Moments of Pause Upon Turning 25

Several weeks ago, I visited my local bank branch to open an account so I could sock away a piddly amount and pretend it would actually get me somewhere towards an eventual home down payment. In my mind I tell myself "Its something..." but when I look at the real estate section of the newspaper, I see that it probably isn't much at all. Perhaps its more self-congratulatory than savings; a person my age with a pocket of savings such as this might be more inclined to spend on a more tenable delight such as a vacation or some new shoes. But there I was in the bank, opening a CD with a nice bank manager. The act of opening this CD, as well as reviewing and upgrading my existing accounts, seemed to afford me a sort of VIP status at the bank. I was catered to for a half hour, with coffee and/or tea, lots of hand shaking, lots of apologies for computers being computers, and a lot of eager smiles. I didn't have a lot of money to give them or to keep in the bank, but I know I'm not a college student anymore, and the feeling that I'm now someone of importance to the bank made me feel pretty good. I felt older, more mature. I felt that my business at the bank was worthwhile enough for them to ensure special treatment, the more comfortable chair, the quiet office in the back away from the tellers. When I visited again a few weeks later to resolve some issues that had arisen with the upgrading of my existing accounts, I was greeted by name coming through the door. Maybe that's how you know you're an adult; the bank knows you by name. Or maybe its how you know that a twentysomething blonde leaves an indelible impression on young, male bank managers.

*****

I went for a 9 mile hike on my birthday in the San Gabriel mountains. My companions were two riduclously in-shape girlfriends and a fellow desk jockey friend of mine. Before I could even touch my sneaker to the trail, the girls were off and running. Desk jockey and I were content to muddy up our own shoes at a much slower pace. We all took pride in our diligent preparation for this hike, as before we'd suffered the consequences of not packing the appropriate gear. We had a water filter, bandanas for soaking in the river, changes of socks, clothes, hats, sunblock, binoculars, whistles, and high-energy snacks. After completing the hike, we returned to my place to clean up a bit before getting some dinner. Changes of shirts and pants were brought, as all our hiking clothes were full of mud, sweat, and various organic elements encountered on 9 mile wilderness treks. My desk jockey friend realized he had not brought a change of shoes, however, which was unfortunate as everyone's shoes were caked with mud. "Do you have any shoes I can wear?" he asked me. Its not my habit as a medium-footed woman to keep men's size 10 sandals lying around, but now that I think about it, perhaps I wasn't as prepared as I thought I was. I am now considering purchasing one pair of sandals in every size, so if I'm ever asked this question again, I can say "Why yes, as a matter of fact, I do." One should always put one's best foot forward.

*****

I received a package yesterday from my brother. He's 23, and a cum laude graduate of an Ivy League school. Smart fella, much smarter than me. We're both Phi Beta Kappas, but that doesn't mean we actually have any common sense. For example, yesterday I left my keys on my neighbors table, and as I sat at said table in front of my giant keychain with its plethora of various metal unlockers, I called my landlady to report that I had locked myself out and could not find my keys. For one whole hour I walked around their table, fretted with my cell phone, and sat on their couch with my keys in plain sight. It took the act of my neighbor lighting a sparkler over the table for me to realize the keys had been in front of my nose the whole time.

So my brother sends me a package of wonderful gifts. I have two tour books for my trip to France, one for Paris and one for Normandy. He also sent me some sassy party hats that wished me a "Happy Fucking Birthday!" in big, colorful letters. I got a cute card and a sweet letter. He also sent me something else sweet - a Russian chocolate bar. Mailed to me. In California. That sat in my black mailbox all day in the 96 degree heat. I'll give it to the Russians, that chocolate bar was wrapped so tightly that even though I could feel the oozy chocolate melted inside the paper, not one molecule of cocoa butter made its way into the package. The bar took on the consistency of a stress ball, and I was tempted to poke and play with its pliancy. But I gently placed the babushka bar into the fridge and its since hardened up nicely. Still, the wisdom of ground-mailing chocolate to California should always be questioned, especially in August (I love you Matt).

*****

Today at work, our receptionist sent out this email:

"Someone left their pants and belt in the parking lot. If its you, please come to the front desk to claim your belongings."

And thought to myself....well, isn't it obvious? Find the guy not wearing any pants, and you've got your man.