At security, the adrenaline pumps as I worry endlessly that I might miss my flight. When I finally get to the security lines, I immediately grab about 4 bins. Sometimes to be annoyingly irritating to people in back of me and the security watching the x-ray machine. But sometimes, because I really have that much stuff. I put my shoes and jacket in one. Then my bag in another. Perhaps with my scarf and sunglasses. Then in the next one, my laptop. Then finally another bin for my laptop bag. Sometimes an extra bin for the clear plastic bag with my liquids in containers which are 3.5 oz or less. So my bins ride through the x-ray machine as the people behind me tap their foot impatiently.

After the screening, I put everything back together. Jacket on, sunglasses on head, things back in my pockets, bags strapped all over myself. I look ridiculous I know, but I stumble my way to my gate. And that’s the relief I have when I arrive is nice.

(There was one time I left a laptop at the security checkpoint. To this day, I don’t know how they ever figured out to announce my name over the loudspeaker. Probably because I had facebook open on the laptop, but still!)

After traveling fairly regularly during grad school and my short weekend trips, I would have thought I mastered the art of check-in. But apparently there’s more according upgradetravelbetter.com

A few days ago, someone drained their mug of tea and left the bag sitting in the sink. Without thinking, I turned on the faucet and the tea bag went down the drain without so much a plop or stopping the flow of water.

Today, out of curiosity, I put my head closer to examine the drain. Where did it lead and where did the tea bag go?

I had seen the final destination trailer and knew better than to put my hand down the drain. Fortunately my curiosity expired right before a coworker walked into the kitchen. No explanation necessary.

The sinks just…somehow work magically. Somehow it’s engineered in the right way that all water flows down and doesn’t stop. But how would the blockage occur as it is doing in my bathroom sink? And that sucking noise that seems to make the drain stronger than just a hole in my ceramic?

And so I went back to my desk, thinking no more of the subject. But to a singular thought, it was as if I didn’t really need to know. Really I don’t.

A few days ago, someone was talking about this puzzle, a conundrum. The world is falling apart. You need to seek refuge and you find a farmer’s house, but of course the farmer is there and certainly the farmer won’t help you out. So you do what you have to do, kill the farmer in order to take control of the farm. But now that you’re there, do you know how to rotate the crops? Know how to seed? Know how to fertilize appropriately?

Watching these apocalyptic movies and tv shows makes me think about how much knowledge will disappear. The architects, the engineers. How do we get the energy out of rock? The ore? The iron? How do we create a building that has enough shelter, but can withstand earthquakes and other natural elements?

And how do I make a hole in a bowl so that it will drain out and never back in.

Compliments of work, I saw Helvetica the movie.

Yes, a movie about a font and how it has changed life.

That’s right. I rarely if ever use Helvetica by choice. It’s set by default. Or at work, we use a standard Helvetica Neue. I like 45 Light the most. It’s elegant, clean and simple.

But the font? It’s used by the majority of logos today. Apparently American Airlines has used it…and has never changed the logo. And so much more. Street signs. Plain print.

But the movie though is also about the type designers, never captured in film before. They are witty and incredibly tied to their work. Some are insane. Some probably have been trapped inside a room forever.

And oddly enough, it was a good well-made film. The editor of The Wire and the cinematographer of Borat. But an amateurish director that elongated the Q&A too long and reflected significant in his work.

Granted, it is the first film about a typeface.

It was a wonderful, beautiful wedding. And a rocking party. Like someone said, “I have never met such a tireless, do-it-all couple!”

Which is quite true for Alex and Sarah. After the reception was over (where nearly half of the guests left—along with the kids), we all went to the hotel bar to drink the rest of the night away…

That along with the grad school line…

So I can’t help but watch Super Sweet Sixteen and The Hills.

Perhaps, it’s the spoiled nature of the girls or the fact that they’re completely clueless about life. But it just enraptures me. Watching night after night…

A few months ago, Chris and I stopped by Teavana (due to my demand) in Valley Fair. There, they served samples of teas from iced to hot to oolong to herbal to black to flavored.

I personally enjoy the lighter teas. Green or oolong bringing back the senses. Or the lighter black teas perhaps with a touch of cream and sugar.

But Chris likes his sweet and had taste of an iced tea. “Strawberry and peach,” he said dreamily later.

So we wandered back there last weekend and I looked over the list. Just a Strawberry Kiwi Herbal. A Strawberry mint. A Peach Roobios. But nothing with strawberry and kiwi.

I browsed the displays more, sampling the teas. Pouring myself a mini cup of oolong from the classic Chinese teapots. And fingering the tins in the wall. And thrusting a popsicle stick into the honey jars labeled Honey.

Finally, I drifted to the counter where I asked about the tea that Chris had. “A few months ago, you had an iced tea with strawberry and peach…I don’t see it on the list…do you happen to have it?”

On the other side of the store, Chris looked at me hopefully. The woman at the counter immediately pulled out a large tin of Strawberry Kiwi and a large tin of Peach Roobios. By now, Chris was at my side. The Teavana woman took off the top and pushed the open tins toward us. We leaned forward, taking in the aroma of the teas.

Seceretly though, I knew sometimes the taste of the teas don’t match as strongly with the smells.

“These teas are unsweetened. You can add a bit of the rock sugar, which we also sell to match the iced tea,” she told us.

Chris murmured to me, “I have rock sugar.”

And so I gave the woman a nod and she took equal portions of each filling up a 1 lb tin. Once she finished, she took the tin and shook it vigourously up and down.

And so today, I finally found my special infusers and tea bags. At work, I have my tea. During the first brew, I added three doses of honey. And now during the second brew, the tea tasted slightly like flavored water with a strong strawberry taste.

The woman had said that we would finish the tea in less than a year—the length at which it would last. Possibly not. But Chris still has yet to try it. So we shall see.

Perhaps though, I like drinks with a strong bitter flavor or…at least with texture.

And this is why I like tonic water. The two B’s. A bit of bubbly and bitter.

“I don’t like polo shirts,” I declared once to a friend who was wearing a polo shirt.

He made a pained face and said, “Are you trying to be mean?”

“No no, I just don’t like the design.”

And really that’s all it is. Regardless of the body type underneath the polo shirt, it brings up images of how it’s used wrong. And it’s not that I am commenting on the person and how the polo shirt fits on person. Rather it’s the whole concept.

Perhaps it’s the combination of the collar, the thoughtless amount of buttons and the shirt. To me, it conveys sloppiness. Like it’s an abbreviated dress shirt without the full line of buttons and shortened sleeves. And the material, oh the material. The typical material of a polo shirt is made out of this rough-feeling cloth. A texture of sorts like an attempt to be poor sandpaper.

But in all, probably it’s the stereotype of the shirt. That it’s often worn by people who pull it on to look professional with khakis. The nerds. The geeks. And perhaps, I am projecting upon them…that I don’t want to be them. The outcasts. But I am in the working world…where sometimes clothing really does define who you are and which group you are belong.

I still don’t like polo shirts.

The search for a job is often to find a job you love. But in reality, how many people love their job?

Spoiler to the ending of SATC. Which happened a few years ago. And you should have already seen it.

To my horror today, I discovered that Carrie actually was considering marriage at the end of the series.

To Big.

For some reason, when I first saw the series finale, I thought she was going to be an independent woman in NYC. Now happy with who she was. Loving herself despite all the desire of other women around her to have everlasting companionship.

In these past few years, it’s strange how many of us consider to have learned lessons from the series. To try not to always wear nice, expensive shoes to parties because they might get stolen, but if that happens, we should expect the host to replace them. To dump the guy if he does something so miniscule such as getting frightened by mice and squealing like a little kid. But in the end, we’re supposed to be independent and decisive, not always pining…well maybe a little…but living the life…and being fabulous.

Really, do we know what love is?

At some point in our lives, our nosy relatives and friends freely give away advice. Some to tell us who we’re right with. Sex and the City taught us one way—to fight for our own. And all the other chick flicks. Just wait and he will come.

But it’s not that. I have sat through my friend’s breakups. Listened to their troubles. I have heard of happiness and…the boredom. And the fleetingness of pickiness. The string of dates that end up in an awkward goodbye. And to some, it becomes a free dinner on a Saturday night.

“He annoys me,” a friend told me recently. Then she added, “He’s too green. How can I be with someone who doesn’t know what love is?”

But there are so many times we encounter what if? and could have. And that’s why some start looking the other way. “Until something better comes along” or as Joe finely put it “Until something comes along.”

There is no such thing as fate. If there was, we wouldn’t keep moving away. We wouldn’t make decisions based on pickiness. We would have stayed because it was meant to be. It’s like success. Being at the right place at the right time. And the right person.