Please Don't Leave

9am came home from work today to say that his boss moved the office from the Financial District out to Menlo Park. We talked about it for a while, and 9am told me his boss has agreed to pay his commuting costs. 9am claims that as long as it takes an hour or less, he's fine with that. I suggested he ask about working from home one or two days each week.

I am terrified 9am will commute for one week and then decide to move out there. Then I will have to scramble to find a roommate. Each time I have had to find a new roommate, I have never been able to do it before the old roommate moves out. I have always had to carry the full rent on my own for at least one month, if not more.

While I might be able to talk the leasing company into letting me out of my lease without charging me three months of rent if I point out my roommate is leaving and I have no job (which they do not know, since I had a job when I moved in), there is no landlord in their right mind who would ever rent to me without a steady income. Plus I can't afford to pay for a move anyway.

To sum things up, I can't afford to stay and I can't afford to leave. To say that every day I hope to die would be a gross understatement. I feel like a completely unproductive member of society, who is merely a drain on the economy. Every single morning I wake up sad to discover I didn't magically die in my sleep. Every single day on the news we hear about one more company shutting down, how many tens of thousands of people are being let go. There's this bailout worth hundreds of billions of dollars, and none of it is going to help me at all. There has never been a moment in my adult life where I feel more stuck than I am now.

Please send 9am "Staying in San Francisco is worth the commute" vibes.

Are You a Litigation Lawyer?

I need help. If you do litigation, work is slow this week and you wouldn't mind helping me out, please leave a comment. Thanks.

No, It's Not Mother's Day

1. I inherited my soft skin from my mother, who inherited it from her father, my grandpa.

2. When we were first moving to New York, we stopped in at a local drugstore. My mother ran in to get something and I followed her while my brother and father stayed in the car. I was three and a half then, and my favorite colors were pink and green (hey, some things don't change). While in the drugstore, my mother bought me a little hand mirror that said SMILE on the back and was decorated with pink and green. I loved it.

3. I got busted by my father for sliding down our banister and after he finished yelling at me I went to my mother, crying. After I confessed what I'd done, my mother smiled, put her brush down, and took me by the hand into the study, where she pulled out an old photo album. To show me a picture of her own mother, sliding down a banister in the late 40's or early 50's.

4. In second grade when I was sick and out of school for several days, I got sad and started crying one afternoon. When my mother asked why, I said it was because nobody from school had called to ask after me. She nodded and then excused herself. A couple of minutes later the phone rang, and my mother yelled for me to answer it. When I said hello, the person on the other end was my mom, calling me from our other line to ask why I'd been out of school, expressing how sad she was that I wasn't there, etc.

5. My mother will claim that all the animals she draws look exactly the same (except the pig, which gets a squiggly tail), but I claim that she used to draw beautifully. For every single holiday, even the ones nobody celebrates like Groundhog's Day, my mom would draw some cute little design on paper with different colored markers and leave it on my place-mat for me to find in the morning before school. I loved those.

6. My mother was willing to spend hours after school sitting on the couch, watching me do handstand after handstand, critiquing me so I could reach my goal of being perfect.

7. Just like they do in regular public school, my hebrew school also took yearly pictures. One year I'd really liked how my picture came out, but I couldn't find any of the pictures and got all upset about it. I worked up a whole speech in my head about why I should be allowed to have one of my pictures, and launched into it in front of my mother, trying but failing to hold back tears. After a few minutes she interrupted me, took me by the hand, led me into the den where she sat me down on the couch, and she sat down on the piano bench. With a little smile, my mother said, "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?" There on the piano was that hebrew school picture, in a white frame that had a pink and green design.

8. In seventh grade my mother taught me five years worth of math in one week. Because she really is that good of a teacher.

9. When I was 18 and very sick for months and months, my mother got a Carvel crunchy cake for me that said, "Feel fine fast."

What Did I Tell You About the Trash?

Didn't I say something about how much pollution the inauguration would produce? Yes, yes I did. Sadly, I was right. Why don't people listen to me?

Screw Being Professional

I am absolutely exhausted after having woken up at 5 am, excited and nervous about today.

This afternoon I was running around all about town but watched the morning festivities earlier in the day. What made me laugh, what made me cry, and feel all verklempt was this:

When the Obamas (and CNN) went inside for the fancy lunch with 200 people, I saw a line of waiters standing against the wall, waiting to pour drinks and serve food. They were, for all intents and purposes, the hired help. They were not there to say anything inspiring, nobody expected them to stir emotions in people.

I saw them, this line of people standing to the side, all in the same white jackets. All of them with huge grins on their faces. Every last one looking excited to do their jobs.

When do you ever see waitstaff so eager to throw down plates of food? Never. Until now.

I have to go to bed now, and cry with relief that George has gone home, that McCain and Crazy Sarah didn't move in, and that our country has a chance now. Happy Obama, everyone.

I Had To Look Up How Inauguration Is Spelled

So, dude takes office tomorrow or something. Yeah. Very exciting. Except ... not really. Yeah, you read that right, I'm not excited. In fact, I'm kind of unhappy about the whole thing. Did you just check to make sure you're reading the blog you meant to be reading? It's me. You're not lost. I did vote for Obama, and I am happy he's becoming our president.

But to be honest, I think I'm more excited that Georgie is getting the fuck out. Yes, the politically correct thing to do is to celebrate the positive, but hello, have you met me? I want to celebrate the negative. That Bush is finally leaving. That his hurricane of destruction is dying out. That when Americans travel abroad, we (or should I say you, since I have never traveled abroad?) won't claim to be from Canada so as not to be hated any longer?

How gross are we to do that, by the way?! After all the fun Americans poke at Canadians, for being stupid, for the hockey, the syrup, the cold? But when the United States are sucking and an embarrassment what is the best choice? Claiming to be Canadian. Sorry, Dave.

So back to this inauguration thing, and why I'm not happy. Something like four million people are expected to show up for Obama's thing (I can not bring myself to type that word again). I heard on the news recently that 5,000 porta-potties were being brought in. By the way, that's not enough, so if you're going, don't drink anything, or wear a diaper.

Part of why we like Obama is because he's into the environment, right? He believes in the whole "global warming" thing, thinks it's real? Doesn't pollution go hand in hand with that? Do you REALLY TRULY believe all those four million people aren't going to pollute? How much money do you think it'll cost to clean up after four million excited people?

Isn't part of why we like Obama because he acknowledges we're in a major recession? So don't you think it would be better to save the money it will cost to clean up, to provide crowd control, security, etc., and spend it on more important things?

Also, one figure says that over 65 million people voted for Obama. So let's just completely generalize and say that a lot of people like him. There are a lot of people out there who don't like him. There are even a lot of people who'd probably like to kill him. Some because they're afflicted with hating black people disease, some because they want to be famous for killing a president, and some for other, unknown reasons.

Know where a good place to hide is? Inside a big fat fucking crowd of people! Like say, four million of them. I like Obama. I think he can do a lot of great things for our country, or, at the absolute very least, staunch the flow of bad things Bush has been doing to our country. I don't want Obama to die, and I'm really scared about that. (How come nobody talks about that?) Now, I'm sure there's some statistical system that figures out how many people one cop/security guard can control, and that's how they figure out how many cops they need for this crowd. But the thing is, two is not just one more than one. 100 people are not just twice as strong as fifty people. My confidence in whatever security will be working tomorrow is shakey at best. I am a skeptical person. If anything goes wrong, I do not have confidence that order can be maintained.

You're white, and young. You don't understand how big of a deal this is, and why we need to celebrate. Well, you're partially right. I am white, and I am young. But I do understand that this is an outrageously huge deal. That's why I cried when Obama won. I was crying with relief. I watched the debates, I asked tons of questions, did lots of research.

But I think it'd be much more cost-effective and environmentally friendly (not to mention safer for Obama) for his inauguration to take place inside somewhere, without crowds, and simply televised for all to see from the comfort and safety of their own homes.

You all hate me now, don't you?

Get Crackin'

Dear Various Placement Agencies I Worked For in 2008,

Hi, 'memba me? Yeah, well I remember you, and I'm thinking of you every day. That's right, every single day. Specifically when I go downstairs to check the mail. Can you guess why? Can you guess what I might be hoping you'll mail me?

You see, it's going to be a tight squeeze for February's rent. Next week I expect to get close to $200, but even with that I'm still stressing. So the sooner I could get that tax information you're supposed to send out, the better for me. I am really looking forward to that tax refund. Plus, I got a letter in the mail saying, "Hey, guess what Green? You earned SO little last year that you may qualify for even MORE of a refund!" Now if that's not exciting, I don't know what is. (Oh wait, yes I do - getting a job offer.)

What's the hold up here? Seriously. Why must you wait until the very last date you're legally allowed before sending this stuff out? Yes, I know there are people who look at their paystub and get all the information they need from that, but I'm not one of those people. I need the W-2. So please send it. This week.

Thank you,
Green, who does not have enough greens, which is why she is especially eager to get her tax refund.

Sharing the Funny

I read a lot of blogs. Some get comments all the time and those bloggers are probably tired of me. Other bloggers probably have no idea at all I'm aware of them, and no idea why they should care that I am (the mountain).

One of the blogs I read is one I found through someone who hasn't blogged in a long time, but should (cheers!), and I've never commented.

Earlier in the week was de-lurking day in the blog world, and Brandy, sorry I'm late. Hi, I read your blog, find it hilarious to the point that I no longer drink while reading it after snorting water up my nose more than once, and think everyone should read your blog too.

Peoples, Brandy guest-blogged on this girl Jamie's blog and I laughed during American Idol. You should click the link and read it. Go! Right now.

Free Beer

Got a call this morning that was pretty unusual. It was to temp at ... NOT a law firm. To do some transcription and data entry. It's not in the Financial District, which presented a bit of difficulty for me, because the bus didn't come. I actually had to call and tell them I'd be a half hour late. If I were less poor, a taxi would have been called.

They were so happy to have help though, that they weren't upset that I was late. When I arrived I was given a tour. It was a company that is an expert witness in construction. I was introduced to every single person there (between 10 and 15 people) and told what each one does. I was shown the unisex bathroom, and noticed it had towels and a small rug. We walked into the kitchen, and the woman opened the refrigerator to show me that there was beer and soda I should help myself to.

Beer. Free beer. I am working at a place with free beer. Totally wasted on me. What a shame. Where's the free hot chocolate?

Got lost on the way home, and wound up walking from 11th street towards the Bay, all the way home. Miracle I didn't get mugged. Lovely. Some day I will conquer the bus system. Maybe getting lost using buses is payback for sneaking on sometimes?

Sneak

Being poor can make a person desperate. Here in San Francisco, when you pay the $1.50 to get on a bus, the bus driver gives you a bus pass good for two to three hours. About a month ago, I noticed they were giving out longer bus passes. Ones that were good for about five hours. Not all the bus drivers, just some, on certain routes, at certain times of the day. I couldn't figure out any pattern to when they do it. Just figured it was an effort to help people out in this horrible economy.

I greatly appreciate when they do this, because it always makes my heart sink when I have to pay $1.50 to get to Trader Joe's and then another $1.50 to get home.

These bus passes all look pretty much the same each day; the only difference is the time they're good until. Date on top in big print, time the pass is good until in smaller print on the bottom. There are Muni cops who get on the buses every so often and ask each person to show their bus pass.

One night, on the way home from Golden Boy and Crazy Girl's house, the Muni cops were checking bus passes, and I only had ten minutes left on mine. This particular Muni cop must have had a quota, because his eyes actually lit up when he saw my bus pass. As his hand went to his ticket pad, I whipped out both my watch and cell phone to prove it was not yet 10 p.m. yet.

When a bus driver discovers someone sneaking on the bus they just kick them off. But if a Muni cop discovers someone who's snuck on, or is there past the time their bus pass allots, they are ticketed.

In the last few months, I've sadly gotten in the habit of umm... riding the bus for free. If I have a bus pass from earlier in the day, I'll just fold it in half so the date shows and flash that at the bus driver as I step on the bus. It always works. Always.

On Friday night I was waiting for a bus in the Castro when my father called my cell phone. My bus arrived and right when I was about to say goodbye to my father he said my mother wanted to talk to me. So with cell phone in the left hand and folded (and expired) bus pass in the right, I boarded the bus and started walking towards a seat.

"Hey!"
I turned back towards the bus driver, mentally looking through my wallet to see if I had $1.50, fully prepared to act like I hadn't realized my bus pass had expired a half hour earlier.
"Please move your finger so I can see the date," the driver said to me.
My mother kept talking as I slid my finger off the date. The driver nodded, thanked me, and proceeded to kick off an Asian boy who was trying to sneak on behind me.

Guess Who's Getting Married!

Okay, not me. While I have wanted to be married, nobody has wanted to marry me. 9am's friend Derek who I met once is getting married next weekend. 9am told me tonight that he will be going out to the Midwest for the wedding, which he is in.

This led us to discuss weddings a little bit. Once, when I lived in Florida, I planned an entire wedding in my head. And more recently, I have had the opportunity to hear lots of wedding talk what with Golden Boy and Crazy Girl planning their wedding.

The most fun part seems to be registering for presents. Shooting a gun that can't kill anybody. I like the idea of registering. Not just for weddings, but in general, for all occasions. People seem to not have enough free time these days - why give them the work of having to return or exchange gifts when you could just magically know what they want by looking at a registry?

When I give someone a gift, I want to know they'll like it. I want it to make them happy, not for it to make their heart sink as they think about when they'll be able to dash to the store to exchange it.

9am happily told me what he is giving his friend as a wedding present. And after I finished laughing my first thought was "It is time to start blogging again, and this is what I must lead with!"

A flashlight. And a tool thing. Like a Swiss Army Knife, but it's not actually Swiss Army. Oh yes, my friends. 9am is totally giving this to his friend and the friend's new German bride. And it's not a joke. 9am truly and genuinely believes these are great gifts. So great in fact, that he bought one of each for himself.

9am went on to tell me that he always tries to buy something that's not on the wedding party's registry. I think he believes it's more personal. I asked if this particular groom, Derek, often does the types of outdoorsy things that would benefit from flashlights and tool ... thingies. 9am was not sure.

Oh, and the best part? The inspiration for the flashlight was my friend, whose building lost power a few weeks ago.