tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-208356502024-03-07T12:22:11.467-08:00Ramblings of a GreenYogurtAn exciting and invigorating blog that can help you lose weight, get rich, and know all the answers to Jeopardy, even when it's not College Week. All for six easy payments of $99.95 if you act now! Or a blog where I talk about stuff that pops into my brain. You decide.Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.comBlogger939125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-32183742480267987232017-07-09T12:47:00.001-07:002017-07-09T12:47:59.386-07:00Undeserved Apologies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On Friday, I had to get an x-ray and was sent to a hospital to get it done. Many hospitals are so big that they're like "a college" in that they're more than one building. That was the case for my x-ray. Afterwards, I was trying to get a car to take me to my next destination. I walked outside of the building, read the address on it, and entered that. The driver called me saying he couldn't find me. I was confused. I was RIGHT outside. I was waiting near a white, Loomis money truck. It was literally the ONLY vehicle parked anywhere on the block. But the driver could not find me. Was he BLIND? How could this be? I was getting more and more frustrated. I double-checked that the address on the building was in fact the address I'd entered. It was. We went round and round.<br />
<br />
Finally the driver found me. I was wrong. Because the address on the building was wrong. The address of the building was 16th Street. You could exit the building from the front or the back. The front was 16th Street, but I'd unknowingly exited out the back and so was on 15th Street. Since I wasn't near an intersection, I couldn't see a street sign saying that. When I got into the car, and the driver explained, and then pointed to the front of the building as we drove past it, I apologized profusely.<br />
<br />
But no, he apologized to me for not guessing what I meant. Can you believe that? I feel like these days people are so quick to blame others, find fault, and to have someone take the hit for what was not his fault was unusual.<br />
<br />
Last week was a little busy, and I wasn't able to get to the pharmacy to pick up a refill of medication I needed until Saturday morning. Over the last week I got like, four or five texts from the pharmacy saying it was ready. When I showed up yesterday, they didn't have anything for me. The guy apologized, confused. I whipped out my phone and showed him the texts. After my address kurfluffle the day prior at the hospital, I confirmed that I was in fact, at the correct pharmacy. I was. After a bit of poking through his computer, the pharmacist realized that when nobody had shown up to claim my medicine, they put it back in the "pool". He asked if I minded waiting while they filled my prescription. Of course not. He apologized again that it wasn't ready for me. Once again, this was my fault. For not picking the medicine up in a timely manner. Once again, the other person was profusely apologizing for something that wasn't their fault.<br />
<br />
I don't know what to make of this. Maybe there's nothing to make of it. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-30574940661832907072017-01-02T18:11:00.000-08:002017-01-02T21:44:18.895-08:00You Are ... So Beautiful ... To Me...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A while ago, Turkey decided that the professional photo taken of him that's on the firm's website was no good, and he wanted it redone. So even though it was only done three years ago, the firm allowed him to sit for another photo shoot. Nobody asked me, but if they had, they'd have heard me saying I think he looks exactly the same as he did three years ago. Guess who found the email with the proofs?! And guess who couldn't resist and took a pic with her cell phone?! That's right. I did it.<br />
<br />
He looks like a Republican pedophile with an awkward hairline caught pooping while wearing a suit, who tries to make the best of being caught by grinning/grimacing. It's not pretty, is what I'm saying. But it sure is funny! (Remember that grimace Dick Cheney used to make when he'd try to smile? Every time I would see that, I would think, "That is what a pedophile looks like.")<br />
<br />
Anyway, the lady in Marketing who arranged this stopped by my desk a few weeks ago on another matter, and let it slip that Turkey requested that they blow up his favorite picture of himself, and frame it. And she was like, "Um, that is not a service this law firm provides, sorry. Have you tried Walgreens?"<br />
<br />
Then last week Turkey wanted for us to go to lunch together. Alone. I tried to talk various people into joining us to no avail. I tried to "reschedule" due to the pouring rain. Nope. So off we went, with Turkey carrying a brown paper grocery bag. We went to a restaurant that Turkey has been to many times before. He asked the waiter nine questions about the menu (which had not changed recently). I started counting after question four. His questions were one step above things like, "Now the ice water - is that cold?" Turkey ultimately ordered three things.<br />
<br />
I was able to start our lunch off on the right foot, by genuinely thanking Turkey. In a departmental meeting, he mentioned the Netflix series The Crown, and suggested it was quite good and I should watch it. I wound up devouring the series, and absolutely LOVING it. So I was able to chat with Turkey all about the monarch and such. Then we moved on to the next portion of the lunch - work gossip. This involved Turkey mentioning people and asking me what I thought THEY thought about him. This segued nicely into the second-to-last portion of lunch, where Turkey and I took turns complimenting Turkey. I lied a lot during those two portions of lunch.<br />
<br />
Last was the gift-giving portion of lunch. Turkey reached into his grocery bag and gave me a box. In the same way that a seven year-old girl who's just read Flicka and Black Beauty hopes for a horse, I was hoping Turkey was giving me a framed picture of himself. Because wouldn't that be hilarious? To have a picture of an ugly man who is vehemently hated by many he works with, sitting on my desk. And the best part is, Turkey is exactly the type to do that. So it's not like I was hoping for a unicorn - this dream really had potential of coming true.<br />
<br />
Alas, it did not. Maybe next year. No, this time I was given a book of Doonesbury cartoons that all feature Donald Trump. I'm thinking it was a re-gift, because there is no possible way Turkey saw this in a store and thought, "I should get this for my secretary!" Oh well. At least I got a free lunch from a nice restaurant out of it all. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-67453577313623817622016-11-06T21:01:00.000-08:002016-11-06T21:01:22.968-08:00The More Things Change ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Turkey is so much better at this firm. He's so much more appropriate in his dealings with employees. He's on time more than 50% of the time. He loses things much less often, and when he does lose them, they're often easily found. It's amazing to see how far he's come. But then there are those other times when he does something to make it clear that calling him a turkey really IS the right nickname for him here.<br />
<br />
A few months ago, all the attorneys had to do sexual harassment training. One of the HR people and I talked about it, and I asked her if whoever was giving the presentation could tell all the attorneys that a gay attorney CAN in fact be sexually harassing a straight employee, and their gayness does not automatically exempt them from saying inappropriate things. Because Turkey does.<br />
<br />
On Friday afternoon, Turkey and I were trying to fill out the form needed to get a new client up and running. He'd told me to write one thing, and then told me to write something else. I confirmed he wanted to change that line. "A girl can change her mind, right?" Now, I know this is a gay guy thing to do - to refer to himself as a woman, and I know Turkey is gay, but he'd never done this particular thing before. Clearly, Turkey was feeling a little extra saucy Friday afternoon.<br />
<br />
We got a famous client, and I think he was a little giddy over that. (The guy isn't super famous - he's more the sibling of someone famous who you probably never think of. It's not very exciting. So far, he seems very normal.) Turkey even had asked me if I really thought we should charge him a retainer. I voted absolutely. Turkey was worried it would be considered insulting. I argued that we charge everyone a retainer unless we have a prior relationship with them, and famous people, unless they're raging egomaniacs, want to be treated just like everyone else is treated. He agreed with me. I give good legal advice to lawyers.<br />
<br />
At the very end of the day on Friday, I was finishing up some work while Turkey was leaning on my counter talking to me. Apropos of nothing, he asked me if the gay guy who sits next to me is gay. Half of me was shocked to be asked that, and half of me was not at all surprised Turkey would ask such an inappropriate question. I shrugged. He then asked me if a cute, straight paralegal was gay. I shrugged again.<br />
<br />
I adamantly believe that you do NOT expose someone's sexuality. Maybe it's because I'm Jewish - a minority that has been persecuted - but I'd like to think even if I weren't, it would not be my place to share anything about a person that has gotten others like them killed for sharing that information.<br />
<br />
There are many days, often in a row, where I have a lovely workday. I must never let myself get lulled into a false sense of security. I must never, never forget that Turkey will be inappropriate at some point. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-30654693926427647102016-10-21T23:03:00.000-07:002016-10-21T23:03:55.481-07:00Turkey Had a Very Turkey Day Today<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
(Nothing to do with Thanksgiving, in case you're new. Sorry.)<br />
<br />
At this firm, Turkey is forced to be better. Less crazy. More self-sufficient. I still do a lot of things for him most attorneys do for themselves. Like, I enter his time. He emails me documents to save on the system. I look up phone numbers for him within our directory. But overall, he loses fewer things. He throws people under the bus less often. He lies less often. Turkey just screws up less these days.<br />
<br />
But today was a doozy. Let us count the ways ...<br />
<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>This morning I came in and found an email from a coworker/friend in our Risk Management department, forwarding an email Turkey sent last night to the entire Risk Management team, plus the CEO of the firm, plus the General Counsel, claiming I said something I didn't say at all. See, each time we're sending out an engagement letter it's supposed to be a form letter, but Turkey always changes it so much that he often leaves the firm open to risk. So they decided all his engagement letters have to be reviewed before being sent to a client. We also have disengagement letters, when a matter has ended. I spoke with the head of Risk Management about these and he told me the important language they need to have. As long as they say that, he doesn't really care what else they say. That's what I told Turkey yesterday. That disengagement letters don't need to be seen by Risk Management before going out. He emailed all these people though, claiming I said nobody has to review engagement letters, non-engagement letters (different from dis-engagement letters) anymore. I was livid. I went straight up to the General Counsel to speak with him about this. He talked me off the ledge and five minutes later I was sure that the firm was not about to fire me. But holy shit, what a way to start your day. </li>
<li>Ironically, while Turkey was worrying about what I am doing in relation to risk management, he sent an email to clients and accidentally cc'd the opposing counsel on the case. Yeah. Worry more about yourself, Turkey. </li>
<li>Turkey and I have this system wherein everything I need him to sign goes into a bright yellow folder, and we pass that back and forth to each other, multiple times a day. Often Turkey takes it home at the end of the day to review and sign letters I've prepared, and then hands it back in the morning. Yesterday I gave Turkey the folder with about half a dozen letters, one of which included a check that needed to go out. Today, Turkey told me he lost the folder and to re-create the letters. Just figuring out which letters needed to be re-created took me almost an hour alone! But I do it, put them all in a manilla folder and give him that. I ask him to please look again for the yellow folder because we really need that check to go out to the client. He shrugs. I look a little harder at the mess that is the piles on his desk. I see a smidge of bright yellow, and slowly pull out the folder. "Oops," Turkey smiles at me. What does he care? He didn't just re-do work. </li>
<li>We've been working on an agreement for months. There are many, many versions of this same document. Some redlined with tons of changes, some clean (changes accepted). Today, Turkey realized that he made a ton of redlined changes and never saved them. So I had to spend two hours retyping all these changes off a printed document, that had already been typed in. Just such a huge waste of time. Turkey told me this needed to go to the client today. I asked him if there was any way he could get an extension from the client - that this was such a mess I didn't think we should rush through it, risking embarrassment by sending anything with mistakes. I should not rush the edits, and he should not rush the review. Luckily, I got Turkey to agree. Of course he agreed. He always tells me "The clients wants this before the end of the day" when really he just wants it done by then. I don't really care that Turkey lies about this. I'm just satisfied we're not going to send out a subpar product to a client. </li>
</ol>
<div>
Hopefully on Monday Turkey will have pulled his shit together a bit more. That way I can move on to telling you all about my good news involving a baby lawyer. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-39068485491096779642016-07-26T21:39:00.001-07:002016-07-26T21:39:39.390-07:00Squeaky<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There's so much to tell you, and I barely know where to start! Firstly, I got to meet someone I met through blogging. Who lives in DENMARK! Because she came to the Americas! Each time I've met someone off the interwebs, there's always a little hesitation - will they be crazy? will it be painfully awkward? will we both be trying to figure out the quickest and most graceful way to get away? But meeting Jennie and her husband was pure joy. Pure. Joy. They were so fun and funny and easy-going and interesting, and and and!<br />
<br />
Secondly, it's five months in, and I'm still working with Turkey. He's ... still a turkey. That's never going to change. But working with him at a big law firm provides a buffer for me that was sorely lacking in the other place. He cares very much about what others think of him, so having others around keeps Turkey in check to a small degree.<br />
<br />
About a month ago the firm did evaluations and raises/bonuses. I'd barely been permanent for a month so assumed there'd be none for me. Wrong. Turkey and the midwestern girl reviewed me. I had to sit with the HR lady while she handed me the reviews they wrote. Then she told me since I'd just started, they couldn't justify giving me a raise. However, they did want me to feel appreciated, so she went to the head honchos and got them to give me a bonus.<br />
<br />
Here's how I envision it went down:<br />
HR: We should give Green a bonus.<br />
Head Honchos: Who now?<br />
HR: You know - the one who's working with Turkey.<br />
HH: Oh, shit. Yes! Here's $20 from me.<br />
<br />
And I imagine she just went to every single partner, and then each associate, and then each employee who has ever had to deal with Turkey, getting $20 from each person, pulling together my bonus.<br />
<br />
Lastly, today, like most days, Turkey was wearing leather shoes that squeak with every step. We can hear him coming from all the way down the hall. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Everywhere he goes, we can hear him squeak along. At one point, Turkey squeaked his way out of his office, right as a call came in for him. Without even thinking about it, I inquired to the girl who sits next to me, "Where'd Squeaky go?" She was being given instructions by a partner who overheard, and he kind of snickered as he kept talking, and then all three of us were giggling.<br />
<br />
The best part was, Turkey was close by - I just couldn't see him! (He didn't hear me.) </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-18605110203537541342016-03-13T10:54:00.002-07:002016-03-13T10:54:21.874-07:00He's Baaaaaa-aaaaaack!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A little over a month ago, I interviewed at what is one of my two dream law firms to work at. It's rare for a firm to have a great reputation among both lawyers AND support staff, but both of these do. The job wasn't as a legal secretary, but I thought I could do it, and was definitely qualified for it. Weirdly, it's the firm Turkey works at. The firm he took the baby lawyer (from the Midwest) and the WASP associate to.<br />
<br />
The baby lawyer is not such a baby lawyer anymore, and we've stayed in touch through Facebook. She's actually the one who told me about this opening. I didn't get it. I was devastated. At the time, I was temping at a mortgage company. The HR woman at the law firm left me a voicemail, and I contemplated not calling her back. I didn't need to hear I didn't get the job again. But I did, and what happened next was bizarre. She told me this was the most awkward professional conversation of her life, but ... they'd just had to fire Turkey's secretary, and well ... since I interviewed they knew I was looking for a job, so if I was interested ...?<br />
<br />
Now, Turkey and I did not leave things on the best note. I refused to sign his confidentially agreement and gave up his severance as a final "fuck you" to him. So I asked the HR lady what Turkey thought about this idea. She hadn't floated it by him yet. I told her "If he's enthusiastic, I'm game." Nobody told me outright, but I think it was more like lukewarm.<br />
<br />
So for the last four weeks I've been temping at my dream law firm, for the most nightmarish attorney to ever walk the earth. It's ... weird. It's hard. In some ways, Turkey is better. Running your own business is a lot of work, and now that stress is off him. He's less frazzled. In some ways though, Turkey is worse. Attorneys break out of law firms and set up their own for one of two reasons: either they think they can create a better law firm than what they come from, or they can't hack falling into line with firm policies. Turkey was the latter, and I can see those problems here.<br />
<br />
For example, this firm encourages people to be as paperless as possible. Turkey actually told me "I don't do two-sided emails. Don't print any out for me like that." Also, sometimes partners have to get things approved by other partners. Turkey didn't want that to apply to him. "Just submit it anyway; I don't want to bother with that." So I did. Naturally, it got rejected for lack of second-partner-approval. Turkey acted shocked.<br />
<br />
The good thing is, nobody has lasted very long with Turkey, so everyone is rooting for me. Have you ever felt like you were being hugged by an entire law firm full of people? That's what working here is like. Everyone is so supportive and encouraging. Well, everyone except Turkey. He's negative and quick to blame. No shock there.<br />
<br />
So. What's new in your life? </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-23849848543035742102015-09-01T23:36:00.002-07:002015-09-01T23:36:57.648-07:00Change is Hard<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This non-profit gig is outrageously difficult. Not because of the money. Hey wait, can we talk about something? I never understand those people who put in different amounts of effort based on how much they get paid. My effort is like a light-switch. It's either on or off. I can't look at this temp job and think, "I'm going to do a shitty job putting this huge file together because they don't pay me enough to do a good job." I just bitch about how the huge file became such a mess.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here are the most difficult things about this job:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>The style of speech is different. I've "grown up" in law firms as an adult. Since 20 years old, this is all I've done. Lawyers are very direct. I understand the way lawyers in law firms speak. But at this non-profit, they kind of pride themselves on a relaxed atmosphere and that comes through in their style of speech. So instead of saying "Please file this in the Lindenberry file before you leave today," they say things like "Maybe this could be put away if there's time." That's too vague! Did you want ME to put it away? WHERE do you want it put? I've already fucked up one big project because the instructions were too vague for me. (Part of this is a learning disability thing - a comprehension issue - but most of it is the vague-speak.) I think the attorney was upset with my final product yesterday, and it put me in a bad mood. Today I did what she'd originally wanted, and gave myself a stern talking-to about really listening hard for instructions that don't sound like instructions. </li>
<li>There is no system for anything. Including training new employees. There are no templates. There's no standard. So when I got told to draft a cover letter and I asked what format to duplicate, the response was to just ... make it look nice. Ummm .... what now? You know what looks nice? When every single letter from one company uses the same format! So I just copied the format from the last letter that went to the same guy last month. The easiest things are proving hardest for me here. Like yesterday, I had a four-page document to save and print, but only the first of the four pages would print or save. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.</li>
<li>It's a non-profit. They look to save money however they can. Even if they can't. So for example, there's only one IT guy. He only works three days a week. I can't even begin to wrap my head around this one. Is he on call the other two days? Working from home? I mean, what if the entire system crashes on a day he doesn't work? There is a certain type of pad I like to use at work that basically every single law firm carries. Not this place. Here I have to use a steno pad. Why? Steno pads are cheaper. Nobody even writes in steno anymore! All the old lady secretaries who used to do this have retired by now. Today I noticed a big spill in the elevator. It was a lawsuit waiting to happen. I mentioned it to the receptionist, so she could tell maintenance or the facilities manager or whoever. Her response? "I can wipe that up." I was so embarrassed - if she can wipe it up, so can I! I just thought there'd be a dude with a mop somewhere. Because it's a non-profit I thought maybe he does janitorial stuff AND something else, but surely there'd be a dude. There's always a dude! But no. Apparently the dude is the receptionist. </li>
</ol>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So yeah. I've spoken with the nice secretary sitting next to me. She started at the beginning of July. She's given me great gossip and been very helpful, though I try to not bother her too much since she's swamped. But she did tell me that the guy who had the job before me got fired, and why. And that the pay is terrible. And that the lack of organizational structure is very difficult to work around. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Everyone is very nice. I'm trying to focus on the positives. While I struggle to figure out really basic things like how to make labels for files, and wrap my head around the lack of professionalism like hand-writing addresses on envelopes rather than typing them. </div>
<br /><div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-12760637709076736492015-08-24T22:55:00.001-07:002015-08-24T22:55:21.838-07:00Weak Work<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This has not been an easy year, to put it mildly. I have not worked since early 2014. That's not a typo. Each evening I go for a walk just to get out of my house, and stop staring at the same walls all the time. When I'm not working and can't afford to go out, I withdraw from friends, from everyone. Of course, it's a terrible cycle, because being alone fuels the depression. Being around people fuels the depression too - people don't realize how much they talk about things that cost money.<br />
<br />
Lately I've been working with this young recruiter - one of those lawyers who didn't want to lawyer, so she became a legal recruiter instead. I don't think she's ever worked as an associate since graduating from law school, and between that and being in her mid-twenties, it's been a frustrating experience to interact with her.<br />
<br />
Once though, I had an interview with this old lady headhunter, and afterwards I said, "It felt like I was talking to a slick, brick wall. Nothing I threw to her stuck." I figured it was a waste of time and nothing at all would ever come of that interview. She placed me at the best job I've had in all the time I've lived in San Francisco. So I've learned not to give up on people too quickly.<br />
<br />
This morning she called me about a job. Almost apologetically she explained the details. Non-profit. For those who don't know, any job that's a non-profit job pays significantly less. Like, half of what you earn now. Part-time. Four hours a day. Temp work. Just for four weeks. She basically told me flat out that she knows it's beneath me. Um, no. I am desperate. No honest work is beneath me. "Okay," she said. She would pitch me to the non-profit. She would let me know in the afternoon if they want me to start work tomorrow.<br />
<br />
At 5:01 p.m. I looked at the clock and thought to myself, "Guess they went with someone else." Literally right after I let out a sad sigh, my phone rang. I'm to show up tomorrow. For pay that is literally half what I normally get on an hourly basis. But it's more than nothing, and that absolutely counts. Every single dollar that puts me farther away from eviction is a dollar that makes me happy. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-31615826982319501872015-07-05T22:11:00.000-07:002015-07-05T22:11:13.727-07:00Compassion Fatigue<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've got some of this going on. I've decided that's what caused me to think "That's IT?" upon reading that a girl got raped by her father in a book.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing: ever since 9/11, I've become someone who gets teary very easily. Which is weird, since before then I rarely cried. But since 2001, anything - happy or sad - can bring me to tears. And I'm emotionally exhausted. If I see two old ladies run into each other at the supermarket who haven't seen each other in years and get all excited and hug, I get teary. If I watch a Lifetime movie it makes me cry. If I see two toddlers holding hands, I get verklempt. If I see someone pick something up for someone else, I get teary. It's just too much! I'm freaking exhausted!<br />
<br />
I don't really know how to dial it all back. I'm reading less news. (Sorry if I'm dumber when we're talking.) I'm not watching the tearjerker videos people link on Facebook anymore. I'm not reading the emotional Op-ed articles. When one old lady gives another a second look that says "Do I know you? Judy?" I block her line of vision. Just kidding.<br />
<br />
My hope is that all this will sort out my emotions a little bit. If you have any ideas, I'm interested for sure.</div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-50111759081594085832015-06-02T22:18:00.001-07:002015-06-02T22:18:39.255-07:00I shocked myself<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Actually, I once did literally shock myself, in my childhood kitchen. I was unplugging a computer and accidentally pulled the silver part of the plug.<br />
<br />
But when I wrote this title, I was thinking of something else. For the last few months, I haven't been able to read. Since I learned how, I've been a voracious reader. The librarians recognize me at the little library down the street. It's been a once-a-week thing for most of my adult life. Yet all of a sudden, each time I picked up a book, it seemed boring and I couldn't finish. Hell, I couldn't make it past the first chapter.<br />
<br />
Now sure, every once in a while, you accidentally pick up a clunker. These things happen. Either a book everyone raved about doesn't quite do it for you, or an author you've always liked suddenly burns out or tries to write in a new direction and it doesn't work. This was something else. After a few books of this, I just gave up on reading. I didn't know what else to do.<br />
<br />
Last week, I decided this is just unacceptable. I refuse to be someone who is not a reader. My plan was to start super duper simple, and work back up to my regular simple books. So I marched myself six blocks to the library, determined to get a John Grisham or Danielle Steel book. Under normal circumstances, both of those authors infuriate me with their predictable plots. All Danielle Steel's main characters are the same - a physically tiny woman who is beautiful and suffers great tragedies and great fortunes. The women are always described as living simple lives, which are actually the lives of the 1%. You know, because they think they'll "only" fly first class for their yearly visit to London or New York or Paris. Where they've been going for so many years that the people who work there know the main character's name. Normally, drives me nuts. Naturally, I figured this simplistic type of plot-line was just what I needed to get back on track.<br />
<br />
However, what caught my eye was a Nora Roberts book, and even though I consider those books to be on the same level as Danielle Steel's books, reading a Nora Roberts book didn't make me hate myself quite as much. To be honest, the book was good. I read it in two days. Achievement unlocked.<br />
<br />
Two days ago it was time for another trip to the library to trade up. I grabbed a biography by some woman whose father had been a mildly famous writer a few decades ago. According to the adult daughter, the father sexually abused her. The book seems to be about her relationship with her father. Then I read that he raped her when she was seven. That was when I did something that shocked me. I thought, "That's it?"<br />
<br />
Um, excuse me? That is a completely unacceptable thought to have about a little girl being raped! What the fuck is wrong with me? Have I read so many articles and blog stories (and seen Lifetime movies) about rape that I've become desensitized to it? Now I have a lot of wacky ideas and thoughts - I'm the girl who giggles when people trip - and normally I'm fine with that. This one though, I'm more than not fine with. Not by a long shot.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure where to go with this. For now, I've put that book aside. I'm pretty sure all these articles and talks about rape are meant to "raise awareness" and change the way society views rape. It seems like it hasn't worked the right way for me. All the articles about the thousands and thousands of rape kits untested? The fraternities that make up rape songs? Maybe it's similar to that "If I don't laugh, I'll cry" mentality? Whatever the case, having a "that's it?" reaction to rape is not okay with me, and needs to change. Immediately. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-72229376522318955902015-03-24T21:08:00.001-07:002015-03-24T21:08:29.750-07:00We Are Not Idiots<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I was in tenth grade, my marketing teacher offended me while showing us a movie in class. It wasn't the specific movie that was the problem. It was the fact that she showed the movie over several days, and each day after the first, she would rewind the movie by 15-20 minutes to "remind everyone what was happening." It offended me so much that she thought we couldn't remember what was happening for 24 hours. Looking back, it's clear she just didn't feel like teaching and was trying to drag out the movie as much as possible. Also offensive.<br />
<br />
Bitchy gossipy moment: I am 38. That teacher is on Facebook, and claims she's 41. I was 15 when she was my teacher. Grow up woman! Own your age.<br />
<br />
For the last several years, I've noticed tv shows do this as well. The first minute of a tv show recaps what happened on the last episode. What the fuck? We can remember what happened a week ago. This is just ridiculous and once again, I'm offended.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-59171393804032845912015-03-08T21:52:00.002-07:002015-03-08T21:52:51.141-07:00Still Got It<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I was 12, I started babysitting. My first babysitting kid was a one-year old named Andrew who called himself Ah-new. After he'd go to sleep, I would watch VH1's Standup Spotlight or whatever it was called. Rosie O'Donnell hosted, and what I remember most are two things:<br />
<br />
1. That I wished she wouldn't bother introducing other comedians, and she would just do all the comedy for the entire show; and<br />
2. That she would stop introducing every single comedian by saying, "Coming to the stage right now, is a very funny friend of mine ..."<br />
<br />
To this day I'm very sensitive about tossing around the term "friend" and was the same way as a 12 year old. I was sure she couldn't possibly be friends with ALL those comedians. I had no understanding of the comedy circuit - that they all played the same clubs, all studied at Groundlings or that other place together - and that they truly were, all friends.<br />
<br />
When Rosie got her talk show, I was thrilled. Of course, I thought she overdid talking about her crush on Tom Cruise so much (maybe that was my gaydar that I didn't know existed?), but still found her hilarious. As I am, she was from Long Island. She never watered down her thick New York accent. Like Rosie Perez, or Tony Danza, it was part of her schtick.<br />
<br />
Eventually I kind of ... forgot about her? Kathy Griffin has been so much more prominent the last decade or so. Everyone including me loves Jimmy Fallon. Lately I've been digging <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4_YL9QotBM">Michael McIntyre</a> for comedy, though I seem to be the only American who knows of him.<br />
<br />
Recently though, Rosie was in the news for getting a divorce, and then doing a comedy special last month. I just watched it (on Youtube) and you know what? She's just as funny as she was when I was 12. Maybe I'm wildly immature, but maybe, just maybe she can appeal to a 12 year old AND a 38 year old all at the same time. I wish she did more comedy specials. I don't need to see her argue with Elizabeth Hasselback.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*The only thing I didn't like about her comedy special was how much time she spent making jokes about her 18 yr old's penis. I was embarrassed for him. Rosie O'Donnell is so funny she could have spent that time joking about so many other things without talking about that. </span></div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-31963639517042121322015-02-15T12:28:00.000-08:002015-02-15T12:28:18.934-08:00If You Don't Like It, Don't Read It<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
People say this all the time. Usually when someone comments on a blog with something negative, the blog writer or their "fans" will throw it at the commenter.<br />
<br />
I read blogs to see what life is like for people who are different than I am. I already know what I'm like. I want to see what other people are like. Sometimes, they're so different that I don't even understand them. Sometimes, I'm shocked by what they present as a given.<br />
<br />
There is a blog called <a href="http://www.wardrobeoxygen.com/">Wardrobe Oxygen</a>. I follow it on Facebook (okay and Instagram), along with almost 7,000 other people. The writer of the blog has a style that is wildly different from mine and even from what I wish mine was. She often highlights new lines by designers. The other day she posted a picture of a dress that was just ... horrific, in my opinion. I could see it being in a compilation of Nightmare Bridesmaids Dresses or something. Being torn to shreds (threads?) on Fashion Police. Really, just awful.<br />
<br />
My comment was "Whoa, so ugly!" Then, the "foot in the mouth" moment happened. The blog owner replied, "Really? I own it." Whoops. Had I known she owned the dress I'd have just kept my opinion to myself. But I hadn't so I needed to own that opinion. So I explained what part of the dress bothered me, found something about it to be nice about, and she replied essentially saying it looks better on a person with a different body type. That was it.<br />
<br />
Except that all day yesterday I kept running the interaction through my mind. Wasn't sure why. When I woke up this morning it was clear. I disagreed, and she didn't tell me to stop reading. She engaged me, and tried to get me to see her side. She never suggested that I leave, she didn't block me, we just ... had an exchange. I so respect how she handled it. I was really a bit of a bitch. This could have gone in a very different direction, but I'm glad it didn't.<br />
<br />
Note to self: do not insult anything until you are sure the person you're speaking to does not own it.</div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-65389799436596059412015-01-12T20:47:00.000-08:002015-01-12T20:47:05.176-08:00It Happened To Me: I Was Sexually Harassed in a Train Station<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
What magazine was that feature from, Sassy? It was maybe 6pm in the evening and I was waiting for my train. There was a man standing about three feet from me. I'd purposely walked over and stood near him. While we were waiting for the train, two boys walked by us. They were probably in their late teens. One made a comment about my boobs as they walked. His friend didn't really even react. I didn't outwardly react either, although I wanted to. I didn't say anything back because it was two against one (and I was scared that I'd knock him onto the train tracks) and I was too shocked it had happened at all.<br />
<br />
Here's what I would have liked to say: Really, Asshole? You think you're so cool to make a comment about a woman's body while walking by with a friend? You can't even walk without holding up your pants. Why don't you worry about your own clothes before commenting on how mine fit on my body? But even if your pants did fit your body properly, shut the fuck up. My body isn't here for your review and comments. Keep your comments to yourself. Nobody, not even your friend, cared about your opinion. Did you notice that? Take the hint. I guarantee if you had to stand against a wall silently I could make you cry with the things I could say about your body.<br />
<br />
I'm now 38. I'm a big girl. This did not devastate or scare me. By tonight when I go to sleep, I'll have forgotten about it. I will easily move on from this experience. But you, Asshole? You'll be an asshole long after tonight. So even though you put me down, ultimately, you lose. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-57786636914808603022015-01-09T21:39:00.001-08:002015-01-09T21:39:19.331-08:00Humbling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today I applied for a job. It has a salary range. The highest end of the range is over $20k lower than my last job (GQ) paid, and he paid $3k less than Turkey did.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to lie. It really hurts. It's a job in a law firm, so I spent at least an hour in bed last night whispering my answer to the interview question "why do you want a job that pays so significantly less than what you were earning before?"<br />
<br />
It's hard to come up with a good answer.<br />
<br />
1. Well look when I was working - clearly I can't be picky. (Attracts attention to gap in resume)<br />
2. I want something lower pressure. (Being a legal secretary is not high pressure)<br />
3. I wanted to try something new within the legal industry. (Attracts attention to my lack of experience)<br />
4. I thought it would be fun to expand my experience. (Will they be offended that I want to use their job for fun?)<br />
5. Ugh, because I am desperate and just need a fucking job for my mental health already! (Overshare)<br />
<br />
So yeah. I need to prepare for an interview for a job that I both need and don't want. Oh, and the person who brought this position to my attention warned me they've had trouble keeping people in the seat because there's zero room for advancement.<br />
<br />
But it pays significantly more than nothing. It even pays more than double what unemployment pays (which is no good for my mental health, plus provides no health insurance, plus runs out). So I will continue working to come up with an answer to why I want this job to be prepared for an interview (we're thinking positively!) and will make sure my attitude is right before walking in the office door. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-79377310217446126242014-06-11T21:32:00.000-07:002014-06-11T21:32:24.208-07:00My Dentist Accidentally Thinks I'm Gay (But I'm Not)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here's what happened: I started going to my dentist (who is hot and gay) (there's a lot of that floating around SF) right around the same time my friend started taking her daughter to him. His office was right near Turkey's office, so when my friend was going for the first time, I left work at the end of the day and met her there. <br /><br />We didn't realize it at first, but he thought we were a lesbian couple. Then after a couple of times of going, when he'd wave me goodbye while saying, "Say hi to F & H!" I mentioned it to F. "Do you think Dr. S. thinks we're some lesbian couple?" She thought for a minute before nodding. <br /><br />You only go to the dentist every six months (assuming everything is fine), so all of a sudden it's two years in and too much time has passed and we can't tell him that actually, neither of us are gay at all. It would make him feel awkward and embarrassed, and you don't want to evoke those feelings in a person holding sharp things in your mouth. So now, when I go to the dentist, I'm sort of gay. <br />
<br />
This is sort of a spin-off from above, but I love that my dentist (and his people) never lets anything hurt. Someone recently told me they think there's a trend now for dentistry to be more spa-like and less hurty and scary. Lots of people have huge dentist phobias like mine. If you will be in San Francisco and have a dentist phobia, please feel free to reach out to me and I will be happy to go with you to my dentist who will not hurt you, and I'll hold your hand through the appointment. My hot gay dentist will be gentle. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-17475624668451376132014-06-09T18:46:00.000-07:002014-06-09T18:46:46.852-07:00The Death of it all<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
At the end of January, GQ laid me off. I did not take it well. I told one friend and then couldn't even tell anyone else. I'm still not over my PTSD from being out of work during the recession (quick recap: it lasted almost 4 years, I had to go on food stamps, was a month away from eviction proceedings starting when Turkey called), and had just begun relaxing after getting away from Turkey. <br /><br />All I hear in my head is me screaming at the top of my lungs, "AGAIN?! REALLY?!" over and over. I have a very strong reference letter from Turkey (which I drafted myself) and another one from GQ. GQ's is more emphatic in how great I was, but because I didn't write it for him, it's not well written (I don't mean that to be obnoxious - there are typos). <br /><br />GQ and I have not kept in touch. I did not delete him from my LinkedIn people, but after sorting out signing the severance agreement for a severance check we haven't spoken at all. I do not follow him on Twitter. I may have stalked him on Facebook for a couple of months. It really hurt to see him keep going on trip after trip. "Sorry Green, I can't afford to keep paying you, because my boyfriend and I want to go to Hawaii. And Mexico. And New York." <br /><br />I have this cousin who adopts cats, and one after another they die. I'm sure he is taking care of the cats and it's just very bad luck that cat after cat kicks the bucket. But if I had a cat I would sure never ask him to pet-sit for me, you know? And even though I was laid off at my last two jobs through absolutely no fault of my own, I sure wouldn't hire me. Somehow, bad job luck seems to follow me. I'm completely mortified about it. I feel like I'm always out of work.<br />
<br />
When my brother married Crazy Girl I was out of work, and although I was genuinely happy for them and they threw a beautiful wedding, it was very difficult for me to attend because I was at a very low point in my life and I had quite a difficult time holding my head high. Once, when my aunt heard I was out of work, she loudly said, "Again?!" and I think that's what I hear constantly in my head. Golden Boy was very kind and when I talked to him about not having money for a wedding present, he waved me off. "Just get us a 5th year anniversary present instead!" <br /><br />Yeah, their five year anniversary was this April. Two and a half months after I got laid off. Anyway. Now you know why I haven't been writing. I can barely get out of the house each week for my two volunteer gigs (and it's about to get worse since one is ending soon). <br /><br />So! How are you doing? </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-39577711889418382952014-03-26T22:31:00.001-07:002014-03-26T22:31:14.466-07:00Forever Your Girl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://pics1.ds-static.com/prodimg/310050/300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://pics1.ds-static.com/prodimg/310050/300.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
You know when you get a cold, and you're fussing with your nose so much that it gets sore? Well, years ago, my brother told me about his discovery to solve this issue. Puffs Plus Lotion. I only buy them when I'm sick (otherwise lotion is icky, in the way <i>ointment</i> is icky). <br />
<br />
On Sunday I got very sick. On Monday there was an eye of the hurricane and I ran out that evening and got a small box of special sick tissues to use when I ran out of my regular tissues. By early Wednesday afternoon I had run out of all tissues. I had to resort to using toilet paper as a substitute, and it was very cruel. Literally, within two hours, my nose was sore and hurting.<br />
<br />
A half hour later I was in the drugstore buying more special tissues. While waiting to pay, the woman ahead of me in line kept turning around and looking at the boxes nestled in my arms. I smiled brightly at her and tried to not look sick. (Spoiler: Probably didn't work)<br /><br />What did I learn from this whole experience? That I need to be more negative. Less optimistic! Better in a day? As if! That may be how horrific colds work for other people, but not me. When I get sick, I'm down for a solid week. My mistake was buying only one box of tissues on Monday. Tissues don't expire. In the future, I'll be more loyal and invest more in the special tissues. Lesson. Learned. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-16158836234451492892014-01-14T17:48:00.000-08:002014-06-09T18:22:21.495-07:00Old<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">1. Yesterday it was already dark as I was walking home at the end of the day. At one point, I passed a man holding on to a concrete half-wall, who was walking … weirdly. Carefully. I have a background in problems with walking so watched him for a few seconds. It wasn't a limp, it wasn't quite … anything else. I sighed. "Hey. Hey!" I walked back since at this point he'd already passed me. "Sir? Sir, are you okay?" </span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">He turned to face me, and that let me see he was an older man. He smiled. "I'm fine; I'm just old. Thank you, dear." I smiled back. "Okay, have a good night." A friend once told me that she likes to make homeless people feel like people, by acknowledging them. This guy may have been walking alone, but hopefully he felt good knowing he was noticed. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
</span><br />
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<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: justify;">
2. An out-of-town company is borrowing our conference room. There are several guys* representing this company, and they have back-to-back meetings with other companies for a few days straight. I know one guy – the one who made the reservation. This morning when he arrived he stood in front of my desk, doing that smile men do when they're trying to control their anger. I bit. "What's going on?" He unloaded, and told me how furious he was at his team, how he got sent to a meeting nobody else showed up for, only to find out it'd been cancelled and nobody had updated the Outlook invite to reflect that. Then he sighed, "Time to ream out the troops," before heading into the conference room. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: justify;">
This evening we were chatting and he mentioned something about the boss being in the conference room right at that moment. "I thought you were the boss," I confessed. He corrected me with a grin. "I'm just the oldest." </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: justify;">
* Everyone in the company that's renting our conference room is male and white. Every single person representing each company that's come to meet with that first company? Also male and white. I wonder if it's the industry (although what industry besides the KKK only accepts white males?), or the level of positions within each company (although that would be sad too). They're all very nice. Perfectly gentlemanly and all. Just ... male. And white. </div>
</div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-89239730049246314312013-12-31T19:53:00.000-08:002013-12-31T19:53:03.443-08:00New Year's Eve<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>A woman sitting across from me on the train headed downtown. She is wearing a black dress, beaded at the bottom, and is futzing with some loose threads. I watch as she carefully makes knot after knot, wondering why she doesn't just rip them loose. Does she know something I don't? I think to myself, "<a href="http://pantalonesdelfuego.wordpress.com/">Pantelones</a> would know about this." After a few more knots the girl does rip off the remaining threads. As the train slows to a stop she stands, and is holding a party purse. Small, black, beaded. Entwined in her fingers is a lace mask. I am intrigued and want to ask where she's going, if she is meeting somebody or has to walk in alone. I almost wish her a good time and a happy new year, and then don't. <br /></li>
<li>I am crossing the street, and there is a man crossing in the opposite direction. He is black, and pushing a big wheel ridden by a little girl whose legs are too short for the pedals. I immediately think of Oscar Grant. He has a shit-eating grin on his face as he pushes the girl, and she screams in glee. It's beautiful, and I want to tell him, "Go straight home. Don't go out tonight. Go home and lock the door." <br /><br />It's wrong, of course. He should be able to put his daughter to bed and then go out to celebrate the New Year if he wants, secure in the fact that the only reason police are out is to answer people's questions when they're lost or want to know how late BART will run. It's wrong - it should be on the police to not shoot people, rather than on people to avoid getting shot by police. The whole thing leaves me sad. <br /></li>
<li>The last errand of the day is picking up soup for my sick self. I'm not the only one waiting - an old man is waiting with a toddler. He tells her and me at the same time, "My name is Zoe and I'm two." The girl very softly repeats him, so I crouch down and softly say, "Hi Zoe. My name is Green and I'm 37." The guy looks old enough to be her grandfather, but tells me not to get too close to his daughter and that the whole family is sick. Zoe tells me she puked, so we talk about puke for a few minutes while her father goes to check on his order. He comes back with a bag of food and tries to prompt his daughter to say happy new year to me as he puts on her jacket, but she won't. "I hope you and your family feel better." He smiles and thanks me. As they walk out holding hands, the girl turns back and mouths Happy New Year to me. </li>
</ol>
</div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-51872368949723288832013-11-20T04:57:00.001-08:002013-11-20T04:57:30.412-08:00$17.50<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If your work won't pay you for the days you have jury duty, in San Francisco, you can get $17.50. Except if you are a federal employee. Then you get nothing. Thank goodness GQ said he'd pay me. I was in jury duty for a day and a half, and thank goodness they didn't put me in the jury box for voir dire, because one attorney was not wearing a suit, and the other attorney's client was wearing jeans and slouching in his seat. Having to explain that I'd wind up hanging the case because I just couldn't respect either side probably would not have been taken well by the court. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You can be excused from jury duty (once you're there) if you have a hardship. We wasted hours and hours with the judge listening to people come up with excuses of why they couldn't sit through a trial. One guy was on the standby list for a trip to Tokyo two weeks from now. One guy takes medication for high blood pressure each morning. And vitamins! One woman told the judge she had asthma and sometimes she coughs which is embarrassing. People, these are not legitimate hardships. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A hardship is that you have young children, or are nursing an infant. Or that serving on a jury will mean that you personally (as opposed to the company you work for) will not earn any money. One guy owned his own computer company - he's the guy you call when your server crashes - and had no employees. The judge got annoyed with all the vitamin-takers and started giving people a hard time. "Do you anticipate their servers crashing?" "How are the servers doing right now?" One guy was the sole wage-earner in his household, which consisted of himself, his wife, his elderly parents, his handicapped sister, and his 16-month old twins. The guy just started a new job and was on probation, and apparently you don't get paid during jury duty if you're on probation. The judge made a big point of saying he was highly displeased but since the attorneys agreed, he'd let the guy leave. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The second day I had jury duty was the day of the <a href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&q=batkid+san+francisco&oq=batkid&gs_l=serp.3.1.0i3l3j0i10l7.72996.74247.0.76263.6.6.0.0.0.0.92.458.6.6.0....0...1c.1.31.serp..0.6.457.QqZSXjR65QE">Batkid extravaganza</a>. Here are two things about that I had not previously realized: </div>
<ol style="text-align: justify;">
<li>Just how many people would leave school or work or whatever they do during the day to come watch. The kid was given the key to the city in front of City Hall, and not only was there a huge crowd, but there were police there for crowd control.</li>
<li> Just how many people own Batman-inspired articles of clothing. Many girls decided it was Halloween all over again, and I got to see what Slutty Batman would look like. </li>
</ol>
</div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-77816167731639277442013-10-21T18:47:00.001-07:002013-10-21T18:47:20.442-07:00Heavy Thoughts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here's what is rolling around my head lately:<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li> I got summoned to jury duty. I love watching court in session. I would LOVE to be a jury forewoman. But I can't. If when I call in, the recording tells me to show up the next morning, I will have to ask to be excused. I do not belong on a jury. If one attorney forgets to give a copy of a document they submit to court, the forgotten attorney can get their client walked on that technicality. When a defendant shows up in front of a jury wearing sweatpants falling off his ass, I know he's guilty. Here's how: if he doesn't have the modicum of respect it takes to dress properly for court, then that is a clear sign to me that they do not respect laws. Thus, they probably broke one. Or some. Some kid slumped in his seat, smirking at everyone? Guilty of something. At the same time, I can not in good conscience believe any evidence against anyone, until there's no longer a need for the Innocence Project. Too many innocent people have been sent to prison. I can't be a part of that. (And yes. I know many court cases are just about who should pay for the costs of a car accident or something else less violent, like rape or murder.)<br /></li>
<li>If you're not from or in the Bay Area, you may not know there's this huge housing issue going on. What happened is that Twitter is moving its headquarters into the city, as well as lots of start-up companies. Which means a lot of rich people are moving to the city. More people need housing, fewer rentals available, all means rental prices shoot sky-high. The city literally can not build fast enough to meet the demand. So despite the fact that I hate my apartment, I am lucky to have it. <br /><br />What I'm wondering is what happens to someone who is from San Francisco, went to prison for 10 or 15 years, and is getting out now? There is no way someone with a record can stumble out of prison and land an apartment in San Francisco these days. <br /></li>
<li>Another thing keeping me up at night is my nails. I really like nail polish. When I notice it, it surprises me and makes me happy. But the second it chips, I want it off because I worry it looks unprofessional. But I don't want to deal with the process of taking it off. Plus, I am not a fan of manicures. There is no solution within my parameters; I know this. Obviously this isn't a heavy thought, but it keeps coming up when I'm trying to fall asleep. </li>
</ol>
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Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-25457706874605992162013-09-18T21:01:00.000-07:002013-09-18T21:01:43.152-07:00All Over the Board<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<ol>
<li>About half a year ago, I noticed the beautiful salads the <a href="http://www.sfsoupco.com/">San Francisco Soup Company</a> sells. So many people were happily eating them. They looked so pretty. So I got one. Then you know what else I got? Violently ill. That's right, the beautiful salad tried to kill me. I was so sad. For months I watched the happy people munching their pretty salads, wishing I could be one of them, knowing I wouldn't survive an attempted murder twice. <br /><br />This week I've been a little crazy, and today I decided to try the salad again. Let me tell you, they were just as beautiful today as they've been when the salads are in front of other people. The grass was just as green for me! It's now seven hours later, and I feel fine, so it seems like the first time was just an unfortunate fluke. <br /></li>
<li>This may come as a shock to some of you, but GQ, my gay boss, is gay. I know! Anyway, one of our sub-tenant people was back in the office today after having gone camping for a long weekend. He and GQ were talking, and GQ asked where the guy went camping. They talked about location, and then I heard the sub-tenant say something about not being "too close to the homos or the meth-heads." Ever see those movies where someone's head dramatically jerks up and their eyes get wide? That was me. <br /><br />GQ didn't react at all to it, so I kept my mouth shut. Is it possible he missed it? GQ's been gay for like, his whole life, so maybe he worked out decades ago how to deal with comments like that? <br /></li>
<li>Speaking of GQ! Recently, he and the other attorneys in our suite got their photos professionally done, for their respective websites. The photographer came to our office twice, and had zero sense of humor. One of the attorneys said, "One or two shots should be enough to capture my beauty," and the photographer was all, "What?!?! But how will I ... only two shots?!?! Blarphen?!?@?!" and we had to tell her she was joking. The photographer promptly developed a huge crush on GQ. To say she was disappointed would be a huge understatement. Her whole face fell, and she asked me a thousand questions about where he was. <br /></li>
<li>The new season of Dancing With the Stars has begun this week, and the two people I was interested in seeing were Leah Remini and Snookie. I don't think Leah Remini is particularly smart, but she's funny. Sadly, it doesn't seem like she'll go far on this season. Girl can't dance. Plus she's very uncomfortable with her body (see: Amber Riley). Snookie however, can apparently dance. Shocker! </li>
</ol>
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Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-39804541899582527072013-09-12T22:05:00.000-07:002013-09-12T22:05:13.629-07:00The List<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
At work I currently have a list full of names. These are names of gay professionals in Northern and Southern California. It was each person's name, their title, the company they work for, the county, and their email address. At the top of the list, in bold and extra-big font it says Privileged and Confidential. The list was given to me in a folder. There was some data entry to be done with this list. Any time I am not entering the data, the list is to be kept in the folder. If I walk away from my desk, the folder is to be kept in a drawer. If you've never done it, data entry is pretty mentally dull. The mind wanders.<br />
<br />
When my mind wandered I noticed that some of the email addresses are not work email addresses, but personal ones. My gay boss is very out. I know, because we had a talk about it, when I had to call someone and out him, and wanted to confirm this was okay to do. Our sub-tenant is a branch of a law firm that includes one lesbian lawyer and one gay lawyer.<br />
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In my office, everyone is out. Very out. Lots of very un-PC gay jokes are made on a regular basis. Seeing this list, where some people used their personal email addresses rather than their professional ones was a stark reminder that not all the gay people are out. When I noticed this, I looked at the locations of the people using personal email addresses to see if my guess was correct. It was - all the people who used them happen to live in the very Republican, conservative area of the state. <br />
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Whenever I hear of somebody gay who isn't out I want to encourage them to move to San Francisco. Irrationally, I think since I'm straight the right thing to do would be to move out so there's room for the gay people. They need this city more than I do. But the issue isn't that there isn't enough room. I don't know what the issue is (though this being a super expensive city probably has something to do with it). Probably can't presume that all gay people have the same reasons for not moving to a more gay-friendly place than wherever they live. <br />
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Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20835650.post-55198458798217898392013-08-29T23:26:00.000-07:002013-08-29T23:26:45.610-07:00Grace and Dignity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There is a phrase called "hate read" and I totally do it. There are blogs written by people with whom I vehemently disagree. I read their blogs anyway, even though the more I read, the less I respect them. Or each blog post that I read makes me want to send them a long email detailing my stance on whatever topic they wrote about. You might ask why I read if I hate. There are two answers. One is that I have a lot of downtime at work where I need to appear busy. The other is that I don't only want to read about things I relate to and people I agree with. I want to see different ways to think about things. I want to understand why people think about certain topics the way they do.<br />
<br />
There is a blog I read written by a woman who could not be more different than me if we tried. Opposite ends of the country. She works from home, is a former drug abuser and alcoholic (personally she comes across to me as a dry drunk, but who knows if that's accurate?), grifter, etc. Anyway, her mother recently lived with her for the better part of a year, through some medical difficulties. This week, the mother moved out.<br />
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Throughout this experience, the blogger wrote about her difficulties with her mother. Including feeling like she couldn't have sex with her husband because of her mother being in the house. Which I didn't really understand since she made it clear the bedrooms are on a separate floor upstairs and the mother was living in the basement. And since the mother went places during the day while both this woman and her husband ... well he doesn't work, but they're both home during the day. They could have <strike>fucked</strike> worked it out.<br />
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The most recent blog post is about the relief felt now that the mother is out of the house. Like many (all?) of the blog posts mentioning the mother, it's painful to read how much she hated having her mother there, and equally painful to read how relieved and happy she is to have her mother finally gone. It's cruel to the mother. It's sort of cruel to all the people whose mothers have died and would put up with any inconveniences to have a bit more time with their beloved relatives.<br />
<br />
I didn't realize this until recently, but here is what happened in my house between December 1994 and August of 1995.<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>My grandmother died unexpectedly. </li>
<li>I spectacularly failed out of college and had to move home.</li>
<li>Golden Boy moved home after being away for four years.</li>
<li>My grandfather, devastated by my grandmother's death, moved in with our family.</li>
<li>I fell ill, with difficult symptoms that included passing out, unexplained rashes and screaming in pain, then needing to be taken for medical tests numerous times via backboard and ambulance. </li>
<li>My father was working at a job almost two hours away from home (each way).</li>
</ol>
That's what my mother was juggling in 1995. I was stuck in my bedroom, and each night around 11pm my mother would bring me a bowl of cereal so I could take the really strong pain killer that let me sleep for a solid four hours on good nights. She would sit in the rocking chair near the foot of my bed and tell me all the things my grandfather, her father, did that annoyed her. He wanted the thermostat turned up higher, he wanted dinner to be before my father got home, he wanted to put garlic in his oatmeal for breakfast and microwave it which stunk up the house (I didn't smell it, but I never left my bedroom). <br />
<br />
For Father's Day my parents solved the garlic problem by gifting my grandpa with garlic pills. My grandpa, despite being quite good to me, always viewed and treated my father like an evil son-in-law. I have never once heard my father say anything cruel about my grandfather. As frustrated as both my parents got with my grandfather, even while dealing with one sick kid and one boomerang kid, they never would have done what this woman does had blogs existed then. </div>
Greenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10931380770342598889noreply@blogger.com1