I was told that I could listen to the radio at a reasonable volume

Isn't it a thing of beauty? I think it is. If I ever leave my job, it's coming with me. Even if it doesn't work all that great.

My company occupies two locations. Currently these locations are across the street from one another. At first the bulk of my location was to be moving to the East Bay. And the other location, home of my former department? There was not enough office space to accommodate all of the folks who were supposed to be staying in San Francisco. So they were going to do a build out. In preparation for that, everyone became combined in one location.

This meant cleaning out of unused cubicles. That's how I came across this gem. When my former supervisor pulled it out of formerly unused drawer, I instantly claimed it as mine.

And of course, once we were all under one roof, the plan changed. Now we're all moving to the East Bay. In a matter of weeks. Woohoo!

I'm starting to think that perhaps I should start dating again, or something. Because should one be this excited over office supplies?

Back to the porn

Basque chicken with scallop potato

Tonight after running a couple of errands, I headed on over to my folks at Poulet. Just like Gregoire's, their menu last month wasn't that appealing. But this month? Tasty.


Sometimes I select wines by the cuteness of the label.

And have I mentioned that they sell wine? To go? Unlike Gregoire that only sells non-alcoholic beverages thus necessitating a trip down the block to Astronomico's. And my fave wine steward apparently isn't there anymore because there are no longer "Recommended by" tags with her name on the shelf.


Plum tart

I enjoy baking but I eat very little of the things I bake. I love buying stuff made by others though. That's one of the joys of going to Poulet and Gregoire.

I must admit that at times like these, I do feel a tad guilty. One of my coworkers told me today that she is probably going to lose her house in the next few months. She's been there for 25 years. She just made the mistake of trying to start a business and financing it with a second on her house. My mother -- so wise in things financial to some extent and so maddening in so many other ways -- has always told me that one should never finance one's business with one's home. If the business fails, you don't want to lose everything.

But see, I've never been able to afford to buy a home here in the Bay Area -- at least not anywhere that I really want to live. And so right now, I'm quite content with my rent-controlled apartment. That allows me the little splurges in life. Like Gregoire, Poulet, and Kate Spade.

Wrapping it up

Pineapple upside-down pumpkin gingerbread

If you haven't guessed yet, I am quite enamored with this month's issue of "Bon Appetit."

I used to bake on a regular basis.* My junior year of college, I would get up each Saturday morning and bake baguettes. And there was usually some sort of pie or cake around as well. I think my roommates loved me.

In law school it usually happened on Thursday. I started to notice that I ended up throwing out part of the baked goods each week because I just couldn't eat it all fast enough. So I gave some to a friend. And then someone else learned of the gift. So I added another person to the list. By the end of that school year, I was making deliveries every Thursday evening to about seven or eight friends on my way out to the delis. Because everyone went to the delis on Thursday night.

Then I dropped out of law school and moved back to California. Once I got my first real job and my own apartment, I resumed baking. Not on a regular schedule but when the mood hit. And I would bring whatever I had baked into the office. Coworkers would exclaim, "I can't believe you went home and baked after working all day!" But remember? It relaxes me. Plus for the first time ever, I didn't need to jockey with anyone else for use of the kitchen.

That's where I'd like to be. At that place in my mind where I can come home after working all day and suddenly feel like baking. And actually have the energy. Because I must admit that if I hadn't mentioned the possibility of the cake to coworkers, I may not have actually baked it. One day, though, it will be different. Hopefully soon. In the meantime, I'm off to plan this weekend's menu.

* A confession. I keep reading about how baking is an exact science. Here's the thing. I stopped being real regular with my measurements many years ago. Yes, my grandmother taught me about leveling stuff off and all that. She was also big on sifting. I almost never do either these days. But I also have a pretty good eye for measurements. Little extra flour in that first cup? Well, a little less in the next then.

Even worse is when I make dumplings. Look at the chicken in the pot. Then dump enough flour in a bowl to go with said chicken. Eyeball the flour and add some baking powder based upon how much flour is in the bowl...

What I'm trying to tell y'all is to not be afraid of baking. Sure you may have some disasters along the way -- like any time I try to use a box cake mix -- but pretty soon you'll get the hang of it and know where the margins of error lie.

One of those days

First of all, I must say that these days are becoming less frequent. But they're still here. What kind of days? The ones during which I miss my aunt. A lot.

I'm trying my best to put my thoughts into some sort of order in between the sobs. Because with order, maybe I can make the sobbing stop. And because I had plans for today that did not involve curling up in a ball in bed for the entire day.

It probably all started a few days ago when I was talking to my dad. He started talking about his parents and my aunt. His big thing these days is about how he's so happy that I got to spend as much time as I did with his parents. He's just finally realized what a big impact that my grandparents had on my life. I think it was my aunt's death that made him realize this.

My father was devastated when his mother died. My stepmother had no clue what to do, what to say. At least that's what she told me. Then again, this is a woman who didn't even bother to attend my grandmother's funeral. So I helped my father deal with his grief and I dealt with mine alone for the most part.

If things were different, I would try to talk to my dad about all of this. His wife is dying, though, and he's dealing with his crazy ass in-laws. He has more than enough on his plate. He doesn't need my crap as well. So I lie to him when he asks how I am. I tell he doesn't need to be concerned when he says that he's worried about me.

Friday afternoon my former supervisor stopped by my office. He asked how I was doing and quickly took the question back. He knows. He's lost a lot of family members to cancer. How do I answer that question when asked? "Fine." "Coping." "Taking each day as it comes." What else is there to say?

We then talked about movies. He said that a few months after one of his relatives died, he made the mistake of seeing My Life. He ended up having a complete meltdown in a movie theater. I told him that I've been trying to stick to comedies and action flicks lately. I then mentioned that perhaps I should try to avoid Stepmom and I felt a tear slide down my cheek. Wouldn't you know that the movie was on some cable channel yesterday. I didn't watch it though. I did try to watch Soul Food though. That lasted for about 15 minutes and then I had to find something else. It just hurt too much.

I've tried to fill my days with classes and volunteering. Oh, and cooking. But cooking is another trigger. I don't really know how to cook in small quantities. There's only so much my freezer can hold as well. I often delivered the surplus to my aunt.

I started this practice when she was first diagnosed with cancer. At that time I worked about a ten minute drive away from her house so I would stop by after work. When I started working farther away, Sundays became the day that I would most likely stop by. I would call to make sure she would be in. When I mentioned a delivery, she would ask, "What's on the menu at the restaurant today?" I would drop off the containers of food and pick up the empty containers from previous weeks. And then we would sip tea and talk. That's what I miss. Our talks. I still find myself picking up the phone to call her at times. And then I remember.

This week I've really wanted to talk to her -- especially today. She spent most of her career teaching people how to empower themselves. She wanted there to be an even playing field -- for everyone regardless of ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation or any of the myriad ways in which we try to classify one another. She didn't like to watch the evening news because she said it was so filled with negativity. It doesn't mean that she wasn't aware of what was going on in the world. She just wanted to believe that we -- society in general -- could be better than those images she saw on the news.

In the past week there has been a great deal of discussion about privilege on the internet. As I read the first piece, I wanted to call my aunt. We had had this discussion for too many years to count. And finally it looked like everyone else was talking about it as well. My hope in people was renewed.

Then the discussion continued and I became frustrated and saddened. Now I really wanted to talk to my aunt. I wanted her to remind me that this is part of the discussion. Yes, the discussion is often phrased in terms of black and white. That's because that has the longest history in our country. Even if it is only put in these terms does not mean that it doesn't include all of us though. People will feel that they're under attack and become defensive. Some people will never really get it no matter how many ways you try to explain it to them. That's OK though. Those people usually end up being the minority. As long as I can believe that most of us can reach that point of consensus, then I can still have hope. Because I got to thinking that if you can't believe in the possibility of something difference, then what's the point of it all? Why try? Why do anything?

I had to remind myself that this is what living is though. Being a part of it all. Sounding like a broken record because maybe someday someone will finally pay attention. I thought about how it's just so overwhelming to try to change society as a whole. I can handle it one person at a time though.

Now I'm OK with the frustration. These problems didn't happen overnight. Nor will the solution.

And the sobbing has been replaced with the occasional quiet tear so maybe this has done it's job. Right now I don't miss my aunt as much. I just needed to remind myself that she's not really gone since she's so much of who I am.

Probably for the second time ever, I am turning off comments. Today I'm not much in the mood for dialogue, but tomorrow I probably will be. This was a hard decision because I figure that if I throw something out into the universe, then I should be willing to discuss it. This just isn't one of those days though.

With that, I'm off to do laundry and more cooking. The surplus? I'll probably take some to my mom. And maybe I'll bring some into work tomorrow.

What summer used to be

About five years ago, I got my mother hooked on the idea that summer meant Cobb Salad. She cursed me at the end of that summer because it seems that she had put on some pounds. I attributed it to her habit of assembling a salad and then dumping salad dressing on top. In this case it was some extra thick blue cheese dressing.

Me? I like to shred the greens in the bowl and then I add the dressing -- usually about two tablespoons worth. After tossing the greens in the dressing and making sure that the leaves are lightly coated, I then added everything else on top. As I eat everything else gradually mixes in with the greens. And nowadays, I no longer use blue cheese dressing but instead use a vinaigrette and add some crumbled blue cheese on top. And this dressing? Well, instead of using oil, I used the bacon drippings from the bacon I had cooked up just for the purpose of using on the salad.


The first salad -- the one pictured -- was pretty good but subsequent salads this week were made even better by the inclusion of these. They come from a coworker's garden. I have never been much of a fan of tomatoes, but these? The first time my coworker brought in a bowl a few weeks ago, he stopped by my office to announce their presence in the kitchen. "They're like candy." I was skeptical. And then I tasted one. He was so right. I have never tasted a tomato this sweet before in all my life. I find myself eating them as snacks while at work. If my mother had served these when I was a kid, I might have a different opinion about tomatoes today. I sure do hope that he'll be bringing more in some time soon.

Hanging from a telephone wire

Yep, I guess I told a fib. I said the other day that I would leave a discussion of this past Saturday to one paragraph. After reading a couple of other blogs, I decided to go ahead and share some of my thoughts. The more I think about it, I think the reason why I misspoke was because I felt that I needed to do my last two posts first.

Saturday's brunch was at times very emotional for me. After everyone had a chance to eat, we sat around and shared stories about my aunt. While the group consisted mostly of my aunt's friends, my dad and his other sister were also present. But before I get into the statements that were made about her, I'd like to get into some of my choices.

Some of you may have noticed that I my presence in the blogosphere has been less over the last few weeks. That's because one of the decisions I made was not to use my feed reader -- for almost two weeks. (I won't even begin to describe how many posts there were waiting for me when I opened it yesterday.) I knew that I needed to take a step back, much as I have done with many of my family members.

In many ways, I was feeling like my life was in a rut. I love structure, thus my love of lists, but I also love the unexpected. And I decided that sitting on my butt in front of the TV night after night was not as much of a variety as I need. Besides I have DVR. The shows will be there waiting for me when I want to see them.

Now don't get me wrong. My workdays are not always the same. It's just that the daily "surprises" have gotten to be the same in some way. I can handle most of these "surprises" in my sleep at this point. And so often by the end of the day, I do indeed feel half asleep. Then I reminded myself that my job has a seasonal quality to it. When we are in our peak season, I completely love my job. This meant to me that during the slow time, I needed to add more things to my life. Like the classes. Oh, and I have an interview scheduled for Monday for the volunteering.

Deciding what to do was in some ways the hard part. When trying to decide what to do, I suddenly heard my aunt's voice in my head. Because not long before her death, she had been asking me why I no longer did things like taking classes. And what really resonated with me was the memory of her saying, "When you do these things, you seem really happy." So I made decisions based on things that give me joy.

And now that brings me to Saturday's brunch. One of her friends mentioned how she was always so much fun to be around. In 2001, she pissed me off. I kept my contact with her to a minimal until 2003 -- when she was first diagnosed with cancer. Because she was sick, I was able to forget our past differences. But there was something else. I had missed her during that time because of the simple fact that she was so much fun to be around.

As the discussion continued, one of her friends mentioned why she was so much fun. This friend said that she had a serious side and could take care of business when needed. But she also had this childlike quality. I remember tearing up this point because all I could think was that perhaps we weren't that different from one another. Perhaps this was to be expected since my grandmother had such a great effect on both of our lives.

And then someone else summed it all up best. No matter what she was doing, my aunt had fun doing it. If there was no possibility of fun, then she just didn't do it. And she could make the most mundane of activities seem like the height of fun. She could even do this when she was sick and suffering from great amounts of pain. By doing this, she made it possible for the rest of us to forget that she even was sick.

So now I'm going to do my best to make sure that every day is filled with some sort of fun. Because as that article that Heidi quoted, this is what life is. And I am so ready to get on with living.

Another one of those posts

Still riding that roller coaster.

Last Monday my stepmother went back into the hospital because she had a seizure at home. This Monday the doctors told my father that my stepmother needed to enter another facility instead of returning home. Yesterday they told him they estimate she has another three weeks to live. It's been less than three weeks since my aunt's funeral.

Yesterday I overslept for work. Again. I had problems falling asleep Monday night. So yesterday I got the talk from my boss. He was saying crap about how maybe the job is too stressful for me and maybe it just wasn't a right fit. Today the president of the company said how they needed me to be focused at work. I heeded the advice that Marin gave me yesterday. I bit my tongue. And instead I spent a day at work having panic attacks all day long. At least that's what I think it was. All I know was that periodically it felt like someone had reached their hand into my chest and was squeezing. I couldn't breathe during these moments and thought that I would pass out. And then I got home tonight and it all stopped.

I don't know what the hell people expect. I'm coping as best as I can. Sometimes I'm really sad. At other times, I'm pissed off beyond belief.

Anywho. I'm getting kind of tired of writing these kind of posts. I have all these other happier posts either already written and saved or bouncing around inside my head. I'd rather post that stuff.

After writing this, I headed over to Jester's and decided to take the quiz. I remember doing it in the past. Can't remember the results then.

Dagny took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Desires a tranquil, peaceful state of harmony offe..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

I think they need to get out of my head. And maybe I should have just headed over to the quiz to start off with.

Things to try

I received this list in an email from my dad today. Well, first he read it to me over the phone while I was driving home. In between squeals of laughter, I insisted that he forward it to me.

20 Ways to Maintain a Healthy Level of Insanity

1. At lunch time, sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a hair dryer at passing cars. See if they slow down.

2. Page yourself over the intercom. Don't disguise your voice.

3. Every time someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries with that.

4. Put your garbage can on your desk and label it 'In'.

5. Put decaf in the coffee maker for 3 weeks. Once everyone has gotten over their caffeine addictions, switch to espresso.

6. In the memo field of all your checks, write 'For smuggling diamonds'.

7. Finish all your sentences with 'In accordance with the prophecy'.

8. Don't use any punctuation.

9. As often as possible, skip rather than walk.

10. Order a diet water whenever you go out to eat, with a serious face.

11. Specify that your drive-through order is 'To Go'

12. Sing along at the opera.

13. Go to a poetry recital. And ask why the poems don't rhyme?

14. Put mosquito netting around your work area and play tropical sounds all day.

15. Five days in advance, tell your friends you can't attend their party because you're not in the mood.

16. Have your co-workers address you by your wrestling name, Rock Bottom.

17. When the money comes out the ATM, scream 'I Won! I Won!'

18. When leaving the zoo, start running towards the parking lot, yelling,'Run for your lives! They're loose!'

19. Tell your children over dinner, 'Due to the economy, we are going to have to let one of you go.'

20. And the final way to keep a healthy level of insanity... Send this e-mail to someone to make them smile. It's called ... therapy.

At my first real job, I was frequently guilty of #9. Also, the hallway had alternating black and white tiles. Sometimes instead of skipping, I'd play hopscotch down the hall. This would be the same job at which whenever I proclaimed, "I think I'm losing my mind," the benefits manager would respond, "How can you lose something that was gone long ago?"

People are always asking me at work where my inbox is. I don't have one. So #4 is sounding pretty good as well.

#3 sounds pretty good as well. But would the variation of, "Do you want to supersize that?" work?

Also I've been meaning to decorate my office. I think #14 is just the theme I have been wanting.

Why did my dad think of me when he read this list? "You're about crazy enough to do most of these things."

Blending in, of sorts

Just a bit of a warning. This post is a little bit of everything...

Third Street in San Francisco is a curious place. It makes some of my co-workers afraid, kind of like the effect that 23rd Street in Richmond has for some people. But me? Well, I kind of blend, so why worry?

And that's how I found myself at the Hard Knox Cafe on Friday for lunch. Those photos I took last week? China Basin. The quickest was from where I work to China Basin is to cruise along Third Street. And I've done that drive to China Basin a few times. (I probably won't be doing it anymore since I got home on Friday to find my notary commission in the mailbox.) Folks always ask me how I find restaurants. Well, when I'm doing drives like that, I keep an eye out for anything interesting. In this case, it turned out to be the Hard Knox. And this last time I remembered to do a Google search on them. And then I mentioned it to the receptionist at work. She had been there several times and highly recommended the place. I was intrigued. She also told me that I couldn't go wrong with anything smothered. And to ignore the comments on Yelp. The fried chicken was OK -- while the dark meat was moist the white meat was dried out, in her opinion. Hell. Loads of places make great fried chicken. The mark of a good soul food place is the other stuff they serve.


I went with the smothered pork chops. The problem was deciding on sides so I went with three, paying for the extra -- collard greens, yams, and mac & cheese. The mac & cheese reminded me of my stepmother's. Well, the stuff she would have made back when she could cook. It had that taste of Velveeta. Sorry, but my grandmother (my mom's mother) makes hers with sharp cheddar. Two different tastes. That was the only fault -- sort of. I worried that there would not be any vinegar in the greens but I tasted a subtle version of that tang. Thankfully I had asked for hot sauce. The addition of some Crystal's made the greens perfect in my mind. (This may be due to the fact that I am used to my daddy's greens. And he always cooks his with peppers.) The yams? Sometimes I hit some undercooked sections but that just proved to me that they were not from a can. Finally, the pork chops. I was able to cut into them with a plastic fork. And long after the meat was gone, I found myself digging around in the remaining gravy with hopes of finding more meat. Who would have thought that two pork chops were not a sufficient serving? Oops. I just remembered that I did not mention the cornbread muffins. Sublime. Those pork chops and muffins will keep me coming back.

While I may not have "blended" with the diners in the packed restaurant, I definitely "blended" with the folks I saw along my way back to the office. There was also that sense of pride in seeing how Third Street today looks so much more prosperous than it did ten years ago when I first started driving along it on a fairly regular basis. But the blending thing? Well, there were no weird looks that said, "Girl. What the hell you doing around here?" Instead it was a feeling of belonging.

Ooo. I just had a flash of the president of my company who sometimes refers to me as "girl." But I guess it doesn't bother me too much because I've also gotten used to him referring to his own as "crackas." Oh, and Friday was the meeting at the conference room at the hotel that I had set up. When I went there to see that everything was OK, all the guys present -- yes, they were all male because I work in construction these days -- told me how they had heard how I was so good from the president. And that's just what I needed to hear right now. Because when you give a lot of yourself to other people, it's nice to hear every now and then that they appreciate your efforts. And my current job? Probably part of the reason why I like working there so much is that they have no problem in telling me how much they appreciate my effort. And it's been a long time since I've heard it.

So Friday was a good day indeed.

Awww. Let's be honest. I went to therapy tonight and the therapist said how I seemed to be doing much better since the last session. He still thinks I need weekly one-on-one though. I talked about my family and told him that I had not told them that I was in therapy once more. Because the last time? Each week my mother would ask, "Did you talk about me? What did you say about me?" And then I explained to the therapist how I understand why my mother acts in this way. I go to therapy because she won't. For this whole thing to work for us, at least one of us needs to go to therapy. Oh, and then there's my dad's side of the family. They don't have mental health issues. Uh huh. That's why they don't need to do the therapy thing. Just look at my dad. He's the former recovering alcoholic who didn't understand why he had to go through all 12 steps. Sure it took him over 20 years to fall off the wagon but still. Maybe next time I'll tell the therapist that I have always dreamed of the day when I would never have to ask either parent for a little extra cash to tie me over until the next payday. With my new position, that day may have finally come. I just wonder if my parents realize this. Because I swore to myself years ago, that I would walk away from my crazy ass family if I didn't need them financially. Self-preservation and shit.

Evidence of how fucked up these people can be? Growing up, I regularly heard, "I don't understand how people like you so much," or some variation on that. Perhaps my parents, with their twisted senses of humor, meant it to be funny. Guess what? This is not the kind of shit one should say to a teenager. Maybe it's because I can read people pretty well, though, and know what is the socially acceptable thing to say in a given situation. When your father's boss is ranting on about a particular issue, do you disagree with him because that's how you really feel? No. You keep your mouth closed and nod your head in agreement. Fuck my parents and their various proclamations. I was a good kid. I waited until I was legally an adult to start acting like my real self.

And this time I even remembered to mention my food issues. I know that Zombie Mom is glad to hear that. The therapist told me that it was one of the few coping mechanisms that I have left. Well, unhealthy ones, that is. (And haha. The idiot didn't even seem to realize how he had been played. My appointment was at six this evening. I had had half a bagel with cream cheese and three cups of tea the whole day. Sucka! And no, Zombie Mom, you do not have to stage an intervention or anything. I ate yesterday. Two full meals. It's just that today I was "fat" as a result of those two meals.) So he recommended some places to me. It seems that Thrive will only let one do individual therapy once every three weeks. What's up with that? He encouraged me to Google the places on his list. I'm kind of leaning toward the place that uses this. And for a minute or two, I tried to be like my dad. But I still remember the therapist saying right before I left, "And you know some people need to do therapy for a year or two." Hell. I already did one year previously. How much more do I need? Maybe I don't need therapy. Maybe I just need more smothered pork chops ... Nah. I need both.

A few of my favorite things

This is the first post I wrote this past weekend. See how happy I seemed? What is the lesson learned? When one needs a relaxing weekend, one should not answer phone calls from family members. That's what voicemail is for.


Imagine my surprise on Thursday when I came into work toting the tart only to discover that one of the guys had brought in pupusas for the office. I haven't had a pupusa in many years. Now I'm asking myself why this is the case. It was the perfect breakfast.


Part of the fun of watching Dumb and Dumber is this fascinating little thing. I've never seen a corkscrew like this one. Knowing Marin, it's something that has been in her family for some time. Her family has been in California for a number of generations.


Another thing I like about my weekends with Dumb and Dumber is the proximity of KC's Bar-BQ. Boris and Natasha are a bit fascinated with barbecue. The smell of it drives Dumb and Dumber into a near frenzy. And no, I do not share.

Imagine a photo of the lemon tree in Marin's backyard here. Most of the weekend, there was crappy weather. So no lemonade. And no photo.

Nothing says joy like the ability to go and grab some lemons to make a pitcher of lemonade. Now if only the weather could be warmer -- like it was a week ago.

And the next post should be completely fresh material. Ya know. Something that hasn't been marinating for a bit.

Serendipity

That's right -- two meals. The first photo is of lunch; the second is dinner. Because this "fat pig" is thinking, "Well hell. That Whitney gained weight on purpose and now she's the new winner of ANTM." And I think that we should all enjoy a meal or two and then tell ourselves how fabulous we are.

Maybe it was finally making that appointment at Thrive. Maybe it was having that fantabulous food yesterday. All I know is that my appetite is back. And last night I had my first normal night of sleep in a long time.

Originally this post was all going to be about the fabulosity of Gallardo's. I blame my coworker. She introduced me to them recently. I still haven't recovered from the fact that they make machaca burritos. I haven't had one of those since I left San Diego. Today's sweltering heat -- Bay Area standards -- did not call for a burrito though. And so I asked my coworker for recommendations. Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself. I thought of the place because her husband had dropped off an order of chilaquiles for her. And it looked and smelled so good. So I went for the #12 -- chicken enchilada and chile relleno. It's a good thing that they're not in my neighborhood. Otherwise, I would be living at the place.

On my way home, I ended up in a conversation with one of my mother's younger sisters about the primaries and whatnot. I was so deep into the conversation that I drove on autopilot. Next thing you know, I was pulling into a primo parking space near my building. And then I remembered that I was supposed to stop for cigarettes on the way home. I weighed my options and decided to keep the parking space. And after feeding the cats, I headed out on foot.

Now, I have a couple of choices for purchasing cigarettes -- one being much less expensive than the other. But I decided to go to the more expensive place because (a) they were closer, and (b) the walk is a bit more interesting. And as I walked past Poulet, I suddenly remembered that I wanted to try their Thursday special for this month. But I needed cigarettes. So after acquiring said cigarettes at the smoke shop -- because Andronico's stopped carrying tobacco products sometime in the last year -- I headed back to Poulet. And then a little voice told me to get a bottle of wine. (I don't think I've mentioned this before. Besides getting wonderful takeaway food, Poulet also offers up bottles of wine.) I was almost home with my bottle of wine and my dinner when a friend yelled from her car. She had just been to my apartment looking for me. So I waited while she parked and then we enjoyed the wine. (See? The little voice knew right.) And I had a yummy dinner after.

Oh, and for those of you who might be still looking for a hotel room for BlogHer, drop me a line. Because that one salesperson did hook me up with her friend who is a manager at another chain. And we chatted today. By sometime next week I should know the rate. Which I'll probably find out over a nice lunch. Yep. If it wasn't for all these sick people, life would be good right now.

Huh?

Throughout the day today, I thought about writing this post. And as I thought about my day, I realized that some folks would think to themselves, "She's depressed? Really? Why ever?" And what made the day fantastic? The two events I wrote in on my planner for the day.

The first was lunch. I recently had to book a conference room at a nearby hotel for work. My boss pointed out that I should have insisted on a tour of the facilities so that I could get a free lunch. So I emailed the salesperson and lo and behold she said, "Sure. Just tell me the day. And we can have lunch at the restaurant." So I went for the tour. And met the the salesperson as well as the catering manager and the sales manager. In fact the sales manager joined us for lunch. Now get this. The restaurant's cuisine is "Japanese Mediterranean." I'll wait while you wrap your brains around that one. I went for the Japanese end of the spectrum and had some really great sushi and sashimi. The sales manager had his usual of a pork chop in a vermouth sauce. Since he joined us late, I was full by the time his food showed up. Otherwise I would have tasted it. But I know I'll be back. And on those trips I'll take photos of the food. Because the presentation was just as much a part of the experience as the taste of it all. (And yes, this was probably the most food that I have had in a single meal in over a week.) Oh, and because I told them that we have folks coming in from out of town periodically, we're going to be set up for the corporate rate on rooms.

At one point during the lunch conversation, I mentioned trying to find a hotel in the Union Square area during BlogHer. The salesperson gave me a list of recommendations. And said that she would check with her friend who is at a more boutique type place in the area to see if her friend can give me a rate. Have I mentioned lately how much I love my job?

After work, I went to see about my old job. Remember that short film my students were working on last school year? Well, it's complete and tonight there was a screening. And I was really excited that this time I had a drive-on pass. And my kids' movie? Totally rocks. If you're in the area and decide to drop in, not only will you get a meal but you will then have to watch their movie. Because I have it on DVD. The kids asked me and Queenie to come back for their sixth grade promotion next month. I'll need to check on the date. I went back for my first students' eighth grade promotion. I know that I'll go back for this one as well. Oh crap! My first students will be graduating from high school next year. I guess I'd better start penciling that in. Because yeah, I still occasionally get emails from former students.

And what else does one do when one is feeling blue? Why give dating another try, of course. I think I may have timed it right too. Because this time around most of my stalkers on OKCupid are in the 25-45 age range. And y'all know how much I love that range. With that said, here are my latest quiz results.

Your Score: JackAntelope

You scored 48Agression, 60 Speed, 39 Intelligence and 50 Strength!

You are fast... in bed.

Link: The What animal hybrid are you? Test written by eagleshark on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test View My Profile(eagleshark)

Should I be concerned?

Half-formed thoughts

I have flashes of thoughts that could possibly be posts but I just don't have the energy to flesh them out. It was a long week at work. Well, maybe the correct thing to say is that the week's commute has been extra hellatious. So here are my scattered thoughts.

1. I am still cracking up over the comment yesterday from Anonymous. Because all I can think is that if this person read this blog on a regular basis, s/he would know that there are other things going on here besides food. But that's not what keeps me laughing. Anyone who has ever met me knows why I'm laughing hysterically. Oh, and Anonymous? Next time don't comment from work.

2. It's probably a good thing that I haven't been going out as much as I used to. In the past, when things went out of whack in my world, I always knew the one thing over which I had control was my weight. I spoke to my aunt in Savannah this morning. She said, "You might finally be getting into that size 4/6 range?" When I told her that I never wanted to be a size 6, she asked a lot of questions. And I lied. Just like I lied to my dad in this past week when I said that I was perfectly fine. Because I know deep down inside that I'm not. I know that I have fallen into bad habits. I skip meals and occasionally I puke them back up. OK. That last part is most frequently unintentional. I have a low gag reflex due to years of actively making myself throw up. So I often accidentally make myself throw up -- think toothbrush. There is a part of me that also knows that if it was easy for me to gain weight, I would have gone to the other end of the spectrum years ago. And I know that I should probably go back to counseling. The thing is that Thrive only seems to have times available during working hours. And now that I've found the great job, I just don't know how to ask for the time to go to appointments. (And for those of you have seen me recently, don't worry. I have years of practice of covering up what I'm really going through. And years of practice of not trusting people completely.)

3. I am torn between what to do this weekend. Part of me wants to stick close to home and get a little partying in. But my dad is trying to lay down the guilt trip about my not going to Sacto last weekend. The thing is that this weekend is Mother's Day. And I have a psycho insecure mother who will be kind of pissed off with me if I spend the day with my stepmother. My mother told me, "You can go to Sacramento this weekend but just remind that woman that she is not your mother." Have I mentioned that my dad and my stepmother have been married for 22 years? Have I mentioned that my parents have been divorced for 34 years?

4. I was about to get into the whole thing of therapy in my early 20s there but decided to spare y'all. Bottom line is that at 30, when my mom threw a hissy fit because I cooked dinner for my dad for Father's Day and invited my stepmother to join us, I learned to start to set some boundaries. The result? My mother was ready to walk but after a few hours of tears, she came crawling back and stated that she would obey the rules. Occasionally I kick myself over this whole thing. Because she lied. She really wouldn't know a boundary if it smacked her over the head. They've always been kind of blurry for her. Since I recognize this, I try to be forgiving.

5. Sometimes I go through a "what if" scenario. Those of you with siblings never really understand the burden of being an only child. When mom or dad is going through something, there's no one else to whom you can pass the buck. It can be stressful at times. I think this is part of the reason why Marin and I became friends. We understand this because we have each had to live it. My "what if" scenario involves a husband and kids.

6. My father may be a little less delusional about my stepmother's condition. Last week she had to start wearing Depends. (And if I ever get to the point at which I have difficulty in getting from point A to point B on my own steam and I have to wear Depends? Well, I have one word for you -- euthanasia.) He was so freaked out over this that he wanted to admit her to the hospital once more. My father is generous only to a certain extent. Don't fuck with his routine. Because he loves his routine.

7. Speaking of routine, I am heavily into reality TV these days. I like to think of it as my weekly skank fix -- Flavor of Love, Beauty & the Geek, Farmer Wants a Wife.

8. And I've been busy to set up routine at work amidst all the craziness. Well, occasional craziness. And a lot of the craziness goes back to one of the guys. He's a widower who's not much younger than my parents. And kind of hot if you find white-haired men hot. He's completely old school. His computer skills go as far as reading email. He may occasionally forward them but I have yet to hear of him responding to one. But I was warned of this when I took the new position at work. He was a little worried at first but now I have become his personal OnStar. I kid you not. I get phone calls of, "I'm at such and such location and need to get to this place. How do I get there?" So I pull up Google Maps. And stay on the line until he has made the final turn. I also get phone calls for folks looking for him. He has a tendency to ignore voicemails. So I end up sorting things out. But that's OK with me because these are the kind of things that I'm good at. Just like I'm good at helping him to sort out the mountains of paper in his office. Really. Mountains. When I go in, I tell the receptionist that if I'm not out in a reasonable amount of time that she should send in a search party. But he knows what he's doing -- professionally (He brings in at least a third of the business, I have been told.) and on a interpersonal level. Because the Blarney runs deep in him. He will ask you to do something with that hint of a smile in his eye while he calls you "darling" and you feel compelled to help him.

9. I have been cracking up over Catheroo's post. I am trying to figure out where I could put a treadmill in my place.

10. What is up with Mariah Carey's marriage?

Trying new stuff

So now that my sleep pattern has once more become a pattern, I've been busy doing things like cleaning. I have made list upon list of tasks that needed to be done. At first, not much got done. Perhaps this had something to do with the irregular sleep patterns. But then I had a reason to clean. More about the primary reason in another post. The secondary? The new furniture. How could I have new stuff delivered to a messy home? And I've really been scrubbing stuff so it's my hope that after weeks of hardcore scrubbing that I'll be able to do maintenance easily. I guess this is all a result of the organizing that I did back in November and December. Oh, and let's not talk about all of the stuff that I have dumped. I even dumped the burned magazine rack. The beauty of living in Berkeley is that I can put stuff like that out on the curb and it's gone within hours.

But I've been making some other changes as well. While I may be considered thin, I am in horrible shape. Evidence of this is the fat layer that has started to develop across my midsection. Yes, it is there. The reason why you don't see it is because I know how to camouflage with the right clothing. But I forgot to do so when I went to brunch with my mother recently. Her reaction was, "So. Am I going to be a grandmother soon?" Thanks mom for saying what has been going through my mind over the last few months.

When I posted my last post, something that I had written a couple of weeks ago, it was in lieu of another post that I had written at that time. Because I was disgusted with myself. And I came really close to sticking my finger down my throat. Because, hey, that worked in the past. But then I started thinking about the treadmills at work. (Yes, there are three treadmills at work.) And when I went into work on Monday, the replacement for my old position sent an email to all the women. The guys in the office at work are doing a "Biggest Loser" kind of weight loss challenge. We women were banned because they said that we were already thin. But we're not in shape. So today at lunch three of us women spent 30 minutes on the treadmills. I did a mile and a half. Not bad for a smoker who hasn't been getting regular exercise in at least a year. I'm hoping to up it to two miles in that same amount of time. So that I can burn some fat.

My mom tried to discourage me on this at first. Perhaps because she remembers the former me. I pointed out to her that if I do crunches and weights, all that I will end up with is muscles under a layer of fat. The only way to get rid of the fat was to do some cardio. Because I'm built like my dad's family. And as they age, they put on fat around the midsection -- and the face. Nowhere else. Just those two places. Picture that. A woman whose midsection has become a size 12 or so but whose body elsewhere is a size 4 or 6. So not right in my opinion.

Don't ask me what I weigh. The only time I get on a scale is at the doctor's office. And even then, I try not to pay attention. Instead I look at how my clothes fit. And many of them have been pretty snug in the waist lately. So I'm going to be walking at lunchtime until they stop feeling that way. And then I'm going to keep on doing it so that I won't go back.

Feeling like myself again

Now that I seemed to have finally reached a "normal" sleep pattern, I'm starting to feel a lot like myself. Me without sleep? A real shrew. I still won't say "good morning" at work because I still believe that a "good" morning is one during which I don't have to go to work. Might be why the operations manager calls me a spoiled brat. I tell him that he can kiss my ass. My friend, Marin, tried to warn me a couple of weeks ago that I had not been around long enough to respond in that way.

Thing is I know his type. He likes to dish it out and anyone who can serve it back equally while doing his/her job competently instantly wins his respect. In fact, he was one of the folks singing my highest praises when I got my promotion. When I worked in his department, we ate lunch together almost every day. I know about his family and he about mine. He is the only person who actually saw me cry in the office after my stepmother was hospitalized last month. And I have learned that he and his wife are the parents of one child -- a daughter who turned 21 last week. She is in college in the San Diego area, as I was, and she can turn her daddy around her little finger pretty much like I could. The lunch time conversations that I have had with her dad have made him a little less hopeful. In a recent conversation, he asked me when I was really independent. When I told him mid to late 20s with the explanation that I chose to hide out in grad school after undergrad, he cringed. Apparently his daughter has been talking about going to grad school.

What really makes me happy to feel like myself once more is the fact that I have the energy to clean up my sty of an apartment. It could be better but unfortunately there is the change of seasons and Boris has been dropping his winter coat across the carpet like nobody's business. It is disgusting. Over the last couple of weeks, I just could not find the energy to deal with it all though.

And because I'm feeling more like me, I've also found time to listen to a lot more music. Like this one. It is a fave of mine from back in the day.



My favorite lines?

"And I can play some ole stuck-up rapper role
And get foul every time you lose control
But that's not my order of operations
So I should win an award for lots of patience
'Cause that's all a fella can have
With a girl who's shootin' up his world like Shaft"

'Cause I kind of have a temper. I've just learned to control it over the years. Really.

Of course, what I would really like to be a part of my life soundtrack is the following.

"Wait a minute...
Something's going wrong.
Someone's on the phone,
Three o'clock in the morning, yeah
Talkin' about how she can make it right, yeah.
Well,
Happiness is when you really feel good about somebody.
Nothing wrong with being in love with someone, yeah.
Oh, baby, love and happiness."

Because the Reverend Al, just like Stevie, can never steer you wrong. Why did I ever get rid of that guy who loved the good Reverend? Oh yeah. Because he treated me like a two-bit ho. Might be why I now have a problem when a guy tells me that my butt is cute (because it is). Good thing that I have control over my temper. Otherwise, there may have been a hot pot of grits involved.

Oops! I did it again

So today at work, I found out that next week I will be getting a small raise. It's not much. To me it's all about the gesture. Because it was only about a month ago that I got the promotion with the huge raise. I called up my dad when I found out.

After making me repeat my news several times, he finally asked, "Didn't you just get a raise?"

"That was a month ago."

"What kind of scam are you running there?"

Yep. It feels really good to be appreciated.

Oh, and I've been meaning to post this for days.


Boris approves of the new rug as well.

Can't wait to see the cats' reactions when I get the larger rug for the living room.

Getting out of the rut

I have gotten into a rut at work as far as lunch is concerned. Earlier this year it didn't matter too much because I was doing a lot of cooking. I haven't really been cooking much since I laid in all those supplies for my dad last month. In fact I feel like I'm treading water around here as far as cleaning goes.

This week I decided to venture out. Since I now have an hour for lunch (because I have to come in at 8 instead of 8:30), I have been trying to find ways to kill time. Heading out in my car has been the solution. So yesterday I headed over to the Potrero Hills shopping center. The yummy stuff pictured above came from I Luv Teriyaki & Sushi. While I don't love teriyaki, I do love sushi -- and sashimi. And no I did not eat it all. About half of it came home with me to make a very yummy dinner.

Oh, and then there was the hellacious drive home. Around 3:00 yesterday afternoon, there was a major accident on the Golden Gate Bridge. (The bridge was completely shutdown for an hour or so.) After reading about the accident online (I start checking traffic conditions online around 3:00 every day. That's how bad it is around here.), I knew that my evening commute would be screwed. And then I thought to send a text to Zombie Mom. As it turns out, she was already stuck in the middle of the craziness. So I hit the East Bay later than usual but I decided to hit Target anyway. I have been needing a new rug for the kitchen for quite some time. This is part of the home redecorating wish list that I wrote back when I found out about the tax return/promotion at work. Oh, and the reason for the list is that while I do have one credit card, I always pay cash for these kinds of things.


Natasha putting her mark on the new rug. At least she's not rubbing her stank ass on it. Or was she?

And for a final note, here is a quiz that Buzzgirl posted on her blog yesterday.

I was Righteous!
I scored 100% on the

Take the 80s quizby SheGoddess: Quick Weight Loss

Lost in books

Thanks to Jill's recommendation, I recently finished reading Parable of the Sower. I enjoyed that book so much, I knew that I had to read the sequel, Parable of the Talents. A couple of pages into the book, I knew why Jill had recommended the two books to me.

I have also read that the Pox was caused by accidentally coinciding climatic, economic, and sociological crises. It would be more honest to say that the Pox was caused our own refusal to deal with obvious problems in those areas. We caused the problems: then we sat and watched as they grew into crises. I have heard people deny this, but I was born in 1970. I have seen enough to know that it is true. I have watched education become more a privilege of the rich the basic necessity that it must be if civilized society is to survive. I have watched as convenience, profit, and inertia excused greater and more dangerous environmental degradation. I have watched poverty, hunger, and disease become inevitable for more and more people.

Overall, the Pox has had the effect of an installment-plan World War III. In fact, there were several small, bloody shooting wars going on around the world during the Pox. These were stupid affairs -- wastes of life and treasure. They were fought, ostensibly, to defend against vicious foreign enemies. All too often, they were actually fought because inadequate leaders did not know what else to do. Such leaders knew that they could depend on fear, suspicion, hatred, need, and greed to arouse patriotic support for war.

Amid all this, somehow, the United States of America suffered a major nonmilitary defeat. It lost no important war, yet it did not survive the Pox. Perhaps it simply lost sight of what it once intended to be, then blundered aimlessly until it exhausted itself.

What is left of it now, what it has become, I do not know.

After reading that passage, I quickly flipped to the front of the book to check the copyright date. 1998. The Pox that the character describes officially occurs between the years of 2015 and 2030. Not really that far from now. Looking at events since the publication of the book, one cannot help but wonder if this is our path. And I guess that it did not help matters in my mind, when I chose to watch the season finale of Salt and Pepa's show on VH1. In the finale, they traveled to New Orleans. And showed the utter destruction that still exists there. Two and a half years later.

Speaking of the South. Family. My dad's older sister is still around and she has been a great help. She has set up systems and routines at my dad's house that will hopefully make things less stressful for him. Their big sticking point has been weekends. She has arranged for someone to be present at the house on weekends so that if my dad needs to get away and do something relaxing -- like play golf. She keeps telling him that this is necessary or else he will burn out quickly. She should know. She has many years of being a primary caregiver -- for her husband and my grandmother. That's why I knew that I wanted her to come out here to help out. Plus she's kind of bossy.

On a happier note (I just say this because things are still up in the air as to my stepmother's condition. She has lost some ground since getting out of rehabilitation.), things are going really well with my new position. And I've been doing things that I enjoy once more. Like going out. And reading.

Oh, and Nat, you can dismiss your Outlook reminder this month. I remembered since I now have enough of a routine once more that I do things like look at the calendar.

MOL

I warned y'all that things would get sporadic around here. But this time the Universe has been smiling upon me.

First things first. My stepmother left the rehab center on Thursday and is now at home. My dad's older sister has been fabulous, as I knew she would be. She has visited my stepmother in the rehab center every day since she has been here. She has sat with my dad through the various appointments and asked the questions of which he did not think. She recruited their younger sister and their cousin to come up on Tuesday to help her do the last things to make the downstairs bedroom ready for my stepmother's return. Knowing that my aunt has been there with my dad allowed me to relax quite a bit. She is much more skilled at all of this kind of stuff than anyone else in our family. (It's long been recognized in the family that my skills are keeping lines of communication open, cooking for folks, and organizing your business.)

And in the middle of all of this, the Universe offered an opportunity to me. Shortly after the weekend of my dad's near meltdown, I found out that a longterm employee at work had decided to retire. Upon learning this, my boss and president of the company approached me about filling the position temporarily -- permanently if I decided that I liked it. And this is why I have been MOL (missing online) for most of the last couple of weeks. (I know there have been a few posts here but that was just because I was suddenly overcome with a strong feeling that overruled my extreme tiredness.) I knew going into it all that I would be quite competent at the job. Hell. I'd be more than competent; I would kick ass. The bottom line is that I didn't want to say anything here until I had made up my mind. I have told them that I want to take the new position permanently. It's a promotion and I'll be getting a pretty decent raise. For the first time in a long time I will be getting paid what I think I'm really worth. (And at this point, I must say a huge "Thank you" to Mommy Zombie. We chatted about all of this the evening during which we took the OPH out for a test drive. Throughout this whole process, I have carried some her words to me as a mantra. "Never undervalue yourself.") And so now I'm off on a whole new adventure at work.

In the middle of the whole work situation, I decided to bite the bullet finally and to do my tax return. The last couple of years I have owed money. This year I'm getting a load of money back. Now add this to the promotion and try to imagine the elation I am feeling at this point. My independence has always been of great importance to me. And I never really feel truly independent unless I have disposable income.

Every woman in my family has lectured me on the importance of being financially independent for too many years to count. Now they say that they made me too independent and that's why I'm not married. They're probably right. I get into a relationship and at some point I start thinking about how I might be struggling financially at that point in time. And then I back away because I don't want to be dependent in that way. Of course, it may also have something to do with the year I worked at the women's shelter. So many of those women had stayed in their situation because of financial dependence. And I've had at least a couple of scary situations in my dating history so the thought of ending up in the same place as those women has not seemed very far-fetched. Heck. It's part of my family history and that's why the women in my family stressed this so much.

For the first time in a few years, I'm back to that place of financial stability -- one that includes having disposable income. (I now know that this is why I have been avoiding my fave bar. For quite some time, I have not been the person whom they first met. Now I feel free to be my usual partygirl self.) Often at jobs, I have not really taken vacation time because it would just mean sitting around at home. I have often thought of being able to plan a real vacation. You know. Ones that don't involve some sort of family visit, ones that are for me and not out of a sense of obligation. My response was to make a wish list of things I wanted/wanted to do. And it felt great to know that these things are really within reach now.

Your new assignment

I used to be really good at keeping track of things. Perhaps these last few months the lack of my ability to do such is a sign of all the other turmoil in my life. So here's where y'all come in.

Your assignment is to give me a reminder in three weeks. (Yes, I am quite aware that I did not include the words "if you should choose to accept it." Guess what? It's not optional.) You are to tell me, "You may suddenly be feeling the need to bitchslap every person who even slightly irritates you. This is not really you speaking but instead is a result of the hormones coursing through your body at this time."

Why the assignment? Because earlier this week, I noticed that I was feeling kind of pudgy. I meant to check the calendar and then promptly forgot to do such. When I felt a little snappish at work, I once more thought to check the calendar but then excused my behavior because everyone at work expects me to be a little stressed out right now. (More about that at a later date.) I should have known when I went into Safeway earlier this week and felt the sudden urge to hit the frozen food aisle for the first time in months. I should have known when I awoke this morning and realized that I was hungry. I know this sounds normal but the next may not. I decided that the perfect breakfast would be a microwave pepperoni pizza and some lemonade. Seriously.

And then it all fell into place tonight. When I suddenly had the urge to go to the bathroom while shopping at Barnes and Noble. I had no supplies and the machine was broken. I quickly gathered my purchases and headed out. So much for a stop at Ann Taylor Loft while I was in the area. And then all these no driving beyotches had to cross my path on the way home that made me briefly flash upon the image of Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes. But they were probably older than I.