The Wicked Witch of San Francisco

When I was a little girl, my mother let me believe I did the greatest imitation of the cackle done by the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz. I can see myself standing by our ugly wooden basement door, cackling over and over, while wearing the green coruroy pants with the green velour too-tight turtleneck that were hand-me-downs from a family friend. (Yes, it's been a lifelong love of green for me.) I stopped doing that witch cackle by the time I was a double-digit age. LEL cackles when she makes her bad jokes. It makes me cringe.

This morning LEL tried to transfer a call, I think to Cowboy's voicemail, and accidentally made my intercom line ring. I looked over at her. "Loose?" What the fuck?

"Just ignore it please, Green." So I ignored the annoying ringing at my desk for 30 seconds. Then she asked me to transfer the call back to her. Obviously she didn't know how to suck the call back herself. Fine. I transferred the call back to LEL, happy to stop the noise at my desk.

LEL asked me again to transfer the call back to her. "I just did. I heard it ring at your desk." She shook her head, earlobes a'flapping, traveling almost halfway down her jawline. "No. You didn't."

Ahhhh yes. I'm familiar with this one - you can't figure out how to answer one ringing line while you're on another line, so you claim that *I'm* the one who screwed up. Your problems are my fault. Got it. I turned back to my work. LEL frantically pushed buttons on her phone, headset (that Cowboy hates) sliding all over her dyed hair, trying to get the person back. I feel it's time for her soda to spill at this point, so I glance over to see how close it is to the phone.

This is real life though, and not a story, and the glass of soda stays upright for now. Having overheard our exchange, Cat Lady sends me an e-mail.

-----Original Message-----
From: Lady, Cat
Sent: Tuesday, October 31, 2006 9:33 AM
To: Yogurt, Green
Subject: You're wrong

you've always been wrong; you'll always be wrong. This is a decree of LEL.
-----Original Message-----
From: Yogurt, Green
Sent: Tuesday, October 31, 2006 9:34 AM
To: Lady, Cat
Subject: RE: You're wrong

lol, yeah, I know.
-----Original Message-----
From: Lady, Cat
Sent: Tuesday, October 31, 2006 9:35 AM
To: Yogurt, Green
Subject: You're wrong

It takes a lot of ignorance to make such a statement. And since you are wrong, in the future I would throw her words back in her face when she wants you to do something.
How long do you think it will take for her to spill her drink today?

I didn't respond, but I predict there'll be a spill before the day ends. Every secretary has a mini pumpkin on her/his desk today for Halloween, courtesy of the Social Committee. This encroaches on the space for LEL's candy, and her Halloween beanie babies. Something's got to give, and I believe it will be the soda.

Trouble in Grandma Land

A memo wasn't sent out, but tomorrow's color is black. There was a rumor going around that if anyone dresses up for Halloween tomorrow, they get fired. Damn! I was so looking forward to dressing up as a grandma.

Cat Lady is not talking to LEL, so our hallway has been pretty quiet lately. I don't know what prompted their latest falling out but I don't want to ask. LEL hasn't had time to talk with Cat Lady anyway. She's way too busy spilling her drinks, annoying the Cowboy until he yells at her, and encouraging everyone to eat the pink M&Ms she bought for breast cancer awareness month.

LEL would never tell me, but she's going to be a grandma again. She thinks because she hasn't told me personally I don't know, but how could I miss her loudly telling everyone else? This means she sings as she reads People online throughout the day.

Cat Lady has a beef with the Grandma Receptionist. As far as I know, they're both single. I didn't want to get too involved in the details, but it seems that the receptionist made some hurtful comments to Cat Lady regarding the "boyfriend" she had for 30 years. In retaliation, Cat Lady has told everyone that the receptionist can not keep a man. Clearly, I'm missing some details. But really, who would want more detail about this stuff? Cat Lady is a shit stirrer.

Please Invite Me To Dinner

Although I got my computer back Saturday night, and after spending more than double what I thought I'd be spending on it, my laptop does not seem to be working very well. The fan turns on soon after I turn on the computer, and doesn't seem able to sufficiently cool down the laptop. Also, I'm frequently freezing, and Ctrl+Alt+Dlt does absolutely NOTHING. Task Manager will not pop up and let me shut down programs. The laptop just tells me the programs are not responding. No shit. I would bitch about how slowly pages load, but that happened before my computer broke too.

So it looks like I'll be buying the Mac much sooner than I'd hoped to be. When I priced it out Saturday afternoon, the cost is close to $1500, between the actual laptop, the warranty, etc. I'll be feeling very poor, very soon.

You Cough Too Much. You Never Shut Up.

That's right - I got told on for coughing. Stupid me, I should have listened to LEL yesterday when she asked if I was sick because I was coughing a lot in the mornings. I should have taken that as a sign that I was to immediately stop coughing any time she is around.

But NOOOOOOOO! Not me, always one to push things, had to go and cough this morning. I'm such a bitch that way. And LEL told on me to HR. For coughing. Claiming I disturb her, and she worries about germs. Sure, I'll wait so you can finish your eyeroll.

LEL, you make me want to hock a loogie into the soda you spill multiple times each week.

Shall I go tell our HR guy that your phone calls to friends regarding temple business make me uncomfortable in the workplace because they have to do with religion? What's that? It'd be silly, since we're the same religion? Hmmm... as silly as telling on me for coughing*?

*I am not sick. My throat is dry in the mornings. I drink some water (which I do not spill) and I stop coughing before 11 a.m.

The Castro

I knew very little about San Francisco before moving here. All I knew was that other people said it was great though they had a hard time articulating why, and my brother sure liked it and encouraged me to come visit. Like others before me, upon visiting I promptly fell in love, moved here, and now struggle to articulate what exactly it is that I love (aside from the weather).

Before arriving in SF, in my mind the city was synonymous with gayness. When I came for that week-long vacation over two years ago, I was surprised to find that it didn't seem very gay here. I noticed the homeless people more than any gay people that might have been around. That wasn't how I thought it would be here. I thought I'd be in the minority, being straight. I thought there would be throngs of butch-looking women with shaved heads, among other stereotypes.

Turns out I was completely wrong. San Francisco doesn't seem any more gay than Manhattan. True, there are rainbow flags, and rainbow stickers around here. But after two years, I barely notice them these days.

Why does it matter if there are gay people? It doesn't. Except ... when there's a lot of something you're not at all used to, it's significant. After moving here, several people from Florida asked me if it's weird here, with all the gay people. They were surprised when I said it wasn't. That to me, it doesn't seem like there are lots of gay people. That a lot of times, until a man mentions his boyfriend, I don't even know he's gay. (Yeah, I don't have much gaydar.)

When I was first looking for a place to live, it was suggested that I go look in the Castro. It's known as a gay neighborhood, but a lot of single women feel safe living there for that reason. I didn't find an apartment there and didn't think any more of it.

A couple of weeks ago I was going to a friend's house and spent close to a half hour waiting for a bus in the Castro. I had walked from the train station to the bus stop through throngs of people on the streets. Although I hate standing around waiting, I liked having the opportunity to people watch. I saw a lot of gay bars with people enjoying happy hour. I saw a lot of people walking their dogs. There was a solid amount of rush-hour foot and car traffic, yet everyone was fairly patient. I felt safe. There was an energy in the streets that was friendly. Energetic, yet calm all at the same time. Actually, the Castro was exactly what I'd initially thought all of San Francisco would be. Blatantly gay.

The other day I was talking to a guy at work when he mentioned that he lives in the Castro. I told him of my recent experience there, and that I'm keeping an eye out for a new place to live and have added his neighborhood to my list. He enthusiastically encouraged me to find an apartment there. I told him what my friend told me - a landlord would rather rent to two gay men than to me, a single female, because they're a better financial risk than I am - and asked if he thought that was true. Yes. You have to know someone. Someone gay? Or just someone with an in? He said someone with an in. Although if that in-person is gay that's better.

He said he doesn't mind straight people living in the Castro, except when they want to come in and change it. Told me the story of a couple with a baby and how when they walked by a store that had a picture of a naked man in the window, they called the police about indecent exposure. He doesn't want people to move to the Castro if they won't appreciate it the way it is. Sounds reasonable to me.

I think I could appreciate it the way it is. I'll definitely double-check that feeling if I find an apartment to rent there before plunking down a security deposit.

The Introvert's First Social Committee Meeting

It was a lunch meeting, which made me nervous what with all of my food dislikes. All my fears came true. The plainest looking things were salad and ice water. The water was fine, but the salad had some sort of weird salad dressing already on it, which unfortunately I didn't know until some was in my mouth. Of course everybody commented on my lack of eating the free food, and in a panic I lied. Said I was going out for a big dinner tonight. Why do people think it's appropriate to comment on other people's eating? Maybe I have an eating disorder or something, that I don't want to discuss with coworkers. I don't, but I COULD, and that's what counts.

Even worse than the lack of food for me, was my neighbor at the conference table, who was eating a tunafish sandwich. There is no food that I hate more than tunafish. The smell makes me want to puke.

I arrived at the meeting on time and prepared, with a list of seven or eight ideas for the firm that would encourage employees to be more social. Back when we talked about my joining, the head of the social committe had told me she was excited to hear my ideas, but there was never an appropriate time during the meeting to share my list, and nobody asked. Guess I'll bring the list to next month's meeting.

Some of the grandmas were there, like Cat Lady. There was a hippie dippie secretary there (the tunafish eater) who dismissed something I said with, "Thank you for pointing that out, Green. That's a very interesting point." Now, although my father used to tell me I spoke just to hear my own voice, I haven't done that for years, and was not doing that today. It WAS an interesting point I was making (if I could remember what it was, I'd share it with you). Fucking Tunafish Eater. After the meeting, Cat Lady told me she's a nitwit.

Everyone else seemed to like me just fine, and after Nitwit had fled (a lot of her ideas got shot down, and I think she was hurt), I tentatively asked if perhaps our Christmas Lunch could be promoted as our Holiday Lunch, and if we could call our Secret Santa something less ... Christmas-related. It was a lonely jew moment. I explained that last year I didn't participate in the Secret Santa because of the name, but would really enjoy participating in the concept. So now we're having a Holiday Grab Bag instead of a Secret Santa. Everyone voted to take my suggestion that there is a price range, especially after I said that whoever buys a very nice scarf at Bloomingdales will be very upset to receive socks from Walgreens that have candy canes on them. I proposed a range of $10-$25, which went over quite well.

I agreed to work with some secretary on another floor (who I've never seen before in the entire year I've worked here) on a warm coat drive. Suppose it would help if I found out her name, huh?

After the meeting I waited for the Cowboy to leave the office, and then told Tuna I was running out of the office for a moment. I went to the Gap, bought socks (on sale!), and then went to Auntie Anne's for a pretzel.

********************************************
I still don't have computer access outside of work. Oy to the vey squared.

For Once, I Know!

I never know anything other people want to know.

Kate Bosworth apparently broke up with Orlando Bloom. Or he broke up with her. Whichever. But at least he respects her.

My Laptop Died

I am blogging at work, which I try not to do, for obvious reasons. Last night while I was ordering from Safeway, my laptop, which was making a weird moaning sound, froze and then died. This morning I tried to revive it, to no avail.

A few months ago, I made the decision that in 2007, I would get a new laptop, and it would be a Mac. I've always been a Windows girl, but decided it's time to change.

My current laptop is only two years old. It's too soon to die. I'm pissed at it. Even if my friend can get it back up and running, I feel betrayed now. I can't count on this not to happen again. So I just want to get my computer working long enough to extract all the things saved on there that I need.

I figured that this weekend I'd be spending twenty bucks, not over a thousand. Damn.

Apologies

I've been working in law offices for almost a decade now. This morning something happened that I've not only never seen before, but never even heard of. The gay HR guy sent out an e-mail to a few select people in the office APOLOGIZING for his behavior yesterday. Human Resources NEVER apologizes. They never admit to having made a big mistake, and they certainly never put it in writing.

Yesterday morning I was standing at the printer when I heard a commotion nearby. A secretary was "loudly arguing" with our HR guy. Apparently she found out we're going to have to use a form any time we want any pleadings calendared, and she's not happy. First she went to the new calendaring clerk (a.k.a. the file clerk), to tell her the only reason we have to use the form is because File Clerk is too stupid to know how to calendar. HR Guy was over there pretty quickly to shut her down, and told her to leave the file room.

The commotion I heard was when the secretary had followed HR Guy back to his office to further complain about the form. She claimed it's a waste of time and that we don't need it. HR Guy said it satisfies one of our insurance policies. She disagreed vehemently. She got loud. He matched her volume. At that point I went back to my desk and was only half-listening. I heard him tell her to stop yelling, and her yell back that she wasn't yelling. Then my phone rang and I stopped paying attention to them.

Upon arriving at work today, I found this in my In-box:

Yesterday morning I reacted to a situation in a profoundly unprofessional manner. I am afraid that you may have overheard my comments and I sincerely apologize for any anxiety or embarrassment this may have caused you. I can only hope that after years of working together, you know that this sort of behavior is not my normal way of dealing with stressful situations, and that you will accept my apology and my assurance that it will never happen again.

I was confused. Nothing I'd overheard had seemed profoundly unprofessional. Sure, perhaps he could have had her close the door to his office so everyone wasn't hearing them, but no big deal. What I found out was that I missed the moment when HR Guy screamed "Get the fuck out of my office!" to the secretary.

It's funny - HR Guy always seems so calm and poised that I can't even imagine him doing that. I didn't respond to his e-mail, which was only sent to the people who sit near his office. When I saw him walking through the hallway his eyes had that spent-a-long-time-crying look. We talked a little, as usual. This afternoon I ran into that other secretary near the elevators, and we also talked a little, as usual. The whole thing was very bizarre.

My prediction is that we'll have to use the form for a few months and come 2007 the majority of us won't be using it at all. Insurance be dammed.

Mystery Solved

A while ago, a friend opened up her blog by inviting readers to ask her husband anything they wanted. I decided to ask about the lamp in my bedroom, which has clearly been in distress for a few weeks now.

My parents came over today, and I showed my father how the casings around the lightbulbs are cracked and melting from the heat. He touched them and pieces of plastic rained down on my nighttable and floor.

He then told me what the problem is. I have 125 watt bulbs stuck in my lamp, when I should only have 60 watt bulbs in there. Oh. Whoops.

We raced over to Target right as it became rush-hour. I went to the light section, but they didn't have a decent replacement light, so we left without one.

But that's okay. Because I found a new light that I really like a lot more. Too bad it costs a few hundred dollars.

Reading Is Good For Your Teeth

Okay, so it's not, but I made you look, didn't I? Happy Monday, Peoples.

Somehow, between manically cleaning my apartment in preparation for my parent's visit, I also read two books. Never mind all the magazines, this post is about the books.

The Privilege of Youth, by Dave Pelzer
I've read his other books. I know his background. Quite frankly, this book did nothing for me. It's nice that he had a chunk of time in his childhood that was pretty good. But for the most part, it was story after story of a few boys doing boy things, like tricks with bikes, cars, toys, etc. The only thing that surprised me was how mean he remembered people being to him when they knew he was a foster kid. Apparently there used to be a huge stigma against foster kids. News to me.

Homesick, by Jenny Lauren
Jenny Lauren is Ralph Lauren's niece. I've read stories about people with eating disorders before. We've all seen that afterschool special Calista Flockhart starred in, back in the 90's. This book was not just another one of those. This book is quite raw in explaining in detail the negative physical affects of having an eating disorder. It's a book that I would add to the list of Books Every Girl Should Read.

Toxic

My parents arrive in SF tonight, and I will see them tomorrow. My father invited himself and my mother over to see where I live (not in a pushy bad way, just in the regular way) and last night I decided, among other things, that it was time to put up my new shower curtain. So I did. I even Clorox wiped the shower hooks to get all the dust off.

I have been breathing in the toxic fumes from the plastic shower curtain since last night. Yum.

Work

Everyone is totally bummed about Drunk Granny not being around anymore. I think she knew more about litigation than some of our trial lawyers. We're all feeling her absence. They haven't replaced her yet, but I've gotten in good with the Head Secretary and have been campaigning hard for a non-grandma. I suggested to her that she doesn't have to ask applicants their ages, what with that being illegal and all, but she should go by names. People named Carol, Barbara, Susan, Sharon, Linda, etc., are too old. People named Hayleigh, Kymberleigh, Brittanie, etc., are too young. People named Jessica, Danielle, Lauren, Christine, Stephanie, and Kimberly* should be just the right age. So she's negotiating salary with someone named Lisa. My fingers are crossed that before Thanksgiving I won't be the only person in my row under the age of 55.

Yesterday LEL spilled a huge glass of ice water all over her desk and on the floor around her. I would have turned around to ask if she needed paper towels or any help cleaning up, but I didn't think I could speak without laughing. Right after it happened, the two baby attorneys whose offices are across from her desk promptly closed their doors. Three seconds later I got an e-mail from one of them saying, "What's so funny?" and I immediately had to go walk away from my desk to laugh.

In the afternoon the Cowboy came in, and not seeing Tuna or Nice Partner, asked LEL in Spanish where they were. She lived in some Spanish-speaking country for two or three decades and loves teaching/correcting Spanish. I have no idea if the Cowboy's question was grammatically correct, but I have this thing about communication - if you get your point across, that's what's important. Not how you did it, but THAT you did it.

At the same time that I started to answer the Cowboy, LEL started to correct his grammar. He interrupted her and said, "Lesson one. Never correct your boss." How could she not know that?

Cat Lady (who spent a half hour on Wednesday grossing me out by belching loudly due to eating a slice of cheesecake after having had gastric bypass surgery) told me this about LEL:

She's retarded. She. is. RETARDED. When you look at her, super-impose a down-syndromed face over hers.

Well alrighty then.

Name Partner is driving me a little nuts. Last week I fucked up by not getting his time entered on time, and he got fined by the firm. Well, actually he got his one free whoopsie each partner gets once a year. But still. There was a fuckup and it was my fault. This week he hasn't been in the office since Tuesday, and I need him to give me his time to be entered. I sent him an e-mail yesterday asking for it. If he gets fined and then blames me, even though it won't be my fault, I'll still be upset.

Nice Partner very generously hasn't fired me this week, even though I would have fired myself for all my fuckups. I got a big talking-to the other day after he found out about my fuckup. It is so frustrating to try so hard, and still feel myself failing so often. How do you try harder? Yet somehow yesterday I did, Nice Partner noticed, and he yelled to me, "Yeah! THAT'S what I'm talking about!" I almost thought we were going to high-five or something.

I must write my next blog post about File Clerk. <---- that's me, forcing myself to have accountability. Or something. Never mind that I can always go back and delete this paragraph.

*No offense if you're named any of these, and you're a different age.

Neither Fun Nor Awesome

The file clerk at work had told me about this thing and invited me to go with her. A few months ago, I read Oh, the Glory Of It All, and really enjoyed the book. Plus, I just finished reading all the Tales of the City books, by Armistead Maupin and really enjoyed those.

What's the connection between these two things, you ask? The connection is that Sean Wilsey's mother Pat is rumored to have been the inspiration for a character named Prue Giroux from Tales of the City. So I was psyched to go to this thing.

A friend who had also read OTGOIA was going to meet me there. I arrived later than I'd planned, so I walked along the line of people waiting to get in, to see if my friend was already in line. She wasn't so I went to the end of the line. I stood behind a guy who looked like his name should be Ivan. I stood in front of a girl who was so impressed with her literary knowledge that she reminded me of the Intellectual Hipster. I watched other people walk by me, doing what I'd done - hoping to find someone they knew so they wouldn't have to go wait at the end of the line.

Every female walking by looked at everyone's outfit. I had changed out of my work clothes into jeans and a blue v-neck thermal shirt. The way people looked at me made me want to cry. Everyone was dressed better than I was. Even my friend showed up in some cute asian top with chopsticks in her hair. I don't own any fancy or cute clothes. My idea of dressing up is to not wear a t-shirt. For the most part, all I own are work clothes and jeans, t-shirts and sweatshirts. I own one "interview outfit" and one dress that could be worn to an interview, a wedding or a funeral. Cute clothes just don't look cute on me. Or I don't look cute in them.

I hate that feeling I get - that feeling of not being worthy of sharing the same space as other people because of how shitty I look. It took effort not to cry numerous times last night. The setting was very casual. I was impressed that all the artists performing sat in the audience, and sat through the other speaker's performances. Joyce Maynard sat in the row in front of us. My friend could have poked her in the back.

Wheen the whole thing was over, I wanted to tell Joyce Maynard (remember in Will & Grace how Will can't refer to Sandra Bernhard as anything but Sandra Bernhard? That's the instinct I have with Joyce Maynard) that I really enjoyed her performance. That it truly entertained me and made me want to go to the library and read all her books. Hmmm... she'd probably rather hear that her performance made me want to go to the bookstore and BUY all her books, but that just wouldn't be the truth.

Anyway. And I wanted to go up to Sean Wilsey and tell him that I too, had a really hard time getting through high school, and appreciated reading about how he did it, and other lame things like that.

My friend ran off twice to go talk with performers with no hesitation at all. I stood against the fucking wall and never talked to anybody, once again, trying not to cry. Reminding myself to clear the tears from my eyes as I walked down the staircase behind my friend, lest the stairs blur.

Sometimes I hate myself. Last night was one of those times. Because I was never able to fall asleep last night, I still hated myself today. Due to work issues, the file clerk wasn't able to go to the show last night, and today she was all excited to hear about it. I tried very hard to separate my issues from how the show was, but she kept asking, "Did you have fun?" "Was it awesome?"

Well, NO. It was interesting. Shit, I'm 29 and had to show a bouncer my ID for the first time in over five years. There is a faint outline of a stamp on my right hand. But fun? It was really nice to see my friend. We don't get to see each other very often. But awesome? No, not so much. It was effort for me. It was frustrating. I didn't know the majority of the performers, and they kept name and place dropping names and places I'd never heard of, which added to my feeling like shit, like I didn't belong.

The whole thing left me exhausted and yet unable to sleep. Sometimes I cannot remember why I throw myself out there like I did last night. Because right now, the only reasons I can come up with are the reasons other people feed me, that pan out to not be true. The more I do things like this, the easier they'll get. That I'll have fun. That it'll be awesome. Still waiting.

A Hearty Fuck You

Going out to Muni this morning. I *HATE* always having to find somebody who's willing to help me figure out how to get places. I hate having to balance between not quite understanding their directions and not pissing them off by asking too many questions.

And yet, where I can go is SO FUCKING LIMITED because public transportation is so fucking difficult for me.

Muni has this phone number that gets you a live person who will give you directions using mass transit. Should be great, right? Should be just what I need, should be the first number in my cell phone, right?

No.

I called them this morning. I wanted to go somewhere and told the woman where I was starting and where I wanted to end up. She asked if I knew the cross-street of my destination. I did not. She did not like that.

Rapid fire, she began giving me directions. I began writing down what she was saying, and quickly fell behind. "I'm sorry, would you mind saying that again please? I'm writing it down and can't write quite as fast as you talk." She didn't like that either. "Do you need me to spell Geary?" No you fucking cunt, I need you to do exactly what I asked you to do! That's why I asked you to do it!

I may not know a lot about public transportation, but I know enough to know that if you don't stand at the right street corner, you won't get the bus you're looking for. So I asked "When I get off the first bus you told me to take, where do I go to get the second bus?"

She actually said "I can't believe this."

What? What can't you believe? You've never NOT understood something in your entire motherfucking life? You've never gotten lost? You've never had someone give you instructions that went too fast for you to follow? It's never occured to you that perhaps someone doesn't know the city as well as you do? You've never met someone who's more of a car person than a bus person?

Well let me introduce myself. Hi. My name is GreenYogurt. I was born and raised in the suburbs, and have what are sometimes severe learning disabilities. Sorry that they are causing you to actually have to WORK a little bit at doing your job. Heaven forbid.

I hope you get terribly lost some day. I hope you can't find anyone to ask directions of. I hope you have to pee, too. Really badly. I hope that when you finally find someone you can ask for directions, I hope they either give you perfect directions in a language you can't understand, or they give you directions that send you to the exact opposite place you were trying to go. I hope you feel awful and frustrated. But most of all, I HOPE I CAN GET WHERE I NEED TO GO THIS MORNING, NO THANKS TO YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH!

Geez, the moon thing must be affecting everyone.

What if PMS Took Speed?

That's how I felt last week. PMSish, with a little extra oomph. Lovely. Everything bothered me more than usual. Friday morning found me crying at work. Of course, because I knew I couldn't possibly be PMSing, I kept dismissing my feelings.

Then I saw that there was a full moon.

Then I saw that the full moon was extra special this week. Perhaps the fact that the moon was closer to the earth than usual had something to do with the wackiness?

Or, maybe I'm just an emotional wreck. Who knows? But I prefer to blame it on the moon.

This Post Is Short, Like Me

I was just playing around with my stats, and it turns out that I have readers in the UK, Germany and Singapore. Pretty cool.

Technical Difficulties

Apparently Blogger is having some. That would explain why my blog is not loading properly.

I would contact Blogger and ask when they plan to have this resolved, but if there's an easy way to contact them, I don't know about it after looking at their site quickly (while revising a Development Agreement).

Hopefully they'll pull their shit together soon. Clearly, someone there is blogging when they should be working.

Another Letter

Dear LEL,

Can we just review what happened this morning? Yes? Great, thanks.

You forwarded an e-mail to me that you'd received from someone handling calendaring. They were asking you for information on one of our litigation cases. You asked me to respond.

May I ask why? You were just as capable as I was of providing this information. You work for one partner (Cowboy) who is not in the office for the most part and does not keep you very busy, and one baby attorney who asks for almost nothing. So you can't tell me you were swamped and didn't have time.

Perhaps this cut into your viewing pictures online time?

Okay whatever. So despite the fact that I work for attorneys who are flooding me with work lately, I respond to this e-mail. In my rush to do this while doing four other things, I forget to c.c. you on it. When I notice this, I simply respond to your question asking if I would handle it, with "done."

Let's be honest. I know exactly why you passed that e-mail on to me. Because you get off on pretending you're better than I am. You like to think that because you've been working here longer than I have, you can order me around.

What I don't understand is why eight minutes after I sent you that e-mail, despite the fact that you were sitting at your desk, and I HEARD the little ping noise alerting you to new e-mail, you then sent a response to the calendaring guy. If you were going to respond, why did you bother asking me to? Why make me waste time?

Was it because you didn't hear me this morning when I said "good morning" to you and you were angry over that? Was it because Cat Lady gave you shit for annoying her and shit rolls downhill? Was it because you overheard the accounting woman praising me and Nice Partner for being fastest at getting bills out to clients and you have jealousy issues?

Whatever the case, please get over yourself. Okay, I know that's not a realistic request. Please don't waste my time. I think that's reasonable. I have surfing I'd like to be doing also, you know.

Thanks,
Green

P.S. I don't expect you to, but it'd be great if you stop looking at me suspiciously each time I walk by your candy bowl. I'll never eat any candy out of there. Remember that very uncomfortable run-in we had in the restroom? When we looked at each other in the mirror and didn't speak at all? When I washed my hands and you ... didn't? Yeah. I remember that.

How Exciting!

Just got an e-mail at work:

The City and County of San Francisco Recreation and Park Department has informed us that on Thursday, October 5, 2006 there will be a rally, march and an all-night mass vigil by "The World Can't Wait! Drive Out the Bush Regime!" organization.

This group will assemble in Justin Herman Plaza at Noon, and around 1pm will lead a group of 3,000-10,000 people up Market Street onto McAllister Street, to the Civic Center. The march will continue onto Polk Street and then Golden Gate Street where they will protest in front of the Federal Building. At approximately 3pm, the demonstrators will march down Golden Gate Street, to Market Street and down to Justin Herman Plaza, where they plan to have an overnight vigil.

Please be advised that this event will impair the flow of traffic at the above stated streets and times, so please plan accordingly.

It'll be very interesting to see this, which I will, since I live so close by. I'll be most interested in seeing how Mayor McHottie handles it all.

A Letter

Dear My Attorneys,

In general, you are the nicest bunch of lawyers I've ever worked with. In general, I am happy to help any and all of you, even if I don't work directly for you.

However.

You *ALL* know that your time for the month of September was supposed to be both entered and closed by this morning at 11 a.m. Although as your secretary it is my job to handle time, ultimately, it is your responsibility. If we were all being honest, I think we'd all agree that waiting until Monday morning to give me a week or more of time is not very responsible.

Tuna, I came to you on Friday after lunch to talk with you about time. You blew me off, saying it could be done Monday morning. I very sweetly and gently pointed out to you that I had to get time from two other attorneys, and you were not the only person I'd be rushing to enter time for. Again, you blew me off. This is not the first time you've been a bit of a prick lately. Why you think it's funny to see that I'm swamped and give me more work anyway is beyond me. Why you say stupid little things like "Better hurry!" when I'm rushing to close everyone's time when that's neither cute nor funny, I don't know. I don't know what's going on with you, but if this behavior continues, I'm going to change how I treat you accordingly. No more offering to get you lunch when you're too swamped to get it yourself, no more quietly warning you when Cowboy is on the warpath. You'll be on your own. The decision is yours.

Nice Partner, pleasure working with you. Thanks for seeing how swamped I was this morning and bringing your letter to Word Processing. Sorry I fucked up your time last week. I'll try not to do it again. Thanks for only needing me to enter Friday and Sunday's time. Sorry you worked Sunday. Maybe next weekend, huh?

Name Partner, this timesheet thing is not working for me, quite frankly. Your handwriting is terribly hard to decipher. You never tell me when you're in the office, get angry if you're asked, use a Daytimer instead of Outlook like everyone else and conveniently don't walk past me to get to your desk. I have to trek all the way over to your office to see if you've arrived. You never include client numbers on your time sheets, even though there's a specific space for them. You also don't let me know if I should be expecting timesheets from you or if you'll be giving them to your other secretary. I was not pleased this morning that you didn't show up until after 10:30 a.m., and then I first had to ask you for time from last week. Thanks for at least putting your call on hold when I came to your office to ask you to figure out what you'd written. I will be putting together a client list to make life easier for myself.

LEL, you fucking suck. How could you not tell the Cowboy you'd be out today? He called me at 10:45 a.m. asking me if I could enter his time. He had something like six days of time for me to enter, and it was from all over the month. Why weren't you on his case last week to get this time done?

Cowboy, you don't have to call me each time you send me an e-mail with your time. I know you think you're the most important person, but I only agree with you when it's either you or Tuna. Name Partner trumps you.

Baby Attorney (Girl) - pleasure to work with you as always. Thanks for almost only needing me to enter Friday's time. If I were you, I'd rip LEL a new one for not having noticed that you had no time entered for September 6th. It was pure luck that I noticed it. Sorry that I had to give your time to Cat Lady to do, but we were getting too close to the deadline.

Baby Attorney (Boy) - I know it's hard being secretaryless now that Drunk Granny is gone. I understand that you didn't want to bother her last week, since Kennedy was getting as much out of her as humanly possible. I hope they get you a new secretary soon. I hope it isn't me.

In closing, sorry I didn't get everyone's time closed until 11:02 a.m., but I did check with the accounting person, and everyone's time will count. I am only human. Entering weeks worth of time for six different attorneys all within two hours is difficult. Especially when you don't give it to me promptly at 9 a.m. Especially when I'm also trying to answer your phones since you're busy chatting about baseball with other attorneys (Tuna). If I'm not at work on November 1st, you'll know why.

Love,
Green Yogurt

Introspection

I stumbled across a blog a few months ago and because the person was a New Yorker, I started, and kept reading. Turns out she's about my age, from Long Island, Jewish, etc. In those ways, she's my kind of people. Except she's very much a JAP. I'm not. At all. I can't even fake it.

To people who aren't familiar with them, at first I seem like one. Sure, I can get my hair blown out straight sometimes. But that's pretty much where it ends. My Anne Klein watch is from Watch World. My manicure? What manicure? I polish my own nails. The only thing I own that comes from Tiffany is personalized stationery that was a high school graduation gift. Europe? Never been. Cabo San Lucas? Again, never been.

I grew up less than 30 miles from Manhattan, but can count on two hands the times my parents took me into the city during the 20 years I lived in New York. That's not a slam on them. Maybe they didn't think I was well enough behaved, maybe they thought I had no interest, maybe they didn't have the interest, money or time, who knows. It just didn't happen, and I've found out other kids were taken frequently to the city by their parents.

To me, fancy is buying from the Gap at full price and not waiting for something to go on clearance. I've never owned anything by Ferragamo or Coach.

It's a different world from the one I live in. It's one I can't enter. Not just because most high end designers don't make clothes in my size, but because although I'm too prissy to go camping, I'm also not comfortable being too fancy either. Some days I wish I had fancy things. But I do have a few, and to be honest, I almost never wear them. My gold jewelry sits untouched for the most part.

This girl whose blog I've been reading probably wears a lot of jewelry. She wrote a book, and a month or so ago I found it in Borders and read it. It made me sad. It made me feel bad about myself. She put down a lot of things that make me, me. She's going on a book tour and will be in San Francisco.

Something on her blog inspired me to comment recently, and she sent me an e-mail encouraging me to come to her book signing and sort of suggesting we get together. I won't be buying her book. I already read it, and it made me question stupid little things about myself. And, as I said above, it made me feel bad. Like there's this fabulous life some people have but I never will. Even though I KNOW that's not the right life for me, I want the opportunities to have that life, even if I were to turn it away. Now I'm over it.

I was talking with someone recently about this and asked if it's in bad taste to go to someone's book signing to meet them without buying their book. It was suggested that I go just for the reading. I was considering that until I realized that I HATE having people read to me. Ever since I could read I've hated it. People read too slowly for me. I can't listen that slowly. It would be stupid for me to go to a book reading, especially when I didn't like how the book left me feeling, and I think the person would make me feel that same way. So I'll not be going.

I suppose some people may look at all this and conclude that I'm simply jealous. Do I want a book deal? No. Do I want someone who routinely offers book deals to tell me I'm such a great writer that if I would accept, they'd offer me one? Yes. But I know my writing is not on that level, and that's okay. To get a book deal you either have to be a phenomenal writer or have a phenomenal life. Neither apply to me. Plus, I don't have the discipline to write a book. Hell, in just writing this blog entry I've considered doing other things three times.

It's not so much that I want what other people have. It's more that I wish I could be sure that if I DID have what others had, I'd know what to do with it, and I'd do it well. I'm jealous of other people's confidence. This reminds me of when my mother told me my grandmother told her "There was a man who was sad he had no shoes, until he saw a man who had no feet."

So I'm going to stop thinking about what made me feel badly. Instead I'm going to go outside and appreciate the world. Wow, that sounds all deep and noble. The truth is I'm just going to go outside and head to Trader Joe's. But I will appreciate knowing how to get there, and having money to buy food there.