My Shit Needs a Hill

When I was growing up, my dad would come home from work and methodically go from family member to family member and scream at them. Later, my brother explained how it must be for my dad. To go to work and deal with a bunch of productive adults all day. To be their manager, and tell them to do something, and not only do they do it, but they try to do anything else they can think of that he might want done. Then to come home and deal with kids who shove the clothes on their floor into their closets after saying "I will, in the next commercial" four times. Must be frustrating as all hell.

And yet. My father really would come home, and go look at his mail in the kitchen while my mother was cooking dinner. And he'd scream at her for using the wrong pot, or using a fork to stir something in a pan, or whatever. Then scream at my brother for leaving his books near the stairs (never in front of the stairs, because we didn't do that, but just next to them). Then he'd move on to me, and scream at me for hiding from the world in bed, or scream at me for watching MTV. "Get a life!" he'd yell, while I watched Julie and Eric flirt on The Real World. Shit rolled downhill, and I was the bottom of that hill.

I am stressed out. During the last month people have been lying to me left and right. People are telling me things that don't add up. Now I may not have graduated from college, and may barely be able to read, but I'm no moron. I happen to be a fantastic liar. I don't say that to brag, I say that because as a fantastic liar, I'm very good at knowing when people are lying to me.

So why last weekend, when I was in a restaurant and told the waiter I'd like bacon "very well done, like burnt" did he try to tell me after I'd sent it back twice and he brought it a third time, that it was restaurant policy not to burn bacon? Don't lie to me. I asked why, if that was restaurant policy, he didn't say that when I ordered it burnt? Yeah, that's what I thought.

During the first week of this month, I ordered a year's worth of contact lenses, and some oranges to be sent to two different friends. None of these things arrived. The lens company left me a voice mail on Monday, saying they spoke with Jack at my leasing office who has a note on my package that he gave it to me. Umm... if he has a note on my package, then clearly I don't have it, do I? I called the leasing office today to sort this out. Meanwhile my left eye is so irritated I'm resisting the urge to claw it out of my eye socket.

The orange people claimed they sent my oranges when I called the first time. Breezily, without looking anything up. Ping! My friends are nice - they would have thanked me if they got them and I knew this. I didn't believe the orange company, so I asked what date they were delivered. Of course they couldn't provide me with a date, and when I pressed further, they'd lost my order completely. I offered to forward the e-mailed confirmation they'd sent me back to them. They assured me they'd call me tomorrow. That was last week. I've been calling them every day now, and I think they're avoiding me at this point. I'm pissed.

All this, while I'm freezing in my apartment that STILL smells like paint (as I wait impatiently for the smell to go away so I can invite Karen_S over, in the hopes she'll bring her baby, who is the happiest baby I've ever seen in my life). All this, while I'm dealing with LEL.

Oh! Let's talk about LEL for a moment if you don't mind. LEL has enthusiastically hated me for over a year now. She rolls her eyes any time I talk to her. She glares at me. She speaks to me as if I'm stupid. Just so it's clear, I don't talk to LEL about anything unrelated to business. An attorney tells me he's looking to speak with the Cowboy today and asks when he'll be in. I tell LEL, "Igor wanted to talk with Cowboy today; he was looking for him earlier." LEL's response is to say in a "you're such a fucking idiot that you make me sick" tone of voice "Cowboy won't be in today. *I'll* speak with Igor." As if I was a schmuck for not knowing Cowboy's schedule, as if I fucked up something with Igor and she's going to go sort out the mess I made.

Her attitude makes me want to smack her. Her spraying that terrible-smelling perfume makes me want to dunk her head in a toilet and flush repeatedly. I am always very professional with LEL. But I am losing it. Seriously, I am totally losing my temper. Cat Lady can see my face tighten, and she keeps encouraging me to tell on LEL to HR. She likes drama; she is trying to manipulate me into giving her some. I am not that stupid. I'm not going to HR to whine "LEL makes faces at me when I talk to her!" Because I'm not five years old anymore. You know, when it was acceptable to whine to your parents during long car trips that "Golden Boy's almost touching me!" (except it was always me, bothering him).

LEL is pissing off everyone around her. The other day, Cowboy threatened to behead her if she didn't stop shaking her head (clearly I missed something). He threatens things like that in a way that sounds joking but you know you should listen to what he's saying underneath the joke. A copy guy overheard the threat and said to LEL "I bet you've never been threatened with a be-heading before." Her response? "No, but I refuse to take it seriously since it came from an idiot." Dude, you just called your boss an idiot while at work, in front of someone you're consistently mean to. NOT SMART. No, I'm not going to tell on her for that. But really. Get some common sense, woman!

So I'm furious about many things. I come home to my empty, sub-zero apartment. Where there is nobody for me to yell at. No hill for my shit to roll down. There is nobody there, in my smelly kitchen, cooking dinner for me to eat. My anger just rolls around inside of me, having nowhere to go. So of course it turns into depression. Which explains why my chin was trembling and tears were forming when I talked to Nice Partner this morning about my cold apartment. Because I just don't have it in me anymore to fight all these things alone. I am so overwhelmed, and everyone is fighting me, instead of helping. And I need help. I need people to do their fucking jobs. I need my new contact lenses. I need my kitchen's paint smell to go away so I'll start cooking and eat something healthier than a bowl of cereal for dinner.

P.S. I seem to be having a terrible problem where I can't stop ending sentences with prepositions. At the end of each sentence I say to myself "dinner the mountain? no, okay keep going" or "down the mountain? shit, how can I reword that sentence? fuck it keep going" I keep doing this all over the place - why can't I stop?

P.P.S. Never mind about the above - I just went into Name Partner's office to get him to sign a letter and he had to figure out if "was" or "were" was appropriate for a sentence. We made a joke about how seventh grade English is so hard, and I feel better now. If a name partner can have grammar problems, then so can I. (I the mountain? no.) Though I do wish I had a secretary to help me figure these things out. Out, the mountain? No, it's good, carry on. Wait! In the mountain would be bad. Shit. Though I do wish I had a secretary to help me with these things. Things the mountain? No. All clear! Jesus fucking christ.

New Digs (a.k.a. A Whine)

Overall, I'm not feeling it's going as well as I'd hoped.

1. There are massive drafts in my new apartment coming from all windows and the balconies. I've been here two-and-a-half weeks and it has not yet been fixed. I'm cold ALL the time. I wear my gloves inside. I sleep with three blankets. The blinds are in continuous motion from the drafts. Clearly, something is wrong, and the leasing office should fix it.
2. This morning commute is not my cup of hot chocolate. I'm not a morning person (I'm not a night person either anymore, but that's neither here nor there) and standing on a traffic island with cars whizzing by me at over 50 miles an hour while breathing in fumes is not a pleasant way to be waking up.
3. Yesterday I left work at 5:31 p.m. and was at my bus stop at 5:35 p.m. Everyone would agree that is prime rush hour. My bus did not come until after 6 p.m. What the fuck? Standing outside in the cold for a half hour only to come home to my icebox of an apartment will not work for me. Today I will try taking a different bus home. It will involve more walking, but I'm almost positive the bus will come more frequently than once every half hour, and get me home by 6 p.m. at the latest. Why yes, I am a commute snob! Of course I am - prior to this move I lived three blocks from work and often went home for lunch.
4. My hunt for a roommate is not going well. I say this because I don't have one yet. While I can afford to pay over $2,000 in rent in the month of February, I'm not looking forward to it. At all. After half a month of meeting with people, it's getting harder and harder to see it as "They didn't like the place" instead of "They didn't like me."
5. I'm not getting my mail. Yes, I know HOW to fix it, it's just the process is time-consuming and it would really be helpful if my imaginary personal assistant could take care of that.

Update: I just spoke with Nice Partner and asked him if we have anyone who does Landlord/Tenant law. In explaining the cold, my chin trembled and my mind screamed "DON'T CRY!" and I managed not to let any tears spill. Nice Partner told me who to speak with, another partner who will probably suggest we draft a letter dropping the term "constructive eviction" to light a fire under my leasing office's ass. I feel better already.

I wasn't about to cry just because it's cold. That would be kind of pathetic. It's the culmination of too many things all not going well at once, and having to deal with LEL every day for eight hours on top of it all. Going to talk with the other partner now.

Ordering Online

For YEARS now, I have been buying things online. I've never played on eBay, never bought or sold anything out of the country, but have had very good luck, overall, with buying things online.

Until 2006. First, I lost my checks and someone made some purchases with money from my checking account. Then somebody swiped my credit card and bought some Irish clothing and guns.

In December I ordered contact lenses online for the new year. I'm still waiting. It seems as if they were back-ordered from the manufacturer. Then I frantically called the place to say "I've moved! Don't send them here (old place), send them here (new place) instead!" They assured me they would. Even sent a confirmation with the new address. But somehow when they sent them, I think they left off my apartment number, so they got sent back. Now it's a month later and I'm still wearing my old contacts. So if I walk past you, pretending I don't see you, I probably really don't see you.

Then, in the same week, I ordered Florida oranges, to be sent to two different people. One in Jersey, one in Portland. They haven't received what I sent. The company can't find my order. I'm fucking pissed. I'm canceling my order with them.

I'm dealing with each of the companies, but .... SHIT! I'm getting sour on the whole idea of buying online. And this has nothing to do with the fact that when I order yogurt from Safeway the yogurts delivered have already expired.

Can We Talk TV?

Am I the only person watching and loving Friday Night Lights? Lila? Is she really going to marry him while she's still in high school? Smash? We're supposed to believe he's capable of stopping cold-turkey? Is that blonde chick really so naive as to think Lila's dad is giving the blonde mom a job out of the goodness of his heart?

The Hills: Am I the only person who thinks Heidi's only redeeming quality is that Lauren is her friend? Does anyone else think she and Spencer deserve each other? I feel bad for Audrina. Unless I missed a significant episode, she never did anything wrong.

DanceLife: Jersey's lack of a real name annoys me. It's not cute. Any asshole can tell she's from Jersey the second she opens her mouth. Also, does anyone else find the auditions to be a bit ... sloppy? The dancers don't seem as tight as I think they should be. How crushed must Blake be, with Kenny bailing on his release party? Even though it's understandable.. I'm trying hard to give a shit with this show - my love of all things dance runs deep - but I'm struggling. And how is it that they all seem to have an empty dance studio any time they're needing it? How does that work?

Grandma Theory

Cat Lady yelled at LEL last week. They used to use the same printer, and LEL used to move and otherwise fuck up Cat Lady's documents. So Cat Lady yelled at her to stop touching her shit.

Fuck you, Cat Lady, because now LEL is using the same printer *I* use! I told Cat Lady not to expect a present from me on her birthday, after this crap. Anyway. That has nothing to do with the real point of this post. I just felt the need to bitch.

The real point is that Cowboy is slowly being driven crazy by LEL. At one point today when he turned away from her, he slowly closed his eyes and then opened them, and I wondered if he was imagining banging his head against a wall repeatedly. My firm is opening another office outside of the city. When? I don't know. But I'm staying here if I have the choice (and I believe I do). LEL however, lives pretty close to where the new office will be, so I've been assuming that when Cowboy goes there, she'll go with him.

I casually mentioned this to Cat Lady today, and she told me that's not the case at all. She claims LEL hasn't been invited. I didn't realize there were any formal invitations being sent out. Cat Lady has this interesting theory about the new office though - they'll tell LEL they need something different than what she does currently, for the new office. Then they'll say they have no open positions in our SF office, paving the way to lay her off and finally be rid of LEL once and for all. Interesting.

Standing At the Bus Stop Sucking On a Lollipop...

Now that I've moved I live closer to everything. Everything except work. Today Tuna asked me where I was going when I told him I was leaving for lunch. "Goin' home?" I shook my head no and then he remembered - I don't live close enough to go home anymore. I no longer watch bits and pieces of Judging Amy reruns in the middle of the day while sitting on my bed anymore.

My commute only causes me to leave the house at 8:30 a.m., which isn't bad. Especially when you consider that I leave that early not because it's the time I need to leave in order to catch the bus, but because I'm paranoid I'll miss the bus and then be late for work. Oh yeah, and especially when you consider that I used to routinely get to work late, when I had the luxury of leaving whenever I wanted to, since I was walking.

The bus stop I wait at in the mornings is on a little cement island in the middle of the street. A busy street, with morning commuters rushing by. I looked into the cars today, and can tell you that less than a third of the people were carpooling (the woman with a baby in the backseat doesn't count since that baby didn't have the option of driving his own car). Each morning I stand on the island, unable to easily see if my bus is coming due to a street sign blocking my view. Each morning I wait, freezing, worrying that someone will stop paying attention and jump the curb and run me over. It's not so much that I worry about dying that way, as much as I worry about being hurt and not dying and being hurt by someone who has no money and no insurance so there's nothing to sue for. I hate standing on that little island with the cars going by me. There are too many cars for me to recognize them day to day, but it's possible they recognize me. Holy shit, she's worn that scarf every day this week!

My bus driver is an Asian man who drives very aggressively. You may think that's how you have to drive in the city, but you'd be wrong. Other bus drivers don't drive the way he does. He zooms along the streets in a bus I'm sure is from the 80's, almost blowing past each bus stop. I get a mean vibe off him, though every morning as I step off the bus and toss a "thank you!" or "Bye!" over my shoulder, he always responds in kind.

After work I stand around outside, again in the cold, waiting for my bus. When I get one, there's always a grandpa there in the evenings, with two little girls. One is always curled into the seat next to him, her head in his lap, while the other always sits across the way. Both are silent and barely move. Almost nobody talks on the way home. People are tired from work, I guess. I am; I've had enough of saying I'm sorry, he's on another call right now. Would you like to leave him a voicemail? After all these years I've finally found a tone of voice that gets me a response of Yes, voicemail will be great. It has something to do with asking the question as if a wonderful idea has just dawned on me - one that Just! Might! Work! Plus I say it with a slight sex-phone operator voice. That may have something to do with it.

I come home from work a different way than I get there, and it's not just due to all the one-way streets in San Francisco. In the dark, I walk along an alley littered with broken glass. This little alley has all the commuters zipping by in their cars to get home. I cross a lot of commercial driveways - there's no difference between sidewalk and driveway, so the pavement I'm crossing is on a slant, and I think about sprained ankles as I walk. I cross the driveway of a parking garage where drivers can't see me coming until it's too late. Pedestrians have the right of way in California, but right doesn't keep you alive, so I'm careful, and I slow down and look first.

I miss my walks to and from work. I miss going home for lunch. But I'm closer to everything else aside from work, so I'll just deal.

For those of you with the song now stuck in your head...

Bump

For all my attorney readers. If you bring this info to your firm and get a bump because of it, I will look forward to receiving a present from you. I like green. :)

Well, Maybe Just a Little Bit

I don't blog about politics for the most part. It's because I don't feel like I understand them. I've been reading Newsweek since I was a kid - my parents have had a subscription for as long as I can remember. I started out just reading the comics. Then I found those My Turn essays. Then I found that Anna Whoever in the back (except she's only there every other week - some other guy who looks stiff writes on her off weeks). Then I noticed that up/down chart near the front. Oh, and those Tip Sheets in the back? Love 'em! Basically, I love how Newsweek dresses, but rarely pay attention to its personality.

When I moved to Florida one of the first things I did there was to get my own Newsweek subscription. I used to tear out the wine recs they had in the back and send them to my brother. In Florida, I guess I didn't run in a very well-educated crowd, because when people would find out I read Newsweek, the most common response I'd get was, "Wow, you're really into politics, huh?" No, no I'm not.

I don't know politics. The same way college kids cram for midterms the night before, I cram before going to vote. I'm not bad at knowing where I stand on issues, but I'm not too solid on picking people. Issues seem so easy while people are complicated.

And now Hillary is going to run. Fuck. Hillary is .... I see Hillary as the Mary-Jo of politics, to be honest. That whole "stand by your man" thing is bullshit to me. Some things are deal-breakers. Some things are unforgivable. Now I have my own theory (okay it's my dad's, but I liked it and adopted it) as to why Mary-Jo stayed with Joey. And I can see why someone wouldn't want to divorce POTUS. But still. My respect for someone just .... comes down a few notches to be honest.

I lose respect for people who both cheat on their spouses and for people who stay with spouses who have cheated on them. Yeah, it's none of my business, I know. And yeah, I've never been married so I don't know what it's like, I know. But still. This is how I feel.

Yes, I voted for Bill. Why, since I lost respect after he cheated on his wife? Because as a president, he was doing a fine job. As a boss, with impressionable young interns? Not such a great job. As a dude running the country though? Just fine, carry on. Now had he and Hillary gotten divorced and a friend asked me to set them up with him (since we were friends? whatever, just go with me here), I would have warned her that he cheated on his wife, and discouraged her from wanting him. But if there were third terms and he'd been a choice, I'd have voted for him a third time.

I'm not registered as a Democrat. For me, this is a good thing - I'm not sure if Hillary is better for this country or has a better chance of winning than Barack. (I will say that I think Bill would make an excellent First Gentleman.) But Hillary is running, and campaigning.

My mother sent me this thing she found. It's things like not understanding what they're asking for that prompt me to say people should have to take a test before they're allowed to vote. I push to understand the issues I vote on. I ask questions of multiple people, read articles, ask more questions, have been known to take notes and bring cheat sheets to the polls, whatever it takes. But I'd bet there are people who are stupider than me who don't put in the work I do to understand what issues are being voted on.

I mean, I see where they say they want bloggers ideas on how to work together for a change. But what exactly does that mean? You're Hillary - you're older than me, you're more educated than me, better traveled than me, more everything than me. Hell, I've never been voted for in ANYTHING. In second grade we had elections each month to choose a president, vice-president, secretary and treasurer for our class. That's 40 opportunities to be an elected officer. There were something like 32 kids in my class. I was never chosen. Fucking popularity contests.

My point is, why are we doing Hillary's work for her? I don't know how to campaign. I don't know how we should go about getting change. All I know is that George Bush sucks. All I know is that with George in charge, people are dying more than is reasonable.

Does Hillary want bloggers to write her speech for her? "If you elect me as your president, I promise to do everything in my power to get our soldiers home to us as quickly and safely as possible." Come on - I could have written that shit in 7th grade, surely Hillary can do better than that. Does Hillary want blogged petitions with electronic signatures showing how many people want her elected? Work together for a change, my ass.

Hillary, tell me if you still believe in that whole "it takes a village" thing, and if you do, what you'd do to get more people believing that and implementing it in their own villages. Tell me if Chelsea were 11 years old, if you'd be giving her that controversial vaccine that's being promoted. Hillary, didn't you and your husband fuck up some health care stuff or something, back when Bill was POTUS? Tell me what you learned from that and what you'd do differently. Tell me what your thoughts are on Social Security, since we're losing it. Tell me why you're a better choice than Barack. Tell me why if there's separation of church and state, there's a White House Christmas Tree and a White House Easter Egg Hunt. Will there be a White House Lighting of the Menorah, and a White House Passover Seder? Tell me how you'll fix the mess that is children being left behind left and right and teachers teaching to tests. Tell me, had you been in charge, how you would have handled the Elian Gonzalez situation. Tell me what you'll do to repair our country's relationships with other countries we previously got along with.

Yeah, I don't do politics.

Ho' Dee Do'

When I was in high school, I hated one of my social studies teachers. She was an extrovert who was really hyper and loud. She loved social studies. And history. She used to tug on my shirts, trying to get me excited about whatever the hell she was trying to teach me. She'd stand on chairs and tables to get our attention when the class was being rowdy. She brought in pizza once, because the entire class got over a 90 on a Friday test, and it was the first time I ate a calzone.

I still hate people who are loud. In general, I still clash with and shy away from extroverts. However.

One morning this social studies teacher told us about the day she got mugged. Way before she became a teacher. She lived in the city (that'd be New York City, not SF) and held the door for the man who attacked her in the elevator. She saved herself by convincing him she was batshit crazy.

That's right, she flashed bottles of pills at him, all while talking a mile a minute about how she'd just gotten out of a locked psychiatric facility, and he fled. What I took away from that story was that if I was ever going through a door I'd just unlocked, it was more important to be safe by not holding the door for a stranger than to be polite.

Tonight I got home late after a long walk back from Trader Joe's (is it me, or do a lot of my blog posts mention that store? I actually don't even go there very often, despite how it may seem). When I got to the front of my building, there was a guy standing at the door trying to call someone on the callbox.

When he saw my swipe card in my hand (what are those things called?) he looked me up and down (it's cold, and I wasn't wearing a jacket), and then stepped back, so I could get inside. I said something to him about letting him in, and he actually said to me, "I'll just let her know I'm on my way up, so I don't startle her."

It made me feel like everyone is good, and life is safe here. I don't know what it was about that guy that inspired me to hold the door for him. Maybe it was that he was significantly shorter than I am. Who knows. But I know not everyone is good here, and I won't start leaving my bag on the ground while I walk ten feet away like I see other people doing. Earlier today while crossing the street I saw the homeless crazy man who grabbed me a couple of months after moving to San Francisco.

He's a reminder that not everyone is trying to avoid startling people.

Listen

Since most of my life is packed in boxes piled in the living room, there's not much I can do to entertain myself right now. The only reading that hasn't been packed is the latest Newsweek, and I already finished it. I learned a lot about menopause - fun stuff, can't wait.

I popped in a CD earlier, one of the only "toys" I managed to keep out of a box, and music flooded my room. It was a mix CD, which means I loved every song that came on. Now I'm in a leftover good mood because of the music. My fingers are almost frozen, but I'm happy. Because I listened to music. I do that so infrequently that I forget how good it feels. It surprises me every time.

Those people walking around with iPods must be floating around, all happy on music each day.

Embarrassed

When I was in 7th grade, I got hurt at school one day. Nothing exciting - I twisted my ankle or something trivial like that. But towards the end of hebrew school that same day I got told my dad was waiting in the lobby to take me home. The teacher, knowing I was a loser with no friends, asked me if there was someone I wanted to have help me to the lobby. I shook my head no without meeting her eyes, not wanting to toss out a name, and have the rest of the class laugh at that person's misfortune at having to deal with me, having to touch my things.

My face burned with shame as she asked a nice, nerdy boy to help me with my books to the lobby. I mumbled a "thank you" to him as he handed my books to my father, knowing he couldn't wait to get away from me.

Today I had a lot of boxes to take home from work, for my move. So many boxes, that I needed help. I asked two people if they could help me down to the lobby, so I could get a cab. Two people, both roughly my age. Both begged off, claiming they had plans. Maybe they did. The Weather Grandma and her husband drove me home. Weather Husband even helped me carry the boxes up to my front door. I thanked them profusely numerous times.

Over twenty years ago, at a family friend's house my brother got embarrassed for saying, "Yes please, thank you" when the husband/dad/guy asked if he wanted eggs. My brother felt like he'd been too nice. My mother said there's no such thing; you can never be too nice.

After I got all the boxes inside my apartment, I was embarrassed at how many times I thanked the Weathers. More than that, I'm mad at myself that despite all my effort, I'm still 12, and nobody wants to deal with me any more than they have to. All these years I have been pushing so hard, and still, the piano is at the bottom of the hill, and I don't even have defined muscles to show for it.

Love and Hate

• I love discovering cool things I admire about people, like that although they seem like the type to have tons of stuff, in reality they only have 2 purses and have a strict one-year rule about keeping things (if not used in one year, it's tossed).
• I hate that this new Blogger has still not pulled it's shit together and is telling me I have three new comments to moderate, even though I don't moderate comments.
• I love that I talked the Social Committee into reviving Bagel Day and it kicks off for the year a week from this Monday.
• I hate when people claim someone is jealous any time they don't like something. I don't like Ivanka Trump - she irritates me. Am I jealous of her money? Sure. Her body? Her hair? Her MBA? Her connections? No. If I had her money, I could get all those things too (except my hair would be brown, not blonde, because it is).
• I love discovering good restaurants, especially when they're right around the corner from my new place.
• I hate that I didn't get a picture of Cowboy's son today to post for you - he's an upper-class white boy dressed like .... there are simply no words. I'll just say his sneakers were bright aqua and lime green, yet had I said "Nice kicks" he probably would have looked at me blankly.
• I love that I won't have to deal with Steamroller anymore in the near future.
• I hate that I sent out three sympathy cards today.
• I love that I have so much less clutter now than I did in the Florida Days, and I'm getting rid of even more of it.
• I hate that the online company I ordered a year's worth of contact lenses from has backordered them and I won't get them for a few weeks.
• I love that I cut at least six inches of my hair off while I was in Florida, and it looks good. Yay for low humidity!

I am indifferent about the show Deal or No Deal. I've never watched an episode all the way through, because the girls in tight dresses, the lights, the excited contestants, and the screaming audience members all turn me off.

Magic

Yesterday I got a phone call from a rep at the leasing office of my new place, saying he'd like to know what colors I want my accent walls painted. Oh, he'd forgotten to tell me?? Yes, yes you did. Tell me what? Well, as a courtesy to new tenants, they'll paint any two walls any of eight colors I can choose from.

Despite the fact that I move in pretty soon, I wasn't shown the actual apartment I'm moving into. There were people living in it, so they showed me another one that they claimed was similar. The leasing agent and I agreed that I would come by tonight after work to look at the paint swatches. I leave work at 5:30 p.m. Leasing office closes at 6 p.m. I promised to be there before they closed.

A friend who has an MFA agreed to meet me there, to help with the choosing of colors. I know she has a good eye for these things, and understands my taste. We walked into the leasing office at 5:45 p.m.

The leasing agent I'd dealt with was not there. I explained to his co-worker that since I had never seen my actual apartment it would be helpful if I could take the paint swatches in there. To help me visualize and all. She claimed she wasn't allowed to show me the apartment because it was messy. I explained that I wouldn't be looking at the mess, but at the layout of the place, at the walls. She claimed that she couldn't leave the office to take me to the apartment. She said I could come back tomorrow morning; I reminded her that I work during the day. I pointed out that I had a professional artist with me right NOW to help. She said I could come in on the weekend; I reminded her of my impending move-in date. She had excuse after excuse. This woman did NOT want to show me my apartment.

I made the decision that I was not leaving without seeing the apartment and picking my paint colors. I'd dragged my friend over, I'd taken a taxi from work to get there on time, I'd busted ass. So I pulled out the big guns, and used my magic phrases.

"What do you suggest we do to resolve this?" "Okay, what CAN be done?" I love these, because they leave no room for "No" and only invite solutions as opposed to roadblocks. Said calmly with a smile, they encourage problem-solving

I'm good. Steamroller's taught me a lot. Not about what to say, but how to not let people push me into doing what they want. You know this woman locked the office and took me over to my future apartment. You know she waited while my friend and I looked at all the walls and discussed colors. And that's how it's coming to be that two of the three walls in my kitchen will have yellow paint on them by this time next week.

Sorry I Didn't Call You Back Last Night, Mom

A bird crapped on my head while I was out yesterday afternoon. When I got home, even though my hair was still damp from the shower I took in the morning, I had to wash my hair again. Because you know... EW.

Too Short To Be Cool

To get into certain parts of my office, you have to have a keycard. A lot of people keep theirs in their pocket. When they want to get into the locked part of the office, they bang their hip or ass against a specific part of the wall. They think it looks cool or something.

I can't do that. I'm too short. If I banged my hip or ass against the wall I'd just look like a moron who decided to bang her hip or ass against the wall.

Thank god I didn't do that. One of the grandmas who is about my height tried to be cool, and almost broke her hip from the effort.

Am I the Only One Who Worries About These Things?

My law firm has wooden stirrers for the coffee instead of those tiny, red, plastic straws most other places have had. They're like those popsicle sticks we used in nursery school for the stupid projects that involved Elmer's Glue. They remind me of miniature tongue depressors that the nurse at my pediatrician's office always wanted to use when taking a throat culture. I hate them.

I can see where the wood has broken off a bit, and to me, it's a red flag. A splinter in the mouth waiting to happen. How does nobody else mind these wooden sticks? Is it the environment angle? Surely it's only a matter of time before a piece of that wood breaks off and somebody accidentally swallows a splinter.

And this is why I don't drink coffee at work. Okay, that's a lie; I hate coffee. But it is why I stir my hot chocolate with a plastic spoon instead of a wooden stick.

In My Perfect World

I need a vacation. Not a long weekend in LA, or flying across the country to spend time with the 'rental unit and whatever grandparents aren't dead or lost. A real vacation.

In my perfect world, I lay outside on a hammock that faces the Atlantic Ocean, a bottle of Poland Spring by my side, a magazine on my stomach, book in my hands, a soft, thin blanket thrown over me. It doesn't need to be green.

It's one of those books that's the tiniest bit beyond me. Not completely out of my mental reach, but one that pushes me to stretch my brain. All the people I admire are behind me somewhere, in a house, drinking or listening to obscure music I've never heard of before that I will come to love. When I don't understand something in my book I call one of them out to my hammock.

"Do you think I'm like Ann in my friendships?"
"What's your stance on mandatory counseling before being given a marriage licence?"

And my friends will tell me their thoughts, and explain them. They will explain all the big words I don't know. We will argue and disagree and eventually agree to disagree. I will have them write down their deep thoughts in a notebook for me to look at later. They will never get frustrated with me for not knowing so much, and I will not be too ashamed to ask all my many questions, even when I have to ask four times what the same word means.

When I'm tired of all the reading, I will oh-so-gracefully slide off the hammock and walk along the water. When I'm just plain tired I will sit in the sand and watch the ocean, thinking more deep thoughts, and letting all the negative float away into the waves.

And when I'm tired of drinking only Poland Spring .... just kidding, we all know that's not even possible!

At night I will fall asleep to the sound of people telling me stories from their life. How they met their spouses, when they called the operator as a toddler to see what would happen, how they broke their arm, anything. I hate hearing people read out loud - it makes me want to punch someone in the face. But true stories told by real people? I love falling asleep to someone telling me their real stories.

This is what I need. When I go home, and return to reality, I will be a calmer person due to all my new insights, and secure in my knowledge. I will know that this day-to-day crap is all bullshit.

The real reality though, is that all this bullshit is my life. And right now life is kicking my ass.

Steamroller Strikes Again

On December 15th, having secured a new apartment, I gave Steamroller 30 days notice. She got notification less than six hours after my new place told me I was in for sure, less than four hours after I gave 30 days notice to our current leasing company. I am required by law to give her 30 days notice, and I did.

Make no mistake here folks, Steamroller and I are not, and never have been friends. Don't believe that Steamroller is this sweet, innocent girl who bends over backwards to be as nice as possible. Steamroller is a ruthless-yet-immature, business-savvy girl, who pushes to get whatever she wants, and cries hysterically any time she doesn't get it.

This is why I never thought to tell Steamroller when I decided "I've gotta get the fuck outta here" months ago. Because I knew if I told her I was looking for a new place, she'd immediately start looking for a new place too. And I didn't want to be the one stuck scrambling at the last minute. Kind of heartless? Maybe, but it was me or her, and damn straight I chose me.

So Steamroller is given 3o days notice, in person. We stood in the hallway while I told her, she nodded and said okay, followed by "Actually, I'm on my way out so can we discuss this later?" Of course I say sure, and we part ways.

Of course, I didn't tell Steamroller that I was leaving the next night for a week in Florida. While there, I get a call from Steamroller, telling me she'd prefer if I could push the date back to say ... February 1st? Yeah ... no. I'm leaving on January 15th - there's no way in hell I'm going to pay rent in a place I'm not staying simply to help her out. What has she EVER done to help me out?
I get another call from Steamroller, sounding very angry-yet-controlled, asking me to call her back to discuss our situation. I request a pep-talk from my dad, and then call her.

I let her tell me I'm a very inconsiderate person. Multiple times. She says it's wrong that I didn't even discuss this with her first. She claims she would have discussed it with me before looking for a new place. I politely do not say, "bullshit." She tells me that now it's going to be an extra eight days she has to pay rent past January 15th, because the leasing office will be closed on Christmas. I point out that she could have given her 30 days notice on the Monday following the Friday I gave notice, and that it's not my fault she chose to wait a week. She tells me it's fine with her if I want to be an inconsiderate person since we'll probably never see each other again in life, but ....

But what? Oh that's right, but NOTHING. You were trailing off in the hopes you could guilt me into agreeing to pay rent longer. One of my parents pointed out to me that the Chinese are used to having to bargain for everything they want. Welcome to America - some things are non-negotiable.

I keep telling Steamroller that I'm sorry she feels this way. I tell her I hadn't thought of it from the point of view she's now presented to me. I do not agree to pay through the month of January. We go round and round, and Steamroller finally realizes I'm not giving in on this. That she won't be able to steamroll over me this time.

She begs me now to go the leasing office with her and convince them that we BOTH meant to be giving notice on December 15th. Ugh. My mother discourages me from getting involved, from lying. When I get back to town, I talk with the leasing office people and find out we can give notice on different days and that's fine. Oh and that they're cool with back-dating.

As of today, I have given notice and it's understood I'll be out by January 15th. As of last week, I sent in a final rent check paying for the time period of January 1st through the 15th. Yesterday I put a little note in front of Steamroller's bedroom door, telling her this month's rent amount, since it's different from past months, signing it with a cheery "Happy New Year!"

Tonight while preparing my salad, Steamroller comes to me and asks if I've already paid rent. Uhh... we have to mail our rent to Los Angeles, and it's due January 1st. Of COURSE I've already sent it out, what a stupid question! Have I EVER paid rent late? No. (Well, yes, but never late enough that I've ever had to pay a late fee, and never so late that any roommate ever knew about it. Basically, no.)

Meanwhile, Steamroller still owes me rent. She often pays me late. I don't sweat it, since she always eventually pays. Plus, if she doesn't pay this rent, I don't really give a shit - I still have her security deposit. And I'm not afraid to keep it.