Saturday, January 22, 2011

My Personal Mecca

Grocery shopping has always been a cathartic experience for me. I walk through the automatic doors as a Jedi walks into another dimension, entering a universe where the biggest obstacle is deciding the variety of peanut butter, chips, yogurt, or paper towels. With that said, I will not downplay the magnitude of such decisions, as the process often involves much analysis.

However, as of late, I have dreaded all errands, especially because we just received January's bills and a bit of my soul is lost with every swipe of my credit card. Additionally, I have yet to find a time when Charlottesville's grocery stores are not bustling with carts just wide enough to make maneuvering through the aisles impossible. This weekend, I am happy to say, our passion for one another was renewed, possibly even deepened.

I went to Barracks shopping center at 9 o'clock, early enough to justify a mocha. I approached the magic doors. My spirits warmed, I entered the store and my trip began as it always does, with an inward battle as to whether or not I should commit to eating more fruits and vegetables. About the time I decided to select a couple apples and peppers, the caffeine began circulating rapidly, and I decided to add another dimension to my mission - frugality. Determined to maximize my cost to produce efficiency, I began.

There are a couple strategic lessons I learned, and I think it would be to your benefit if I shared them.

First, green peppers are cheaper than red and orange, but it is not just because the unusual vegetable colors are aesthetically appealing in an otherwise bland salad. Green peppers are actually unripened and therefore have a longer shelf life, which makes them less desirable. With apples, however, I believe the price is based on the sexual association of the name, which is why I had to purchase the Granny Smith rather than the Golden Delicious.

B: Drink organic milk. The expiration date is always a month later than processed milk; plus, you can feel environmentally conscious.

Third, you can freeze almost anything. If the grocery store can sell you frozen vegetables, then you can certainly capitalize on the two for one packaged deli turkey deal and freeze one of the two.

D: Another step the grocers take to guide sojourners is marking each product with a per ounce/per each price. Therefore, the cereal companies who gradually shrink their boxes do not exploit the naive consumer. You do, however, have to squint to take advantage of said values, so it is probable that individuals do not expend that much energy.

There are, however, caveats to this helpful tip, which nearly cost me an extra ten cents. I was meandering through the laundry detergent section, and while two detergents were 16.7 cents per ounce, after further calculating, one was 16.76 cents. This is a genius move on the part of Tide, because if there is one lesson I learned from Office Space, it is that decimals matter. Additionally, if the product does not have a per ounce price, it is probably just too expensive to be sitting on my cupboard.

Finally - and I realize this may seem contradictory to my former point about cereal boxes - NEVER sacrifice price for quality on cereal. Every other item is negotiable, but on this point, there is no compromise. Cereal is the foundation of every day, and whether it is Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Apple Cinnamon Cheerios, or even that unusually healthy granola about which adults rave, it needs to be of the highest quality.

After I spent an hour wandering pointedly about the establishment, with the occasional mental lapse due to an inspiring song chosen by the highly esteemed grocery store DJs, I walked to the register, anxious to see my overall savings. Of course, I was also distracted by the multitude of candy, gadgets, and gismos near the register. After I added chap stick, gum, a cookies and cream bar, batteries, lighters and nail clippers, the clerk began tallying my merchandise.

I am happy to say I had final savings of twenty dollars. However, since most of the deals were two for one, I have to go eat my plethora of peppers, sausage, salmon, hummus and bread before my hard earned savings spoil.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

I Never Knew if it was the DMV or BMV

The answer is: both.

Readers, I warn you: this post is not for the faint of heart. I consider myself a perpetual optimist, able to find the proverbial light at the end of all tunnels and await the bountiful harvest after seasons of rain. In the depths of despair, a simple smile from a stranger will renew my spirit. However, there are some adversaries so cruel, even I cannot find a glimmer of hope. The adversary of which I speak is the DMV, and as the acronym indicates, this story has no happy ending.

A week and a half ago, I was having an innocent glass of wine with friends. My pants had no pockets, so logically, I stored my credit card and license in my leggings. Yes, a purse or wallet may seem more reasonable, but each has proven itself an inefficient means to secure valuables in the past. Upon returning home, I discovered my license had vanished, and after further investigatory efforts proved fatal, I had to face reality. To restore my identity, I would have to venture to the Department of Motor Vehicles, the very shadow of death.

Really, I have no reason to begrudge the DMV. Other than failing my driver's test two times, my interactions with the department have been brief and pleasant. They may have tellers who ask me if Cinco de Mayo is always on the fifth of May, but as a whole, the atmosphere is bearable.

Still, whenever I enter the DMV, I have the perpetual fear that I will walk up to the information desk, present my records, and be informed that I am actually an alien, at which point I will be deported to my home country. Certainly an adventure, and as I waited forty minutes to approach the Charlottesville information desk, I determined that were I sent back, I would introduce peanut butter cups and earn instant fame.

While the woman did not send me on the first flight out of the US, she did tell me that since I am not a resident of Virginia, I need proof that I had a license. And so we reach our catch 22. I need a new license to replace a lost license, but without this lost license, I cannot get a new license to replace it. Further, even if I have the license number, expiration date, date of issue, license class, birth certificate, passport, social security card, pay stub, car insurance, and five pictures of various relatives in my wallet, their computer system does not possess the technology to find my license. I find it hard to believe that in this age of technology, a computer capable of beating THE Ken Jennings in Jeopardy can be developed, but the DMV lingers in a relative stone age.

On second thought, I do not doubt it, especially after this experience. I tried to reason with the teller, who was probably used to victims such as I pleading their cases, as to how it is possible for the cops to look up my driving record, but impossible for the DMV. She told me police officers need the license as well, which begs the question, if I get pulled over in a state without a license, should they not arrest me for fear I am illegally behind the wheel? She told me I would be ticketed for not having a license were this the case, but if I live in another state and the DMVs that have my record do not communicate or have access to computer systems, how can the state of Ohio know that I have a ticket in Virginia? If this were reality, I could accept the minor inconveniences of replacing licenses for the benefit of those who avoid paying out of state tickets. As it is, the states communicate, because this has happened, and I have had to pay. The preceding thought process may have been excessive, but if you managed to follow, I think you can understand my frustration.

The teller certainly did- either that or she wanted me to shut up- but her only comfort was that the government was working on it. Good to know.

She did offer me an alternative solution, which was to present a copy of the abstract. I was aware of this option after my trip to the DMV last weekend, and had my unofficial abstract printed. Incidentally, this also made me aware of the fact that I will lose my license should I be ticketed in the next three months. That aside, the documentation was obviously not sufficient, and although it came directly from the website of the Ohio BMV (another nuance, some states have DMVs, while others have BMVs), I would need a hard copy that went through an obligatory fourteen day waiting period in order to be labeled "official."

She suggested I have the abstract faxed, at which point my eyes glistened for the first time throughout this ordeal. I called the Chardon License Bureau with high hopes, only to be redirected to the Columbus License Bureau, the only office with the authority to fax such important documents. I called once, twice, three times, but the line was busy, and with every beep, my spirits sunk. After twenty minutes of failed attempts, my name was called, and on the verge of tears, I approached the front desk and told the woman she could do nothing for me, other than explain to me why an office does not have call waiting or two phone lines in 2011. I exited the building, dejected and downtrodden, expressing my just frustration in a manner which made the man beside me chuckle. If he only knew...

If nothing else, this is another example of government inefficiency at its finest; the license bureaus will always be necessary and will always have a monopoly in the market for driving permissions. Therefore, they will consider making the system more efficient, as my tax dollars go to paying some girl in Ohio to respond to an online request for a copy of my driving record while she facebook chats her boyfriend on the other screen. Various information throughout the state systems will indeed come together, but only when it is convenient for them. Perhaps the office will look into that new-fangled commodity called the "hold" button, but talking to more than one person on the phone seems a bit ridiculous.

Meanwhile, I refuse to go through the permit process in Virginia for fear that I will actually fail the driver's test. Instead, my heart will jump every time I see sirens, knowing that while this town has multiple miscreants and deviants, the cops will prey on the poor girl from the Midwest who simply misplaced her license. I will drive around with my passport, birth certificate, and car insurance, hoping that the next cop who pulls me over will believe I have a license when he looks at all the concert tickets I have stored where my license once resided.

While this story has no tangible positive outcome, I find solace in the hope that an underage blond hair, blue eyed girl stumbled upon the license and is gallivanting gaily about Charlottesville bars. I suppose I am an eternal optimist, after all.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

The Son Really Does Improve Your Spirits

I have been very happy as of late. The reason may be that I rekindled my relationship with the weight room. The sight of men wearing my nephew's hand-me-down t-shirts and women doing their personal kickboxing in front of the entire aerobic area will always put a smile on my face. Not only have I made my gym membership valuable again, I began a mixed doubles winter league, where I apparently fit the description, "short and looks like she could run like the wind." Playing with the elderly is definitely an ego boost to which I could grow accustomed. To be fair, though, the competition is quite good, and my game is being forced to improve. The reason could also be that the sun actually shines between the months of December and April in Virginia, a natural phenomenon to anyone from Cleveland.

While all these aspects of my current state are great, I believe the source of my renewed vigor runs deeper. This past Sunday, I made my usual pact with God- if I should awake by the hour of ten, I would attend church. This may seem as though I am avoiding church, but this is not the case, for if I am to sleep uncharacteristically late, I assume it must be for the improvement of my overall well-being.

The past four months I have been attending various churches, trying to find a place that I can only describe as "right for me." Although this may be an obscure qualification, it is difficult seeking a church among so many that have similar values. Admittedly, the search has been less than rigorous, as I found it much akin to dating. Sure, every one seems nice and they all may have good intentions, but how do I know at what point to commit? I do not want to be too quick to judge, but I also do not want to dive in purely for the purpose of arbitrary involvement, as I know this will only lead to a dysfunctional relationship where neither party benefits.

So it was that on this particular Sunday that I awoke at a reasonable hour and ventured to Christ Community Church. It is difficult to articulate spiritual matters, and I am much better at conveying humiliating stories, so I will simply say I believe God showed me that I belonged there. I was welcomed by many strangers, and honestly, I have never been treated so kindly upon initial introductions in my life. The more people I met, the more connections I had, which is an act of Providence itself, as I have only lived here four months.

I am continually amazed at what the Lord is capable of doing when I lay down my pride and allow him to work. By no means do I think I have reached a point where I can settle or cease striving; in fact, I feel more strongly that I need to break down the many barriers I have built. I do believe, though, I have reached a point of significance. A point where I am not only open to being challenged, giving myself to others, and growing, but I also have a place to facilitate those desires. It is a very peaceful point.