Let's see how long this lasts...

So...I'm going to try to post every day. Mostly because I don't want posting to be something that I worry too much about. And if I am posting every day, at least I'll get comfortable with crap. And it's important for perfectionists to get used to crap, since that's what a lot of life is about. I can't control everything, and there's no sense in bowing to the pressure to make everything--including blog postings--perfect or pretty or witty or remarkable. Sometimes I'm just too pooped.

And I guess that's that.

So I gave my notice today. I didn’t mean to; it just happened. One minute my boss was telling me I needed to help the receptionist distribute faxes, and next thing you know I’m yelling, “YOU KNOW WHERE YOU CAN PUT THOSE BLOODY FAXES?! LET ME SHOW YOU.” And so it progressed until I punched her in the face, roaring with maniacal laughter.

Okay, that’s just how it happened in my head. In real life, it went more like this:

Boss (caring hand on shoulder): You’ve been quieter than usual. Is there anything going on I can help you with?

Me (apparently having been slipped a truth serum): Crap, yeah, okay, I’m moving to London in October for a year of traveling abroad and my last day is going to be around mid-September.

Boss: Oh my.

say what?

I'm currently editing the company's vehicle policy, and came across the following:

"Only Company employees are allowed to drive the vehicle. Keys must be removed from ignition at all times."

Moving to Paper

So I just got a long overdue new cell phone. It was necessary to replace the one held together by rubber bands and tape, the one that two days ago started making gurgling noises instead of its normal beeps and rings, the one whose alarm clock officially quit alarming and instead started doing its best imitation of a drunken whale, leading me to finally break down and fulfill my free upgrade. Despite the fact that I'd rather send messages via homing pigeon than deal with a salesman in a red polo shirt trying to sell me the latest and greatest must-have mobile, it was time.

But I've done it. I spent an hour of my life saying 'no, thank you,' while continuing to point at the cheapest model (my exact same phone, except it has now progressed into a slimmer, more bulletlike design). I eventually won my battle, they transferred my data, and then I get home and realize...my calendar of appointments is gone. Just like that. My plans for tonight/tomorrow/this weekend/next month? WHO KNOWS. If we have plans coming up, please email me and let me know. Otherwise, many apologies in advance. I didn't mean to stand you up.

Lesson learned: keep a hard calendar. So I am now in the market for one, and want advice. Do any of you use a paper calendar? What have you found works for you, in terms of style, layout, size, etc.? As a paper whore, style will play a key role, but I am flexible when it comes to ultimate practicality. I don't want a huge dayplanner or anything--something thin and sleek would be nice. Please tell me what you use and what you like about it and where you got it!

Madly Culling

(kids at play)

For the second night in a row I find myself at long last plowing through my Spain photos...only five short months after my trip last October. I've noticed one thing, though--after about two and a half hours, I want to bludgeon myself and then fling my camera out the window, never to be abused again.

(old man at play)

I'm going through over 3000 pictures here. A coworker of mine calculated that this means I took one photo every 4.5 waking minutes of my trip. Now I find myself 'madly culling' these photos, just mass-highlighting and deleting at random. I don't even feel like opening these files. And all of the plazas and cathedrals are pretty much an auto-dump in Ronaworld. You've seen one...you've seen 'em all.

(artists at play)

And so it goes...

Like Moths to a Flame

Today at work one of our construction guys came by my desk with a window frame (sans glass) with a shutter attached. "Want it?" he said, knowing full well I love garbage like that. I always get really inspired by things like carpet samples and laminate submittals. I'm convinced there's something artistically brilliant I can do with these things, and so I bring them home, store them away, and promptly forget about their existence, never to be touched again. This window frame was no exception. I envisioned a painting behind the shutter, maybe a mountain range, or a 'naked guy across the street' or some other such inspired scenery, the treasure only to be revealed upon opening the mysterious door...I envisioned using it as a grand, overly dramatic picture frame for a photo I would take and want to develop that size. And so I lugged this frame on the bus, this huge window with this huge shutter, and I had a (rare) flash of insight: YOU ARE NOT GOING TO USE THIS. Then I had another moment of insight: BUT YOUR LOCAL ART STUDIO WILL.

You see, there's a new art studio in my neighborhood, just down the block. It's a co-op and each artist rents a part of the studio and not only is it a place where art is created, but also where it is displayed. They throw wild parties that cause all the hipsters in the neighborhood to crawl out of the woodwork with their greasy hair and messenger bags and tight tees, and the artists no doubt don't sell a thing. But despite the fact that it may not be a financial success, it's a great concept, the artists are charming and approachable, and it's really bringing the neighborhood together in a new and fun way.

So I decide to do my part, make my contribution. And while I may not be willing to throw down hundreds of dollars for a painting of an alien crawling through metal bars, I am willing to donate supplies like shuttered window frames when they fall into my lap, all for the greater artistic good and with the knowledge that such a brilliant treasure will not go unused in the right hands.

So I get off the bus, and there are a handful of the artists on their mini-stoop smoking ciggies, looking like so many Ponyboys and Sodapops, and there is the usual handful of giggly girls with swooped bangs and dark eyeliner, pretending not to be giggly girls, and I bumble my way in, holding this increasingly-heavy frame, not the picture of cool with my work pants and washed hair: "Does anybody want this?"

I was almost trampled to death. The excitement in the air was palpable as they all grabbed and reached and dreamed. (The girls scattered instantly.) It was like I was offering them the holy grail of artistic possibility. One artist took first dibs on it almost immediately, under the justification that at their opening party I bought a stuffed animal he made for ten dollars and that means we are friends. I personally didn't mind either way, and his starry eyes made it all worthwhile...He was so gratified I worried for a moment that he was going to embrace me or kiss my feet or offer me his firstborn child. I imagine this is how good charity feels, although I'm too lazy with my time to really find out.

They're having their next party on the 18th (b.y.o.brownbag, if you're around and interested). I hope he's done something with it by then as I would love to see where it ends up. If it turns into something that doesn't make me want to slit my wrists, then I'll photograph it and post it here.

Lessons Learned

So once upon a time, long, long, long ago, months ago, in fact, I went on bad accidental date. I say 'accidental' because I didn't realize it was a prospecting thing until too late. And I did a blog-posting about the encounter sparing few barbs and in fact creating a couple extra, just because I knew he didn't read my blog, never would, and we knew virtually nobody in common other than a couple girls who didn't know I was with him that day therefore wouldn't make the connection. So I thought I was safe with this story.

Now cue an email I woke up to this morning from said gentleman. ATTACHED TO MY BLOG POSTING. Somehow, he got my blog link. And somehow, he read back through the archives. And somehow, despite all gross exaggerations, he recognized our outing. And unfortunately, my caricature of the affair. I have since removed the posting in the depths of despair and now I carry a rock (and by 'rock' I mean 'boulder') of shame in the pit of my stomach. I would like to think that this post could serve as a public apology, except I think he will not be back to my blog again, thanks to not a little disgust in my appallingly depraved nature. I really hope he didn't read the posting about stealing that baby...

This--this!--is why I don't give out my blog link. Wait, no, that's not my lessons learned. This--this!--is why I don't post about men. No, no wait, that's not it, either. No, my lessons learned is obvious: DON'T BE A B*TCH ON YOUR BLOG. I am an IDIOT with a delusional sense of impenetrability. How could I one, say such awful things in general--do I lack all basic human kindness? Maybe I didn't think I was being cruel because I fictionalized his nature to the point that it no longer resembled him and so I didn't even think it was a real person about whom I was writing anymore. But how did I really think I could write the things I wrote and get away with it?? I guess we've all got to learn it once...but I really had hoped to learn it from someone else, far far away, and then I would apply the Decency Filter to my own writings with smug satisfaction that I'm not THAT dumb.

Now if you'll excuse me, I should go remove all the postings about my job...

On postings or lack thereof

Recently I have encountered a slew of great books, thanks to my new favorite book recommender, Rad Bad Coworker Lauline, and as a result I have NOT prioritized writing at ALL. I get home, and all I can think about is turning the next page, not fighting my free (read 'useless and inadequate') wireless connection in a frustrated attempt to create a single posting before my connection times out (roughly every 2.5 seconds). Plus both books have caused me not a little tearing up, and when you spend your time crying over nonsense, you become emotionally spent and have little left to give. Not to mention it's difficult reading about apartheid and then coming online and making fun of small children.

The only logical conclusion to this conundrum is to quit reading.

On the bright side, I may at last break down and pay for a legitimate internet connection. At that point, you won't be able to get rid of me. BOO YAW! I feel drunk with power already...

Out with the old, in with the new.

I was talking to Ally McChutney last night about the heartbreak of Deee's departure to San Luis Obispo and she told me that she experienced something similar when her best friend moved back to Scotland. She said that her friend ended up being irreplaceable and now rather than have one intimate friend, she has a dozen casual friends. IT TAKES A GROUP TO REPLACE ONE, PEOPLE. And she's absolutely right.

In the meantime, I will stave off heartbreak by stalking Ally and Katy and cruising job listings in SLO...

I'm Too Sexy

As I slowly woke from my afternoon nap, I realized that my legs were dripping sweat. And as someone who avoids all rigorous activity, it's weird in my world when my legs sweat. The last time my calves were this wet, I was fooling myself into thinking I could do bikram yoga. Soaking wet, my pajama bottoms were clinging to me and my shirt was plastered as a second skin. My hair clung to the back of my neck. I think all this means my fever has broken. Spiking at 102.6 this morning, I am now, thanks to my damp sheets, at a cool 101.9 and I think it can only lower from here. In the meantime, I'm going to take yet another bath, pretend to eat, and go back to bed.

You know what the worst part is, other than the fatigue? This lackluster inability to do ANYthing. I look around my room from the vantage point of my bed, and I think, 'I should hang up the clothes on the back of the couch. And pick up the dust bunnies attacking the cords under the computer. Oh, and vacuum up all that dirt I spilled on my floor when I was indoor gardenening.' But I got nothin', people. NOTHIN'.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've been out of bed for a record fifteen minutes and everything in me is screaming to get back in.

I hope to post again soon. Kisses.

Selling My Office

Sometimes you're given an awful task at work. Like, "Clean out the Bid Room." You're instructed to clean it out because the Powers that Be are going to be remodeling it soon, and it cannot be remodeled without some major housecleaning. And who better to clean out the company's biggest junk drawer than Go-Getter-Rona?

So you walk in this room that resembles a giant living and breathing junk drawer, very Heart of Darkness, and you're confronted with boxes and boxes of WHAT THE HECK IS THAT? There are calculators from a prehistoric age, there are architectural drawings from 1982, there are empty cabinets and torn chairs and OH THE DUST. WHO CAN SEE ANYTHING BENEATH THE DUST?

You are in charge of deciding what goes and what stays. And if you are me, EVERYTHING goes. But you also know that as soon as you decide to toss something, its owner is going to wander into the Junk Room in three months and go, "Where's my monitor stand?? I left it right here under this box of yellowing paper!"

And so you decide to sell everything in the room. Think "Office Yard Sale." You dive in, spend an hour on your hands and knees pulling everything out, and then you photograph it. And then you post every item in a company-wide email, charging five cents for every treasure.

Here's what went out:

"I’ve been put in charge of the Bid Room Cleanout. And while my instinct as a compulsive cleaner is ‘put everything in the trash,’ I’m reminded of the old adage “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Not to mention some of this stuff may actually BELONG to somebody. (Obviously not a devoted parent given the stages of neglect, but hey, we all forget our offspring at daycare once in a while.)

So we’re having a Bid Room Yard Sale! Naturally the legitimate owner gets first dibs, but if nobody speaks up, each item below is on sale for five cents. That’s right, folks! One shiny nickel. So dig deep in your pockets, see how much you can buy with that jingling change, and peruse the wares below! Please note that any item not purchased will either be tossed, recycled, or stored away appropriately.

You have until next Monday to claim your prize. Should multiple bids arrive on any given item, the winner will be decided on a first-come, first-serve basis. Please reply only to me, not to ‘all,’ as the entire office may be alarmed by what you deem worthy of claiming.

Let the Sale begin!

Item 1: This is an unopened alphabetical expandable file! Before it gets banished to the office supply closet (a.k.a., the Orphanage), I thought I would give it a chance to be adopted into a good home. If you find yourself often sorting your piles in A-B-C order, this could be your tool!

Item 2: This is an exciting binder about Advanced Moisture Control! If you are the owner, nab it now! Otherwise this thing will easily sell itself!

Item 3: This is a lovely cushioned wrist guard for all those strenuous hours spent at your computer! Please note that it is intended for use on keyboard trays and does not sit flat on a desktop. Remember, carpal tunnel is not a video game: it’s a serious ailment.

Item 4: Feel like your plans are getting a little lazy and crowding your desk? Well, stand them up straight and keep them organized with this handy (possibly broken) impromptu plan holder! I’ve also seen two more lurking in the hallway by the Orphanage, so if you miss your chance with this one, there may be some others available!

Item 5: This handy piece of furniture can double as a file cabinet or a bassinet! And it comes with a free file tray/pillow!

Item 6: Ever throw a party and realize that you don’t have enough seating for everyone? Well, for the bargain price of a shiny nickel, you can invite one more friend over! Don’t let this ergonomic treasure slip away!

Item 7: Looking for a desk for that new home office? Want to give your kids a nice place to do their homework at night? Then buy now! Containing very few sharp edges, this desk is a modern design treasure.

Item 8: Not enough filing space in your cubicle? Want to get organized without breaking the bank? Perhaps you’re a supervisor and one of your employees has been whining lately about wanting more space? Well, here’s your chance to fulfill a dream! This two-drawer lateral cabinet is primed and ready to go. The high bidder also gets free paint submittals!

Item 9: Another trusty calculator on sale, this one comes in a sleek gray model, complete with a dusting of sediment carbon-dated back to 1982!

Item 10: Looking for just that right black metal bookcase to complete that cozy home library? We may have what you’re looking for! Act now! (Please note: books not included.)

Item 11: This box was labeled “Hardware Junk Drawer,” but I beg to differ! There’s nothing junk-like about THIS assortment of goodies! And no, I’m not charging five cents per item—you get the whole box!

Item 12: I’m not sure exactly what this contraption is, but according to the directions, it is easy to assemble! So if your hobbies ever included building model airplanes or constructing lego castles, this could be the toy for you!

Item 13: This is what we call a ‘five-fer’: five for the price of one! That comes to one cent each! You can’t pass this opportunity up! (Please note: the collection can be split up, but the price of an individual item will be two cents instead of one. A girl’s gotta make a living, you know.)

Item 14: When I saw this box of dinner-mint colored foam, I have to admit I felt my heart quicken in anticipation. What could be hiding in its mysterious depths?? And then I found it: a disk offering 50 free hours of America Online! It was like a dream come true. Don’t delay--this is going to go fast!

Item 15: Here we have a big black storage container! It’s great for holding things and in the dark it’s invisible! Can YOUR storage containers do that?

Item 16: This calculator was lurking in the depths, but don’t let its introverted nature scare you off! This one has accumulated sediment dating back to Pompeii, which locks down the five cent selling price. While appearing broken, don’t let this fool you: it can also be used as a paperweight or a doorstop!

Please respond immediately with the number of the item you would like to have. I will require the shiny nickel to hold your purchase, but financing can be arranged."



And the best part of this is? THESE ITEMS ARE SELLING LIKE HOTCAKES. And I'm leavin' work tonight with four jaunty nickels in my pockets.

I'll show THEM cad.

So this? This is a girl who's supposed to go to a party tonight to market for her company. A girl who's supposed to work the room, shaking hands and dispersing business cards and generally just making people feel warm and fuzzy. This is also a girl with a nasty *ss head cold, who will be coughing into her hand seconds before shaking someone else's, a girl who will require her token loosen-up martini, chased by a handful of ibuprofen and a shot of dayquil. This is a girl who can currently fall asleep standing up and has been known to spend the past couple of workdays staring at her computer screen wondering what exactly it is that she gets paid to do and when stumped, decides to refill her tea and use the restroom again. This is a girl who will single-handedly get the entire architecture industry sick in one evening using nothing but the power of her kilt and kleenex. And she is JAZZED about the opportunity.

Yes, my friends. Let the games begin. * hack hack *

AND YOU SHALL KNOW MY FRIENDS

Lately I have been finding myself rather flippantly applying labels to postings. Basically, I discovered the wonders of labeling, and just went BUCK WILD. This is actually how I approach most of life, but it inevitably gets a little messy, and here is no exception. I also found that I tend to tell stories about the same people over and over and over again, and I wanted a way to direct you to a collection of postings about that one person.

So here's what I did:

I removed and consolidated the more vague labels: 'pictures not of people,' 'something's in the air,' etc. All of the postings that fell under those headings could easily fit into others.

I added more specialized labels called "Why I Love My Friends: (name) Edition." (I wish there was a way blogspot could tier this bad boy as right now it's a long-ass list which sort of defeats the purpose of consolidating labels to SHORTEN my list, but whatevs, we all know how useful a wish is, thank you, Grampa, for chuckled cliches.) The idea behind the Editions (other than acting as a tool for Leslie to compare her posting number to Xandra's) is to help ME when telling a story. For example, say Deee does something hilarious at the Farmer's Market on Saturday (nigh-inevitable), and I want to post it on Monday. Now when I tell this story, I can hyperlink "Why I Love My Friends: Deee Edition," and then you will know exactly who I'm talking about without a lot of backstory! Isn't this handy? Think of them as mini-memoirs. Or as super-long character descriptions.

Hopefully this new system will work for now--if it gets too convoluted or too long or if I start becoming conscious of numbers or all sorts of other potential hazards, I will re-think, re-form, re-format. Or maybe I'll just sit around, waiting for google to create a better filing system.

The Circus Ain't for Everyone

I actually find that this illustration symbolizes the majority of my problems.

Professional Tips, by Rona

tied to desks
tied to numbers
no more time for silly slumbers
project
project
proposals oh my
how's the format?
was that a sigh?
morale must be high!
confidence a must!
work late work hard,
help us trust!
if you do not look like us,
if you do not moan and stress,
if you do not create meetings
in an attempt to work less,
if you do not forward emails,
if you do not reply to all,
how do we know you are working,
accomplishing anything at all?
we want to communicate,
we want to talk things out,
we don't want to read your reports,
please just spell them out.
you are a human number cruncher
at our beck and call
why are you packing up your bags?
have you any respect at all?
we're only trying to give you advice,
tell you how it should be done
it will make your job much easier,
it will help your projects run.
so please do take our words to heart
and write them down somewhere
someplace where they're always close
we recommend your underwear.
no, do not leave,
no, do not pout,
we only say this
because we have more clout.
now sit right down
please be a good sport
it's just like you
to cut a meeting short.
Now try to relax,
please do not sour.
let's get started on your attitude--
we hope you have another hour?

Okay, okay, FINE.

Late this afternoon, for no apparent reason, I decided to dump a glass of orange juice in my lap. Why did I do this? I don't really know. Ask Crazy Limbs. At any rate, now there is a pair of shorts with a wet crotch hanging in the bathroom (designed to freak out my roommate should she come home and see them), as well as a mobile phone that shorts out if you actually try to use it, thereby limiting all texts to about ten rapid characters and removing calling capabilities almost altogether. It turns itself off rather arbitrarily. Like, "Ooh, she pushed a button! POWER DOWN!" However, given that Old Boy is currently being held together with a rubber band and his surface is so cracked and chipped it looks like I wake up every morning and throw him down the stairs for fun, it may be time to give in and replace him anyway. In the meantime, if you text me and (gasp!) I don't answer, no, I'm not dead. I'm an idiot.

Blog Withdrawals

Blogging from work TOTALLY stinks, just in case you didn't know. Do you know how hard it is to write something when you have to minimize your screen every five and a half seconds? REALLY HARD.

And also, why does EVERYBODY STOMP AROUND? Do *I * stomp around? Would someone tell me if my footfall is unnaturally heavy? Do tell.

Shoot. Bossman. Gotta jet.

My Neighbor Stole My Fat!

Turns out my long-lost bacon fat was brought inside by my neighbor! How they knew it was possibly mine is something that should probably alarm me, but it DOESN'T, because right now I'm so excited that it is safe and sound and in my loving arms that I can barely contain myself. I'm going to wake early tomorrow and fry up some eggs for breakfast and try to clog my arteries. I CAN'T WAIT.

Someone Stole My Fat

So today I go to a Happy New Year brunch in 'minoe' (mission + noe, pronounced 'mah-no-ee', and a new term T and I are trying to get to take off), and the gal hostess was making this KICK ARSE bacon by rubbing brown sugar and cayenne over each individual slice and then BAKING the pieces (no bacon press needed!) and OH. MY. GOSH. it was like candied pork and I almost freaking crawled on her I was so happy and ANYWAY she bequeathed me a mason jar full of the seasoned bacon fat and I ALMOST DIED OF HAPPINESS at the opportunity to cook with this stuff because MY jar of bacon fat is just PLAIN OLD BACON FAT, not this lovely spicy-sweet bacon fat, but then like the IDIOT I am, I left it in Az's car, who found it and wonderfully left it on my stoop and CAN YOU BELIEVE SOMEONE STOLE IT?! Someone took a mason jar wrapped inside of a ziploc bag, rubberbanded, and FULL OF BACON FAT. Unbelievable. And yet...welcome to the projects.

My Flight Seat-Mate

So I get on the plane, right, and in the third row from the front there's an empty seat in the middle (of course in the middle, everyone nods), but there's a BAG there, with a CD player on top. So my first thought is, 'Oh, someone's already there,' but then I notice that the discman is attached to earphones. And those earphones are attached to a man in the windowseat, pointedly avoiding eye contact. So I ask the woman next to him, "Is that seat taken?" "No, it's not!" "Great!" Scowling, the man removes his belongings as I fling my stuff, including myself, in the direction of my new home for the next hour and a half.

Then it turns out the guy is a total tweaker. He was the human equivalent of a constant motion machine, limbs jerking, head wagging, hands rubbing his crotch, his running nose, his long, greasy hair. He cleared his throat every two and half minutes, in that mucusy gutteral way of a lifelong smoker, and when he wasn't jerking or rubbing or clearing, he was bent over in wracking coughs determined to spray everybody in a three foot radius, notably including my bare left arm, which I am about to amputate. He enjoyed singing along to his discman until the stewardess (YES, I just called her that, because I LIKE it) made him put it away 'just until we get in the air,' a clause he apparently didn't hear, judging by his obscenity-muttering throwing of his discman into his walgreens carry-on bag, which he then kicked violently under his seat. In fact, he was still muttering these obscenities fifteen minutes later, drowning out the announcement that electronic devices were acceptable again. I wanted to point this out to him, but then I was afraid of more singing and also--as I have learned on the buses of SF--STAY INVISIBLE WHEN SURROUNDED BY CRAZY. Once he forgot his discman existed, he chose to spend the next hour of the flight talking to himself, his alcohol-laden breath exhuming with every deprecating snort and mutter. It was like sitting hip to hip with the Tenderloin. His clothes had not been washed in days, maybe weeks, and his entire system was screaming for a fix. Meanwhile, my entire system was screaming for a bottle of purell and maybe, I don't know, a torch with which to burn everything that came into contact with him or his mucus, up to and including my bag and everything I was wearing.

But now I am safe and sound at Mindy's, where everything is clean and my comforter is white white white and my headboard is dark dark brown and all is well in the world. Please excuse me while I leap into a burning hot shower to scrub off an epidermal layer or two or fifteen.