a place together where we can make OUR memories.
“We have some nice memories here,” she reminded me yesterday, and that is true. But they’re tangled up with other memories that, quite frankly, I’d like to forget. It’s never really felt like the place is ours. It’s mine, and she moved in.
Still, I’ve been there since 2006, and it’s going to be bittersweet leaving. I remember the enormous sense of pride I felt in buying a home, all by myself, following my divorce. That made me feel like a grownup more than anything else in my life. And part of me thought I’d live there forever, or at least until I was too old and infirm to get up and down the stairs. Life never does work out exactly as expected, does it?
So now the fun begins. People traipsing through the house at all hours. Planning a move. Finding a new place to live. And even though the price is already super low, the bank will allow us to go considerably lower, if need be. We’re thinking this is going to happen pretty fast. Again, I have mixed emotions about that.
In the meantime, we are taking off early this afternoon for a weekend trip to the coast. We received a gift certificate to the Elizabeth Street Inn in Newport, Oregon as a wedding gift, and are cashing that in this weekend. It’s the place where I nearly died – of embarrassment, anyway. But it’s got special meaning to us, and we are looking forward to a perfectly relaxing weekend by the ocean.