End Days Ending Even More!

Silliyak, thank you.

Last week I had lunch with (three different people, on three different days, and then went to a party on the weekend) the new associate from my old firm. The one from the Midwest. She's at the new firm with Turkey.

As of last Friday, almost two and a half months after working with him, Turkey's new secretary refused to work with him any longer. I am trying to not take too much happiness in this as I fear it's bad karma, but to be honest ... ha ha.

As for me? Gay Crush offered me a job a week and a half after my last day of working for Turkey. Yes. I know. !!! For a month and a half I worked from home while the new office was under construction. I am Gay Crush's first full-time employee ever. I am nervous for him. He literally has to cut his salary in order to pay mine. Luckily though, he is super busy and has a lot of client work. Yesterday he talked about billing out my time. As a legal assistant. Um, okay I guess. If the clients will pay for me to do all the same stuff I usually do as a legal secretary, then why not? (You may be wondering why they would pay if this is what I normally do. The answer is, the clients don't really know I exist yet - they're used to Gay Crush being a solo operation which means they're used to paying for him to do everything they need. So from their point of view, they can either pay $325 an hour for GC to print out and organize multiple contracts, or $100 an hour for me to do it. I'm just saying that at other firms, I do that type of thing for free.)

I am trying hard to get over my gay crush on Gay Crush, because it's not productive to have a gay crush on your boss. He will need a new blog name once I've accomplished that.

Hey, want to hear a story? Once upon a time, back when I worked in New York, I went to my boss and told her I would like more work, that I didn't have enough to do. When coworkers found out I'd done that, they said that was wrong, that one NEVER tells their boss that. I felt sure I'd done the right thing. I wanted more to do. Yeah, it turned out they were right. My boss gave me more, so much more in fact, that it was too much. Granted, she gave me one task that involved being tethered to my desk and one that required walking around the department floor, two things you can't do simultaneously. Maybe she just picked the wrong thing to give me to do as extra work.

Ever since then though, I have never ever made that mistake again in case it turned out the same way. I just screw around online pretending to be busy while waiting for more work.

Working with Gay Crush is different. We had what we called "an interview" but really it was just 15 minutes of sitting down and seriously talking about how it would be to work together. I told him, "I've never worked with a friend before, and as a friend, I've told you things I wouldn't ever tell an employer, and I'm not sure how that will work out ..." Gay Crush nodded and confessed he'd thought the same thing. To which I thought, "Really?! What did you tell me that you consider a secret? I'm so excited! What do I know?"

Basically we agreed that we have a lovely friendship and we are both good people who are direct, and we will simply talk about any issues that come up before they turn into something big. When I made my initial statement I was referring to him knowing about my learning disabilities. So far it's been fine. Last week we had to have computer training for a new program. Together. Over the phone with a third party (in England! with an accent! ask me to say repository!). The training was an hour long, and to be honest after about 35 minutes I was finished. I kept finding myself not paying attention. I worried. What if Gay Crush later got frustrated with me because he'd think I should know something since he knew it and I was with him when he learned it?

But I jotted down questions, and it turned out we had very similar ones, and that we also had the same concerns with the program. I think it's working out fine. Maybe I'm not quite as stupid as I think.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon Gay Crush asked, "I'm keeping you busy enough, right?" and since we're having this super honest relationship, I broke my own rule, and told him, "No." He seemed surprised, and confirmed, "No?!" I smiled gently. "I've kind of been spreading things out. It seems like we're in a holding pattern until I have access to the client network." Um, and until we've ordered folders so I can file all the random paperwork you've tossed at me. Hopefully I didn't just screw myself by being this honest. We shall see.

My Hand Was Eaten By a Giant Snake and I Was Waiting For the Reattachment Surgery

What? That sounds like a hell of a better reason than "I can't think of anything good to sayyyyyyyyy." 

In a nutshell, my life still sucks, but I'm tired of bitching about it, thus leaving me little to talk about.

Did I tell you I went to Mexico for the wedding of Golden Boy and Crazy Girl at the end of April? No? Well. Hi, I went to Mex ... yeah. So anyway.  My mother knew I was some sort of special type of moron way back in elementary school, and she went through different phases regarding it.  Sometimes she tried to pretend I was just like all the other kids, but other times she admitted I couldn't run with the bulls and did things like fussing at the administration to make me foreign language exempt from middle school, on through high school.  

Now, I don't know if my lack of taking Spanish is why I am completely unable to say anything with a proper accent, but I doubt it, since all the French words I know courtesy of years of ballet also come out of my mouth without an accent.  

This means that gracias always sounded like grassy-ass when I said it.  The frustrating thing was that I'd hear it come out of my mouth that way, hear that it was wrong, and still not be able to say it with the correct pronunciation.  Thus, the little foreign language I know, I never used.  You would cringe to hear me say croissant.  Except that I never say it because I'm embarrassed at how it sounds coming out of my mouth. 

I was very worried that the Mexicans I would encounter would sneer at me and make me feel like shit for my shitty attempts at Spanish, and for reverting back to English after the greeting portion of conversations had been completed.  My brother reassured me numerous times that this would not happen.  That Puerto Vallarta is a resort area, that they want you to have fun and be comfortable.  That they all speak English, and if they don't, someone who does will always be close by (this was true also).  

The Golden Boy does not lie.  Everyone was so warm there.  Even the cab driver who fucked me over did it nicely (it was my mistake - I'd been warned to always ask a cab driver how much the ride would cost before getting in the cab, and I didn't think to do that, figuring it would cost the same amount to get back to the hotel as it had cost to get where I was leaving from).  

I pushed myself really hard to always speak in Spanish if I knew the words for what I was trying to say.  They must be used to that in a tourist town, and by the second day I had gotten pretty good at using a combination of Spanish, English and pantomime to get concepts across.  By the third day my grassy-ass had become a real gracias and all of a sudden the accent I could never wrap my tongue around had materialized.  

Which may account for why two weeks ago, when I found myself lost in the Mission and running late, I didn't hesitate to walk up to three men manning a garage sale, greet them and then ask where the street I needed was, all in Spanish.  They answered me in English, which to be honest, is good, since I would not have understood "You're very close, just two or three more blocks that way," in Spanish.  

As my friend and I walked on she said to me in amazement, "I didn't know you speak Spanish."  I smiled.  "I don't." 

Moving and Crying (Get a drink, this is a long one)

Firstly, I would just like to say that I have always been a fan of Scotch tape. I've used it for my entire life, and it's always served me well. Very well. However as of today, I am now cheating on the Scotch tape, with Walgreens brand tape. Shocking that I would endorse Walgreens anything since normally I look down my nose at them, but that all changed this afternoon. This afternoon my good friend Barrett offered to come over, with moving boxes, and moving paper. Of course I jumped at this, and then when she arrived she ensured she'll be getting both a Hanukah and a Labor Day present from me by offering to drive me to Walgreens to buy tape and then to come up and help me start packing.

Peoples, this Walgreens tape kicked ASS. It was strong (perhaps I should wait to see if the boxes hold up through the move before saying this, but I'm going out on a limb - that's just the kind of wild and crazy gal I am), and didn't split off into strips when we tried to get the roll going. I must have told Barrett three or four times, "This tape is GREAT!"

Okay, moving on. As you may know, my roommate Wooffers wants me to give her notice before having anyone over. And by "notice" she means, she wants me to ask so she can veto it if it's not convenient for her. Which as well all know, is total and complete bullshit. I pay rent. I get to have people over during normal waking hours. It's really that simple. Now, the reality is, I haven't had anyone over socially since moving in at the beginning of May. My two friends helped me move in, there was the crying disaster with trying to have my brother and his wife over, a guy came over for 30 seconds to look at a chair I'd listed on Craigslist, and today Barrett came over.

It just so happens that I hurt my back something awful this morning. That threw me off. Then, I missed three buses in a row because I kept thinking I could move faster than I was really capable of doing (the bus stop is across the street - normally I run down when it's two minutes away). That threw me off tremendously. I was late getting to my friend's house, then late getting to my volunteer gig. I am almost never late. I was completely flustered today.

So when Barrett called to say she was on her way, I was an hour away from my home. I don't have Wooffer's phone number in my cell phone. Simply didn't get around to it and then once she gave me notice to get out I figured there was no reason to bother doing it. When I stepped off the bus, Barrett was sitting in her parked car across the street from my house waiting for me.

Whoa

1. Both my parents friended me on Facebook.
2. I went to a tea party today for the first time in my life. I do not drink tea.
3. Sometimes I feel like I have no friends and am completely alone while other days I am overwhelmed by how much people reach out to me.
4. The other night while walking home I ran into the owner of a small business here in SF that I used to frequent when I had money. It's a nail salon, and as the owner locked up for the evening I asked how business was doing. The answer given was surprising. The owner told me that although he had to let a few people go, business was still maintaining. That since it was only $40 or $50, people are still making appointments. That it's important to continue to pamper yourself. Um, if business is so good, why did you lay people off?

My Weekend of Out-of-Towners

Even though there have been little stresses here and there in coordinating schedules and parking and the like, I've had a lot of fun with all my people in from afar. I got to hang with Charlie and Nina (and Cedric) on Friday night. The warmest people ever. And I'm not just saying that because Charlie let me play with his iPhone. Nina and I stayed up late talking, and by the time I stumbled home my voice was gone for the night.

Yesterday my aunt and uncle were in town and we met up for lunch, right near the ballpark (during a game). I don't know what caused the dynamic to change but I had a much nicer time with them Saturday than I ever did growing up.

Tomorrow I meet my friend Caz, in from Vegas. I feel for Caz - she lived here for years and has tons of people to see. I remember what that's like - rushing to see everyone who'd be offended if they didn't get face time. Feeling like there's never enough time to do everything you want to do, no matter how many days you're in town. I'm honored that Caz is taking the time to meet me for lunch in between all her other obligations.

And Jennie, although we don't have plans, you are an out-of-towner and I have lost your blog somehow, please let me know what it is.

Giving Whirls

You know how some people will walk up and upon hearing a discussion about Brazil or corduroy or golf will announce how lame it is? But then when you ask, "Well, have you ever heard the sound corduroy makes when you stride down an empty hallway?" they sheepishly admit they have not? Well, corduroy is not a mom-jean, where you can just look to know exactly how lame it is. Trixie, for example, loved wearing corduroy. I've decided to try them out. Maybe I'll find that corduroy is the right style of pants for me.

Twitter is being explored. We'll see how it goes. You do realize that the more of you who see how it goes, the better it will go, right?

Define Me! DEFINE ME!

I like to know where I stand. With everything. Everyone. At all times. Maybe that's why I'm pretty straight-forward. Even though I've been told that life is not always going to be the way my mommy told me it would be. But she said to treat people the way I want to be treated. And so I do, hoping they'll take the hint.

If you think I may not like you, then there's a good chance I probably don't. I'm generally quite good at making my feelings clear to people. And I almost always have feelings about everything. It's a rare day that I reach right down to the bottom of my heart and feel nothing. But when that day comes around, you can bet your bottom dollar that I will sing all about it.

I wish everyone was as clear with me as I try to be with them. I don't do well with friendliness and indifference, all in the same person. I just want to know where I stand. Or more importantly, if when I'm ready to sit down, I can come sit at your lunch table.

How To Turn My Day Around In One Easy Step

Remember in Ferris Bueller when Ferris was racing through backyards to get home before Jeannie got there and busted him? And as he was running through a back yard with two girls laying out he came back to say hi to them?

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Growing up, we had an awesome dog. She was outrageously well-trained. You could say to her, "What do you want?" and if she wanted to go for a walk, she'd lead you to the coat closet where her leash was hung. If she wanted to go out, she'd lead you to the back door. If she wanted more water, she'd pull her water dish out a couple of inches with her paw.

Our dog never jumped on anybody. Ever. Except for one guy. This guy my dad's been friends with since high school - she'd jump on him, and only him. I don't know what it was about him. I mean sure, he's a very nice guy (great cook), but the pooch must have sensed something about him that wasn't on human radar. Maybe she knew it was because he loved her so much that he went out and got the same breed of dog.
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There's a Blind Guy who lives in my building. He's really nice. I met him in the elevator; his dog jumped on me. She's a big dog - a golden labrador. Blind Guy and I run into each other at least twice a week, so his dog has gotten to know me. A couple of weeks ago - during the crazy rain - the guy seemed to be having a hard time. I came upon him and he had one arm in a sling, and wasn't holding his dog's harness.

Of course once she saw me the dog ran over, leaving him standing by himself. Good thing I was only about ten feet away. Walking towards the guy I said hello to him, and he smiled as we talked about the awful weather. The dog followed me, and eventually was back at Blind Guy's side where she belonged. He told me she never runs away like that, and also never jumps on anyone else. I assured him I didn't mind the jumping and asked if he was okay. He said he was, despite the arm-in-sling, so I just hung around until he got the dog leashed up, in case she'd follow me if I walked away. Maybe she can sense in me whatever my dog was able to sense in my dad's friend.

Lately I've been waking at 4 a.m. That's dangerous for me, because what happens is that I fall back asleep at some point between 7 and 7:30 a.m., right before my alarm goes off, and then I sleep through it. I hate being late for work, and hate rushing around to get ready. It sets the whole tone for the day, and I hate it. Yet the other morning, that's what I found myself doing when I'd overslept.

Cranky as all hell as I ran down to the street, I tried to guess if it'd be faster to wait for the next bus or walk to work. Walking won, and I zipped across the street in four seconds, dodging slow-moving people, silently cursing them out for being so fucking slow. Can't they see how much of a rush I'm in? Would it kill them to move a little faster?

Blind man's dog was at the corner, and her tail thumped in happiness when she saw me. For the first time since I'd woken up I smiled as I rushed past, not stopping to say hi to Blind Guy in my hurry to get to work.

Screw it. Like Ferris, I turned around and went back. Also like Ferris, I made it on time. And with a smile. Life moves pretty fast sometimes. If you don't look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Listen to Firsts

For a variety of reasons, there are a lot of basic things most people have done that I haven't. One of those is going to concerts. Today I went to the last Stern Grove concert of the summer. True, when I was four years old I went with my parents to a Smothers Brothers concert, but I think we all know that doesn't count.

For those not in the know, Stern Grove is this huge wooded area (that reminded me of Usdan, complete with gigantic hills) where free concerts are held each Sunday in the summertime. Until an annoucement was made, I was not in the know that Stern Grove is 100% smoke free.

Last week Trixie and I had a talk about doing more fun things in the Bay Area. We have this talk about once a month. A couple of years ago I was determined to experience San Francisco more than I'd ever experienced South Florida. That holds true now too. We tossed around the idea of going to the Jelly Belly factory, but nixed it for Stern Grove.

The concert started at 2 p.m., and we arrived a little after 1 p.m., armed with an old sheet to sit on, magazines, and bottled water. Trixie also brought a sandwich, but I did not - she'd said something about a picnic, but the concept is so foreign to me, as I've only been on one picnic in the last twenty years, that I couldn't think of what was picnic food. Of course as we walked through the crowds of people and I saw what they'd brought, I understood about the food, but it was too late by then.

We set up "camp" near a log, and the girl sitting next to us had the same sneakers as me. We were on a steep incline, and there was loose sand all over, which prompted me to whisper to Trixie that I bet a lot of people would fall walking around. "I'll keep an eye out for ya," she replied.

I took a few pictures, read my magazines and listened to fancy yet free music. We traded food with the people sitting next to us (no Mom, I didn't eat food from strangers). We yelled to a volunteer to stop when a little girl was running after him with a dollar to donate. We did not get sunburns (yay for shade). Oh, and I was right about people falling - we held our hands out at least half a dozen times each to people walking in front of us who started to slide down the sandy hill.

Not My Birthday

I've been 30 for almost nine months now. Birthdays are not my thing, and haven't been for many, many years.

Part of it is that I absolutely hate concentrated attention on me. A room full of people looking at me? No thank you. (Maybe that's why hostessing is so draining for me - I feel like I get too much attention, and that's not even really about me.)

Part of it is that I don't think it's impressive to arrive at yet another birthday. So I managed not to die for one more year. This is not impressive, nor is it appreciated, since it's not what I want.
And another part of it is that birthdays are supposed to be special and wonderful and a day all about you, that's happy from the time you wake up until the time you go to sleep. Since I was a single-digit age, that's not how my birthdays have rolled.

When I was about three or four, I recall playing with a stuffed dog in the living room near the steps while my brother and mother tried to convince me it was my birthday that was coming up, not my birthday party. My mother really wanted me to understand the distinction between the two. I just wanted some fucking presents.

For years all I wanted was a slumber party for my birthday. Never happened. The night after my older brother's bar mitzvah, three girls slept over, but two were family friends in from out of town, who were older than me and allowed to do things that left me behind. That's the closest I ever came to a slumber party.

I also wanted a surprise party. In elementary school I was often running late in the mornings. Mostly I was dancing around my room, or reading. But sometimes I was practicing being surprised and perfecting the, "For me?! I had NO idea! Oh, but you shouldn't have!" poses in the mirror.

When I was sixteen, all I wanted was a name ring. They were outrageously popular on Long Island then, and I loved them. My parents got me some other jewelry that was both not a name ring, and not jewelry I liked (what a spoiled brat). But I was totally crushed to realize I didn't get the name ring. When my grandparents called me that night around dinnertime to sing happy birthday to me from different phone extensions within their Queens apartment, I burst into tears and cried so hard my mother had to take the phone out of my hand. I cannot adequately convey just how badly I wanted this name ring.

Ultimately my parents took me to the jewelry store and exchanged the stuff they got me for the name ring I wanted. I still have it - it's on my nighttable right now, and still fits. My mother told me she'd just wanted to get me "grown-up jewelry" - for when I was an adult. But I wasn't an adult then. I was sixteen. I wish she'd saved it and given it to me when I actually WAS an adult - I'd have liked it then.

When I turned 18 I was away at college in upstate New York. I was miserable there; to the point that I seriously considered hitching a ride anywhere else but where I was. Again, my grandparents called and sang happy birthday to me. Except I wasn't in my dorm when they called. No no, don't be silly - I wasn't out partying. I did not (and do not) party. Most likely I was just too depressed to get off my bed to answer the phone, or at the library reading. I kept meaning to call my grandparents back to thank them, but never quite made it. Less than two months later my grandma was suddenly dead, and I hadn't talked to her since August.

I don't remember my 21st birthday, but I know from looking at my resume that I was working at a law firm then.

When I turned 30, my parents had come all the way across the country to California, but were in LA visiting my brother, not in San Francisco. I said that I don't want birthday celebrations, and it's true. But to come so close and miss? I wish they would have just stayed on the East Coast, rather than come that close.

I've never thrown myself a birthday party, never wanted to. My friend and I extracted promises from each other that we will NEVER tell waitstaff at a restaurant when it's the other's birthday. Really, if my birthday were just never acknowledged, that would be ideal. I could stop cringing when people ask when my birthday is, and stop cringing each year ON my birthday.

I used to work with a girl who absolutely hated her birthday with a passion I've never seen. If anyone gave her a gift, she sent it back unopened and never spoke to that person again. She's hardcore. I'll take the presents. Though I'm not the type to buy myself a present on my birthday, I love good presents.

Yesterday, I bought myself a present. Even though I'm not 31 yet (or, thirty fun, as some might say), I'll just go ahead and consider this an early birthday present for myself. For a couple of years now, I've been looking for a more professional coat. This is the most expensive piece of clothing I've ever bought in my entire life. I was so nervous about it, I called my brother and asked him to meet me at the department store to look at me in it. Who else but your big brother can you trust to tell you when you look like shit? The salespeople who earn commission? Right. Aside from the pattern giving him a headache, he thought it looked nice on me. So did I. So I bought it, and have smiled as I've looked at it, hanging in my closet.

If somebody wants to buy me a present for my birthday in three months, they can get me a scarf that matches my new coat. But please don't say "happy birthday" when you give me the scarf. Thank you. And happy birthday to you. I'm happy to celebrate anyone's birthday but my own. And I buy really good presents.

Why I Smell Like a Cookie

It all started yesterday afternoon, when I was rushing to be on time to meet a friend at a fountain in the city. It wasn't until I left the house that I realized I'd forgotten to put on deodorant. Of course upon realizing that I immediately started sweating at the thought that ... I might start sweating.

Ducking into a drugstore, I quickly grabbed a deodorant off the shelf, already wondering where I could apply it before meeting up with my friend. Only in San Francisco would you actually consider simply ducking down in an empty aisle to do it.

Yeah, I haven't lived here long enough for that. I paid and asked if there was a restroom I could use. There was and I did, arriving at the meeting place exactly on time. One minute later, my friend called saying she was running a bit late, and would be there in fifteen minutes.

About fifteen minutes later my friend called again, saying, "Are there two fountains?" Whoopsie. Luckily the two fountains were only three minutes away from each other. As I hurried over to her fountain, I smelled cookies. I wasn't walking past a bakery. I opened my bag to look at the deodorant I'd bought. Fuck. In my hurry, I'd grabbed the wrong one.

So that's why I smell like a cookie.

I Wanna GOOOOOOOOO!

The last few days have been a bit crazy. One of those days within a week would have been fine, but each one right after the other? A bit too much for this introvert. Trixie had a crazy weekend also. On Thursday I started preparing for Friday. On Friday, it started, and I was so busy that I forgot to eat lunch. My stomach reminded me of that around dinnertime.

On Saturday, I had several people over for brunch. Afterwards, I had to lay down and nap for an hour and a half.

Sunday morning, I was hosting two people in town for the weekend and meeting up with a friend. By the time I got home Sunday evening, I should have put a stop to it. But the machine was already in motion, and I didn't realize that I wasn't recharging, but instead just charging on to the next thing I had planned. Sunday night came and went, and I forgot to eat dinner.

Monday I had an interview, which went horribly wrong (it was basically a waste, and I will probably have to go back to do what should have happened yesterday). Then, in response to things that happened Sunday, I had important errands to run. Initially I thought 4 p.m. was my deadline, and made it a point to be finished by 3:30 p.m., only to find out I had more than two extra hours.

By the time I got home last night, and everyone was returned to their proper homes, I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. So when Trixie wandered by my door and asked how my interview went, I gave her a one-word answer.

Trixie and I have discussed her extroversion and my introversion. She was married to an introvert, and tries to be aware and respectful of the need for quiet and space. But Trixie had a lot of big thoughts this weekend while she was at a family wedding, and wanted to share them with me. Leaning against my doorway nodding to her, I noticed my mind screaming at her that "I want to go! Stop! Talking! I wanna gooooooooo!"

I finally found a way to tell Trixie how exhausted I was from all the socializing, despite it being with people I like and love, despite it being all my choice. Trying to be helpful, Trixie spent the next 15 minutes reminding me that she's out of town for most of the week, so I'll have the place to myself. Wrap it up, girlie. I've got solitude to enjoy here.

Before 10:30 p.m. I was asleep.