Working For a Friend

You may recall there was some worry about working for a friend. I was especially worried about working for someone who knew I have learning disabilities.

No need to worry here. Two of my learning disabilities have to do with symbols and visual perception. I suck at understanding what a symbol means. Why can't they just write what it means??

Everyone interprets information best in a specific way. Some people want bullet points, some want pie charts, some want an Excel spreadsheet.

This week GQ (thank you!) (this is what we're calling Gay Crush/Boss now) went away on vacation. He's doing work each day though, and yesterday afternoon called me in a panic. He couldn't find a document he desperately needed.

"Can  you go log into my computer and then call me back?"

There is a tiny part of me that cringes every time someone begins to ask me to do something, because I'm terrified my answer will have to be no. No, I don't know how to do that. No, I don't understand what you're asking. No, I can't figure out how to turn on your computer. (That last one is true - I couldn't find the power button. I felt like a total moron.)

When I called GQ back, he wanted me to look on the desktop of his computer for a document he saved there. There were a LOT of documents there. It's all pictures of pieces of paper, with part of the word that saved them as written underneath that. I couldn't find it. I felt bad telling GQ this. There were so many icons I was sure it was there, and I just wasn't seeing it.

He immediately had me pull up a screen that listed the full name of each document on the desktop, in alphabetical order. I can not even express how much easier this was to read. I zipped through the list top to bottom, then bottom to top, then looked at the documents starting with the letter GQ's missing document should have.

My answer changed from, "I don't see it," to "It's not here." It went from me not being able to find something, to knowing it wasn't there to be found.

I don't know how much GQ knows about learning disabilities. Most people who don't have one themselves just know someone who's dyslexic. Or hyper. While I'm a tiny bit dyslexic, and a bit more hyper, neither of those are my problems. I am so grateful to GQ for instantly understanding that I needed to look at the documents a different way, and knowing how to lead me towards that.

P.S. I found the document. It was saved elsewhere.
P.P.S. For some unknown reason, yesterday was an especially retarded day for me.
Example 1: I was trying to download an app onto the iPad GQ gave me. It took three Google searches, help from one friend by text, and help from one random guy in our office suite.
Example 2: Couldn't find the power button to turn on the computer. Had to ask for help.
Example 3: When looking at a dollar amount that said 80 billion dollars, I interpreted it as "80 hundred million dollars." For some reason, my brain stopped in the millions and could not make the leap to billions. So embarrassing.

I once told my mother that while I wouldn't actively pursue it, I'd be interested to see if getting a traumatic brain injury would alter my learning disabilities for the better. She smiled sadly and told me no, no it would not, and explained why. Unfortunately one of my learning disabilities is memory, so I can't remember her explanation. 

Free Beer

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

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

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

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

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?

Quiet

Months ago, Trixie threw a cocktail party on a Friday night. She kept telling me she'd finish cleaning up from it soon, but soon didn't come until this weekend, when she packed and moved out. Yesterday she packed and moved out. Today she came back, supposedly to clean. I see no evidence of this alleged cleaning though.

Her bathtub is dirty. The cheese that got mashed into the carpet the night of the cocktail party is still there. Luckily, the carpets are being shampooed on Wednesday, so it will finally come out.

Last night when Trixie was packing, she unplugged her telephone, and it caused me to fall offline. I told her, and my phone that had been put away was promptly plugged in, but it didn't fix the problem. I called a friend who's a semi-computer geek to ask if she could suggest any quick fixes over the phone, and we began trouble-shooting.

Trixie arranged for Old Guy to come over and fix the problem, so my friend and I hung up. I was sitting on my bedroom floor reading when I heard Trixie asking Old Guy to come over as soon as he possibly could, so she wouldn't have to listen to my bitching anymore.

Bitching. Really? I absolutely agree that Trixie has the total right to take her phone. It's hers! But when you do something that, for whatever reason, causes someone else a problem, I think it's reasonable that you fix that problem.

Old Guy showed up, and two minutes later my internet connection was restored. When I asked him what had happened, he hesitated and Trixie blushed, and he brushed me off with, "Oh, a couple of wires were crossed." I thanked him for fixing the problem so quickly, and went back in my room.

Today when I saw Trixie on my way out, she just looked at me for a second, and then went back to her "cleaning" without saying anything. And when I came back, she was gone.

And now it's quiet. Of course I'm freaked out at the idea of having to pay the rent by myself. But for right now, the quiet is beautiful. And it's not just that it's quiet. It's the happy knowledge that at no point is somebody going to unlock the door and walk in. Nobody will decide to run the noisy dishwasher at midnight. Although I have said (and still maintain) that Trixie was the best roommate I've ever had, this experience has really solidified for me that the next time I move, it's going to be to a one-bedroom. This roommate shit is not for me. It's really, really not.

Heh - Good Luck

Because really, how the hell was I supposed to realize I'd have to take pictures of anything I write in a mirror ... oh my god can I flip this somehow with the fancy options offered? Please hold while I scramble to investigate this.... okay no.

My only option would be to rotate it, which would not make it any easier to read. So umm.... hi, and also, sorry.

Yeah, in case you haven't figured it out, I've been playing with my Mac today. So far I've gotten a mix CD onto my iPod courtesy of the Mac (and a long phone call with a friend, complete with cursing), and I figured out how to play with the Photobooth feature. Oh, and I downloaded pictures off my digital camera onto iPhoto, but can't figure out how to access them in ANY way. Not to upload them here, not to get them onto Flickr, not how to get them into an email. Which pisses me off because my pictures from Los Angeles are just dying to be shown off. I wrote captions for each picture and everything!

Working on it. Any help is welcome. But be warned, a phone call may be necessary, and I'm both retarded and frustrated, a dangerous combination.

Okay. So. Game time. The first person to comment with what my photobooth picture says gets a prize.

Whatcha Thinkin Bout?

Does everyone else think they're "done"? Like, you're as good as you'll get? That you're as open-minded as you need/want to be? That you know enough about a big enough variety of things for life?

My great-grandmother used to say you should learn something new every day. I can't say that I do, though yesterday I read three books and the day before I learned that I like bbq'd shrimp on sticks, but I definitely think I have many more miles to go before I sleep.

Thank goodness I have my world map shower curtain to help me along on my path to learning new things. Maybe after I've learned where everything is located, I'll move on to the periodic table of elements shower curtain. Who needs school when you have shower curtains?

Growing up, my mother was constantly telling me to look things up. I hated looking things up, so I avoided it whenever possible. Now I question multiple things on a daily basis.

Just yesterday, I questioned Trixie about those Aryian Nation people. There were some on the Tyra show saying they "don't mind" other races aside from white existing, but they should all go back to the countries they belong in. As in, Tyra should "go back to" Africa, even though she personally, was born in California.

Anyway, these white power people were talking about this in relation to inter-racial relationships, and saying God didn't intend for people to mix races. My question is, if God didn't intend that, then why did s/he allow people to be able to be attracted to other races? Why wouldn't God have created people to only be attracted to those in their own race?

Trixie had no answer. Today I'm questioning why my brand new power cord is not working very well. What are you questioning these days?

The Night the Dancing Died

This is going to be a quick one, because at any moment, my connection may die. Things are wacky all over the city today, and I'm not pleased. It took me two hours of trying to stay online long enough to send my friend an e-card.

I care more about sending an e-mail to check on a friend in a health crisis, than I do about keeping up with my stupid mySpace page.

Despite huge efforts to be home by 8p.m. for SYTYCD, I didn't get to watch it. Why? Because my shitty cable company didn't give me that channel tonight. Instead I was able to watch Dr. Phil (I couldn't make it through the full hour). If somebody wants to tell me what's going on, I'd greatly appreciate it.

Now I want a peach...