Another Book Review (#3)

The book is called How We Decide, written by Jonah Lehrer. I lost count of how many people asked me, while reading, "so how did you decide to read the book? hehe." Grow some originality. The topic was fascinating, if the title became a bit of a joke. Following are some of the finer points.

For most of human history, reason has been considered superior to emotion. Science has now shown this to be untrue: emotion is necessary for reasoning and decision-making. People who experience damage to the orbitofrontal cortex (the part of the brain most responsible for our emotions) have an inability to make decisions. This is, in fact, completely false. "From the perspective of the human brain, Homo sapiens is the most emotional animal of all" (18). In fact, it is most often the strength of our emotions that allows us to make the best decisions.

"For the human mind, bad is stronger than good. This is why in marital interactions, it generally takes at least five kind comments to compensate for one critical comment" (81). We humans experience something called a negativity bias, which is the fancy schmancy science-y way of saying exactly the same thing. Good to know.

Avoid over-thinking: this can be one of my downfalls. "It's dangerous to rely exclusively on [reason]. When the rational brain hijacks the mind, people tend to make all sorts of decision-making mistakes. [...] Instead of going with the option that feels the best, a person starts going with the option that sounds the best, even if it's a very bad idea" (140). Most often, decision-making is a battle between different parts of the brain. To completely ignore one part and rely solely on another is to fail our evolutionary background. Being able to think about our thinking process is one of the greatest strengths of our brains and allows us to (hopefully) avoid making mistakes. As it happens, emotions are better at assessing our inherent preferences than conscious thinking is.

To put it mildly, my honey and I aren't in agreement with regard to politics. He's from Texas (read: conservative) and I'm from California (definitely liberal). I love him anyway, but I'm always secretly hoping he'll see the light and come over from the dark side (I'm sure he feels the same about me). According to one study, "the reason knowing more about politics doesn't erase partisan bias is that voters tend to assimilate only those facts that confirm what they already believe. If a piece of information doesn't follow Republican talking points [...] then the information is conveniently ignored. Voters think that they're thinking, but what they're really doing is inventing facts or ignoring fats so that they can rationalize decisions they've already made" (206). Alrighty, then. Apparently, I can't change his mind any more than he can change mine. Deep down, I already knew this.

One more thing. "People in good moods are significantly better at solving hard problems that require insight than people who are cranky and depressed" (246). Insight, incidentally, occurs when the brain connects old thoughts or ideas in new ways. Basically, relax, don't stress, and good things will happen. Cheers!

Good Morning!

I was never a morning person. Exactly the opposite: I was the one staying up late to watch SNL, go to a movie premier, or even finish a good book at 3am. I took a class on this in college. The course title was Circadian Rhythms; it was about the biological clock that exists inside every living thing (even fungi) and regulates when our bodies want to be awake or asleep, or what kinds of activities we should be doing. It was a pretty cool class (maybe not the bit about the fungi). Did you know that your biological clock is what keeps you from having to get up in the middle of the night to poop? Now you do. You're welcome.

One day, the professor of this class was talking about sleep patterns. He said, "I used to be a night owl just like most of you. I'd stay up all night and then sleep til noon. And then one day, I couldn't. I woke up at 6am, couldn't go back to sleep, and it's been that way ever since. It'll probably happen to you someday." When you're in your third year of college, you think "yeah, right." And then it does.

My honey has to leave for work at 6:30 every morning. In order to accomplish this, he needs to go to bed by around 9 or 10 (depending on what's on tv--he'll stay up late for a new episode of Vikings or Walking Dead). This typically hasn't been my cup of tea, but I happen to believe that going to bed at the same time is one of the things that strengthens our relationship (what can I say? I'm a cuddler). Even if I'm not tired, I'll make the effort. And I've noticed something: I'm getting up earlier. And I don't hate it.

Most days, I'm showered and dressed by 8. And I've taken the dog out. And given the appropriate foods and medications to the appropriate animals. And maybe even caught up on last night's Colbert Report. Or written a blog post. I'm still amazed at how much I can get done in the morning when I would otherwise have been still snoozing. Before work today, I'll even be able to go to the DMW to register the Jeep. Hopefully. With the DMW, you never know.

Whirlwind

After (admittedly) not making a whole lot of progress with wedding planning since The Dress, today has been a veritable whirlwind of activity. 

Part One

I had a meeting with the Winery's Event Coordinator this morning. As my honey had to work this morning, I took my Mommy along for guidance and moral support (this was the first time I've actually met with the Event Coordinator; previously we've just emailed). We discussed all sorts of details. Skipping the traditional formal wedding seating and having a more lounge-y setup instead? No problem. Candles on the tables? No problem. Need suggestions for a florist? No problem. Buffet? Now, that's a problem.

Huh? Why is having a Buffet such a catastrophe? If we're not having a seating chart or tables of ten, how would we not have a Buffet? 

She says we can have a Station instead. I have no idea what that means, and somewhat of a disagreement ensues. Finally she explains what a Station is: a table with various types of food on it (which we've already picked out and discussed with the (possibly) Chef), with servers on one side and guests holding plates on the other. This sounds oddly exactly like a Buffet to me, so she expounds further. In a Buffet, people can go back for seconds so there has to be extra food; in a Station, people only get to go once, so we don't need to have extra food. Okie dokie. We can call it a Station if she wants to, but it's still a Buffet. Just not an all-you-can-eat Buffet. Problem solved.

Part Two

I've already discussed the difference between Yours, Mine, and Ours. The current example: "Do you want to take your car or my car?" Every. Single. Day. If we take my car, I drive, because it puts me on edge whenever anyone else drives my car (yes, even the man I'm going to marry--I'm working on it). If we take his car, he drives, because it has a Manual Transmission which I have yet to master (I had my first lesson in his Camaro, which has too much power and scared the snot out of me--again, I'm working on it). 

We've agreed that it would probably be easier if we had an Our car for running errands and going on road trips and such. Not something too expensive; we still want to save money up to buy a home. Probably used. He's been scouring Craigslist (for vehicles, duh) for a couple of months. The possibilities are endless: do we want a truck so we can haul stuff when we do end up doing the house thing, or do we want a hatchback so we can have the hauling capacity and good fuel economy, or do we want a Jeep so we don't have to worry about annoyances like whether or not we're on a road? 

We bought one today. It's old and needs a lot of TLC, but overall it's a good little Jeep. I'm sure my honey will do a majority of the work on it, but it will be our first big project together. That's right: Ours.

Part Three

My right hand was severely wounded the other day by one of the furry beasties (apparently cat mouths are havens for germs and thus get infected and require antibiotics even when you thought you'd cleaned it pretty freaking thoroughly). The swelling resulted in an inability to properly hold a pen, but I can finally do that again without too terribly much discomfort. Which means I get to address our Save the Date cards today (I have better handwriting than my honey; it's a girl thing). And by today, I mean right now. Ta!

I Have Another Dream (#2)

This dream takes place now, midway through April, but for some reason our wedding date is only a week and a half away (don't worry Mom... we're not planning anything sneaky like that). Planning-wise, we're exactly where we really are: no cake, no flowers, no plan, and I'm frantic that we can't possibly get everything done in time. We end up at Michaels trying to buy vases and fake (gag) flowers. The end.

Short, sweet, and to the point. And I probably have my Mommy to thank for it. On the phone a week ago, she told me that she feels like we're not making any progress in terms of wedding planning. I'd figured that we were doing pretty well: venue, food, dress, guest list (with addresses), save the date cards at the printer. Not bad for a month and a half.

Last night she emailed me pictures of bridesmaid dresses that she likes because I've been slacking off (by working and trying to convince my furred roommates to get along... not as easy as it sounds). Honestly, bridesmaid dresses aren't my top priority right now: I'd like my kitty bites to heal first. And we're going to be doing wedding stuff on Friday anyway.

'Stache

I am not a fan of mustaches. Never have been. Never will be. I think they look ridiculous on just about everyone: men, women, children, and anyone else I've left out. My honey knows this and takes advantage of it just to bug me.

The first time I saw a picture of my honey with a mustache, I laughed out loud (he was clean-shaven when we met). I think he looks super sexy with a beard (there's a first time for everything; facial hair really doesn't work on everybody), but when he shaved off his beard and left the 'stache (it was "Movember"), I cringed. It looks so creepy on him that I have nicknamed it the Molestache.

Unfortunately, he has decided (or so he says) that he wants the Molestache to appear at our wedding. Wedding pictures featuring a creepy mustache? No, thank you. About a week ago, he started shaving around the Molestache, supposedly to get it nice and thick for our wedding. If you look closely in our photos from this weekend, which are going to appear on our Save the Date cards, you'll see it.

When he kissed me goodbye on his way to work this morning, I felt something.

"You shaved it?"
"Mmhmm."
"You mean you just grew it so it would be in the picture for our Save the Date cards?"
"Yup."

Thankfully, this means I may not see the Molestache again for a little while. Unless my honey decides (erroneously) that it would be cool to go for the "Spring 'Stache." Sigh.

Saving the Date

By some miracle, I didn't have to work this weekend. My honey always has weekends off, so this meant that we had a weekend to spend together. It was a great opportunity for an adventure, and I also wanted to take advantage of the daylight hours to take care of something we've been putting off. 

With our wedding date approaching quickly (less than five months away!), we need to either send out Save the Date cards ASAP or just say the hell with it. Which we can't really afford to do, as most of our invitees will need to make arrangements of some kind or another (most of my peeps need to request off from work, and most of his peeps need to book flights and/or hotel rooms). All the coolest Save the Date cards have pictures, which we are sadly short on. Hence my goal for the weekend: to combine having an adventure with taking pictures to put on cards to mail out to our friends and families.

We packed the dog off to my Mom's house, crossed our fingers that my old cat and our new cat wouldn't kill each other, and drove to Laughlin. On Saturday, we rented a Jet Ski, saw the sights (the river and the casinos and that's about it), drank a little, gambled a little, and called it a day. 

This morning we had breakfast in bed and discussed: 
"Is there anything we haven't done here?" 
"Nope." 
"Ready to go?" 
"Yep."

So we gathered our belongings and our $1.50 casino winnings from last night and headed for home. And we have a picture of us on the Jet Ski that will look great on a postcard. The consensus: our weekend getaway was a success. Now we just have to make sure all of our addresses are up to date.

Taking it to the Next Level

My honey and I have decided that it's time to take our relationship to the next level. Kids. Specifically the four-legged kind.

We've been living with one of each (a dog and a cat), both of which I brought into the relationship. So they're both more attached to me. True, my honey can walk the dog and give the cat her medication (she's old, it happens). But they're still my dog and my cat. Apparently. So we wanted something that would be ours. We tried to get another dog, but didn't find anything that quite fit the bill. We traipsed back to the shelter again (I'm surprised the people that work there haven't started to recognize us) and looked at felines. He's partial to tabbies, I'm partial to black cats (the dog is tan, the old kitty is white; why not round out the color palette?), but we agreed that personality is most important.

We walked through the shelter, looking in the little windows, trying to decide who seemed like a cool cat. We wrote down a couple tag numbers, did a couple of meet and greets, and decided we needed more time to think. And not under the (somewhat depressing) industrial lights of the shelter. Lunch and a cocktail? Perfect. With soccer and lacrosse in the background (what kind of eatery was this? I should have been wary of the sign outside that said 'bar and kitchen'), we discussed our favorite cat that we'd met.

He was a young male, affectionate, curious, wanted to play with his neighbor, and all around seemed like a good guy. The drawback: he was deep brown, almost black.

"Would you want to take him home if he was a tabby?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then..."

We decided to go back and sign the paperwork to take him home. We were already thinking about names. The shelter was calling him Cole. Boring. 

The New Guy couldn't come home immediately (he was too much man, if you know what I mean), but we could get him two days later after his surgery. I knew I would be at work late, so my honey got to pick him up and bring him home (in a cardboard box that got shredded during the drive) and settle him in. It will take a while to fully integrate the New Guy into our household, but I think we made a good choice. Based on his attitude, we've agreed to call him Ninja.