Pre-Post-Year Wrap-Up

How's that war in Iraq working out?

Comments

So, Blogger has changed. They now ... somehow involve Google. This forced me to create a Google account. This does not please me.

Why? It's simple. If you have a blog, you know how important comments become to you. Sure, lots of times you just need to spew thoughts out there into the world, set them free so they're not boiling into a rage inside you. But it sure is nice to hear from someone reading who tells you they've been through it. Who tells you know they got through it.

I can't seem to leave people comments. If I try to sign my comment with my Blogger name, I get told to sign in with my Google account. Once I do that, I can't go back to the blog I was trying to leave a comment on.

I wish Blogger/Google would pull their shit together.

To those of you reading, if you have a blog, and you've commented here, chances are good that I've read your blog and tried to comment on yours within the last month or so, to no avail. I'm sorry.

I Don't Feel Like Working Today

The wind is blowing so hard that my office building is making noises. I forgot to bring breakfast to work today like I usually do, and noon can not come fast enough. Loose Earlobe Lady must have family in town , because she keeps making calls on her cell phone and loudly exclaiming, "Hello, Georgeous!"

In third grade my teacher gave the class a project involving poems - we had to find one poem we thought represented each member of our family, including ourselves. I thought it was a stupid project. I hate, and have always hated, research, and rarely enjoy poetry. I've never "gotten" Shel Silverstein. and the only poem I like is this one, by Dylan Thomas.

The poem I used for myself, as a third-grader who couldn't do her homework more than 60% of the time, was this one. Which of course, my mother found for me.

What I want to be doing instead of working is all the crap I never have time to do:
Several loads of laundry (including a blanket)
My slipcover project (no, I don't sew, just trying to buy slipcovers to cover my living room furniture, which I am tired of looking at)
Get to the bank to deposit checks, including over 20 rolls of coins
Get a quote from a second moving company
Send out some difficult e-mails
Clean the glass pan I accidentally burnt last night trying to make a healthy dinner
Clean the kitchen & bathroom
Get rid of stuff I don't need or want (vase, anyone?)

That must be the sign of being an adult. When you don't want to be at work because you'd rather be doing other crap you need to get done. Why don't I want to do anything fun? Why has cleaning up become the equivilent of fun for me?

I am restless and feel like I have more important things to do. I don't want to be one of those people who takes time off from work to run errands. That sounds so dull and pathetic (sorry, if you do that). I want to be one of those people who takes time off from work to do fun things. Real fun things, not my version of fun things. Oh, look at that. Apparently, today I hate myself. I want to go home.

Back in Business

YAY! They're BACK! I have a feeling everyone who gets presents from me will be getting them from these stores for quite some time.

Move

Life moves at a slower pace here in Florida. A senior citizen pace. I had forgotten this when I arrived at the Fort Lauderdale airport, and almost knocked over four old people as I whooshed past them.

You can't whoosh past the old people. They get flustered by that, they tell people, "She came out of nowhere" as they try to steady themselves. That's right - just walking by someone can make them start to lose their balance.

I find myself strolling calmly through my parent's apartment, having adjusted to the Florida pace. Even though I'm enjoying the luxury of being on vacation, of not needing to rush around, I still find myself stifling the urge to scream, "COME ONNNNN!" to my sweet grandfather as he maneuvers his body out of a car. Yes. I know. I'm terrible. And I should know better. I had to re-learn how to walk when I was 18. I shredded my nails as I held onto walls while I limped along.

Patience is not my forte.

Make a List!

Since last week, before I even arrived in Florida, I told my mom to make a list of the places she needs directions to, and everywhere she wants me to take her while I'm in town.

This morning I reminded her of the list. Just got it. By far, the absolute best thing on her list , written bigger and more neatly than "best bagels" and "Bath & Body Works" and nestled between the two, is this:

Where the hell is the damn beach?

UPDATE: I took her to the damn beach; it's not far at all. It was beautiful, and I will aim to go again to take pictures before I leave.

PSA: Please Move Over!

There are not many things I miss about living in Florida. My grandpa, driving a car, and Poland Spring water are pretty much it.

Today I drove for the first time since I spent time in Napa over the summer. While driving down a major road this morning, I saw a police car, sirens on, headed in the opposite direction from me, that slowed down while the cop looked at my side of the road.

When I checked my rearview mirror, I saw an ambulance with its lights flashing. The traffic light turned green, and I crossed two lanes of traffic to move to the right. Nobody else did. I remember that really bothering me back when I lived here.

About 12 years ago, I took several rides in ambulances, laid out and strapped onto stretchers. I was in so much pain at that time in my life that I would pass out from it. Once, I was screaming in pain and didn't even realize it was me who was doing that. And to think, I wasn't even in a life-or-death situation. My ambulances didn't need sirens. They didn't blow through red lights.

Seeing an ambulance with lights and siren on always reminds me of that year when I was so sick. You might think that's why I move to the right for ambulances. It's not. I move for ambulances because that's how I was taught to drive, and I'm the kind of person who follows all the rules when it comes to driving. That year when I was sick *IS* why I get teary when I see an ambulance speeding down the road.

It really hurts me that people in South Florida don't move for ambulances. Somebody is hurting. Something life-threatening is going on if the lights and sirens are on, People. Lights and sirens = serious medical happening.

Please move to the right. Thanks.

Signed,
Someone who met some of the nicest people at a terrible time in my life, people who carried me oh-so-carefully strapped to backboards down long flights of stairs, people who promised not to drop me down the stairs and didn't, people who told me I had pretty eyes, people who showed me pictures of their kids on the way to hospitals to distract me from pain, people named Izzy.

And Then My Head Exploded

The only thing that strikes more fear in my heart than going to doctors alone and dealing with insurance, is going to dentists.

Yesterday I went to a new eye doctor. By myself. At least you don't take clothes off at eye doctors. I almost called a friend for a pep talk before walking in, and then thought if she laughed at me I'd cry and feel worse, so I didn't.

Nice Partner has gone to this place, which made me feel slightly better about going to see a doctor I didn't know. Last time I went to a new eye doctor, she fired me. I didn't even know doctors could do that, but apparently they can. I asked too many questions, that's why she fired me. I think they thought I was trying to argue about the cost, but really I was just confused about what insurance would pay for. Because insurance is not simply "Hello, we are your Vision Insurance, and will pay for $250 worth of vision related issues per year." Oh no. It's more like "Hello, we are your Vision Insurance. We will pay for a regular eye exam if you get it on the third even Tuesday of a prime numbered month, $25 towards a contact lens exam if you wear contacts that are 35% soft and 48.6 % hard, $85 towards quadruple-focal glasses every 24 months OR $35 towards contacts every 24 months, $40 for glasses frames, and $35 towards a fitting fee."

Previously, I went to the same eye doctor for over a dozen years, back in New York (if you're on Long Island and want his name, let me know). I trust him with my life. His wife works with him, he knows my whole family, I love him. My brother and I have joked about "What will we do when he retires? He should hire a protege and start grooming that person NOW!"

You know how much I hate having to meet new people. So new people in positions of authority are even worse. And new people in positions in authority doing things to me that may hurt? And who know things about my body that I don't understand?

I tried channel my inner Jerry and help the eye doctor help me - on the form I had to fill out, where it asked if there was anything they should know I wrote that I have doctor phobia and learning disabilities. To make a long eye exam short, this eye doctor said my prescription hasn't changed. I do not believe her. If my prescription has not changed, then why do I feel like I see so poorly? No joke, she blamed it on my blue eyes. That's right, apparently having lighter colored eyes makes it harder to block out light and focus on things. Or something. She lost me there.

You know that glaucoma test with the puff of air? I can't do it. I told her that. Every time my New York eye doctor has tried to do that to me, I flinch. This eye doctor was all cocky and "Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to do it this time!" Ummm.... lady? I know myself. Myself and I? We've met before. I know what makes me jump. Being scared scares me. I don't like surprise parties, I don't like people jumping out from around the corner, and I don't like the puff of air! Imagine how hard it was for me to not laugh when she was shocked that I couldn't sit still for the glaucoma test.

I hate health insurance. Vision insurance. All of it. Although my brother told me something interesting this week. He said that health insurance was not created to pay for all things medical. It was created to serve similar purposes that renters and car insurance serve. To be there in an emergency. You can't submit a claim to your car insurance company when you go put gas in your car, or get an oil change. Only if you get in a car accident. When I think of it that way, health insurance doesn't seem so bad. In fact, it seems mighty generous.

I still hate going to doctors though.

The Grandmas Are Out Of Control

Evidence:

1. Hoochie Mama Grandma has been running around discussing what colors everyone should wear this week with more enthusiasm than usual. Now not only is it enough to wear the correct color (tomorrow is red), but you have to wear the right type of clothing. Today was turtlenecks.

2. Cat Lady is the only person who routinely screams at LEL. Yesterday she asked LEL to tell her boss that Cat Lady had gone to get some office supply if he was looking for her. LEL jumped up and started to say she would get it for Cat Lady. This was not good, and Cat Lady yelled at her that she was NOT to do that. I didn't think it was so awful as to deserve a yelling-at, but I did agree with Cat Lady yelling at LEL for spraying her perfume. I also agreed with her yelling at LEL for letting her cell phone play some obnoxious rap song when it rang. Loudly.

3. Baby Grandma is the new chick who replaced the Awesome Grandma who used to work for Kennedy. The jury is still out on her. She took a step in the right direction (in the eyes of the attorneys) by putting out a bowl of candy. Cat Lady does not like her. I think it's because Baby Grandma is young (younger than me, by maybe a year) and cute and wears cute clothes.

4. LEL. Where to even start with her? Even though she and I have been getting along well, she manages to annoy everyone else. Today when I went to tell Tuna I was leaving to meet a friend for lunch, he was leaning over, elbows on desk, head in hands. "Tuna! Are you okay?" He wearily lifts his head, shakes it slowly, and puts it back in his hands. I stand in his doorway for a second, trying to figure out what I should do next. LEL's voice is registering in the background ... OH! She's on Tuna's speakerphone. She's wearing him down. I smiled, and fled.
This afternoon Cowboy wanted to talk about that project LEL and I worked on a few days ago. Apparently LEL didn't enter the figures for several clients on the master list. The two of them stood at my pony wall to discuss this. Cowboy asked LEL why she hadn't entered figures for Client Bumbo. LEL's response is that she noticed this, and brought it to Cowboy's attention by pointing out that no figures had been entered for Client Plunkster and so yesterday she asked me to dictate the figures to her. Cowboy said, "If you realized you were missing figures for one client, then why didn't you check to make sure no other figures were missing?" LEL insisted she brought it to Cowboy's attention. LEL was lying, and Cowboy busted her. "No Loose, I'm bringing this to your attention right NOW."

LEL is so weird about things like this. If I got busted lying, I'd want the ground to swallow me up whole. I'd be so embarrassed. LEL just nods and says okay, I see, right. It almost seems like she doesn't grasp the gravity of the situation - that her boss, a partner, just busted her in a lie. That he just realized she fucked up a huge project.

So they go back and forth, and I half heartedly pretend to be fascinated by my work and also let them see that I'm paying attention (since I worked on this project too). Cowboy asks how LEL is planning to fix this fuckup. She starts yapping about going to the Accounting Person immediately. Cowboy looks at me. "We can go through the master list, make a sublist comprised of all clients that have no figures, get the figures from Accounting, and enter them into the master list." Cowboy nods. He looks at LEL. "So how are you going to fix this?" She starts shuffling through her lists and yapping about nothing. Cowboy stands there, slowly closes his eyes, then opens them. I felt like I was watching his blood pressure rise. LEL is going nuts and taking all the attorneys with her.

She is planning to wear satin pants tomorrow. I'm almost afraid to go to work and see them.

In an exciting update, LEL has lost one of her work shoes on this morning's commute. This is why she is walking around now wearing shoes like these instead. With her satin pants.

Hanukah

I saw Hanukah socks made by Hot Sox that were much cuter than the ones pictured here, with different colored dreidels, last time I was in Nordstrom's. And I paused when I saw them, because Loose Earlobe Lady would TOTALLY wear those. She'd love them, and she'd show them off to everybody. I thought about buying them for her. Then I thought about all the mean things she says, and decided, "Fuck it. Fuck her. There are better ways to spend my money than on someone who's consistently mean to me."

Despite last week's horrible project that forced us to work together, we got along quite nicely. And then today when I arrived at work, there was a brand new menorah on my chair. LEL bought me a menorah. For no reason at all, except to be nice.

Guess I'm going to go buy some socks later this week.

Tagged; It's a Meme!

Your favorite Subservient Worker and mine has tagged me. She was tagged by The Waitress, who was tagged by ... and that's how it goes.

I think I'm supposed to write five things few people know about me. Let's see what I've got.

1. Although you already know I'm greatly amused by seeing people trip or fall (or trip AND fall!), what you may not know is that even just reading about people falling can make me laugh so hard my stomach hurts. Here, you try it.

2. Back in the 80's my dad got into the habit of cracking his knuckles. My brother and I promptly picked up the habit and ran with it. Trying to fix his example, my father promptly stopped cracking his knuckles, in the hopes we would follow. I still crack my knuckles (but wish I didn't).

3. My parents just moved to Florida (see picture above, which shows the Atlantic Ocean on the left and the Intracoastal on the right). Not to retire like all good New York jews eventually do, but for a job. Not for my mom, but for my dad. I am sad they have left New York. If you live in New York, please invite me to come stay at your house. Or, please just send me duck sauce packets from your local chinese restaurant - they don't have that out here. And good bagels. If you live in South Florida and want to get together, let me know since I'll be out there soon. Like in a week from now.

4. The only reason I don't have a little thing on my sidebar saying how you can e-mail me is that I don't know how to put it in, and I forgot to ask Brandi to do it for me. Hi, I'm GreenYogurt. I live at AOHell. I love mail, and will (probably) write back to you (almost definitely).

5. I know I come across as very judgmental. And I am. But every once in a while, I just don't care and have absolutely no opinion. It's rare, but it happens.

5a. I like when I can make smart people laugh. It makes me feel smart (no, it doesn't make me feel funny, just smart). See? I even judge myself.

This is not something you don't know about me, but I'm saying it anyway. I spent so many years with nobody wanting to be associated with me in any way, that I still assume nothing has changed, whether or not that's the case. It's why I am not comfortable tagging five people. Yeah that's right, and I throw out chain mail too. The reason we're still in Iraq is because I didn't keep the candle burning or whatever the fuck that dumb chain e-mail said that I barely glanced at.

So you can all consider yourselves tagged or not, whatever makes you feel all warm and loved inside. Okay, really, whatever makes you want to send me bagels from New York.

Which One?

This morning while I was walking to a bus stop, I saw a filthy, homeless man standing at it, peeing into the street. As I waited for the traffic light to change, the guy finished and then stood there, and his entire body was shaking. He could not control himself. I doubt it was a reaction to weather, because it wasn't that cold. I doubt it was drugs, because ... well, I just do. Something was very off. I looked at the man's eyes, and they were ... wild. This homeless guy was very clearly not well in the head. (I can't go so far as to say this is rare, because I think being homeless would make me crazy, since I'm so close to the edge as it is, but I would say that in San Francisco easily more than half of the homeless people I encounter are mentally healthy enough to say hello to. This man was not.)

I felt like my mind ran a computer search using the keywords "man" and "bus" but all that I came up with was the phrase "Boys are like buses. Another one will come along eventually." Clearly that phrase would not help my decision-making regarding walking towards the homeless guy and sharing the bus stop with him. The two of us being in an enclosed space did not appeal to me. And yet...I used to be the person nobody wanted to stand next to.

As I crossed the street, I saw the bus coming towards us, so the issue became moot. The homeless man did not get onto the bus with me. I think he wanted to use the bus stop for shelter from the rain.

As I sat on the bus, a sign came to mind that I'd read at my chiropractor's office over a decade ago. "Every person you come in contact with is wearing an invisible sign that says 'Please notice me; make me feel special.'"

Was I supposed to notice the homeless man and make him feel special by treating him like someone who didn't have layers of filth all over his body? Was I supposed to do whatever I had to in order to make myself feel safe and comfortable, anyone else be damned? Which phrase was I supposed to listen to?

*Initially I was looking for a picture of a homeless man at a bus stop in San Francisco. I posted the picture of the woman because of her eyes. Now you're waiting for me to shut up so you can go scroll up and look at her eyes, aren't you? :)

LEL Annoys Everyone, Not Just Me

Example 1: Tuna wanted me to work on a project LEL had been put on. We had to write how much money Cowboy had billed for each client, for the last six years. But first, we had to make sure the spreadsheet had all the clients and their matters listed on it.

I was sitting in Tuna's office to find out about this project, while he called LEL to have her bring him the 2005 and 2006 figures. As we wait for LEL, Tuna says to me, "Loose could probably explain this to you, but you'd slit your wrists so I'll explain it."

Example 2: For reasons unknown to me, we were instructed to write the figures on the spreadsheet, as opposed to typing them. Once we finished that, the spreadsheet was to go to our Nighttime Word Processing guy to type them in. LEL and I stayed late tonight working on this, and when we finished she wanted me to go to the other floor to drop off the spreadsheet. Fine, I was too tired to argue.

I go upstairs and wander down the hallway. Upon coming to the WP guy's office, I realize he's on the phone with LEL. I hovered outside of his doorway for a solid two minutes while she babbles on and on about how I was coming to drop off the document, how we stayed late working on it (he doesn't care), how Name Partner wanted it today by 3 p.m. but we couldn't get it done on time so it's VERY important it be finished by the morning, etc. When he escapes from talking with LEL, he turns to me and says, "That woman needs to be hospitalized." Then he goes on a whole rant about what a waste of time it is for him to type in the numbers we just wrote by hand (I agree), and wraps up by saying he can't read LEL's handwriting.

UPDATE: The WP guy didn't do the project last night, claiming he couldn't read LEL's handwriting. Upon arriving at work this morning I was informed that I would have to read SEVEN YEARS worth of totals billed for EACH CLIENT to LEL while she put the figures into the spreadsheet. I lost my voice. But I sure did work nicely with LEL; many people commented on it.

Crushed.

Just. Crushed.

My thoughts are with the Kim family.

To explain to those of you who are not in the Bay Area, this family is from Noe Valley, San Francisco, CA.

Unintentional, I Swear

Attorneys in California have to take seminars to get credits that are called Continuing Legal Education. They have a minimum number of credits they need each year, and different numbers of credit in different categories.

Nice Partner and I keep a chart that shows what seminars he's taken, how many credits each gives, and the total number of credits he's got.

Today I updated the chart and Nice Partner and I were standing over it, looking at which credits he needs, talking about the seminar he recently took, and the one he's scheduled to attend this week. "So I'm in pretty good shape then" Nice Partner says.

"Yes," I agree "You just need some Ethics and you'll be all set." Had the setting been an 8th grade dance in 1983, the needle would have scratched the record and everyone would have stopped dancing to stare at me in shock.

Offended, Schmoffended

Remember the Asian-American* co-worker who helped me out with Steamroller's parents moving in? She has a son. Right after I arrived here, she went out on maternity leave. When her son comes to the office to visit, he never cries when he gets passed to me. The time he spit up at work, it was after I'd given him to the next person (I'll let you guess which grandma).

Anyway. I was chatting with this co-worker today about the holidays and jokingly told her that for my Hanukah present she could bring her baby in for a visit any one of the eight days, and that'd be a fine present.

Turns out she didn't know what Hanukah was. So I gave her the oil-lasting-for-eight-nights-miracle spiel. I explained that Hanukah does not hold the same importance for Jews that Christmas does for Christians.

"What is the most important holiday? The bar mitzvah?"

No, I did not laugh. I explained what a bar mitzvah is, and that it is not a holiday, but a ceremony. Co-worker asked what kosher means. She asked about pork. She asked if kosher people can eat a cube of cheese in the same meal that they eat a hamburger (I do not know). She asked about orthodox people. Co-worker got very excited and told me that her husband (who is Italian) loves learning this kind of stuff and will be so impressed with her when she goes home and tells him about it. She asked if she was offending me. No, of course not.

I'm never offended by people not knowing about things like this. She's asking. She's learning. The only way the conversation could have gone better is if one of us could have billed a client for it.

*My co-worker was born in San Francisco. Her mother was born in China. So is the co-worker Asian-American? I've never heard of anyone being called American-Asian. How is it decided which comes first? Are there rules for this?

I Can't Think of a Good Enough Title, But Read This Anyway

*Due to the holidays and presents, there will be a high amount of vagueness in this post.

Today I went to a store to pick up a present (finally!) and an Asian couple tried to cut in front of me when it was my turn.

The husband explained that he wanted the store to hold his product for him. They would come back tomorrow to pick it up.

The cashier was Asian too. "We close at 6 p.m. Anything that hasn't been picked up by then is treated as returned. We can only hold this for you until 6 p.m. when we close, no later. Sorry."

The cashier went back to helping me. The Asian woman smoothly tried to elbow me out of her way. I hate when people don't say "excuse me" so I didn't move for her. She elbowed me harder. I still didn't move.

In broken English the Asian woman told the cashier she wanted her item held until tomorrow. Again, he explained the store policy.

As the husband started to say some variation of "Okay, thanks anyway" the wife whipped around to him, and in rapid-fire Mandarin, told him something I took to mean, "I'll handle this! You're obviously not getting us anywhere."

She turned towards the cashier again and said several sentences in Mandarin. He shook his head, and said, "I don't speak Mandarin, sorry." His mouth twitched, and he bit back a smile. His eyes darted over to me, then down, then back to the woman. He went back to processing my purchase.

I don't know if he really doesn't know Mandarin, of course. Maybe he's just one of those people who hates when people try to pull stuff like that. Maybe he just hates when Asians try to cut in lines. Maybe he feels like it gives them a bad rep.

I've Lost It

Earlier this week there was a flurry of e-mails back and forth in my family. Who wants what, who's getting this for that person, clarifications of brands, do you want to go in with me on buying this, etc.

I got all excited about going out this weekend and finishing up all my holiday shopping. People, I even had a list. I was prepared to use my MUNI map and everything.

And then ... somehow, I lost it. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. I lost the drive to shop. It slowly slipped away from me over the course of two hours today. At the end, I was in the store that always has the absolute best cards, I saw one that would be great for a friend, and I couldn't bring myself to get it.

Something about spending money, and bringing things back to my house just held absolutely no desire for me at all. I would look at things, think "That would be GREAT for Golden Boy!" and then put them back on the shelf.

I came home to look through my mail. Even seeing these did nothing for me.

What's wrong with me?! And whatever it is, will it go away before the holidays start?