Rendered Speechless

I guess it started last Saturday night when I did something I probably shouldn't have done. It had been sitting on my chest like a rock for almost 48 hours and I had tried to ignore it, on Friday in particular, but without much success. It was the ex-boyfriend's birthday. The obligation to acknowledge it was overwhelming and yet completely unnecessary, despite the fact that he did as much for me a few months ago. We haven't been together for 15 months. I decided the only way out was around: I made it through the entire day on Friday without saying a word. Deliberately. It was a silent declaration of independence.

That Saturday night after working for about twelve hours I suddenly decided I didn't feel quite so obligated anymore, so I sent him a short message. Sort of a happy belated birthday, I didn't forget but I've been insanely busy lately (which is completely true). And I got one back. It was nice, but it said just enough for me to think yeah, this was a bad idea.

All he had to tell me was that he'd had a great birthday, "probably the best one in years." A vague reference to having visited a beach a few weeks back didn't help things either.

Now I don't know what "the best one in years" means exactly and I don't want to, particularly since I had some involvement in seven of the last nine. I also don't want to know who he went to the beach with, if anyone. Knowing him, the possibilities are endless, and he rarely makes trips for pleasure alone. But it was enough to bring back those not-so-old feelings of not being enough "fun," feelings I'd had for eight years where he was concerned. Feelings that he never could do what he really wanted to do with me, and that somehow it was always my fault for needing something different out of life. You don't get over eight years of inadequacy in fifteen months. Apparently. "Life is spectacular now!" he thinks to himself. "I'm finally getting all that I'm entitled to, you know, all that stuff I couldn't have with YOU..."

All this from a couple of vague references to having a life in an otherwise innocuous email. This is why I don't talk to him. The only pattern that could ever contain us was chaotic and destructive. At least to me. Even on its better days it was severely off-balance. I was defective and somehow that was supposed to make him the better person for having chosen me anyway. But then "defective" often seemed to be what he needed to step on to make himself feel taller. So glad I could help.

It was about 2 am Sunday morning. I sat in a very dark state of weird, staring at my computer screen for quite some time before I looked at the clock and decided twelve hours of work was enough for one day. I could do two more the next day and be completely caught up. Yes, surely I could handle two hours of work on a Sunday evening.

And then it occurred to me just how small two hours actually was, especially compared to what I had just done. I had an almost completely free day ahead. Outside of picking up a prescription, going to the bank and doing the laundry, the day was mine. The world was my oyster. With a little careful planning, dammit I might be able to go to the beach. So the next day I took care of my errands, went to the bookstore and bought two paperbacks, and took my new books and my folding chair to Half Moon Bay for the afternoon.

You have to walk about a mile down a dirt road to get from the small parking area to the edge of the cliffs. And then you have to walk down a very long flight of steps to get from the top of the cliff down to the beach. I had my camera backpack and my portable cloth table and chair bundled up and thrown over my shoulder, but the hike wasn't too bad. I've done it before. I made it down, found a spot about dead center between the beach's rocky bookends to the north and south, and sat down to face the ocean.

I had actually been dreaming of this moment for months, ever since I figured out that I only lived about twenty miles from the beach. How nice it would be, I thought to myself, to just spend an afternoon there, reading a book and listening to the waves. Almost meditative. And here I was, finally doing it. Except there's something about the sound the ocean makes that no one ever told me. It doesn't drown out the voices in your head. Somehow it actually draws them out, makes them louder. Perhaps because it drowns out everything else.

There were other people on the beach but I couldn't hear them. My own voices though, I could hear those just fine. So much work left to do, so many billable hours needed to make ends meet, the estimated taxes that are due in a couple of weeks (would I remember to pay them in time?), the ex-boyfriend who reminded me without actually saying so that women mourn and men replace. There is no sound loud enough to drown that out. Never has been.

I tried focusing on just the sound of the ocean. I noticed the sea made two very distinct noises, the most noticeable being the crashing of the waves on the beach over and over again, each culminating in a fizzy dissipation of foam across sand. The surf was relatively rough, which I attributed to a storm that would be moving in from the west over the next couple of days. But underneath that was a roar, a deep and unrelenting growl, which had no percussion of its own and only quieted slightly in the brief moments when the surf settled enough to reveal a distant fishing boat on the flat horizon. It occurred to me that watching the far ocean change can be very much like watching the hands of a clock, where movement isn't actually visible except as a measured difference between then and now. One minute you can see the horizon and the next, only the swell that hides it. And you have no recollection of the actual hiding process. It makes you wonder if it really is possible to sleep with your eyes open.

As I began reading the book about the artist with the heroin-addict brother and mother with Alzheimer's, I looked up occasionally to see if I could still find the fishing boat. And every time I looked up, I found it a little further north, and found myself a little less convinced that this was actually my life. I was reading a book on the edge of the ocean and I could still be home in time for dinner. As someone who grew up in the south and midwest, "ocean" was one of those words that had always held that place in my vocabulary reserved for fantasy and envy. Now, "ocean" is what's on the other side of the hill. That hill. That one right there.

I closed the book after about four chapters and looked around me. Life is hard right now. I'm working way too much, I'm stressing over money, noisy neighbors and all the things I should be doing--want to be doing--but don't have time to do. And at the same time, life is probably better right now than it's ever been. I finally have the career I want. I finally live somewhere where I'm not sneezing or sick ten months out of the year. I live somewhere where I actually want to go outside. I've reconnected with friends I haven't seen in eight years. I've released myself from a tremendous amount of emotional oppression just by moving from Texas to California. I looked toward the lowering sun and said thank you to God. Thank you for bringing me here, for a really cool job, for the desire and ability to go outside, for an actual beach within twenty miles of home and a rare day off to enjoy it. Thank you for this life.

At that moment, the sea swelled and excited the surf, as it had been doing off and on all afternoon. Large waves crashed against the sand. The idea occurred to me as if someone else put it in my head, He's saying, You're welcome. And I nearly dismissed it as a coincidence except that for the first time that entire afternoon, the wind carried the spray from the waves all the way back to where I was sitting, where it touched my lips like tiny sparkles and then as soon as I acknowledged it, evaporated. I looked to the south and saw a haze hovering low in front of the rocks, as I had all afternoon, and wondered why that was the first time I had felt the mist myself. And then I wondered if it was egotistical for me to think I knew the answer. Except that I did know. Because God knows what gets my attention. It's how I got here in the first place. He talked me here. And I'm here now because I listened and I trusted what I heard.

But that's another entry altogether.

I hate it when Daylight Saving Time begins. I'm robbed of an hour of sleep and these days, a billable hour as well. Suddenly I'm supposed to get up an hour earlier and be tired an hour earlier. Another brilliant government takeover of some aspect of everyday life gone straight to hell. They need to stay the hell away from my clocks. Sleep habits are personal. Next they'll be telling me when to go to the bathroom.

I've never, ever liked this particular weekend of the year. Never. Although this year there is a bright spot to the time change that I've never had before. Now it will be light enough when I leave work that I can go home in relative daylight. That means I can start riding my bike to work and maybe actually see what's in front of me when I go home.

I want to start tomorrow but there are two problems with this. One is that I don't have a backpack big enough to carry all my bike gear (mainly extra lights and a tire repair kit) and a change of clothes with me. It's a ten mile ride. I've done it before but it was on a weekend when I didn't actually have to see anyone who was close enough to smell me. It's still cool enough in the morning that I won't be sweating that much when I get there, but I'll be wearing something suitable for riding and not working so I'll need to take better clothes with me. As the weather gets warmer, I'll probably bring some extra stuff so I can take a shower at the gym before work, so I want to plan for that too. The second problem, and probably the biggest, is that no matter what enthusiasm I have for this idea right now, it's going right out the window when my alarm clock goes off. Poof! Gone. I know me pretty well. I'll be going back to sleep right after I feed the cat.

To do this ride I have to get up an hour earlier than normal. Now that the time has changed, that's two hours earlier. I can't even go to bed on time because as far as my body clock is concerned, it's an hour too early. Put that together with my usual Sunday morning sleep in that I definitely enjoyed today and I'm screwed. Tomorrow morning is going to suck. So I'm thinking one hour early is enough to start with. Get used to that and then we'll talk one more hour for the ride.

It's going to happen though. I'm going to do this. Tomorrow night on my way home from work I'm going to stop at REI and see if I can find the backpack I want. And once I adjust to the time change I'm going to get up an hour early and do this. I've been wanting to do this for months now. It will be nice to have something to look forward to when I get up in the morning, for however long it lasts anyway. When I thought I was going to start tomorrow, I was actually excited about getting up in the morning. Then I thought about how miserable I'm going to be and how working 15 hours this weekend kept me from getting to REI to find that backpack. Oh well, one more day. I hope.

That's right, I said 15 hours. Now that I've done my taxes, it's become clear to me that I can only keep 55% of every dollar I make on the second job. Roughly 20% federal tax, 10% California tax, 15.3% self employment tax. Yep, that's pretty much it. Ridiculous and painful. Very painful.

The real problem here is that my hourly rate is way too low for being self employed, and even lower for being self employed in California. I got this job partly because the person who brought me in lowballed it, expecting we would make our real money on maintenance fees after the site was up. Well that's great except we can't seem to get there from here. They have very little time to test it, we keep adding stuff to it, I have a 50-hour-a-week day job that sucks up all my time, and so it never goes up. We never get to the phase where I get paid a flat fee every month to maintain the site and then renegotiate my hourly rate for new features. I don't do well with things that never end. Not well at all. If I don't see an end in sight I lose my motivation. That started happening to me about a week ago and it was getting really bad really fast. I had to do whatever I could to get off the treadmill.

So realizing earlier this week that I don't do well without a goal, I set a goal. I want to get the site finished (at least as it was originally agreed upon) before I start doing overtime on the day job. At least anything after that will be gravy and maybe I won't be coming home late at night with the weight of knowing I haven't fulfilled the original obligation yet. As it is now, I've put in the new requests as I've gotten them and have yet to reach the end of the original plan. That was mainly out of necessity, as every little thing in the site affects every other little thing and some things just need to be done before others if it's going to work correctly. A lot of new features needed to be done before we went forward with some of the original ones they affected. I need to reach the end of the original plan before I can relax, and I really need to relax. REALLY.

Except under the best of circumstances I can only relax so much. $30 an hour was great in Texas when the taxes were half and I could put in 40 hours a week. That was enough, even though it was far, far less than the low end of the going rate (which is about $75 to $80 an hour). I wasn't in it to get rich. I had what I needed. Out here, I need to make $900 to put toward my rent every month. That means I have to work 60 hours a month to be able to keep $900. 60 hours a month is very hard to do on top of about 220 for the day job. Given how limited my weeknights are, that's a lot of weekend time disappearing. But it's not really the fact that I have a second job that bothers me, or even the hourly rate. It's the fact that there's a quota, that I need to hit a certain number of hours every month to stay afloat. That I need a second job at all or else I don't make the rent. It's the pressure of needing something, of not being able to live comfortably without it. I didn't actually realize this until today when I got on Craigslist and started looking for a new place to live, and I saw things that were cheaper than my apartment. I could actually imagine not needing the second job... and then suddenly I wanted to get to work on it. Because for a fleeting moment, it wasn't rent. It was gravy. It was fun again.

Now granted I didn't find much that was cheaper without going down to an outhouse. But I did find basically two things that would get me out from under the Riverdance family without having to put even more stuff in storage. One, the townhouse. Roughly the same price for the same space but with side neighbors instead of above and below neighbors. Two, the house. In some cases a little more for the same space, in others a little less, and some with less space altogether. There's a lot more work to be done there. But it gave me hope. The question is, am I going to end up cheaper or the same? I guess it depends on what's available in August when my lease is up. Cheaper would be stress free. Smaller would be next to impossible, so cheaper is not likely. But I'm holding out hope.

I did see a lease-to-own three bedroom house for $1399 a month in San Mateo. That's insanely cheap out here. That's a price that would make the second job gravy. There MUST be something wrong with it. There has to be. Probably black mold or a car-sized hole in the roof or something. But hey, it gave me hope. And the motivation to keep working through my weekends, because now I need to pay for another move. At least this one should only be across town. And hopefully it will be the last for a very long time.

It's after 2am now. Morning is going to suck. I'll say hi to the bike on the way to the car.

Today I experienced my very first earthquake. That makes today the perfect time to start this series, because now I know everything.

Not really. That's why it's going to be a series. But I have learned a lot over the last five months and now I'm ready to share.

Welcome to California. We're Searching Your Car.

When I was getting ready to move to California I heard a lot of rumors about how much trouble I could get into if I brought any plants with me. I have a philodendron that I've had since 1991 (my mom sent it to me when I wrecked my car in college) and seeing as how it's the only thing besides my cat I've been able to keep alive for more than a week, I wasn't going to give it up easily. I asked around and got pretty much the same story--foreign plants equal heavy fines and confiscation, because they'll do anything to avoid another fruit fly crisis like that one back in the early '80s that was caused by that environmentalist governor who wouldn't spray in time but we won't mention any names. And then I came to Redwood City to look for a place to live, and the guy who showed us around said, "No plants? I've never heard that before."

So I risked it. I put the plants in a box in the back of my car next to the cat carrier and set off on my journey, wondering how much longer Rapunzel and I would be together and what she might cost me.

We entered California on the second day of the trip. We crossed the state line, plants, cat and all. I thought, Well that was stupid. How is anyone even going to know what I'm bringing in here anyway... what's that up ahead, a tollbooth?

It was an inspection station. And no one was getting through without an interrogation and search. There was not a lane that went around it. There was not a U-turn to allow you to go back. You were going through this thing and that was it.

I was asked three questions. "Where are you coming from?" Then, "Are you carrying any fruit or vegetable products?" This is where I turned a little cold. "I have a philodendron, you're welcome to it if it's a problem!" She asked if it was outdoor or indoor, and I gave the right answer: Indoor. So she dug through the leaves a little bit and asked me what kind of animal I was carrying and sent me on my way.

It all seemed a bit dramatic. I wondered if I should write my congressman. And then I remembered who that was. Nevermind.

Keep Our Ditches Safe (Drive Off the Cliff Instead)

California has a real aversion to guardrails, and few places I've driven in my life need them so desperately. You know all those Hollywood scenes where people are run off the road and right down the side of a cliff? There's a reason for that. The reason is that the guardrail is on the other side of the highway, protecting you from that ditch between the road and the mountain you're climbing. But along the edge of the cliff? Forget it. I really don't know what the thinking is here. Does a guardrail obstruct that lovely view of the valley? You know, the one with all the dead people and burned cars at the bottom? Or is a ditch guardrail cheaper than a cliff guardrail because it never needs to be replaced? I have no idea. But I'm gaining some serious upper body strength hanging onto that steering wheel.

Am I Really Supposed to Turn HERE?

I have never seen such a convoluted system of roads as I have since I moved to the Bay Area. I used to live in Austin. There's some long and windy stuff down there, but by God you know a highway entrance ramp when you see one. Here, not so much. My stepmother and I drove around for an hour looking for the entrance ramp to 101 after leaving the Ikea in East Palo Alto, which is on 101. I'm not kidding. You can drive right past the only entrance for miles if you don't know what you're looking for. For instance, if you're looking for a sign that tells you a highway entrance is near, that's your first problem. Don't expect a sign, at least not in time to get into the correct lane. If you see a sign that gives you any warning at all, profusely thank whatever god you worship and then take a picture. Because usually what you'll get is FREEWAY ENTRANCE right where you're supposed to turn and you'd better be in the correct lane when you see it. And you'd better take that ramp, because the next bend in the road will either take you into someone's driveway or get you stuck between the loading dock of a Best Buy and a concrete wall.

Access roads. I miss access roads. Roads that get you to the highway here are just regular roads. If such a road happens to parallel the highway, do not assume that it is an access road. Because I've seen more than one road parallel a highway and NEVER give you access to the actual highway. But if your road does give you access and you drive past the highway because you were supposed to turn left instead of right (if you're perpendicular to the highway, the direction of traffic on said highway has no relationship to which way you turn to get there), you're not likely to find it again today. If you don't happen to miss the on ramp you might still have a wreck trying to figure out if you're really supposed to turn HERE because frankly, it looks like a trap. The entrance to the highway near the Ikea (when we finally found it) required a left turn from the middle of the street. No stop signs, no traffic lights, and of course, no left turn lane. But yes, you are supposed to turn left here, and you'd better hope whoever is behind you stops while you wait for oncoming traffic to clear.

On my way to the DMV in San Mateo I drove through an intersection that scared the crap out of me. I was on a one-way street with two lanes. To my right was a median next to two more lanes coming off the highway, going in the same direction as me. I had a set of stoplights, and THEY had a set of stoplights. The two stoplights operated separately. When my light was green, theirs was red, but I didn't know that because the field of view was so small that only THEY were supposed to know what color their lights were. That did not help me when it came time to turn right in front of two lanes of seemingly stopped cars. I did not trust this. I did not even remotely believe this. What if someone's light malfunctioned? What if the power went out? What if someone got in a hurry and darted across the intersection? What if their light was actually green and they were just slow getting started? I'm making a right turn in front of two stopped lanes of traffic and it is not only legal but designed that way ON PURPOSE. I put all my faith in God that those lanes would stay stopped and I made the turn. Needless to say I lived through it, but I didn't like it. Not one bit.

The DMV: Got Your Checkbook? Take a Number.

It really is a well-oiled machine, but plan on spending a good two days there. My first day at the DMV lasted four hours. First, the driver's license. Get in line to show your birth certificate and get a number. Then when your number is called, get in line to turn in your form and your new voter registration. If you want to be able to vote in a primary, register with a party. Otherwise, no need. Personally I didn't want to make that kind of commitment. Then get in another line to get your thumb printed, sign your name and get your picture taken. Then they hand you a written test. Take the test (you can miss six out of 36 questions). Then get in another line to have your test graded and get your temp permit. Total cost: $28.

Studying for that test will teach you some very important things. Like which way to turn your wheels if you're parking on a hill. Or the fact that it's illegal to talk on your cell phone while driving unless you have a hands-free device. Or that's it's also illegal to smoke with a minor in the car. Really.

Next, vehicle registration, a task that must be completed within ten days of moving to California. No kidding, ten days. So get in the first line again for another number. Fill out forms, then sit in a line in your car waiting for a guy to come look at it. I liked the guy I got, he was from San Antonio so he could tell me the difference between the Texas and California inspections. He looked under the hood and said, "You drove from Texas, didn't you," and then proceeded to identify the various colors of dirt on the engine by state. You don't finish this on the first day because you have to get a smog certification before you can complete the process and get your plates. Smog certification is California's version of a state inspection, except you do it every two years and you can't even register your car without it. And oh yeah, it costs $80. The registration itself cost me $219, and that's for a paid off 2005 Toyota Matrix. If you're driving around in a Hummer, you're screwed.

Come to think of it, I haven't seen one Hummer since I've been here. One of many things that makes the Bay Area better than Plano.

And don't let the lady who gives you your number tell you to get the smog certification first, because the smog guy wanted to see my vehicle registration forms before he would do it. They send that info electronically to the DMV, so you have to have at least started the process. She doesn't know what she's talking about.

It's also a good idea to know where you're going to get your certification done ahead of time. The first place I went to, the guy was on vacation. The second place didn't have time in their schedule until the next Monday. The third place was the charm, but his smog machine quit in mid-inspection so I had to go home and come back when it was running again, which was about an hour later. It's not like going to the local inspection station in Texas on a whim and getting out in 20 minutes. Plan ahead. Start early.

When it's all said and done, you don't have stickers anywhere on your windshield but you do have them on your plates. If you passed the test, you also have a paper license making you a legal California citizen. But you have no money, which makes you one in spirit too.

The Truck Speed Limit: Don't Count on It (Unless You're Late)

I don't care what anyone says, people drive really slowly up here. At least compared to I-75 in Dallas. Sure, you have the occasional crazy person whiz by you in the left lane, but you can easily be going 45 in the right lane (in a 65 zone) and no one will appear to care in the least. I am not used to this. If it says 65, dammit I want to go 65. Because it says I can and I want to get there. Today.

Apparently in this part of California, it's all about the journey. In LA, it's all about the destination. Dallas seems to be closer to LA in that regard.

I often find myself going 55 on the highway because of a truck further ahead. Trucks are supposed to go 55 when everyone else can go 65. Do they actually do it? Never, unless they're in front of you and you're running late.

The Motorcycle: If It Was a Snake, It Would Have Bit You

Here's something that freaked me out the first time it happened and continues to freak me out and will always freak me out as long as I live here: Lane splitting. This is when you're sitting at a stop light or driving on the highway and a motorcycle appears next to you out of nowhere, because he's riding the white line between you and the next guy and nearly taking off your side mirror in the process. This is the most idiotic thing I've ever seen and it's a perfectly legal way for them to get through traffic.

Maybe this explains the lack of guardrails. Natural selection.

TGIBF!

When I first started working here, it was the end of the summer and the DreamWorks cafeteria was still having "barbecue Fridays" where they would grill on the patio and employees would bring their families and eat outside. The first Friday I was here they served ribs. They weren't very good. The second Friday featured some form of lemon chicken with wild rice and parsnips. Parsnips? I don't think so. It was on that day that I realized barbecue in California merely means, "We cooked it outside."

There's a restaurant near my apartment called Armadillo Willy's. The sign boasts "Real Texas Barbecue." Yeah. We'll see about that.

California Really Is Falling Into the Ocean

Throughout most of my childhood in Oklahoma and Texas I heard that California was eventually going to have a big earthquake and fall into the ocean. Well I'm here to tell you that it doesn't need an earthquake to fall into the ocean because it's doing that all by itself. There are various places along the coast that have nothing but building foundations left. They built for the view. The ocean ate the cliff. The cliff fell down. The house went boom.

There's an apartment building in Pacifica that is experiencing this phenomenon right now. They've been shoring up the cliff with giant rocks for weeks as it continues to fall away, bringing the edge of the cliff right up to--and now underneath--the apartment building. I'm not convinced this is actually going to work. At least they evacuated first.

And as for earthquakes, if you don't know anything about them when you get here, your local insurance agent will immediately fill you in. I was happy to see that when I moved here, my car insurance went down slightly and my renter's insurance was cut in half. But I didn't rejoice for too long because that doesn't cover earthquakes. For that, you need to purchase insurance from the California Earthquake Authority, which brings your cost right back up to where it was when you lived in Texas. That is if you get the basic coverage, which pays just $5000 on the contents of your apartment. Well between you and me, that will just cover the cost of my computer, but it does pay $15,000 toward living accommodations while your apartment might be uninhabitable. Since I have no family out here to stay with and few friends as of yet, I figured that was a good thing to have.

They give you all sorts of literature on what is covered, how to prepare and what to do when it happens. Not if, but when, and how bad. They make that very clear. You don't stand in doorways anymore, you get under furniture. You don't go outside. You cable bolt your bookcase to the wall. You put the heavy stuff on the bottom. You use museum putty to stick your knick-knacks down to the mantle.

The insurance doesn't cover glassware or crystal, and it doesn't cover your car. Which perturbs me a bit since everyone in California parks under their building.

Today I experienced my first earthquake. It was a 4.1 at about 10am this morning. I was at the office, sitting at my desk, and the building jolted sideways. Someone said, "Whoa." I sat there for a minute trying to figure out who could have slammed a door so hard that the whole building moved. And then I figured it out. Duh. My cubemate David returned shortly after and said, "Did you have fun?" And I said, "Was that what I thought it was?" And he said he was at another cube at the time and heard the ceiling tiles crackle for a few seconds. To me, it was just a loud boom and a sideways jolt, but yeah, it was fun.

The museum putty worked like a charm. But I'm moving the ceramic cats away from the tile and closer to the carpet.

Seagulls: Big-Ass Chickens that Float

Do you know how big a seagull can get? I didn't until I saw the ones at Fishermen's Wharf. Pretty damn big. About the size of my 17-pound cat big. Really. Big.

Sea chickens. Freakin' huge.

We Told You So.

There's this law that was passed in 1986 called Proposition 65, which says that a business entity of a certain size must warn you of the potential dangers of patronizing that business. For example, if you're at the store and they sell wine (and they all do), I guarantee you there's a sign at the register that says, "WARNING: Drinking Distilled Spirits, Beer, Coolers, Wine and Other Alcoholic Beverages May Increase Cancer Risk, and, During Pregnancy, Can Cause Birth Defects." And at every other building in the state there is a sign that says, "WARNING: This Area Contains Chemicals Known To The State Of California To Cause Cancer And Birth Defects Or Other Reproductive Harm." You know what that means? It means, "We painted the building. Don't lick the walls."

I saw one of these next to a drinking fountain at an apartment I looked at right before I moved here. I kept looking.

And Your Bagger This Evening is Jose Cuervo

I visited a couple of grocery stores before I noticed it: Alcohol. Not just beer and wine alcohol, but Wild Turkey, tequila, Jim Beam, vodka, you name it. No wonder liquor stores are scarce out here. You don't need them. Just grab your pineapple juice from the canned fruit aisle and your Malibu Rum on the way out. And don't forget the Pepto.

The first time I noticed that bottle of Stoli across the aisle from the pickles... yeah, that's when I knew I was home. Of course I'll be getting cancer now.

I'm sitting in the Denver airport thinking about how much I hate my contacts. I really hate my contacts. My optometrist would try to sell me on a new brand every time I got my eyes checked and for a few years I was able to fend her off. This last time though, she sent me home with a sample that seemed just as good, if not better, than what I had been using for the last seven years. So I switched. They were more expensive, you change them every two weeks instead of every month, and they allow your eyes to breathe a little better, which she said was good for someone like me who has dry eyes. I thought, ok, healthy is good. Why not.

Well here's what actually happened. I spent more money on contacts that make a nice glowy cloud on anything with a light on it, I can't ever remember if I've been wearing the current pair for one week or two, and you know what happens when you add MORE air to already dry eyes? Yeah. You probably do.

I finally have a vision plan. Perhaps I should find a new optometrist a little early this year. I'll see if I can find one that's not getting kickbacks from Acuvue. I've cleared a lot of weeds out of my life over the past year that were clouding my vision--bad career choices, bad relationships. Can't I at least get a decent pair of contacts? I'm tired of only being able to see metaphorically.

(Fed up. Takes out contacts, rolls them into a ball, flicks them across airport. They're two weeks old anyway. Or three? Now think... when did I go to Napa...)

Ahhh glasses. Sometimes you have to forego good looks for clearer vision. That seems to be a theme with me lately as I start to define where I stand on a lot of things, mainly political. I can't care anymore about what other people think, I can't care about my image. I can't care if I get approval from the popular kids. I have to strive for the clearest vision at whatever cost. I have to strive for what's right, not what's pretty or acceptable. And some of my values are neither right now. And I'm finally tired of caring.

They've been bothering me, the attacks from the "popular" kids. They really have. But I'm letting go of that. Because the only people who have attacked me for what I believe are the ones who have yet to even ask me what I believe about anything. I made one comment one day and I was immediately stereotyped and personally insulted. I'm very sensitive to that kind of thing and I've been hanging onto it longer than I should. But it recently occurred to me that it wasn't the lack of approval that bothered me, it was the lack of interest. The way they acted like I wasn't even worth the effort to get to know at all, but I was definitely worth kicking around for an easy punch line. Being used like that is what really burns.

If they took the time, they would find out we have much more in common than they think. But they don't want to take the time. And that's their loss, not mine, and I have to remember that.

The point is, I'm not buying their cloudy, expensive contacts, or even their rose-colored glasses, and I'm more than ready for them to know it. I don't want to see the world the way they do, where they criticize and attack what they don't even want to understand because it gets points with their hateful friends. When you think about it, who wouldn't rather see clearly what's right in front of them than hide their eyes out of peer pressure? Unfortunately, not enough of us. So no matter how their rejection makes me feel at any given moment, I have to follow my conscience and I have to stay true to my own voice, because an artist cannot lie and still be an artist. That would make her a parrot at best, a passionless reflection of someone else's ideals. And what I want for myself in 2010 is to find out exactly what kind of artist I am and what it is I really want to say and just say it. Whatever it is, it has to be honest and it has to be brave, or else no one will listen at all. Least of all myself.

Actually I know what I want to say. I just have to figure out how to say it in a way that's not so likely to be dismissed. Because I'm really SICK of being dismissed. I can't make them stop though. I just have to be smarter, louder, and harder to ignore. One down...

This is one of those days I should have stayed home.

We were supposed to start on a new sequence last week. Layout doesn't have their work done yet so we have barely anything to set up. Set up is my job. I can't do my job. So my boss bought us another week and you know what's changed? Not much. Still can't do my job.

Last night a cold front started to move in. The wind picked up dramatically. I sneezed for 2 hours. So I took a Claritin before bed and then woke up feeling like I'd taken an entire bottle of Sudafed. Totally dried out, feverish but with no actual fever. I hadn't taken Sudafed; I save that for when I'm desperate. I'm not desperate. I've sneezed a few times today and this morning I didn't think I was going to make it to lunch without falling over dead. I'm better now but not great, and bored, so I'm writing a blog entry in my favorite text editor. It's 5pm on Friday. If I were really sick I would go home but I've had too many cokes to convince anyone I feel bad at all.

I keep bouncing back to the Web today. I try not to but I'm very ADD when I'm on a computer with nothing urgent to do. I keep going back to Fox News and CNN and seeing what's going on. Apparently today is the 40th anniversary of when the Indians took over Alcatraz for 19 months, resulting (directly or otherwise) in Nixon's halt of U.S. tribal assimilation policies. Did you know the Indians took over Alcatraz in 1969? I didn't. Probably because I wasn't alive yet, although I was alive by the time they took the last 15 off the island. I think they said something about it on the tour boat but there was a group of Russians sitting behind us singing songs at the top of their lungs. We didn't hear much coming over the speakers.

I have to wonder why CNN reported on this but not Fox News. Of course I ask the same questions about a lot of political stories that Fox reports on but not CNN. You can't rely on just one network. They don't share their personal priorities.

One thing I did read on Fox today really annoys me. There's a rep in Missouri who is trying to get a resolution passed to make next Wednesday "a day without complaining." That's right, a day where complaining about anything is not allowed. And he's a Democrat. I find that very ironic.

For one thing, I complain about Obama, Harry Reid and most especially, Nancy Pelosi. It's true. When I post my complaints on Facebook however, it's always in response to a Democrat complaining about conservatives. I feel justified in my complaints because these people are my leaders and I voted against them. It didn't work, they still won. I get to be ticked about that. I also understand complaining on the other side because this country was left in a mess by the Republicans. But I understood that complaining a lot better back when the Republicans were still in charge. They're not in office now. And yet the Democrats are still whining about it. So here comes a Democrat trying to pass a no-complaining day resolution. You think there's a loophole that says, "No complaining EXCEPT for the following topics: Sarah Palin, Bush, conservatives in general, Fox News.... because they're all WRONG and they deserve it." I wouldn't be the least bit surprised.

You guys have the power to change things now. Quit complaining about those who disagree with your ideology and get to work before that power is taken away from you again. I wouldn't mind the complaining so much if you were out there doing something about it. But many of the loudest complaints come from those who are doing nothing but surfing Facebook.

And that brings me to why this resolution REALLY annoys the crap out of me. They say the resolution itself is not even meant to be political (although how can it not be), it's about "improving human relations." There are some who believe complaining hurts relationships, kills careers, and makes for an overall bad quality of life. Well, it does occasionally ruin my Facebook experience, but it has very little control over my actual life. As with any of life's tools for coping, it's all in how you use it.

Complaining has a place in life. It allows you to let off steam. It allows you to work through your emotions about something so that you can get to a place where you can more clearly see a solution to your problems. It gets you from being the victim of a bad situation to a place where you can overcome the bad situation. The more you complain, the madder you get and the greater your resolve to change things. There's a natural pattern to life. First, bad thing happens. Then, person whom bad thing happened to reacts by complaining. Person whom bad thing happened to works through their anger and frustration at the situation, again by complaining. Then, suddenly, person whom bad thing happened to starts to see how to fix it, and they do, powered by said anger and frustration which is now fuel for the cause. Simple. All better.

The only complaining that needs to be squelched is that which feeds off itself and never leads to action. However, you can't always do something about your situation and there are some serious situations in this country right now and in people's lives. People are getting laid off, they're losing their homes, they're losing their fortunes, they're unable to pay their medical bills and stay alive. In many cases there is no course of action to take, they're already doing all they can but circumstances are out of their control. They're going through hell. And now they're not even supposed to talk about it?

The American Indians, in the 60s, were seeing their reservations closed and were being moved into urban areas. What would have happened to them if they hadn't gone to Alcatraz to draw attention to their complaints? Our country's Native American heritage would be completely lost, that's what would have happened.

Basically what this rep is telling his constituents is, "I know you're having problems, many of which my colleagues and I created. You have every right to be angry. But I don't want to hear about it. You're bothering me."

It is self-righteous and cruel to take the power of complaint away from those who are angry just to make the rest of the world a little more comfortable. When did we become a society that should never hear an unkind word, should never have to deal with real problems, should never be inconvenienced, should never lose a competition, and should never have to hear about the problems of others? How do people get help if they don't ever talk about what's wrong in their lives? Especially when they don't feel they have the power to change things alone. I complain about all the complaining being done by Democrats right now, but I wouldn't try to pass a resolution to stop it. They probably would try to pass a resolution to stop mine though. Oh wait, they are. Or at least one is.

I write a blog for a lot of reasons. The first reason is to track my progress on the path toward doing what I've always wanted to do in life. It expanded to a journal on improving my life in general, living my life for me instead of for everyone else, demanding better for myself. That second part has a lot of growing pains, and growing pains come with a lot of complaining. I have no intention of stopping. Not today, not next Wednesday, not because some idiot representative would rather draft useless resolutions than solve the economic crisis, and certainly not because someone might be uncomfortable. I will complain about what makes me unhappy until I feel better and until I see a way to fix it. That's just how I deal with things, and there's not a resolution in the world that will change my mind.

I've had two boyfriends now who can't--or just don't think they should have to--deal with anything negative. The first one was so afraid of negative emotions (particularly in women) that he would joke and change the subject every time I tried to talk seriously about anything. Because of that, my voice was never heard, nothing ever changed and we never went anywhere. Later in life when we tried to be friends, he was still so afraid of what his wife would think about us talking that he would rather not talk to me at all than tell her what he was doing. I demanded that he tell her because it was the right thing to do. He wouldn't. We are no longer talking.

The second boyfriend constantly told me how negative I was during the first few years we were together. I wouldn't even see it coming, just out of the blue when I felt perfectly content with myself and my surroundings, he would tell me I was being negative. I am not a cheerleader and never have been, but if I do not have a smile on my face or a laugh in my heart it does not mean I am not, at the very least, content. I had to ask myself though, how I would ever prove to someone I was not a negative person if he basically kept telling me how much he hated being with me. Just like the time he actually set his watch to see how long it took for me to say something "positive," he was setting me up to fail so he could appear successful by comparison. Anyone who can actually be visibly positive in an abusive situation like that deserves a medal.

And by the way, I WAS positive. I was positive he was an asshole. But I digress.

So after all that, I have a right to complain. I took action, I moved on, but there are times it still makes me mad that I ever put up with it. And every time I complain, I get a little more understanding from myself and from the people who care about me and I am able to go on. So I find a resolution against complaining very self-serving, to the point of being a complaint in itself. A hypocritical complaint about complaining. "Mommy, they won't stop complaining all the time. They're BOTHERING me. Make them stop!"

Sometimes people complain because they just want someone to understand, someone to relate to them. And when they feel like someone relates to them, they move on. There's nothing wrong with that either. I have someone in my life who does understand and that is why while I still complain about some things, I'm not the same person I was when I moved here. I'm not even the same person I was last week. And I will forever be grateful to him for that.

I have a lot to be happy about and I am. I also have a lot to be angry about and I am. You can't draft a resolution that says you don't have to take the good with the bad. You might as well draft a resolution that says, "Life forever after is hereby declared fair." As a new country, we declared the right to pursue happiness as one of our inalienable rights as human beings. We did not declare our inalienable right to receive it. That, you have to do on your own.

I'm starting to think that if you have no direction, perhaps it's best that you don't move.

I've been posting and deleting a lot lately. I'm not sure right now where I want this blog to go. Actually I know where I would like it to go but my head is not aligned with that goal lately, and neither is my free time. I'd like it to be about my job and living in California and in-progress artwork. That last one is a challenge because I'm not going to have time for that for a while. I have ideas though, and when I get them in some visible form, they'll show up here.

I had a very frustrating and stressful weekend. There was too much noise in my apartment for me to relax or concentrate. That resulted in having no recovery time from the past week. I'm hoping this coming weekend and Thanksgiving will be different. I have a lot to get done to ever meet that free-time goal and be an artist again. It's been a very long time since I've been able to do any work for myself and I'm dying to get started on some.

I've spent a lot of time and energy worrying about things I have no control over right now and stressing over regrets I probably don't need to have. I've decided this is the result of many things, but two things in particular. One is that I'm just not at home anymore. I don't miss Texas, but I miss feeling like I'm home. That comes with time, a lot of time. And it comes when you're comfortable where you live. It's hard to be comfortable in a place where you can rarely relax. And it's not just because of the noise, it's because I haven't had time to finish unpacking the apartment. There's a lot of clutter here, it's been here for three months and there's only so long I can put up with clutter. I passed that limit a long time ago, but it would take too much time away from the second job to finish it right now. I'm hoping for some time over Thanksgiving to take care of it. Until then I'm going to remain claustrophobic. Squeezed.

The second problem is work, constant work. Constant pressure to finish something that started almost a year ago, something that has a lot of holes to fill before going public. The pressure was great this past weekend because I couldn't concentrate with little Chariots of Fire running across my ceiling every five minutes. I expect a kid to run once in a while, but not for 48 hours straight. I had a parent at work today tell me yeah, sometimes it's really hard to get your kid to not run in the house. Well duh, of course it's hard. Parenthood is hard. What's your point? If it's hard you don't have to do it? It's hard to get a kid to stop doing anything you don't tell him to stop doing.

Anyway, since I can't change my circumstances right now, and since it's not like I really *have* to make a decision about where my life is going, I'm going to quit focusing on the ambiguity of my future. I'm going to sit still. I'm going to stop worrying about repeating bad decisions by not making any decisions at all, decisions that I'm obviously not ready to make. After all, I don't have to make any. I think that didn't occur to me until today. I've made it to where I wanted to go. I can stop and rest for a while. I've been trying to push myself in some direction because I've never sat still in my life. I've always been moving, working toward some goal. I've finally met a big one and I've been very anxious living with a new question that I have yet to answer: "Now what?" But maybe I don't need to answer it now, maybe it will answer itself. I have no direction. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Maybe I can even enjoy being directionless for a while.

I've based my entire life on the belief that if something's real, it won't end no matter what happens. I guess with everything in my life that's come to a premature end, I've needed to believe that. And I've been feeling very lost lately because a lot of recent events have called that belief into question. But I found out today I was right after all. There really are real things in the world, real things in my own life. Even if they stay at a distance forever I can at least say that part of my world is right side up again.

Yep, that's me this week. Dead Girl Walking. I've worked every day and night this week. I had 40 hours in by Wednesday, not counting what I did over the weekend. I wanted to take tomorrow night off but there's one function on the web site that's giving me trouble so it doesn't look like it will happen. I have an actual deadline this time. They're going to start testing the auction part of the site on Monday, and there's a lot left to do. I also have plans on Sunday with a friend and while I know damn well I shouldn't go, I'm going. I need to get out of here and I've put him off for months. So that leaves tomorrow night and Saturday, period.

I'm really beat. I've given up on dinner this week and replaced it with cookies. I can't get in the shower at night before 1am. The apartment stinks from five-day-old dishes. If I had wanted to do nothing with my life but work, I would have gone into advertising.

I remember working hard in grad school. 12 to 16 hour days seven days a week. We at least got Christmas, and summer, somewhat... this Christmas will still be about the web site. I haven't had a vacation in three years. Grad school was easier somehow. I had stress, that's for sure, but I don't remember it ever making me nauseous for days at a time. But back then, all that was riding on my work was a grade. This time, it's an entire business. This affects far more than just me.

I'm too old for this. The day job is great but it's tiring, and too hard for me to be this stressed out after I leave at night. It's a 100mph job and it's the easiest thing I have in my life right now. It's quickly becoming the only break I get. In fact, we had a halloween-type party tonight at the bar on the other end of the floor--I think we had about 30 people crammed into that one cube (and yes there is a bar in the cube, complete with bar stools, grass skirts, inflatable palm trees, and a toilet with a hand coming out of it to welcome you at the door). There was punch that tasted like a giant pink margarita with dry ice to make it all smokey. People were throwing a roll of tp at each other. It trailed down the hallway between the cubes. Some of it landed on me so I wore it as a scarf, which came in really handy when they ordered pizza. Ross brought in a big bowl of halloween candy and we had dessert too.

I had one glass of punch and lost my ability to type. I had sobered up by the time I went home though, which was pretty much the same time I always go home. I would love to have stayed longer but I had work to do. And I wasn't happy about it since I'm already missing halloween, but if I had stayed I would have just worried myself sick about what I wasn't getting done and probably would have had to cancel Sunday, which is still a possibility. Because I know I'm not getting up early on Saturday to work. I just don't have it in me.

A lot of people will be dressing up to go to work tomorrow. I would go as the goth chick on NCIS that's always drinking slurpees, that is if I had time to put a costume together. So instead I'll wear my favorite orange shirt and leave it at that. Oh well, maybe next year.

Doesn't feel like it. In fact, this is the least birthday-like birthday I've ever had. I worked for 11 hours, had an egg salad sandwich and watched TV. But my neighbor was relatively quiet so I'm OK with it.

They do something kinda cool at DreamWorks on your birthday. You get two balloons, one blue and one white. You get a box of cookies and a card signed by Jeffrey Katzenberg. I found these at my desk when I came back from a class today. I gave away about half the cookies and brought the rest home.

I've been thinking all day, I'd almost rather be 40 than 39. There's something very final about having a 9 in your age, but a 0 makes it feel like you're starting over. I hope I remember that next year. My supervisor, Annmarie, said today that she's deeply scarred from having turned 40. She doesn't look her age either. Must be the light from the computer screen we stare at ten hours a day, freezes the aging process. It's not like any of us spend much time in the sun. Or even artificial light.

You're not imagining that the last four entries have disappeared. It's a new year. Let's just leave it at that.

This is as tense as I have ever been. It's been many years since I've lived in an apartment, since I've had people on top of my head. Tonight the people on top of my head are listening to their stereo, then watching something on their high tech home theater system in full mega bass surround sound. Most of the time the big German guy is just stomping around the apartment, or letting the three-year-old run from one room to the other like a miniature herd of elephants. Tonight I'm getting the full theater experience. Two sneakers thrown at the ceiling have had no effect except to make things worse for me, as my fear of confrontation takes over and I have this waking nightmare of a big German guy knocking on my door at 11pm. What would I say? Something tells me a friendly reminder that quiet hours are from 10pm to 7am would not go over well.

How about the fact that I've had a very long and stressful day and that I don't need to come home and listen to someone else's racket all night. This does not help me unwind. He probably wouldn't care. They usually don't.

He stomped across the apartment and back but never came down. And with that I decided my passive-aggressive reaction wasn't worth the anxiety it caused. I don't remember a time when I walked from room to room, through the living room, back to one bedroom and then across to the other with both hands running through my hair as if I would pull it out with all my fingers at once. I finally stopped in the middle of the living room and decided to sit down again, maybe write about it and see if I unraveled.

You would think a glass of wine would remedy this but as I get older, such things only keep me awake at night with a severe case of restless legs. I don't keep it in the house and I'm not up for going out. Probably couldn't get any this late anyway, even though the local grocery store carries Wild Turkey and vodka. But that's another blog entry altogether.

It's not like I've never heard this guy before. Usually it's not this bad and usually I'm not this bad. I can take a lot when I'm relaxed but that seems to have ended this week as if I'm living on nothing but Sudafed and caffeine. Work finally has work to do but they're still throwing me into so many classes I can't get anywhere. And then when I do, I go to another class that shows me that I just did everything wrong. I get five different instructions from five different people and 30 minutes later I'm back in class not even knowing where I left off. And my supervisor wants me to get to a certain point by tomorrow and I don't even know what point that is anymore.

My lead lighter is on vacation. My regular TD is on vacation too. I have a substitute who's showing me a lot but neither of us really have the time to sit down and just work on it. There are a lot of missing pieces that are the responsibility of people I've never met. They kicked off another sequence yesterday, which means I have two to set up now and I've barely started the one they gave me on Monday. I'm tense. Every muscle in my body is contracted. I spend ten hours a day at work and with all the classes I still get nothing done. And my supervisor's schedule is even worse than mine so she hasn't been able to help me at all.

One more day. There's just one more day in this week. That should be a relief but all I can think about is trying to get 20 hours of freelance work in over the weekend and still have time to do the laundry, pay bills and ride the bike. And get a new bike seat so I can ride past the bridge without coming back with a bruised butt.

The holidays are going to be weird this year. We get the week off between Christmas and New Years. I don't even remember the last time I had a paid holiday (ok, before Labor Day), let alone a week off. They're telling us to take vacation, sick days or no pay but whatever we do, don't come in that week. I don't have vacation yet so I'm thinking sick days, that is if I don't get sick first and use them up. And let me tell you I'm a prime candidate right now. I only have to save up four days because the holidays themselves are paid automatically, but people are starting to drop like flies around there. I stood next to two guys in the elevator today who have been out sick until today. I didn't breathe.

It costs about $400 to fly to OKC. I asked my dad what he wanted to do. He said, "We'll see when we get closer." How much closer? When the ticket costs $500? $600? When my only choice is to land at 4am? My mom is ready to fly me to Denver for either holiday, she just wants to know what I want to do. Holidays have always been hard for me to think only of myself. My whole life has been spent trying to make everyone happy, to see everyone in my family, to not leave anyone out. I spent Christmas at Mom's last year so it was Dad's turn this year. I'm also going to be 39 in three weeks. Why am I still playing visitation rights? I moved to California. I'm not about making everyone else happy anymore.

So I've decided: I'm skipping Thanksgiving. I need some time off. I need to not travel. I need to finish putting my apartment together and ride my bike and work on the web site without feeling like I'm cramming everything into two short days. I need the German guy to go visit some family somewhere that's not here. Germany would be good. And then I'm going to Denver for Christmas and spending the week before New Years alone. I'm about tired of being alone lately but at the same time, I know I need it to get my environment under control.

If I can get the site done by Christmas it can go up the week I'm off, which is also the week they're off, which is why they want it to go up at Christmas. I'm hoping that won't be a hard thing. Maybe I can paint something in between bug fixes. If my initials didn't spell ART I wouldn't even remember the word at all, and I have things to work out. Feelings and frustrations and grave injustices and stuff I can't control. I even have a painting in mind--something that I think would be really cool one minute and then just piss me off the next. Sounds like art to me.

I guess the movie's over upstairs. Maybe I can go to bed now. This Thursday has felt like a Monday, tomorrow damn well better feel like a Friday. I need a Friday. A real one.

I know this isn't the "California for Dummies" I promised but I just couldn't resist. (It will come, just not today.)

I've been at DreamWorks for a little over three weeks now, and let's face it, while it's nowhere near as bad as most, it is a corporation. That means you have your little corporate sheep moments here and there. You have your "Kickoff" meetings. You have your "Touch Bases." You have your Microsoft Outlook with your meetings and your calendar and your email and your to-dos all wrapped in that Dilbert inspired wrist-slitting, soul-smothering, oh-God-I-really-do-work-in-a-cubicle-please-euthanize-me user interface. Imagine my inner programmer's unbridled joy when I found out I would be working on a Linux box, probably one of the most stable, un-bloated operating systems in existence. And then imagine my utter dismay when I found out that someone had actually written a Microsoft emulator for Linux so that we could all run Outlook and therefore, "communicate effectively as a team." Let me tell you, it was a long, hard fall with a big rainbow-colored splat at the end.

A common activity between classes (since I have no homework) is to watch my Outlook calendar change before my eyes. The training department is in total control of my class schedule, and apparently in control of very little else, so they'll schedule me for two or three classes a day a week in advance and then randomly shift things around until it makes sense. If I look at my calendar at just the right time of day, I can see the little blue-outlined boxes move up, down, from this day to that, all without any interaction from me. It's like Microsoft TV. I can witness the near future of my life unfolding before my eyes like Windows releases--"OK, this is what we'll do. Oh wait, that's broken, let's do this. No, that's too annoying, let's go back. Wait, no one's coming to that class because it negates everything they learned in the last class--let's just take the last class and make it prettier and bigger and slower." And so on.

One day during my first week here, a class just disappeared from my schedule. Poof! Gone. I wondered if it had moved to another day, so I started searching. Next week? No. The next? Nope, not there either. The next? AHA!--but it was in conflict with a meeting I didn't know I had, enticingly titled "Touch Base (& Cookies!)." What the hell is a "Touch Base (& Cookies!)?" I asked myself. And why am I being bribed with cookies to attend? I envisioned some doe-eyed HR representative with five minutes experience standing at the head of a conference table with a big plate of cookies, wringing her hands with giddy anticipation as her drooling invitees filed in one by one and took their seats. No one knows the topic of the meeting; no one cares. There's cookies! And what's with the training department? Didn't they see that I already had a "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" scheduled? Excuse me BUT THERE'S COOKIES! Have they no shame?

Turns out the training department made a boo boo. When they called to inquire as to why I wasn't present in a class that apparently had not been rescheduled at all, they corrected their mistake and restored my calendar. Relief! My "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" could once again take it's rightful place on the afternoon of September 16 without having to share space with a how-to on production management software.

But the damage to my psyche had been done. As the weeks wore on and my calendar filled up farther and farther into the future, I kept going back to September 16 just to make sure everything was OK. Yep, "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" was still intact. As a matter of fact, while all my classes and kickoffs and cookieless touch bases swarmed my calendar like flies, "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" seemed to be the most stable meeting on my schedule.

The shameless bribe certainly served its purpose--apparently you can sell any product or idea just by giving away cookies. It wasn't long before I no longer needed Outlook to remind me of the "Touch Base (& Cookies!)." "Touch Base (& Cookies!)" was imprinted on my brain like phosphor burn on a thirty-year-old Pac Man screen--September 16, 4pm to 5pm.

I find myself in awe of this deceptively simple crowd-pleasing technique. Just imagine how many of life's little irritations could be made palatable if only cookies were a part of the package:

"ObamaCare (& Cookies!)"

"Saddam Has Weapons of Mass Destruction (& Cookies!)"

"April 15th (& Cookies!)"

"Your Vehicle Warranty is About to Expire (& Cookies!)"

"You Have One Month to Live (& Cookies!)"

"Your Father is Transitioning to a Woman (& Cookies!)"

"BEYONCE HAS THE BEST MUSIC VIDEO OF ALL TIME (& Cookies!)"

The trick is, the cookies have to be REALLY good. And they were. Just don't ask me what the meeting was about because I don't remember.