All I need to know, I learned from television.

OK.

I admit it. After all the hype, I was mildly curious about this book. (It's akin to hearing about how god-awful Jonathan Franzen's second novel is, and scouring used bookstores and libraries for it because you don't want to shell out the cash. Not that I have done that.)

Fortunately a friend saved me the trouble with Frey's novel and just lent it to me. I'm on page 24, and already I can tell that he's totally lying. No struggle with his family when they dropped him off at rehab? In day two of rehab, he's not craving alcohol or drugs and can eat and walk around like a normal person? He's actually social with the people around him? Not once has he had the urge to leave rehab to go shopping or work out?

COME ON.

Clearly Mr. Frey needed to spend some time with our good friends at A&E, or Meg Ryan, or Lindsay Lohan, before sitting down to write this novel.

I think it starts with P...? Or maybe C.

Yesterday after work I walked to the post office near my former place of employment. I passed several people I worked peripherally with. I was in a hurry so despite their "hey how's the new job" greetings, I just waved and kept walking. I didn't even apologize or explain my rush. What do I care? I won't have to work with them ever again.

Then I saw a guy I worked REALLY closely with for a long time (I want to say a year or more). This wasn't nine years ago, it was maybe two or three years ago. For the life of me, I could not remember his name.

I think this means I am fully acclimated.

The funniest thing, to me, is that I still hear all the office gossip well in advance of people who still work there.

I can has buried trezur?

And now, glory on high, I can pretend that this is a picture of Her Majesty.

We'll see you AT THE MOVIES.

Or not.

Finally watched Babel a few days ago. I'll be honest, I didn't get it. While I found the interconnectedness of the characters interesting, I didn't really care about any of them except the deaf girl. I also went into it thinking it was about miscommunication (all signs from the trailers pointed to that) but really, it seemed more about lack of communication, not miscommunication. I was also uncomforatable with all the racist undertones, and perhaps that was the point, but overall - "eh." I'm glad The Departed won best picture.

Next up was 11:14 - another story about the interconnectedness of strangers. To be fair, I was cooking while watching this and therefore somewhat distracted what with watching all the spinach boil, but after about 15 minutes I put it back in its Netflix envelope. Not even an "eh."

Finally, yesterday I opted for Shrek the Third over Pirates. I was trying very hard to improve my foul mood and everything I've heard about Pirates was just terrible, so I thought Shrek might be just what the doctor ordered... Alas, it was "eh." But! I got free popcorn, which is apparently a new trend at the Grand Lake on Mondays. And! JT fans will be happy with his performance, or his voice-overs, or whatever... Trivia buffs should listen for John Krasinski as Lancelot. Wish I'd known that going into the movie.

And now I've just spent 20 minutes summarizing five hours of my life that I lost over the past few days. Niiiiiiice.

More proof that George Bush hates contact lens wearers.

What is up with all the contact lens solution recalls? This one doesn't seem as disgusting as the ReNu recall last year, where flesh eating bacteria ate your eyes right out of their sockets (or something like that) but still, anything that causes a "potentially blinding eye infection" is just plain scary.

Of note in the NYT article: "The agency also advised people who have used the product to call an eye doctor if they have experienced [various symptoms including] the feeling of something in the eye..."

Uh oh, I have that symptom. I think it's called a CONTACT LENS. Good thing I scheduled an eye appointment last week, hopefully tomorrow the doctor will check it out.

________________
OK, he probably doesn't hate ALL contact lens wearers. Just those pesky left-winged ones.

Don't let the fact that they have a song on The Lake House soundtrack deter you.

Last night I sat through two mediocre bands eagerly anticipating The Clientele.

[Digression. To this day, I do not understand why set changes themselves take 10 minutes but then once the next band is all tuned and ready to go, they make the crowd wait another 25 minutes. Unless it's a big conspiracy by the venue to get people to the bar as many times as possible within that 3 hour time frame. Which it probably is. Sigh, even rock clubs are victims to corporate America. End of digression.]

Anyway. The Clientele are kinda like The Monkeys on Valium. Except for when they rock out - which they did several times last night. The lead singer is also kinda punchy. At one point he mentioned that the next song would be a "nice little love song, so the people in the back might want to SHUT THE FUCK UP already." I like that guy. He reminds me of John Wesley Harding, who is also British, who I also saw once at the Great American Music Hall. I'm sure there's no connection.

Anyway. Check them out. Strange Geometry hooked me and I never looked back. "E.M.P.T.Y." has been in my list of songs I'd want on a desert island for a while now.

________________
Later in the evening I learned that one of the guys in one of the mediocre bands was from the Brian Jonestown Massacre, and then I felt bad for rating them "mediocre" in my head. He totally rocked out with the band. And then I saw a couple people from the other bands hanging out in the audience with people resembling their own parents, and I felt bad again.

Honestly, mediocre bands, I was there alone and given the 35 minute set changes where I had to twiddle my thumbs, I was lacking patience for anyone other than the band I wanted to see. No offense intended. Next time I will bring a book. Or a friend.

Defensive? Who's defensive?

I can see how cancelling an RSVP to poker night due to a "sick cat" might seem like a lame excuse to people who do not have cats, or people whose cats have never been sick.

But, um, HELLO, people?? Remember this? Yeah, it was kinda like that, for about two hours after I got home, except only with the sitting but not the trying-to-get-up-and-not-being-able-to, and just when I was about to succumb to another $400+ emergency vet trip, Her Majesty perked up and after another hour, all was fine.

Let the record show that I stand by my belief that she was just pissed, not sick. I was gone for a long weekend last week, which means that she got NO weekend last week. She clearly somehow ascertained that this weekend was three days long and she wanted to be sure that my lap was available at least 12 of those 36 hours.

Damn cat. Damn cute sweet annoying cat.

Let the record also show that the next time she pulls that shit on poker night, I'm packing her up and bringing her along with me.

________________
I mean, really - if I wanted to make up an excuse to get out of a social event, I wouldn't use my poor cat. I'd just say I "strained my back." ;)

Early Friday five.

Five things I secretly covet from the SkyMall magazine, in the order they appear in the latest magazine:

• the Upside-Down Tomato Garden, not that I have enough sun on my balcony for a tomato garden but it's just neat
  
• the Contemporary Charging Caddy (in black), because I currently have six chargers sitting on my dining room table that are just ugly and annoying
• the 3-Tier Shoe Carousel, because the hanging shoe rack takes up precious t-shirt-hanging space in my closet
• the Hidden Litter Box, because let's face it, open litter boxes are just disgusting
• the Soapy Soles Elite 3 in 1 Foot Washer, because I run and this would just be AWESOME
  

Bonus Friday five: five things that should immediately remove anyone who buys them from the gene pool, in the order they appear in the latest magazine:

• the Window-Mounted Cat Porch (just let the damn cat outside already)
• related, the Outdoor Cat Playpen (see comment above)
• the Quenching a Big Thirst Sculptural Fountain (Marmaduke would be so proud, were he a real dog)
• the Snacdaddy (will make ya JUMP! JUMP!)
  
• the book entitled, The Lost Art of Towel Origami (really? this exists? and there are people with that much time on their hands?)

Behold the power of positive thinking.

While I was home I had several conversations about my new job. The two I remember most distinctly are the two most disparate conversations, at least as far as my attitude was concerned.

During one conversation I was asked how the new job was going, and the answer I gave was that I was feeling very put-upon in terms of the tasks I've been assigned that I wasn't really warned about beforehand, the personnel issues I've inherited, and the general lack of understanding anyone outside my department has about the work that we do. I was left feeling bitter and resentful... in part because it sounded WAY too much like my former job.

On the drive to my friend's house the day after the first conversation I knew she would also ask about how the job is going, and I decided to take a more positive approach to answering the question. After all, maybe I won't stick it out for more than a year but if I'm going to be there for a year, I might as well make the best of it. And it really is a great opportunity and I've already learned a TON about managing people, influencing change and the organization I thought I knew really well already. So over lunch when she asked, I was much more upbeat (but still honest) in my reply. And I felt pretty good afterward... good enough that I spent about 4 of the 5 hours on the plane catching up on work even though it was technically my day off.

It's really amazing what a difference your attitude toward any situation can make.

Like, yesterday morning I was running on the treadmill and around mile 2.5 I got tired and bored, and I almost stopped. Then I thought about my friend who is 18% done with her trek up the 2600 mile Pacific Crest Trail, and I ran another 2.5 miles out of sheer inspiration from her. And afterward I felt great.

That's it. That's my profound thought for this particular post. I don't even have anything funny to say about it - it's just amazing to me.

The million dollar question.

I was at the airport this morning coming back to Oakland after a four-day weekend in Maryland for a friend's bridal shower. The older guy in front of me asked, "so is this home or are you going home?"

I really didn't know how to answer that question.

September will mark my 10-year anniversary in the Bay Area. I can't believe it's been 10 years. At this point, I'm just as comfortable stepping off the plane in Oakland, as I am stepping off the plane at BWI. There are people who know me well, and still welcome me into their homes, on both coasts. Either coast offers me home improvement opportunities - Maryland, where the folks are fixing up the place to sell it "someday" and Oakland, where I got an email from a friend saying "I need to demolish my kitchen wall this weekend so that my new refrigerator will fit, wanna help?" (Is there sugar in it? Then YES!)

It's been years - 5 years, to be exact, it was my 10-year high school reunion - since I was in Maryland when the trees had leaves on them. I was struck by the stark difference in landscaping there compared to Oakland. For example, this is what I looked at for an hour Sunday afternoon as I was lounging on the patio talking with the folks:


There, the trees are bright green and lush, and it tends to be maple after oak after maple. Here, the trees have darker leaves and there are so many varieties of plants that you can't even begin to find a pattern...

But I digress. Back to the question. Where is home?

Maybe there is no one answer. Maybe that's OK.

________________
My dad is quite the gardener:

Who knew, I do like the John Butler Trio.

But so far, only for that song "Better Than," which has the lyric I've incorporated as my work mantra: "The grass is greener but just as hard to mow..."

And also? I kinda like Ray Lamontagne. But so far, only for that song "Within You."

In other music news, I'm fairly excited about the following new releases:

• Sky Blue Sky (Wilco)
• The Else (They Might Be Giants)
• The Mix Up (Beastie Boys)
• Blake Lewis's first album, 'cause he's sure to be eliminated tonight which, if former runner up success is any indication, means an immediate record deal
  

(It's my crafting friend's fault. She got me back into this Idol crap. And I really like Jamie Lidell so of course I like Blake.)

Oh and also? This is still way more interesting to write about than that damn paper I (still) have to write. It's kind of funny - the purpose of the paper is to criticize a fictional organization in a case study. I am usually ALL ABOUT criticism of others. Why, just on the way home I provided a running commentary to myself about all the idiot drivers and bikers. So why am I having such a hard time with this paper?!

Oh yeah... I'm lazy.

Why it pays to be agnostic.

I'm sure I'm not the only one singing "DING FREAKIN' DONG." Good thing I don't believe in hell, because I'd be one step closer to it with this post.

And is it just me, or is it so very wrong that a town called Lynchburg still exists?

Kaboom is indeed "kabomb."

In case you missed the annual KFOG Kaboom! fireworks show - they've put it up on their web site. Expect to sit in stunned silence for 10-15 minutes. Highlights include heart-shaped fireworks during "Love Shack," smiley face fireworks during "Shiny Happy People," jellyfish-shaped fireworks, excellent choreography during "Here It Goes Again" and lots of purple fireworks for James Brown. But of course.

I was fortunate enough to be on the Angel Island Ferry for the show this year. Can I just say, OH MY GOD I highly recommend that method of viewing the fireworks. All the views and noise, very few people.

Leaving it in the hands of the pros.

You may recall that I'm procrastinating, so it was with great glee that I ran across this yeti post.

I decided to try to make one of my own. Her Maj was clearly enthralled with the project from the beginning, and made every effort to contribute.

Here is the final result:


SIGH.

Addendum.

I thought that knowing the aforementioned paper awaited me might entice me to do another lap around the lake. Halfway through my run, this was definitely true. It felt great to be running outside on such a beautiful day (instead of in the hot gym on the treadmill) and there were tons of smile-invoking puppies and babies everywhere.

However, when I finished the first lap in 27 minutes (a PR for me) I changed my mind. Clearly that amount of exertion deserved exemption from another lap.

Oh and also, I had to pee.

________________
PRs, for those who don't plow through Runner's World monthly while shaking their heads in shock at all the crazy people who run miles and miles in very little time, are "personal records." I've definitely noticed an improvement in my speed since last fall, and I've been trying out sprint intervals on the treadmill now and then (mind you, "sprinting" for me is 6 miles/hour). But with my long-distance-running buddy off hiking the PCT, it's been hard to get a lot of miles in at once - it's VERY BORING if you're doing it alone, unless you're in that mindset. So anyway, I'm curious to try out sprint intervals over an 8-10 mile run to see how my body reacts...

Blah blah blah YES I HAVE A PAPER TO WRITE, what of it?!

Why it's good that I didn't get into grad school, exhibit #85.

I really must write this paper for my finance class. I really must. It's due no later than May 21st, and I'll be gone next weekend so I really need to get it done by Thursday at the very latest.

I've been putting it off because it requires much more thought than my last paper. I've also been quite busy these past few weeks, and I'd already resigned myself that this weekend I'd be sitting in front of the computer for several hours trying to construct a cohesive 3 page response to a case study.

So here it is, Sunday afternoon. I've put about an hour into it. I have a decent outline. I really should just pound it out and be done with it.

But, well, I'm lazy. And despite sleeping in this morning, I'm tired. And people keep emailing me, and calling me, and of course I had to do laundry and clean out the refrigerator and do some online shopping for bridesmaid dress ideas and check out iTunes for new music and vacuum and...

And have you looked outside lately? It's GORGEOUS.

OK. I'll drop off my Salvation Army donation and go for a run. And then I'll come back and finish the dang paper.

Maybe. I mean, I have until Thursday...

________________
In college, I scored the highest on 10-page papers written between 11pm-6am the day before they were due. Occasionally around 3am I'd get stuck, have a beer or two, and then finish the paper. I think that set the procrastination tone for the remainder of my life.

Belated Friday five.

Top five reasons I {heart} Google, in no particular order:

• their logo changes with each holiday or special anniversary
• I can quickly see what other people thought of The Devil's Backbone, without having to read the lame comments on IMDB (and also see how my review was quite lacking compared with others)
  
• their directions are much more helpful than Mapquest's (see line 29)
• I can find pictures of damn near anything
• in case it's not obvious from the previous reasons, they have a sense of humor

________________
Line 29 bit stolen from MightyGirl.

"The living will always be more dangerous than the dead."

Finally getting back into my Netflix queue... The Devil's Backbone was a good re-entry point. Fans of Pan's Labyrinth should check this out. It's far less violent but still disturbing and engaging. In fact, according to IMDB, del Toro described this as being a sibling film to Pan's Labyrinth (this being the masculine "brother" film, and Pan's Labyrinth as the feminine "sister" film).

I've been very anti-movie lately, mostly due to time constraints and lack of interest in what I have on hand. I really can't remember a week in my Netflix history where I hadn't turned around at least one movie (and I'm going on four weeks right now). So maybe I will finally knock out Babel this weekend too... Which will bring me two steps closer to Alpha Dog, Cars and Fast Food Nation. Woohoo!

"... I don't think it was a person ... "

Normally I am a good driver who curses tailgaters, and expresses other road rage, but gets to and from my destinations in one piece with no major incidents or mishaps. Today was a day I should not have been behind the wheel.

I picked up a colleague and got on the freeway to go to a meeting tonight. Halfway through the tunnel, I noticed that the gas tank was on "E." I made it to a gas station two exits up, only to find that the gas station portion of the gas station was taped off and only the service shop was open. Luckily, I saw another gas station across the street and even though it was Chevron, and Chevron is EVIL for more reasons than their gas prices, I had to consent to their $3.71/gallon just to get me to my meeting and home with a little cushion room until I found cheaper gas. I meant to get gas yesterday and forgot. Bah.

At the meeting I actually came very close to saying this phrase several times. The meeting was frustrating on several levels and I was a bit flustered when I got back in the car to drive myself and the aforementioned colleague home.

I made it to the freeway alright, but as soon as I merged another car came up from behind/beside and nearly sideswiped us. At first I thought "bastard, whatever," but then I remembered that I had a passenger in the car, which I rarely do, so I tried to focus on the road and not the conversation we were having about the frustrating meeting.

Then I hit the chair.

The chair, or portion of chair, that was in the middle of the freeway, that the car in front of me successfully swerved to avoid, that I didn't see until I heard the incredibly loud noise and saw it in my rearview mirror. [Insert subject line from colleague here, followed by "I'm glad we didn't get a flat ... I'm glad it didn't hit the windshield ... I'm glad I don't have glass in my face." She will never drive with me again, I'm quite sure of that fact.] I should've known something was coming when I saw the pieces of the in-window-air-conditioner-unit strewn about the freeway about a mile back... But I saw nothing until it had loudly passed under the car and scattered behind me.

At this point, being fully immersed in an episode of "The Twilight Zone Meets The Surreal Life," I just kept going. I figured the sooner I parked in my garage, the better... I did a quick once-over when dropping her off, and seeing no visible damage I headed home.

The final straw was almost hitting the black cat sprinting across the road as I neared my apartment. Fortunately I saw it well in advance, and I was not going 65 as I was on the freeway, and to the best of my knowledge that cat is safe in its owner's house feasting on tuna and prepping for a nap. Or at least not squashed on the street in front of my apartment.

I am counting on tomorrow being so much better than today. All signs are pointing to yes, as long as it doesn't rain heavily in the morning. I'll explain later. For now, I need a drink and a bed, in that order.

No, I don't watch American Idol. I don't. I swear.

But if I did, I could easily say that Blake's got nothing on this guy.

Reader poll.

I can't decide - is this mean, or is it funny? It almost looks like the kitten is trying to get out of the bathtub but is afraid of the plug (therefore making this mean)... Or maybe the kitten thinks it is mightier than the plug and is trying to show the plug what for (which would make it funny)...

My perspective is all wonky because I just gave Luna the laser pointer exercise regimen (which is always good for a laugh) on this OH SO BLOODY HOT day (which is kinda mean). She is now laying on the floor, panting and glaring at me.

________________
Oh and also? I waaaaaaaaaaaaaant one.

An open letter to Mother Nature.

Dear Mother Nature,
WTF? Friday it was 60 degrees, windy and just plain cold. Today my car thermostat stated that it was 93 degrees outside. NINETY-THREE degrees. I don't think it was completely accurate, but I do know that I was bloody hot today.

You really ARE trying to kill the polar bears, aren't you? Might I encourage you to take a look at this cute little guy? It might lift your spirits, but if it doesn't the Dallas (or is it Falcon Crest?) theme just might.

With utmost respect,
Jen(n)

Work with me, people.

I get to pick my bridesmaid dress for my best friend's wedding later this summer. I'm headed back east for her bridal shower/bachelorette party in a couple of weeks, so I was hoping to find something before then so that I can compare it with the other bridesmaids' dresses and make sure we sorta look alike. So today I endeavored upon a day of shopping for that, and some other things.

At Baby Gap the woman forgot to give me the 50% off second pair of shorts until I reminded her. At Old Navy the guy forgot to give me 20% off my entire purchase as the email from them had promised, until I reminded him. Trader Joe's was out of frozen naan (AGAIN!! grr) and they also didn't have the pre-cut cheese variety pack I was going to pick up for a meeting later this week. No luck on the bridesmaid dress either.

Regardless of the aforementioned facts, five hours and $200 later I schlepped nineteen thousand bags upstairs and spent 30 minutes unloading them.

I ask you... How does this happen?

Useful business phrase.

"Thank you. We're all refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view."

Source: The Office daily calendar (... no, not THAT "The Office")

Under pressure.

Had a meeting today (yes, I do realize it's Saturday) where a respected peer formally and publicly stated his confidence in my ability to be successful in my new job.

Now that I know what I know about said new job, I sure hope he's right.

When good ideas turn bad, and then turn good again.

Tonight a friend came over for craft night. We painted/decorated photo frames for Mother's Day gifts. Hers turned out uber-cute. Mine started out fine, but then I started sponging yellow, red and green onto a white background and it just looked awful. But THEN, I started smearing the red and it turned into a distressed antique look, which will go over great with my antique-loving Mom. I found a couple dried flowers and five glue-gun minutes later, I had a finished product:


Now I just need to finish it off with a "mother/daughter" vintage photo and I can send it off. I hope I have one of those.

Otherwise, not much has been going on lately. I work work work work work, which is mostly fine but kinda sucks now and then, especially since I've been going nonstop since April 16 and won't have a break until this Sunday. Her Majesty's seasonal allergies are back so we're back on the 'roids. The Clientele are coming to town on May 26, so I bought a ticket to that show. Blah blah blah.

And so, I consult my book. "Show some skin" sounds interesting and also very easy - which, to a very tired person who wants to keep up her blog, is just what I need right now. So here's how I got my scars:

• The scar above my left eye. I either had when I was born, or developed shortly after birth, a cyst there. I had surgery sometime before age 2 to remove the cyst.
  
  
• The scar under my lower lip. I don't remember how old I was (3 or 4 or 5?) but I was in my backyard on our swingset. It was a metal swingset with a slide in the middle, two regular swings on one side of the slide, and a bench swing (with a bench seat on either side - kind of like this only the benches had actual backs) on the other side of the slide. ANYWAY. I was across from our neighbor, who I had a crush on from age 3 to age 12, and we were swinging kind of high, and at some point I wound up on the ground. Thinking nothing of it, I got back on the swing but my neighbor turned slightly pale and pointed at my chin. When I looked down and saw all the blood I screamed and didn't really stop screaming until the final stitch was put in. I'm sure the E.R. docs just LOVED me that day.
  
  
• The scar on the top of my left arm, just above the wrist. I was 14, it was summer. As teens were wont to do back before skin cancer and global warming, I was sunning in the backyard trying to get a tan. When my time was up I attempted to go back into the house but the back door was locked. My brother was inside, so I banged on the back door several times but got no response. Begrudingly I went to the front door (it was during my chubby teen days so I was very self-conscious about being in a 2-piece in front of my neighbors!) and rang the doorbell for about 10 minutes. No response. I returned to the backyard and proceeded to bang on the door and window until I actually broke the window with my hand. Naturally, I seized the opportunity and reached through the broken window to unlock the door... only to snag my arm on a shard of glass. And by "snag" I mean sliced in such a way that bled profusely and required five stitches. ONLY THEN did my brother come upstairs and see all the blood and get pale and hug me and apologize and... Honestly, I think that's the last time he hugged me. And that's only because he probably realized the world of shit he was in once my parents got home.
  

So there you have it, my scars. If you want to name them, leave a comment.

Happy cat... has run out of happy.

I don't really get the video game references, and I don't usually use internet-ish acronyms other than my favorite one (JMFC) but this one made me LOL. Click on Meme Cats to see more.

This kind of thing now has a Wikipedia entry. With links to these kinds of photos. And these kinds. And these kinds. And finally, these kinds. If you click on no other link, click the last one.

I was supposed to be in bed an hour ago but I got caught up in this and I'm kinda glad. I have literally not laughed so hard in a long time, as I have with some of these photos/captions.

Calling all comedians.

I am in need of jokes. Simple "what do you call a..." or "what did the X say to the Y..." type jokes that are simple to remember and tell, AND that are also funny. It doesn't matter why I need them. Just post 'em if you've got 'em.

Thanks in advance.

Awwww, you shouldn't have.

Most of the weddings I've been invited to have extended the invitation for me only. Even my oldest and dearest friend only alloted me one seat at her upcoming nuptuals. I couldn't care less - people who invite me to weddings know that they are not likely to attend mine anytime soon, and weddings are too expensive for me to bring a friend along for the fun of it, and I'm just happy to be nominated... er, invited...

Today I was pleasantly surprised to receive an invitation which indicated that two seats had been reserved for me.

TWO seats!

You silly, crazy, optimistic friends. I appreciate the thought but unless you want my whiny cat there, it's just gonna be me, my vegetarian self and I. And we all fit in one seat.

(Formal RSVP is in the mail. Whee!!)

You always wanna know why I've got memorable quotes from Office Space in my "favorites"? Well, take it in.

Today I got an email rejection notice for a job I applied for last year. The rejection notice only had the posting number and job title (no department).

I can't find that particular posting number amongst my countless cover letters so I have no idea which job I was actually rejected for, which in the grand scheme of things is kind of funny. The last three jobs with that title, I applied for in July, August and October of 2006. The first job I applied for at that level was in January 2005, and there were two others between then and July 2006.

Luckily for me, the email states that the recruiters are keeping my information on file for six months. Which basically means that if another position opens up that I'm remotely qualified for, they will have thrown out my information by the time they get around to reviewing my resume.

"Just remember, if you hang in there long enough, good things can happen in this world. I mean, look at me."

Like whating a WHAT?

Today's financial management for dummies class featured the following analogy:

Nonprofits are infamous for handing out titles over pay raises. Kind of like banks. You can't swing a dead cat in a bank without hitting 12 VPs of something or another.

[Digression #1: Now, I love cats but I also love the book "All I Need to Know I Learned from My Dead Cat." Despite the fact that I woke up and found my cat dead and stiff one morning, I still find the humor in that book. Even so, it was a random thing to say.

Digression #2: We have a hearing-impaired person in our class who has two interpreters working with her. I find myself watching them now and then just out of curiosity, because while I can sign the alphabet and a few words here and there, I couldn't hold a conversation without trying a deaf person's patience - so I watch to see how certain words are signed. It's like a bonus class on top of the class I am taking. End of digressions.]

Upon hearing this particular statement from the professor, all eyes immediately went to the interpreters to see how the hell they would sign "can't swing a dead cat."

________________
For the record, this is my favorite extension professor in the history of extension professors.

Define "pay," Bob.

Tonight was part one of my "financial management for dummies" class, which I'm taking to fulfill a requirement for Cal State's Non-Profit Management Certificate program (and also to help me in my day to day job). Not to imply that non-profit managers are dummies. But me, personally? I'm a dummy when it comes to non-profit management.

So far the class has been way more interesting than it probably sounds to you, dear reader, and it's definitely practical as well as way more interesting than I anticipated.

But by far, the best part tonight was when the instructor was defining "membership-based" organizations versus "non-membership-based" organizations. Someone asked whether a church would be considered "membership-based."

The instructor tried to explain... "Well, would a church charge a fee for any services it provides someone who attends church regularly? What types of services are you thinking of?" The questionner gave the example of Catholic church marriage classes, and threw out a couple other Catholic class/service examples I wasn't familiar with.

The instructor's reply started with, "If you don't have to pay to be a member of the Catholic church..."

He had to wait a few minutes for the giggles to subside before continuing.

Not by the hair on my shinny, shin shin.

Subject partially cribbed from Connie, who dragged me kicking and screaming to the Shins show at the Warfield last night.

OK, far from kicking and screaming. But I hadn't planned on going, only because I saw them for a brief set at the Download Festival and I also saw them for a very brief (and free!) set at Easy Street Records earlier this year and I'm also trying to be more cautious about money these days. But since I'd never seen a full show I figured, what the hey.

(Digression. Anyone with an extra Decemberists ticket for next week should disregard all previous comments and invite me immediately. End of digression.)

After a couple of drinks and a great Indian meal we wandered down to the Warfield. Timing couldn't have been more perfect - about 10 minutes after we sat down, the Shins came on stage. And then THEY ARRIVED.

I don't know what it is about me and the Warfield. The past three times I have had a seat in the balcony, I have had a chatty Cathy who praised my aloneness, an old man who kept falling on me due to his self-explained reliance on prescription drugs, and a couple who snorted coke and then made out (lather rinse repeat) during the entire show. (I think those last two were pre-blog. The old man incident occured at a Pretenders show - which is probably to be expected - but the cokehead makeout couple was at a Counting Crows show. Counting Crows? COKE? REALLY? I must have missed something in my appreciation for that band.)

The Shins were no exception. About 2 songs into the set, a couple sat down in the seats (providing at least 6 more inches leg room) directly in front of Connie and myself. (Did I mention that the legroom in our purchased seats was worse than Southwest's used to be? Yeah, it was that bad.) These folks proceeded to bob and sway and TALK TALK TALK and bob and sway and generally make it difficult to see or hear the band for about 15 minutes.

Now. Mind you, I've been trying to actively work on what I call my "people patience" - patience for people who, in my mind, are stupid idiots who care nothing about the entire universe that exists outside their own head - so I thought it was just me. Oh, no. Around song three of their arrival, Connie tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, "those people are annoying the HELL out of me."

THANK GOD. It wasn't just me.

Shortly thereafter, they snuck down to the general admission area to annoy those unfortunate people, and upon realizing this (thanks, house lights!) Con and I moved down a row to sit in their luxuriously leg-roomy seats. At that point, I totally relaxed and was able to enjoy the wonderfulness that is the Shins. And then? When their first song in the encore was a cover of Breathe in the Air? I could not have been happier about my $40 ticket purchase.

For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave.

A journey of 2600 miles begins with...

... a couple days in bed, apparently.

My brave and crazy friend who is about to begin her 2600-mile journey from Mexico to Canada, is laid up in bed with a fever, chills, sore throat, aches and pains everywhere.

As she put it, Canada ain't going anywhere, so she is resting up and taking it all in stride.

Please join me in wishing her good health so that we can all live vicariously through her for the next six months!! I told my mom what she was doing and the first thing Mom said in response was, "don't ever tell me that you're doing that..." Followed immediately by, "tell her good luck!"

"Among Monday's dead was..."

Jesus Christ. This news story is incredibly troubling. Heartbreaking. Disturbing. And somewhat personal.

The school really is nestled in the picturesque Blue Ridge Mountains. I have my own pictures to prove it. There's greenery and beautiful graystone and brick buildings everywhere you look. Fall brings an explosion of orange, red and brown in the trees, and the drill field is a great place for mud flinging and/or mud wrestling (depending on your personal preference) after a big rain. Several bars downtown, as well as several fraternities, welcomed college bands and offered all-ages nights. (I first heard Dave Matthews Band at a frat party at Virginia Tech, if you can believe that.) In short, not a bad place to be when you're coming into your own after high school. It also had a LOT of dormitory housing (Monteith and West Eggleston Halls representin'!), which lent itself nicely to the "full college experience." My fondest college memories are of Virginia Tech, not of the university that actually issued my degree four years later.

When I attended for the first three semesters of my college career, the university had a phone system that could get voice mail messages to students through a bulk distribution listing. I can't imagine the same isn't still true, and I can't understand why they chose to use email for this particular message. But the attack did start small, and there's always the fine line between appropriate notification and fear-induced panic.

I don't fault the higher-ups for acting as they did, and my thoughts are with them and all the students, parents and faculty who were a part of this horrific experience.

Idea #50: Clean house.

Idea #50 in this book is to write about emptying your closets and letting things go, things that you've held on to a year (or more) too long. That idea, combined with watching five episodes of Clean Sweep this weekend, inspired the following activities and subsequent post.

First, I attacked the closet. I've been struggling with the balance between losing more weight than I'd planned to, and the concept that my new job is stressful enough and I've laid off the gym enough that I just might gain all that weight back in the next six months. (I don't hope to, for many many reasons, the main one being that I'm in a wedding this July and would like to have a nice figure to show off whatever strappy dress and bikini I end up wearing in hot, humid Puerto Rico. But another part of me really just doesn't care.)

Anyway, I haven't wanted to get rid of any clothes until today. Today, anything I haven't worn in the last year, I'm not likely to wear this year (skinny or not), so it went into the Salvation Army bag. I freed up about 20 hangers just on that purge. (I also kept three pairs of jeans and four shirts that no longer fit - but put them in a storage box to save closet space - in case I do gain weight again and need some emergency clothing. A girl's gotta plan.)

I keep my shoes in a verticle sweater hanger, which started out as an actual place to house sweaters before I grew up a little bit and bought a real dresser to house the aforementioned sweaters. Yesterday several of the slots housed several pairs of shoes, and there were five shoe boxes underneath also housing shoes. Now there are just a few slots housing several pairs of shoes and no shoe boxes underneath. (I love shoes. I consider this progress. Work with me here.)

And finally, the bookcase. Yesterday, the books I hadn't yet read were interspersed with the books I had read, and just looking at the bookcase before bedtime always made me way too tired to bother with picking one out. Now, all the books I haven't read are neatly organized on the top shelf:



All the books I have read (and will likely read again someday) are organized in horizontal ~ and~ verticle stacks on the bookshelves, creating a nice design element to the room:



And all the books I have no intention of reading or finishing are in the Salvation Army pile; all the phone books and old AAA guides that I will never refer to are in the recycling pile; the state and state park maps are in my car; and the pocket references are on my desk.

I understand how other peoples' homes get disorganized. It's easy to just pile junk in a room or a closet and not deal with them, ever. When I was in elementary school my desk was always a mess and spring cleaning with Mom was the dreaded event of the year.

Now, the idea of disorganization, or things piling up without dealing with them, feels so oppressing to me. I'm not sure if it's due to how many times I've moved in the last five years (the less stuff you have, the quicker the move), or if it's due to my immediate disgust when I pick up a book and see the clean space on the dresser where the dust has collected around it, or if it's because of my anti-capitalist attitude that makes me shun "stuff as happiness"...

Actually, I don't really care what it's about. It's me. And it feels good.

Belated Friday five.

Top five things that will result in me hitting the "back" button immediately after reading any of the following in your Craig's List "men seeking women" post*, in no particular order:

• typos
• run-on sentences
  
• insecurity about being divorced and/or a parent**
  
• "I watch Dr. Phil every night"
• "My only criteria was that she'd have to be breathing, but then I thought, should I make that mandatory or by choice?"

________________
* I only click links and view more details on posts with subject lines that don't include any innuendos relating to sex. This REALLY narrows the pool of posts I actually peruse, and the list above is representative of that pool only... I replied to a few tonight, just for fun. I'm sure they are all ogres but if not, remind me to delete this post after you meet them.

** I couldn't care less. The last guy I dated off and on for a few years (and fell in love with, which is a whole other ugly story) was divorced with a 5-year old boy at the time. The older I get, the more likely it will be that I start dating a man who was once married and/or has children. It's a fact. So just acknowledge that fact and tell me about your lovely child or children and how you have kept the relationship with your ex-wife amicable and I will be totally respectful of that fact.

Step 9: Do the hokey pokey and turn yourself around.

I might be able to find time to surf 3hive. But I certainly don't have time for all this nonsense.

I think my next online dating attempt will include a requirement: must take care of all my technology needs at the drop of a hat without complaining. That should weed quite a few of the weirdos out.

I want to work for THIS guy.

"In our system, managers are anonymously evaluated every six months by their subordinates. If they don’t measure up, they’re no longer allowed to fulfill a leadership role. It’s as simple as that. At our company, you’re a manager as long as your staff approves."

More here.

Get bent, TAX MAN!

It's a good thing my old company sent me a bonus check today, which I wasn't supposed to get since I didn't work through March of this year, because now I can afford to pay for the extra money the IRS claims I owe.

Except that I don't. Whoever entered my withholdings for 2006 reversed two of the numbers, making it look like a difference of $261 is still owed. Naturally there is no clear way to appeal the revised "amount due by 4/26" letter I received today with this information.

The process that is about to ensue, to get this all cleared up, is almost enough of a freaking headache that I want to just pay the damn $261 and be done with it. It took me 5 years to get a fraudulent credit card charge cleared up and I'm sure this will be a very similar drawn out debacle, which will take several years of credit report monitoring to ensure that things get cleared up as they should be.

But I'm having too much fun writing the condescending reply letter (oh and also it's 261 freaking dollars) to give in that easily:

Dear Franchise Tax Board,
It is my great pleasure to inform you that I DID NOT, in fact, INCORRECTLY COMPUTE the tax amount on my return as you so blatantly accused in your 4/11/07 letter. Please review the enclosed copies of my W2 (see item #17 "State income tax"), tax return (line 32 total payments and credits) and personal check in the amount of X (the amount of which, by the way, barely covers the payroll for the time it took your unfortunately dyslexic clerk to mistype some information, and send me this bloody letter).

Etc., etc... You get the gist.

I do fully intend to be condescending and I'm sure that will have some negative impact on some record of my existence somewhere in the country. But in the words of the great Billy Bragg, "if you've got a blacklist, I wanna be on it."

Especially if it's a Franchise Tax Board blacklist. I fucking hate taxes.

________________
No offense to the dyslexics, of course. I have been known to be one, myself, when it comes to numbers. I just think that if you do have dyslexia, perhaps accounting is not the profession for you.

I'm also debating whether to even let my old company know I got a bonus check. It's not my fault they forgot to terminate me on the correct date. I was good and returned THAT 2-week paycheck immediately. Maybe this recent windfall is my come-uppance for putting up with so much crap for nine years?

That whole "putting a face to a name" concept.

At last, now I know that the (actually) nappy-headed white southern conservative annoying "who the hell is he?" dude I always saw when bypassing all the crap cable news shows to get to Roseanne on channel 53 every night, is Don Imus.

So if nothing else comes out of this whole debacle, I can now rest easy with that knowledge.

And for the record, I am quite disgusted with Imus for distracting all the attention from who really is Anna-Nicole Smith's baby's father.

(War? What war?)

Honk if you hate nosybodies.

I was turning into a major intersection today and came damn close to hitting a woman who was crossing the street in accordance with the "walk" sign.

(Digression. Note to self: STOP THE DISTRACTING RUNNING COMMENTARY [TO YOURSELF] ABOUT YOUR DAY ON YOUR WAY HOME. End of digresion.)

I walk a lot, so I have nearly been the victim of vehicular manslaughter many a time. Being one myself, usually I am quite conscious of pedestrians and as long as they are following the rules, I yield to them. (Because seriously? The MOST ANNOYING THING is a jaywalker, and although I jaywalk myself now and then I have ZERO sympathy for jaywalkers.)

This woman I almost hit was abiding by the rules.

The woman in the car following me felt obligated to pull up alongside me at the next stop light, roll down her window and say "DID YOU SEE HER??? BE CAREFUL!!" To which I had three responses, in the following order:

A) Like I didn't feel bad enough about the near-hit.
B) Like I needed a random stranger criticizing my driving.
C) Like an entire five minutes later, a reprimand would even be remotely effective. Hello, lady? Have you seen our justice system lately?

My new theme song.

Driving home after a particularly crummy day at work today (yes, it's a good job, but it's still WORK which means it still SUCKS), I heard this song, which won the vote for "best of set" during KFOG's 10 @ 10 this morning.

I can see why it won - it struck a chord with me personally. (The first part, anyway. ) I just had a three day weekend and all I could think last night was, damn, I have got to find a sugar daddy. And, maybe I could just move to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and live off my savings for years. And actually, yes, I wish I could just get paid to watch cable TV every night. Because I do learn from hours upon hours of watching cooking/home decorating shows, and Jon Stewart really does make me "LOL" and sometimes "ROTFL," and I honestly do care about the Little People and am dying to see what the hell happens to regular-sized little person Jacob in tonight's episode.

I don't really want all the stuff at the end of that song though. Other than, perhaps, the McCulloch chainsaw, because if I learned nothing else from Grindhouse, I learned that you've got to be prepared in case nuclear splooge really turns people into flesh-eating zombies.

So, what do YOU want from life?

Hey look, Brady Bunch Lawnmower Massacre is opening for Cindy Brady's Lisp tomorrow night.

My favorite thing to do in used record stores, other than spending lots of time and money, is to spend lots of money on CDs marked "FOR PROMOTIONAL USE ONLY - NOT FOR RESALE."

In some small way, I truly believe that I am sticking it to the man when I do that... Even when the purchase in question is from an indie record label.

My second favorite thing to do in used record stores is peruse the band names. If only I'd known about this site, I could've saved myself a lot of time and money today.

Public service announcement.

BevMo's 5 cent wine sale is on. I highly recommend the Taft Street Cab.

Redemption in filmmaking.

I am quite certain that the people who saw me grinning as I walked down the street about an hour ago probably would not have guessed that I was grinning because I'd just sat through three hours of mind-numbing, senseless, graphic, campy, gritty, sarcastic, bloody, star-/cameo-/violence-/action-packed mayhem.

It's true. Hell, even I found my grinning a little hard to believe, but I really just couldn't help myself. Sin City had the same effect on me. I'm not sure what that says about me... and I don't want to know.

As with Sin City, I can't believe the man who brought you Spy Kids also brought you Planet Terror. And with Death Proof, Quentin has officially redeemed himself for that American Idol/CSI nonsense. Fans will note his trademarks: snappy curse-laden dialogue, obscure references to 70's pop culture, beautifully choreographed fight scenes and that brilliant 7-minute continuous shot of a conversation around a round table.

I also realized today why I probably didn't like Hostel - I tried to watch it on my little 19-inch TV. Anything Tarantino is associated with is meant to be viewed on a ginormous screen with excellent sound. Note to self.

In fact, if you are at all interested in seeing this film, unless you have a 52 inch screen and room for 20 friends, do not queue it up in your Netflix. GO TO THE THEATER. It was all about the entire experience this afternoon - the Grand Lake, filled with a bunch of late 20's/early 30's hipster types who GOT IT and clapped and laughed and groaned and squealed at all the appropriate places.

The Parkway would be ideal... I almost held out for that but my curiosity got the better of me.

________________
As an aside, I think Quentin is starting to rival Joss in the "women power and I'll be over here" sense. Starting to. He most certainly is not there yet.

News from the home front.

"Guess what! We had snow today - about one inch. The Christmas Cacti bloomed also."

That's right, sports fans. It snowed in Maryland (the lowlands, right outside of D.C., not the mountains). One inch. In APRIL.

According to weather.com, it's 39 degrees at my parents' house this very minute. In APRIL.

I was looking through old photos for something the other day and ran across several years' worth of Easter Sunday photos. (No, I will not be posting any of them. So don't ask.) I wasn't even wearing a jacket over my frilly pastel Easter dress in any of those photos, let alone a winter coat.

Maybe the polar bears should be migrating south.

Okay, but who's LOOKING OUT for a new plot line?

After that dream the other night, that I could not will myself back into despite the best of efforts, I just had to check out The Lookout today. I did have to will myself to pay $7.50 for a movie I knew would be mediocre at best, but I had the day off and it was playing at the local theater and I had some time to kill, so it seemed like a reasonable thing to do.

I was right - it was mediocre at best.

Really, Hollywood? Has the creativity been sucked so dry that you can't come up with one lousy brand-new story? You just have to retell the same story over and over again, but change out the variables now and then? "Hmm, let's do a bank heist film, but this time - YEAH! - this time let's feature a main character who has suffered a head injury and can't remember shit, and introduce him to some brand new people who - overnight! - change the core of his being and all that he has ever believed in, to make him the perfect accomplice to their bank heist! And the menacing guy, we'll call him Bone and he will have long hair and be scary and hardly ever speak but when he does it will be profound! And then at the end we'll throw in a twist - maybe the main character CAN remember shit after all!"

I doubt anyone will go out of their way to watch this movie but if you do, I haven't ruined anything. It was all right there in the trailer.

That said, Jeff Daniels was very good. Very good. (I was never a big fan, but I'm finding that I like him more with every new film.)

And, well, you know - staring at JGL for 1.5 hours never did anyone any harm. He was actually very good as well. In fact, all the actors did a great job. Several hours later I have all but forgotten the plot, but some of the dialogue and character interactions linger in my head.

But really, if you want to see what all my JGL hype is about, check out Brick. It's a much better use of your 1.5 hours.

You're a dream to me.

Last night I had a dream that I was on my way to Australia. In my dream, SFO was a sprawling airport... okay, maybe that part isn't so unusual. But the strange part was that you had to wait outside, on the runway, to check in - with all the planes coming and going pretty much right around your head.

(I have had that exact part of the dream before - checking in, outside, with planes flying around my head. I wonder what it means.)

I started out in the line with a current co-worker who I was either traveling with or just carpooling with - I was never quite sure. I had a couple freak-out moments where I thought I'd left my large bag, you know, the one with ALL MY TRAVELING NEEDS, at home and did some quick time calculations to see if I could make it back home to pick up my bag and still make the plane... Only to look down and see my large bag, the one with ALL MY TRAVELING NEEDS, right there at my feet.

(Not an unusual freak-out in a travel-related dream.)

Once I got into the airport, the terminals/waiting areas were a maze of amusement park games and activities. Mostly on the crappy boardwalk amusement park end - lots of pinball and other arcade games, some skeeball, but also a few water slides, a ferris wheel and a couple other county-fair-type rides. Soon after entering the airport I lost my co-worker (although I am still not sure we were actually traveling together) and started to wander around the maze of neon spinning shouting machines.

(That part of the dream could mean any number of things. I'm not too worried about it. For example, I'm really dreading a whirlwind trip back east for my best friend's bridal shower, and also planning a whirlwind trip to Puerto Rico for the same friend's wedding, so this travel anxiety is all totally reasonable. I mean, when you really think about it, pinball machines/skeeball + boring airports before an excruciatingly long flight = GOOD THING!)

And then I ran into HIM. And it was like we were old friends, meeting after not seeing each other for years. We smiled, we joked, we wandered amongst the pinball machines. He eyed a few of them with a childlike glee, so of course I encouraged him to play. But he just smiled, and took my hand, and we continued to wander around like an old married couple - holding hands, smiling at the kids and shooting the breeze.

For those brief moments, dream or not, I never felt so comfortable or content in all my life.

(I have a sense of what this part of the dream means. It could be any of the following, or a combination of all of the following:

• today was the last day for the JGL-ish type on my staff and I've been dreading it for many reasons, mostly because I really respect his opinions and input and it sucks that he's leaving and I couldn't do anything to get him to stay.
• the last conversation I had last night had to do with physical intimacy (or lack thereof, or desire therefore), and I realized on the way home that all I really want on the boyfriend front right now is a cute boy that I can hold hands with. That's ALL I want. And that seems weird to me.
  
• JGL is freakin' HOT, and my subconscious won't let me forget that.)

Anyway, back to the dream. Customs kept hunting me down because I'd left my bag sitting with his bag in the arcade but we hadn't stayed with our bags as requested, we'd just been wandering... And there was a question as to whether I'd actually make the plane to Australia since customs was trying to detain and question me. When I did finally make it on the plane he was nowhere to be found.

And then I woke up. At 8am. Which meant I was going to be late for work.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, is truly perfect, real-life expectation-setting after coming out of such a lovely dream.

Which is not to say that I didn't exert myself trying to get back to sleep, back to that dream, no matter how late for work I already was.

Thursday is the new Friday.

In the most ironic of ironic turns of events, Jen(n) the atheist, pirate-worshiping potty-mouth now works in a church for a Christian-based organization and gets Friday off because it's the day someone's lord Jesus Christ was crucified and died to save his people.

After sleeping in, watching 18 hours of Buffy reruns and commiting all seven deadly sins including gluttony at the birthplace of California cuisine, I will be sure to eat some hot cross buns to commemorate the occasion.

It's a free ride, when you've already paid...

Really, I just wanted a freakin' belt.

Having exhausted every possibility within a 15-mile radius in my search to find a non-black, non-brown belt I could wear with my still-too-big jeans on the weekends, I set out this morning for the freak show also known as THE GREAT MALL.

If you've never been to The Great Mall, let me explain. It's basically a GINORMOUS complex, built in a circle, that houses +/- 100 stores. Many of the stores are outlets (Saks, Neiman Marcus, Old Navy, Gap, Banana Republic), some are generic strip mall stores (Forever 21, Claire's, Shoe Pavillion, PacSun), and some are niche stores that sell items like hospital scrubs, "as seen on TV" items, and glass-encased scorpions that you can hang from a chain around your neck. Should you choose to do so.

And there's a big movie theater.

And of course, because it is such a GINORMOUS complex and just walking through half of it could take even a non-shopper six hours, there are also lots of restaurants, including Fresh Choice (my personal favorite), Dave & Buster's, Anderson Bakery (which you'd think would be my personal favorite) and strip mall standbys like Sbarro and Cinnabon.

(Digression. I hope to never, ever eat a Cinnabon ever again throughout the span of my entire life, because they are so utterly disgusting, but DAMN do they smell good. End of digression.)

One might think, that with all the options, I could easily have found a belt. Not the case. Not one lousy belt that met my criteria.

As I walked from store to store in that GINORMOUS mall, I slowly realized was that we are a society that makes so much crap that we can't even sell it on the regular market, so we have to create special "outlet" markets to attempt to sell the crap that wouldn't sell on the regular market at a discounted price, and then I started thinking about all the people who can't afford food and shelter and it suddenly just seemed SO VERY WRONG to be in The Great Mall.

And so I left, sans belt but feeling self-righteous (and full from my GINORMOUS salad at Fresh Choice).

Driving up 880 toward home, I saw a DSW Shoe store off to the side of the freeway in Fremont. I swerved three lanes and took the exit. Because I am ALL ABOUT the DSW shoes. And although I didn't find any shoes, I did learn that there is a Costco in Fremont, and it is well stocked! And well organized! And the people are nice, much nicer than in San Leandro or Richmond! And the lines were shorter! Although there weren't as many free samples. But anyway, instead of driving 40 miles to find a belt, I ended up driving 40 miles to spend yet another $122 at Costco on bargains I could never have found elsewhere.

And then I realized that consumerism is ingrained in my being just as it is ingrained in all of your beings, and...

And...

Well, frankly I just don't care. I mean, seriously! THREE POUNDS of dried cranberries for under $7? That's like six months' worth of cranberries that I can stir into my oatmeal or yogurt every morning!

God bless America.

Incommunicado.

I am tired.

Each day brings a new challenge. Some are great learning experiences and others are not. Some just suck, actually. True to any new job, I am sure.

I honestly had no idea what I was getting into. I had no real sense of the transition from six months of "cruise control" to being slammed into exactly the opposite. For 10-12 hours a day I use my brain nonstop, usually in conjunction with a lot of other smart people, and then I go home.

On a good day, I make dinner, make lunch for the next day, maybe watch a little TV or read a book, get to bed early, get up early for the gym. That was my routine for four weeks and it was good.

More recently, I've been making dinner, making lunch for the next day, getting back online for a few hours, turning in but waking up at 2am and fretting until the wee hours of the morning. Which results in no gym, no mental break and no time for Her Majesty. At this rate, I will never see my friends, let alone attempt (yet again) the dating ordeal. No job is worth that, unless you don't care about that stuff.

So tonight. I am not working tonight. I am watching the movie that's been sitting next to my TV for three weeks. Her Majesty will curl up with me. It will be good.

If I vow to do some variation of what I'm doing tonight, at least once a week, and increase as I can from there, I think it will all be jussssst fiiiiiiiiine.

Friday five.

Five women who have inspired me, in honor of Women's History Month, in no particular order... to call this a top five list would be ridiculous because obviously there's Ella Baker, Barbara Kingsolver, Barbara Lee, Sarah Vowell, Kate Winslet, Alice Paul, Ellen DeGeneres, Jane Austen, Barbara Mikulski, Anne Frank, Ani DiFranco, Julianne Moore... oy vey could I go on for hours, but let me start with these five:

• My grandmother, who raised seven children during the depression (six of them BOYS! one of whom kept getting stuck in quicksand!) while her husband worked all day. In her quiet, subtle way, she taught me that despite any family oddities like, oh, say, one son marrying a woman and the other son marrying that woman's daughter - and all the weirdness that comes with THAT gnarled family tree - the family always eats together at the holidays. And that the best bread is homemade bread, hands down, no questions asked.
  
• Princess Leia, who never gave up and always reminded the boys that they were no better than her. She was the costume of choice for my fourth Halloween, and the subject of my freshman English paper on personal heroes in college.
• A good friend in college, who taught me that this world is truly fucked up, left and right inside and out, and that whatever I could do to make it a better place would be a good thing. She's doing her part and now I am hopefully doing mine.
  
• Roseanne Connor, who was never afraid to speak up for herself, had a great sense of humor, stuck by her family at all costs and proved to be an endless source of inspiration and support despite countless trials and tribulations. At least through season seven.
• My mom, who grew up with six brothers and lived to tell the tale. The older I get, the more I respect and learn from my mom.

If I were a 13 year old girl...

I've been wondering why I got a copy of this magazine, the "original buyers guide for men," in the mail a few days ago. Out of curiousity I leafed through the articles riddled with randomly vulgar curse words, and the ads featuring beer and scantily clad women.

And then I saw this.


Oh, Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Your hyphenated name befuddles me, but I love you still.

If I were a 13 year old girl, that picture would be hanging over my bed alongside Brad Pitt's drenched half-dressed illegal Vanity Fair photo (that I can't even find a link to anymore), every photo of Johnny Depp that ever existed, and this photo of Ed Vedder. Or maybe this photo of Ed Vedder, or this one.

(But probably not this one.)

Aw, hell. Who am I kidding... I'm a 32 year old girl and I have no intention of letting go of this photo anytime soon.

It's hip to be [a few steps ahead of] square.

I'm not hip. I'm usually a few steps behind all the hipsters when it comes to music, movies, art, books, technology... you name it, I'll be there approximately six months behind you. And when I arrive, all the hipsters will shun what I've excitedly discovered, and I'll be behind again.

For example. I stumbed upon Dave Eggers accidentally several years ago. I was going to Belize and needed some beach reading, so a coworker lent me AHWOSG. I read it over two days. I was hooked. I thought I found the next best thing. When I got back home, I learned about McSweeny's, and 826 Valencia, and speaking tours with They Might Be Giants and Sarah Vowell, and, and... And suddenly Dave Eggers isn't hip anymore. But still I buy his books, and enjoy his books for the most part, so who cares.

Such seems to be the case with Jonathan Safran Foer as well. His first novel was fascinating and intricate and complex and confusing and beautiful (although the film adaptation stunk). I'm mostly through his second novel and although it's less so than the first, it's a far better second novel than most can claim. And then I read this, and well... Dang. Late again.

So this Friday a little indie band called The Helio Sequence is playing in the city, and my hipster friend played them for me while I was in Seattle, and I was all set to go, and be one of the first*, but then something came up for Friday early evening and something else came up for Saturday morning, and, and... And I'm just too damn old for all that nonsense.

But YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST.

Their MySpace friends Menomena are also supposed to rock. Doot do, do do do.

________________
* It's not so much about being one of the first, as it is the thrill of seeing an awesome band in a teeny venue before they inevitably hit it big and tickets go from $10 to $35 and suddenly you're sitting on the lawn of the Shoreline breathing in secondhand smoke for 4 hours watching this awesome band on a screen from 500 feet away.

Wading through all the teeny venue crap is another thing I'm just too damn old for. I need it to be POINTED OUT TO ME. Or within walking distance.

Crankypants.

Beautiful panoramic Sunday afternoon 4-hour hike, why do you mock me so?

Not only am I sunburned in such a way that collars, seat belts and turning my head in general really really hurt. That would be annoying enough.

I've also got the exact same crippling pains in my calves, that I got last year around this time after running uphill for 8 of 14 miles. THAT does not make me happy. I just got on a running kick and now I'm going to have to slack off for a week or possibly several until the muscles heal. And if this is any indication of my ability to do long hikes in the future... Well, get used to subject of post. And lots of it.

On the upside, I learned from last year's mistake - I'm already on the ice and rest plan, whereas last year it took 4 weeks and a 16 mile run to beat me into submission.

And hey, maybe I'll gain that 10 pounds I've been "whining" about.

"Do you have regrets about the way you lived your life? Because I think I do."

I think I've been watching too many Scrubs reruns lately.

Tonight, for whatever reason, I decided to pull out my old floppy disks and read through letters to friends and family that I wrote almost 8 years ago. That poor decision actually feeds some hilarious content for another post, but in the meantime, I just have to say...

For the most part I have learned from my mistakes. I have grown as a person, as a woman and as a professional. But seriously? The biggest mistake* I ever made was being a schizophrenic bitch to the nicest (comma only) boy who treated me with the level of honesty, decency and respect anyone in a relationship should display to their partner.

He was a law student, interning for the summer. I was a temp at his law firm during college. Despite our love for liberalism, red wine and our coworker's band, it was destined for failure due to the age difference (6 years, which, when I was 18, is a great difference), physical distance for most of the year (he was in NYC, I was in eastern bumfuck southern Virginia), and God knows what else. Or so I thought.

I read some old correspondence to friends where I described his cute letters and phone calls during the school year. I vividly recall a message I got from my Beevis-&-Butthead-loving roommate in college, who I made every effort to tolerate at my own expense, where she nonchalantly mentioned when I walked in the dorm door after a study session one night, that he "called, he said to call back if it wasn't too late" and I literally told her to get the hell out so I could call him back.

It lasted about a year, and ended badly due to me being a total crazy psycho who was convinced all he wanted was to get married because he was "of that age" where he was probably ready to start settling down and HOLY SHIT I was too young to think about that so of course the best resolution was to end - nay, rudely sever - all ties immediately.

I saw him a few years after we "broke up" while I was at a show, and he appeared to be with a fiance while I was with my uber-jealous boyfriend at the time. He didn't see me. Thankfully.

From time to time I wonder where I would be had I stayed with the nice guy. I'd probably be in a suburb near DC, raising a couple kids and working a decent liberal job while he fought the good fight with the court system.

And I try to convince myself that things happen for a reason, and that I wouldn't have found San Francisco and all the magic and friends and food that it offers, had I stayed on the East Coast. And I try to convince myself that this was all meant to be, and I'm doing what I need to be doing.

But I'm a child of the "choose your own adventure" era. I constantly wonder what's behind Door #2. I hope his family is doing well, wherever he and his inevitably beautiful and successful wife and children are.

And I curse the Internet for making me search his name these past 10 minutes.

________________
* That's the biggest mistake tonight. Ask me tomorrow, you'd probably get a different answer.

Oh, and also, if I were king of the forest?

I would ban movies with actors who don't bother to pick an accent. I was so distracted trying to figure out what country they were supposed to be from, and what country they were allegedly in, that I missed all the twists and turns of the actual plot. By the end when all was revealed, I found myself wishing I'd just watched Fight Club for the nine millionth time instead.

And the very loud dude at the gym. I would ban him as well.

If I ruled the world.

Entry #1 from this book for bloggers with writer's block: reign supreme.

If I ruled the world, people would care more about politics than Hollywood gossip. Anna Nicole Smith's death would've been back page news in the local paper, overshadowed tenfold by what Ron Dellums is up to in Oakland. Britney's head shaving incident would've been the last skit on SNL, after the sarcastically derogatory plays on the latest debacles of our fine government. No one would know about a celebrity's immediate entry into rehab after doing something [stupid/offensive/annoying] because they'd be too focused on the atrocities going on overseas. (Yeah, I follow Hollywood gossip. My point exactly.)

When I am queen, adults who litter will be immediately sentenced to 16 hours community service, which will entail scraping the scum from the surface of the local public watering hole (wading pants not provided). Parents whose children litter will be forced to put $50 per item of trash toward their children's college education, and the children shall be denied [candy/Dora videos/Wii] for 1 year per item of trash they carelessly toss on the ground.

In my kingdom, the following will be banned: Sub woofers. SUVs. Tom Cruise. Pointy-haired bosses. Linkin Park. Commercials, mainly just those featuring Tom Shane, but if I can ban the whole lot of them, super. Reality TV shows. Golf. $600 shoes. "Don't ask, don't tell." Bill O'Reilly. People who would rather film [whales attacking fishing boats/tsunamis/police beating citizens with billy clubs] than call or run for help. Twinkies. Office romances. Ticketbastard. That nasty "butter" at movie theaters. Las Vegas. Bridge tolls that don't go toward filling potholes. And last, but certainly not least - people who don't spellcheck their public lists of things that should be banned.

The post no woman wants to read.

After running Inspiration Point in the blazing sun and heat yesterday afternoon in record time, I returned home to enjoy the rest of the glorious sunny day by... Hemming lots of pants. WOOHOO!

See, here's the thing. I don't know if it's all the running, or all the running at increased speeds with no detriment to knees or other physicalities, or the fact that I haven't really been depressed about work since January, or the fact that I've been trying to save money by cooking more often, or a combination of all that. But since the beginning of the year I seem to have lost another somewhere-between-8-to-10-pounds. After losing big about 12 months ago, I held steady last year and did lots of shopping, but now none of my clothes fit. Belts don't help. And I hate shopping unless it's for shoes. So for a while I've just been layering and feeling like a slob. And in a rare turn of events, I decided yesterday to hem all the pants that fit 12 months ago but now hang below my ankles.

I contemplated gaining 10 pounds just to save myself from having to shop or get clothes altered, but I seem to be addicted to (obsessed with?) this running thing, so gaining weight while still eating healthy (I don't like chocolate, and with my family history of heart issues I don't want to dive into the french fries and gordo burritos either) is more of a challenge.

See - told you no woman would want to read this. I know, waaaaah, woe is me, right? Seriously though? It's annoying.

In other news... I want my hour back, dammit. This Daylight Savings crap is for the birds. And the squirrels. And the people walking their dogs, and the farmers, and the cats who get an extra hour of sunbeams to snooze in. But I want my hour back.

Friday five semi-double take.

I had iTunes on random last night and I heard a song that took me back, so to speak, and so tonight I was going to post five songs on mix tapes from cute male friends in high school that I misinterpreted as meaning "I'm interested in you" but really they were just saying "hey you should hear this, it's a great song," in no particular order... but I could only remember three songs, and I probably threw away or burned or otherwise destroyed the tapes over the years so there's no way to know what the others were but dammit there were many... but here are the three I could remember:

• Somebody - Depeche Mode
• Found - The Beloved
• Lovesong - The Cure

(One step closer to this... but several vodka shots short.)

For the actual Friday Five - five activities, scents or tastes that remind me of childhood, in no particular order:

• Swinging my feet - I do this at the gym when I'm on the arm press thingie, because I have to put the seat up high so that my arms are pushing at the right angle... and as a result, my feet don't touch the ground, so in between sets I kick my feet out one at a time (and if I'm in a really good mood, I whistle along with whatever's blaring in my ears from my iPod, which just makes it even more childlike) - try it, it's fun
  
• Swinging in general - there's nothing like flying up high in the air and swooping back down, only to go up even higher the next time and dare yourself to jump... when I was in college I visited my cousin and we were walking around his neighborhood talking about all this depressing shit (mostly about how I was depressed, I imagine) and we ran across this little park with swings... we swang and swang and swang and I remember expressing to him that I hadn't been that carefree in a long time... so now I try to swing whenever the opportunity presents itself
• Going barefoot - I hated shoes as a kid, I hate shoes to this day... I wear them because I have to, and whenever possible I wear flip flops or sandals, but as soon as I get home the shoes are OFF... and if I step onto a grassy knoll or a forest valley, my shoes are off almost immediately
  
• Peanut butter ice cream - there was this ice cream place in the local mall where I grew up that had THE. BEST. PEANUT BUTTER ICE CREAM. EVER... it was the first peanut butter ice cream I'd ever had, and the only kind I ever wanted after I tried it - basically just vanilla ice cream with big globs and swirls of peanut butter in it, not like that Ben & Jerry's stuff where it's a blur of vanilla and peanut butter flavoring - this was hard core straight up PEANUT BUTTER in the ice cream... when I get a craving I grab a pint of french vanilla, let it melt for a half hour or so, add in globs of peanut butter, stir it, re-freeze it and then eat it later - but I have yet to recreate that ice cream experience and the store, natch, is now gone
  
• Swimming pools - I can't even begin to count how many hours I spent at the neighborhood pool as a child... almost all our family photo albums have pages and pages of us at the pool as kids, and I still remember when I took swim lessons from the hot lifeguard Andy, and he was trying to teach me to tread water and I ended up butterflying from one side of the pool to the other, and he was all "that was GREAT! only next time, try staying in the same spot" and I felt so dumb... anyway, any time I smell chlorine, I am five years old stubbing my toe as I eat my frozen Reese's Peanut Butter Cup in the hot, humid July sun (Snickers bars are also excellent frozen, by the way)
  

(OK! One step closer to something out of this book, but several shots of courage short.)

Mindless crap, here I come.

Thanks to David Attenborough, I now know that some version of the weird little cover girl actually exists in nature.

Thanks to GOD, I am finally finished with all my documentaries for a little while. Animals, insects and brothels are interesting and I've learned a lot, and Sir David is really entertaining (especially when he sat there as the meerkat stood on his shoulder, or when he got up in the sloth's face and mocked it), and those kids took really good photos... but along with that comes the grim brutal reality of life and survival of the fittest.

And speaking of grim brutal survival of the fittest... Next up: Saw 2. Suh-weet!

Attention Franchise Tax Board.

Hi, Franchise Tax Board. I have a small request. If you insist on making me write a check that will cost more for your staff to cash than the actual amount on the check, could you please at least give me a self-stick label like the US government does? Or make sure the damn glue on your envelopes work?

Thanks!

Signed,
REALLY hate that my taxes are supporting your stupid war
Oakland CA

The porn is deleted.

Maybe all those induhvidual quotes are actually the early stages of brilliance?

I double-dog-dare you to use "putting the umption before the ass" in your manager's next performance evaluation. Me, I'll be saying "verbally bi" whenever appropriate from now on...

"Somebody call the police! There's a pants thief on the loose!"

On the way home from a three-year-old's birthday party today, it occurred to me that I am the same age my mom was when she had my older brother.

Now, I know that I'm more mature than I was five, even two, years ago. But everything else aside (the main thing being it would have to be an immaculate conception, followed closely by "I can barely remember to feed Her Majesty"), I definitely don't feel like I could entertain the thought of raising another human being right now.

And to some degree, I guess that's the point. No one ever feels ready. I mean, really - what adult who felt grown up enough to raise a child could actually have fun as much fun as my friends did just by throwing their kid a Spongebob Squarepants birthday party?

Technology IQ dropping to zero.

Since quitting my high-tech job, I've noticed an interesting decrease in my ability to complete tasks that involve technology.

Earlier this week I was trying to redeem an iTunes gift card, and it wasn't accepting the number. I emailed the friend who gave it to me, and he called the store, and they said to scratch off the area in the back and enter that number. I had been trying to enter the viewable number they use to scan the card, not the actual gift card number.

Mind you, I have redeemed at least 5 other iTunes gift cards in my life. This concept is not new to me. (To partially redeem myself, unlike the others, this one was glued into a fancy-schmancy card holder and the scratch off part was not visible until you unglued it.)

Yesterday I tried to use the self-scan at the grocery store. It took me about 5 minutes to figure it out. Five minutes isn't a long time, unless you're frustrated, you feel like an idiot and the people in line behind you start tapping their feet and sighing louder and louder as the minutes pass.

I have done this many times at Home Depot and have never had problems.

If my ability to use the remote control fails me next, I am in BIIIIIIIG trouble.

I think I'm gonna like it here.

The week started with my very first email - subject: "and now for more bad news." I thanked my office mate profusely for that one.

It got better as the days passed, though, and this afternoon I signed my first official documents.

And then I completely freaked out about signing official documents and actually being responsible and accountable for stuff.

But overall, it was a good week.