What did I do before Friendster? What did I do at work all day? Where did I upload my recent digital photos? Where did I reflect on testimonials? The internet provides many new and exciting avenues for distraction throughout the work day. Just for today, I can be grateful for yet another reason to procrastinate at work.

Some days, when I'm really burned out at work and tired of staring at my computer, I like to go to my favorite Karaoke web site and sing "Come Sail Away" (by STYX) in harmony with my friend Charalene. It takes a very special office to find this behavior appropriate, and, oddly enough, my office is not one that does. I swear to God I thought that nobody was in the office after the second verse (right before the guitar break). I suppose Office Karaoke won't catch on for a few more years as a way to recharge at work. I guess I'll have to resort to coffee breaks to rejuvenate, though there's no doubt that a round of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" is way healthier than caffeine.

Sure he or she has the power to promote you, demote you, make your life miserable or peaceful, and send e-mails titled "FYI." And sure you may only interact with him or her in an environment that smells like paper, dust, overheated computers and old Panda Express (orange chicken, to be exact). But a boss is just a human being who needs love. A child of God who may have been put in our lives to teach us a lesson. Just for today, wish your boss Happy Boss' Day!

Clearly, in American culture, there is no limit to the amount of hours people can work in a day or a week (operating, as we do, in a society burdened by the harrowing guilt of the "American work ethic"). However, for those of us chained to our desks and requisite computers, I do feel there is a limit to the amount of time we can sit on our asses. Sure, I can stare at my computer until my eyeballs feel like they are going to peel out of my sockets, and I can type and move my mouse until my hands are paralyzed with carpal tunnel, but I draw the line at the amount of time my poor butt can stay in a chair! I've come to realize that I can't sit longer than five hours a day (that's added all together)!! You can take my soul, my eyesight, but please leave my butt intact. (Perhaps, it's the unsung reason why Americans have big asses).

Just for today, I can give my butt a break.

After my four dollar Chai/Boba/Iced/Sugar/Caffeine bombshell of choice wore off at around 1:30 PM, I got so tired and sleepy I couldn't even feign interest in work or polite office chit chat. It's times like these that I have no choice but to wander to any piece of grass and dive into a dreamstate where I forget that I'm a grown-up with a job and car insurance and everything. The danger comes when I forget that I'm a grown-up and the light fades, and I'm still spread eagle on the grass while the sun is setting. And then I have to return to my office with sleepy eyes and grass all over my clothes and try to reconnect with reality.

When is office culture going to get with the nap room? Don't they have those in Japan? If it works for three-year-olds, why should anything change when we're 30? I guess the powers that be know that we'll all wake up cranky and confused.

To Whom It May Concern:

Hi, I am looking for a job and saw your notice on a popular web site. Gee, sending out a resume and a cover letter was never this easy before. What's it like hiring on the web? I bet you get more e-mails than I get spam selling viagra...As you can see, I am very chatty (but not at all in an office environment...hahahaha!). Anyway, I am extremely qualified for...which one was this? Oh, yeah, the position as a receptionist. For a second, I thought I was writing to the people looking for an au pair (but if you do need some babysitting, I am available). Anyway, nobody can sit at a front desk and smile like this lady. I even have a number of cheery slogans to tape all over my desk for those particularly dismal days. My favorite one is "When people make plans, God laughs" (or something like that). Basically, the point is that God is laughing at us and our silly plans. God is such a riot. Good thing I know, just for today, not to make any plans. I also have one by Helen Keller that goes, "Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all." I wonder if Helen Keller ever dared to pay her rent three months late?! Hahahahha. Anyway, as you can see I like to joke around, but in a serious, office kind of way.

Thanks for taking the time to read this and I look forward to hearing you (by the way, does this ever work as a last line in a cover letter?)

Sincerely,

Your Friend Forever (even though we just met),

Stella

Yesterday, my boss asked me to be "brutally honest" about something, and so I was. For a moment, everyone looked at me like I had violated all the cardinal rules of office culture before they agreed with me. Serious life lessons have taught me to taper my natural inclination towards honesty, but when used sparingly, it can be effective.

Indirectness was never an issue in my family of origin. When it came to opinions, there was little subtext or need for further inquiry. Growing up, I rarely heard, "But what do you really think?", or "Come on, don't hold back," or even, "I can take it, really. I want to know." If my madre didn't like my hair, I was privileged to know about it. If my late grandmother didn't like the gift I gave her, it was in the trunk, on it's way back to Sears. I didn't think that I had the genetic make-up for this kind of directness, but apparently, when asked, I do.

Just for today, I can be honest (when asked).

At approximately 5:00 PM yesterday an agent to whom I had submitted some writing samples called to give me "positive feedback." He said he wasn't interested in signing me, but that my writing was good and that I should keep it up. At approximately 10:30 AM this morning I returned his call to thank him, and to see if I could kiss his butt in any other way. It was then that I was told that ""XXXXX is no longer with this company."

Sometime in the 17.5 hours that passed this man was either fired [which is weird because I didn't know that people could be fired after 5:00 PM (he had to work the WHOLE day) or before 10:30 AM (he had to wake up and DRIVE into work)] or he quit his job (notice my incredibly proper use of brackets). OR maybe they called him at home at 11:00 PM while he was putting on his jams and watching the "Friends" episode where Joey breaks his chair for the 86th time.

Either two things could have happened: after making the very kind and generous gesture of giving me much needed encouragement, the universe threw a foul wrench into this man's life. OR, after calling me, some wave of inspiration informed him to make a change, at which point he decided to leave his job and pursue his life-long dream of performing the role of Tevya in a mid-level production of "Fiddler on the Roof," or of making sand sculptures on the Venice boardwalk, or of scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef, or training for the upcoming gay and lesbian rodeo...

What really happened, I may never know.

Just for today, I stand in awe at the weirdness of life.

(Please note: if this hadn't happened, you would be reading about the ants I found in my vendor-machine cup of Nescafe...)

I'm thinking of beginning my own business as a Professional Declutterer. My job will be to support people in getting rid of their crap. So, when when my clients say to me, "...but that pile of New Yorkers taking up half my garage space will be worth money some day," I can tell them that, "that's a pile of crap blocking you from your true self." And when they say, "but I bought that Bonnie Tyler album in 1984 with my babysitting money..." I can say, "this is a relic of your past and unless it's in a museum about the history of 80's music, it's crapola." Come to think of it, museums are nothing more than pre-historic crap (I think I just like using the word "crap.")

Speaking of which, I offered my office-mates the opportunity to bid on some of the gems I found during office-clean-up day (including a snow globe/pen holder Chicago memorabilia with pyschedelic snow) at an impromptu office auction, but they told me it's mean to auction away gifts (I also don't think they understood my powerful decluttering abilities).

Just for today, I am a kick-ass declutterer!

Some day I hope to carry the peaceful vibe of our helpful Eastern European computer tech guy who I will call "Boris" (only because I'm shamefully ignorant of the vast spectrum of Eastern European). Anyway, Boris is so chill! He's like an island of peaceful waterfalls amid the frenzied, neurotic, hellaciousness that is the standard "It doesn't work!...help me!...I'm helpless and I hate life!" insanity that frequents my office (mostly by me).

I don't know what his secret is. But I wish I did.

Just for today, I can have a model of peace in my peaceful friend Boris.

Venturing from the The Apartment of Sand and Isolation, I sometimes babysit at the House of Food and Love in hopes that by doing the work I did when I was 14 I will miraculously cease to age. While I may physically be 32 years in the physical universe, give me a nice home with lots of good food and fun kids running around and I am indeed ageless. And as an ageless person, I find it totally appropriate to eat lots of cookies, read People magazine (LOVE THAT PUBLICATION...what's so wrong about vapid gossip?) and watch movies that get replayed on cable more frequently than the sun spins around the earth (what's so wrong with watching Alien 3 for the 18th time?...trust me, there will be other lifetimes!).

Everything is fun at the House of Food and Love. I highly recommend such a gig for childless women in their 30's who are unhappy with society's requirements for age appropriateness (I happen to LIKE Forever 21).

Just for today, I can babysit at the House of Food and Love.

I'll be leaving my job at the end of the month and will begin the life of a free-lancer. Yesterday, I tested it out by taking the day off work to finish a freelance project. I discovered that time is relative when you stay home all day. So are the times when normal routine activities take place.

The times at which I...

...got out of bed: 11:00 AM
...ate breakfast: 2:30 PM
...began to "seriously" write: 4:00 PM
...brushed my teeth and took a shower: 6:00 PM
...spoke to a human being in person: 8:00 PM
...went to bed: 2:00 AM

Just for today, I welcome the life of a freelancer.

First of all, nothing says, "I'm starting over again," like a trip to the DMV to get A NEW PICTURE taken for a A NEW DRIVER'S LICENSE! Move over J.Lo with your "new" life....Just tell me one thing...do you have a new driver's license? Mmmhmmm, that's right...I didn't think so.

Secondly, when you're not working (and when I say "you," I mean me), there's nothing like a trip to the DMV to make you (me) feel an enormous sense of accoplishment. Other ways to spend the day include mulling over Brad and Jen's relationship drama (FYI: they had dinner last week), flossing, going to Yoga, breathing through the right nostril and letting it out through the left (which you will learn in yoga), and checking e-mail.

Just for today, I can enjoy the life of the unemployed.

I'm starting to think that maybe I don't need to own as much stuff as I thought I did. Very scary.

Just for today, I feel relaxed.

There's nothing like sending out a whole mess of e-mails only to find an empty or spam-filled e-mail account, to make to make you tackle the whole philosophical "When a tree falls in the woods..." issue. Did my e-mails make a sound? The other paradox currently settling into my life is that while I am infinitely poorer and have less financial security than ever before, my happiness quotient is so much higher. According to several studies I have read, once basic human needs for food and shelter have been taken care of, income has no relevance to human happiness. My trips to Mexico and other third world countries have testified to this fact as the people seem joyful to be alive regardless of their financial circumstances...

Just for today, I am happy and poor.

All I had to do was leave my job, and SUDDENLY EVERYONE wants to come and VISIT. I never thought of unemployment as a particular attractive time in a person's life, but in the past two months I have had my aunt, sister, mother, father, and boyfriend's mother and aunt, all visiting me SEPARATELY. Don't get me wrong, I love and value family and am blessed to have people who want to come and take me out to dinner and cook for me and smother me with dysfunctional family love, but what people fail to understand (and when I say "people" I include myself in the equation) is that I'M NOT ON VACATION (though, I spend most of my time acting like I am). If I were working it would be easy to say, "I can meet you for dinner but you're on your own the rest of the time." However, when people know you're HOME possibly making marketing calls or searching iTunes, they have a lot more reason to pressure to come out and play.

Just for today, I am a grown-up who can work from home.

I work with all men and lately I've been wondering, could they be different from women? For one thing, the men I work with don't announce when they are headed to the commode, they just march on out and leave it up to the rest of us to come to our own conclusions. If one of them does happen to mention it, it's kind of a big joke. For me, "I'm going to the bathroom," is one of my top ten uttered phrases (along with "I'm hungry" )and it's no joke. It's vitally important to me to connect with others about our common human functions. If I didn't think that EVERYBODY goes to the bathroom, I might not only be afraid to face the world each day, but I myself might not be able to go.

Another thing I've noticed is that when a guy says "I'm going to lunch," he doesn't hang back and wait for a "Have a good one!" or "The soup is really good today," like I do. Whereas I'm not really complete until I hear a resounding chorus of response, these guys seem to not care if they get a response having only offered it as information. Similar to the bathroom statement, I take lunch and all meals as an pportunity to share my digestive process or how much I enjoyed my Dulce de Leche Luna Bar.

Perhaps, I have a neurotic need to connect with others about mundane issues that has nothing to do with my gender, but...

Just for today, I've noticed that men are different from women.

I haven't been able to blog because I spend my evenings recovering from an intense web design stupor where I see bleary-eyed visions of sloppy code dancing among broken links...it's quite a party here in the world of the working. Work?! Apparently, there are droves of people who wake up every week day morning and drive (or take public transportation, or even--Oh, my God!-- car pool) to a place where they do some kind of task or piece of labor and, in return, they get to have a currency placed in their bank accounts that they exchange for services rendered. I've been working for many years, but only recently have I really begun to understand the beauty of Earning. Either I've finally reached maturity, or the fantasy that the great White Father in the Sky will shower down coins on me in the form of some wild inheritance from some rich person who wants to be my relative has breathed her (her?!) or his last breath. All I'm going to say is that it's really cutting into my Sitting Around Feeling Depressed time.

Must. Get. Sleep.

Just for today, I am an earner.

I just babysat some adorably sassy girls who were very happy to inform me that they loved my fish net top (though one said that her mother would "SO make me wear a shirt underneath") and that they like being home schooled because they wake up whenever they damn well please. (Having surveyed both the public and private schools in Los Angeles, I have to say, it doesn't seem like a bad alternative for families who can afford to keep a parent at home). These girls wake up around 9ish, knock out some school work for 2 to 3 hours, and spend the rest of the day playing and doing after-school activities like basketball and acting. It's during those activities that they get "socialized" with the exhausted masses of "normal" kids who are trudging through the daily grind of a 9-3 schedule.

I could kind of relate to their embracing of this lifestyle. In my current incarnation I have about five or six different jobs that range from writing to babysitting to web design and that can be performed, for the most part, at any time of the day or night. There's no such thing as a work week for me anymore. While there's no guranteed income, I haven't really suffered financially and, I have to say, being out of the daily 9 - 5 grind is far more conducive to watching movies from the 80's till the wee hours of the morning and maintaining the conceit of that I am an"artist" (which is, essentially, redundant).

The point is (and there is a point...I think): I don't have to do things like everybody else and even though I could be a very, very, very, VERY young grandmother, I just donwanna act like a grown-up (i.e., in my understanding, someone not happy).

Just for today, I can have a chill life.

Which, I must say, is not the same thing as getting "my freak ON." That would be fun. A freak OUT is not fun. It's a "the sky is falling", "where is the script of my life?", "this is not my beautiful house" sort of thing. I'm usually scheduled for at least one freak-OUT every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at around 3:00 pm. I was speaking to my friend Jane's boyfriend at a party on Saturday night, and he mentioned that she has a freak-out every few days at 3:00 pm ALSO (what a coinkidink). I suggested that we schedule a talk at this time, as those of us adjusting to the life of self-employment need to stick together.

It's not that I want to freak out, but on a certain level (and I tried to explain this to Jane's boyfriend), these feelings are part of my "process," and if I don't indulget them once in a while I'll live in a prison of my own creation for the rest of my life.

Luckily, I'll be in my shrink's office at 3:00 pm tomorrow.

Just for today, I can accept my "process."

I'm getting a little tired of people referring "The Power of Now" to me (that and "The Da Vinci Code").
[Sidenote: It's hard to find good reading material these days. I'm either assaulted by the ovewhelming number of books at Border's or Barnes and Noble, or I'm referred to the same five books that everyone is reading. If everyone is talking about a book, why do I need to read it? It's already been fully digested into the culture and will filter into my psyche ANYWAY. Why do I have to know what everyone knows?]

That said, I'm thinking of writing a self-help book called, "The Power of No" (because I think there's more power in "no" than in "now," and I'm willing to go head to head with Eckhart Tolle (sp?).] It's going to be about my journey through self-employment. I'm hoping it has a happy ending in which all good things happen to those who say "no" to work that is bad for them (i.e., soul-killing, draining, etc). But I don't know, yet, because I'm in the midst of the journey myself...

Just for today, I believe in the power of no.

If you really want to test your stamina to tolerate extreme anxiety, try living without any source of steady income. Fun. Serious surrender to the universe.

What I have learned since leaving my job for the godforsaken world of freelancing (almost one year ago) is the following:

1) It's a good thing I happen to like babysitting (it's like renting kids and getting paid for it).

2) A good 9 to 5 job can really fill up a life. Conversely, not having the structure of a full-time job can be psychologically exhausting. When does work end and life begin?

3) Good vibes are more important than good contacts.

4) Trader Joe's is best at 9:00 am on weekdays (the aisles are clear, the food freshly stocked, and nobody's hogging the sample station...except possibly me).

5) Is that all I've learned?

Just for today, I surrender to the freelance universe.

Word on the street is that I need assertiveness training (and by "street" I mean the place where I work). It's gotten to the point where lovely little articles appear on my desk about how to ask to get your needs met in the work place. It's just that if I take even a few seconds to ask for something that I need to do my job I'm afraid that said person will turn to me in a rage and scream, "Why you gittin' all up in my grill?!!" Just like that.

Just for today, I can overcome my fears about being assertive.

Not unlike a computer (an old computer, PC...not a MAC), when I have too many programs running my system shuts down and I cease to be able to perform normal functionality. It's not that I'm staring into space and being unprodcutive, I've just crashed.

Just for today, I accept my system when it shuts down.

I thought I'd accentuate my work IM message with a cute clever emoticon, a traditional happy face in some state of feeling. That's when I mistakenly clicked on the "winks" selection and this giant animated laughing woman popped up and was instantly sent to my colleague on the other end.

"what was that?" he shot back.

I was so embarrassed, I went into a hysterical laughing fit (cuz that's what I do) and apologized profusely. Luckily, he didn't label me a dork and proceeded to even the score by sending me a series of other scary winks. Why don't these things have warning labels?!

Just for today, I can IM at work.

"Hey, I like your hair. Did you change it?"

"Yeah...Thanks...I like your shirt, that color looks good on you."

"Oh, thank you...your shirt looks nice on you, too."

"Thanks...I like your necklace."

"Oh, my boyfriend gave it to me...Ooooh, I love those earrings."

"Really? They're like a million years old."

"Wow, they look like some I just saw at that store on Main St..."

"Oh, I know the one you're talking about! I LOVE that store!"

"So expensive, though..."

"Yeah."

"Well...bye."

"Ok, bye."

Just for today, I can be girly.

A former co-worker liked to walk around to different cubicles and inform everyone about his "level of relaxation." Planning out the amount of work I have in the next few months, I have to say my L.O.R. is not very high at the moment. And no amount of coffee, chocolate, or trashy cheap salsa tops from Forever 21 (love that store!) is going to fix that.

Just for today I feel stressed.

I feel very blessed to have some very wonderful people in my life. I told my boss today how much I appreciate her presence in my life and that she is truly a woman who lives up to the title, "adult." I've never had anything like a mentor in my life (except for my therapist) and I never thought I would find it in corporate America. But somehow I was fortunate enough to be placed in a situation with someone who teaches me every day how to effectively handle challenging situations with grace and intelligence.

Just for today, I feel lucky.

Ultimate Extreme Director of Multi-Media, AKA, Evil Flash Programmer (he wants a promotion REALLY bad) just informed me that "Fucked-upness" IS officially a word. It may not be in the dictionary (yet), but if I use it professionally (as in, "Could you assess the degree of fucked-upness of the situation?") nobody I work with would think twice. I'm not saying that my job isn't fun and rewarding, but I will say that I have never understood the expression "driving me to drink," quite like I have in the past few weeks. When alcohol starts sounding good, I'm either one of two things: extremely happy or about to be flattened by a steam roller (metaphorically speaking). I just keep telling myself, in the high pitched interior voice of denial "...this is growth!" After all, I could be selling debt consolidation loans over the phone, or traumatizing 12-year-olds with standardized tests. Perhaps, stress is my new drug, but if that's the case I'm going to need a lot more margaritas...

Just for today, I'm keeping it together (sort of).

I got called in for jury duty today. I thought I was off the hook for the week (silly me who doesn't read instructions).

A co-worker (I can't think of a name for him...) e-mailed myself and the entire company the following suggestion:

"Go in dressed like a crazy, bedraggled woman with Tourette’s—bound to be a big jury duty turnoff. Just don’t bring that persona to work…"

Upon which Evil Flash Programmer replied:

"It's too late..."

Oh, the abuse I endure in order to pay the rent and buy slutty salsa dresses...!

When I first arrived at jury duty I thought, "This isn't so bad. Alls I gotta do is sit in a room and read magazines while watching Judge Joe Brown bring out the ghetto in people who don't believe in an authentic judicial process, AND try not to resent the fact that I missed Jury Appreciation Week (why did they have to tell us about all the free donuts and coffee we missed?)." I went shopping at lunch (hour and a half lunch break...and we wonder why the government is in debt?) and fantasized about spending the rest of the afternoon listening to my iPod and checking in with work people.

Then suddenly, around 3 pm, my name was called and the next thing I know, I'm sitting in a court room and hearing words like "rape" and "burglary." What?! Nobody said anything about jury duty immersing me into the evening news (which I don't watch because I don't want to get depressed)!

The court was unable to select a jury today...so, now, not only do I have to work on my Bedraggled Tourette Syndrome Act, and find something to wear that screams out "I hate accused rapists!" (Mojo Rising suggested bikini and trench coat, but I'm not sure what he was getting at...), but I have to try not to let the reality of the Crime that causes court trials in the first place (why can't they be about flowers and hearts?) to put me in a evening news panic.

Oh, by the way I'm not supposed to discuss this with anybody...see what a bad juror I am!

Just for today, I can serve jury duty for the state of California.

I'm in mid-production of a project and am surrounded by Programmers. I told Evil Flash Programmer that he may as well be conversing in Greek for all that I can understand what he's talking about (action scripts and blah, blah, blah...) and he suggested that, if that's the case, then maybe I should learn Greek (GIANT SIGH as the sarcasm slowly eats away at what's left of my youth, while I finish it off with the pretend healthy Cheeto's I co-opted from the kitchen).

My tendency in techno-centric meetings is to take a mental vacation (remember the name of the guy I dated for a month six years ago...oh wait, that was in jury duty....so many opportunities to space out!) while the Programmers have their pow-wow and, for all I know, could very well be discussing my bra size (32B). When they're done, my tendency is to grab one and cry, "English, please!" I'm starting to understand the sworn "code" (no pun intended) of Programmers which includes, first and foremost, "Thou shalt NOT reveal the true duration of time necessary to complete a task..." For all I know, they could be playing games for 10 hours and add one line of code at midnight.

Regardless of my complaints, they're actually a very gentle breed of people who simply seem to enjoy contributing to the inception of my long overdue drinking problem...and for the sake of my own spiritual growth and sanity I'm sending nothing but love their way (take that Evil Flash Programmer!).

Just for today, I can love programmers.

Today was a test of my ability to practice grace under pressure amidst some high-drama stress and mucho chaos (I had to hunt one person down in the bathroom and call people back from their lunch break...I would hate me, too). I told Evil Flash Programmer that I'm starting my drinking problem at Hip Graphic Designer's barbeque next weekend. He thinks it's high time already, since I'm all talk and no action (except for 4th of July...).

I've heard it said that if it weren't for deadlines, nothing would get done...but does that include the addiction created by the deadline?

Just for today, I can function under pressure (at whatever cost to my body, mind, and spirit).

Evil Flash Programmer and I exchanged "words" this morning in the kitchen (I was scrounging around for some oatmeal in a kitchen filled with everything but...) when he called my most recent schedule for The Project a "fantasy" schedule. Needless to say, I didn't respond well to this. He later told me that he was just "teasing." I told him that he shouldn't "tease" me about things that cause me back pain and could cost me my job. He eventually apologized (so evil) and asked me what I would give for some oatmeal. I offered $1, at which point he pulled some Quaker Instant Oatmeal Express from the supply closet (as if I couldn't walk into the supply closet and find my own damn oatmeal) and told me he would give it to me for $1 worth of patience. I agreed (because I really wanted that oatmeal) and now I'm doling out my patience in $.05 increments until The Project is completed and I can retreat to a chiropractor's office. However, at the end of the day Evil Flash Programmer did say that I had spent $1.00 and that The Project is on schedule...

Just for today, I can be patient at work.

I spent the morning sitting next to Evil Flash Programmer for moral support while he hacked away at his Evil Flash Code. I have no idea what he's doing, but my job is to display the requisite amount of hysteria when things get too calm. I'm quite sure he wants me dead at this point. However, a death threat from Evil Flash Programmer is like an eyelash falling on my toe, so I'm not too worried (I'll just make sure somebody walks me to my car). One things fo sho - nobody can accuse the Middle Class White Man of not working hard enough...

One thing I've realized throughout this whole (hellacious) process of managing The Project is that my aversion to responsibility is totally justified. Who needs this kind of stress?! I don't.

Just for today, I'm really tired.

Evil Flash Programmer has been executing Operation Undercover Programming Drama. What this entails is giving me an all clear status and saying things like, "Don't worry, yet. We'll tell you when to worry." Then he and the other programmers go back to their cubicles and whisper in serious tones like they work in the ER. I knew something was up when Super Young Tech Director asked me to buy Evil Flash Programmer a burrito (I'll do anything to make THE PROJECT: PART 2 happen). I'm all smiles and positivity as I am perfecting my Everything Is Going Smoothly act...

When I came back from buying Evil Flash Programmer his burrito, I asked him if there was anything he needed to status me on and he replied that all he needed to know was if there were any more nouns I would like to turn into verbs. Hey, all I know is that HE was the one who had a crush on Patty Duke's cousin and thought she was played by a different person (even I knew that and I never even watched the show)...as you can see, the abuse I endure to support my salsa shoes habit continues...

Just for today, I can be positive at work.

A new job title for a direly needed position in corporate America. I think Evil Flash Programmer would be better at it than myself. But I can still practice...

Just for today, I can think of new job titles.

I told my friend that the Programmers at my work stay till ten on a regular basis. "Yeah, yeah, stay late, drink Mountain Dew, that's the programmer life." The next day Long Haired Programmer walked into the kitchen at noon and poured himself a giant cup of Mountain Dew. He didn't seem to mind being informed that he's a living cliché...

Evil Flash Programmer is feeling stressed because he's getting married later in the week. I tried to console him with some very boring New Age-ish The Secret-ish cheezeball babble about visualization...and blah, blah, BLAH...(it's hard when you don't really believe it yourself).

"I believe," Evil Flash Programmer replied, "it was Kant or Buddha who said, 'every day you wake up and life is fucked up.' I think it just got lost in translation."

I'm just curious, what is the word for "fucked-up" in Sanskrit?

Personally, what keeps me sane are chores. There's nothing more grounding and more satisfying to my compulsive need to CONTROL than putting the dishes in their proper place. Thank God I'm not a famous Movie Star with ten servants (how often do you hear that?) because if I didn't have to do things like scrape the mold from the tile or hand wash my bras, I would surely go insane (besides I don't like the idea of other people touching my stuff...I'm into the control).

"Every day is a series of needs," I said to Evil Flash Programmer. "You have to eat, brush your teeth, take out the trash."

"Yeah, and then you clean your windshield and find out that there's a big crack in it. See, if I never cleaned my windshield, I would never have found it."

"But then you wouldn't be able to see out of it when you drove."

"Yes, but the one they replaced it with looks like someone's prescription, so I can't see anyway."

Just for today, I can hang with programmers.

I just went over to Young Director of Technology's (is there any other kind?) cube, stuck my empty container of Easy Mac over the wall and asked:

"Why did you tell me it was OK to eat this?"

The wall of the cube reaches my eyeballs so whenever I talk to him, he can only see my eyes (which say it all). Usually, I'm in Professional Stress Case Mode and frantically discussing the State of Fucked-upness (S.O.F) of web sites that are possessed by Evil Code (I'm not naming names). While he stares at his two monitors, I try to guess his answers by his expression of panic ("yes, I know we're fucked!"), or his distracted stare ("I've got more important shit to do" )...he likes to swear when appropriate (always).

"I told you it was toxic sludge," he said while staying focused on his code, or database, or whatever the hell he does.

Granted, it was my choice to open mouth and contaminate my digestive system with radioactive cardboard packaged as noodles and cheese in non-microwavable materials (the container came out of the microwave kind of melted), but he is still the one who claimed that it was at least tasty toxic sludge.

Lately, Evil Flash Programmer has accused me of having a relationship with The Wall next to my cube. I guess he caught me staring at it while thinking of the S.O.F. of my life. He means it literally, whereas, I'm way too English Major-y to not read wedding-cake layers of metaphorical interpretations (Damn, you again Evil Flash Programmer!)...He likes to play dumb, but he knows all about the Brick Walls in my life.

Speaking of Brick Walls, Relentless has lost all interest in me ever since I dared him to take me on a real date. No surprise here, as he is a Salsero. That was the point of suggesting it. Shake him up, make things different. It's not really fun being pursued when the chase is an end in itself. It's like living in a television sit-com. Once everyone sleeps with each other, the shows going to get canceled, anyway. Not that I was ever planning on sleeping with Relentless...I lost interest in that the moment he opened his mouth (and the words "Will you sleep with me?" came out). Ever since then it's been one long, albeit entertaining, road to relationship nowhere....

WARNING: Profound television-like summary of lessons learned:

1) Read the contents of the package.
2) Take responsibility for your choices.
3) Choose cubes over walls.

Just for today, I can find lessons in life.

Need I say more?

Just for today, I can face challenging situations.

The coffee machine broke this morning. Apparently, it was Cool Accountant Lady's "worst nightmare." I told her if that was her worst nightmare, she's doing pretty well...still, I can't say it got my week off to a rollicking start.

Another disappointment: My company is taking us on "The Price is Right" next week and I was all excited until I looked at the prize list for that day. Really, what am I going to do with a year's supply of cheesecake and a tropical living room set? My plan was to win a car or something like...good, sell it on Craiglist, pay the taxes (prizes are declared as income...total jip), and put the rest in my Freedom Account...another dream blown to bits like that bag of popcorn I left in the microwave for too long (well, in that case the entire bag turned black...but you get the deal).

OK, so in an effort to move away from the self-pity (which I have to say, provides a lot more creativity that "positivity"...no offense to Oprah, Deepak, and those other humorless successful people), I have spent the day pondering some wannabe profundity [courtesy of my pretentious English-major, wannabe "important" writer days in college (I began my short stories with a quote from MacBeth or Hamlet...hey, at least it wasn't T.S. Elliot...what was that guy talking about?)].

Here goes (ready?): Despite whatever is going on, today, like every moment of my life, is unlike any other that will ever come again. I will only be 35 and 7 months and and 8 days once in my entire life. My emotions, painful and otherwise, combined with my body's current state of sleep deprivation, excessive intake of sugar, caffeine and microwave popcorn (the third bag was edible), will never walk this cloudy overcast corner of the earth in quite the same way...for better or worse.. Tomorrow, we will all be a little bit different people...or maybe a lot...and next year we will all be in different circumstances (I hope), breathing different air (probably more polluted) and wanting different things (though, I have a feeling it will still be coffee and cute dresses).

Just for today, I can be bummed on a Monday.

Actually, I was laid off. My friend used the expression "shit-canned" and I just liked it. It's so white trash.

I'm actually excited, scared, in need of a caffeine-fix. Just overwhelmed by a new life adjustment.

My primary concern right now is health insurance. What I'm learning is that even if I were a billionaire, one irregular pap smear and I'm ineligible for the most ghetto HMO. As a society, we are truly fucked. As soon as I can find some ghetto insurance, I'm going to hop onboard the revolution that Michael Moore has started...

My goal is to blog every day during this time. Thanks for being a witness to this important time in my life.

Just for today, I can be shit-canned.

It's impossible. My emotional combustion usually takes the form of exhausting myself through excessive housework (and this is on weekends). It's probably hard for a normal (i.e., sane) person to imagine how an immaculately clean apartment that's astutely organized could possibly need attending to for several hours every single day. But the truth is, every day of our lives creates dirt and disorder (it's really a problem). Dust settles, pillows get out of order, clothes get dirty, dishes get used...it never ends!...And now I'm home with ALL DAY TO CLEAN...my heart goes out to 1950's housewives who were socially validated in this craziness...(at least they had husbands to try to impress)...

ANYWAY...in order to preserve my sanity, I've moved myself to Wireless Coffee Shop Land with all the other unemployed folk. I don't have proof that they're unemployed as I haven't taken a survey or anything (not a bad idea), but from the relaxed vibe of the place, and the number of Facebook and MySpace pages on monitors, I'm not getting the energy of daily grind ('cept for the beans). Is this where our tax payer money is going?!...outrageous (love being with my peeps...).

Now, I'm going to start REAL writing (aka, writing that could lead to potential profit and a higher standing in society, as opposed to the inevitable embarrassment resulting from this compulsive vomiting of personal information that gains me nothing more than therapeutic rewards - which, considering the price of therapy is worth something)...Ok, so short prayer: God, please help me stay focused and not get distracted by cute guys who are doing their laundry next door, girls gossiping behind me, coffee, myspace, email...).

Just for today, I can work at a wireless coffee shop.

I'm in the Laundromat/Coffee Shop again pretending I'm a committed writer (someday I might convince myself). However, it's just too distracting. I spent half an hour deciding if I should spend $5 on an egg nog latte (I can only drink one a year, not just because of the calories, but because once a holiday season is enough), while simultaneously trying to figure out what the guy behind the counter does in his non-latte-making time (he's kind of cute in a Never Had A Real Job kind of way)...real productivity going on here.

I ordered straight coffee. I decided that he's a bassist in a blues indie group he formed in his hometown of Minnesota in 2004...too lazy to find out the truth.

Just for today, I can try to work on a Saturday.

I neglected to blog yesterday (sorry), even though I committed to doing this every day (in case you don't know what I'm talking about...all five of you who read my blog regularly - FYI, I really appreciate it).

I must be the busiest single, childless, unemployed woman in the world. To be fair, I am looking for work which takes a lot of time. And then there's things like closing down salsa clubs every night, and lunch dates with friends (aka, "networking")...but, really, what am I going to do? Wait till I have a six figure savings account and/or am 80 years-old to enjoy my life (hopefully, it won't take that long)? Sit in my apartment and do dubiously productive things like scrub my bathtub till it sparkles so I don't have to accept the fact that regardless of how much money I ever have in the bank we will all, ultimately, get old and die?! (Hate to break it to you). No, thanks. Been there, done that.

It's taken me years to learn that I have to live NOW. And by live, I mean be happy. I get that love and joy are mandatory health requirements. Much more important than vitamins, or whatever that stuff is they put in my drink at Jamba Juice. And, that has made me busy.

Still, it's important to keep my commitments. So, maybe I should make them a little more realistic, like, promising to blog five times a week instead of every day. Let's see how that goes...

Just for today, I can make realistic commitments.

I can't say these are earth shattering life markers I'm hitting...but seeing as I'm in a in place in my life where I discipline myself to make my bed right away as a preventative measure to not get back into it...I have to say, I have accomplished quite a bit today and it's not even 2:00 pm (as I write this)....

1) For the first time in the TEN YEARS I have lived without a parking space (a miracle in itself...you have to live in my neighborhood to truly understand the degree of skill, faith, and adaptability this circumstance requires), that I was home (i.e., not at work) on a street cleaning day, I REMEMBERED TO MOVE MY CAR BEFORE GETTING SMACKED WITH A $45 TICKET (trust me, this is huge)!!!!!!!

2) Less ground-breaking, but important nonetheless: I did my laundry, and hand washed my delicates (boring, and, yet, so necessary).

3) I bought a REAL CHRISTMAS TREE (another first)!!! And we're not talking some Trader Joe's little bush, this is a genuinely cut-down, tree that's going to get dry and brown and shed needles all over my apartment till late January (my life rocks)!!!!!

4) Made it to Wireless Coffee Shop Land before 1:00 pm (yet, another first) (the earliest I have managed to get here, so far has been 3:00 pm).

Just for today, I can have a successful morning.

When I said that I wasn't going to have an existential crisis this round of unemployment I was naiive, in denial, and high on egg nog latte. Without getting into the gory details I will just say that it's dangerous for me to not make my bed in the morning.

My therapist says that we all need to accept the uncertainty of life. I told her that I refuse...my life is going to be certain. Of what?...I'm still figuring that part out.

It's not that I have a problem working for The Man (in all his various incarnations). It's just that it seems His soul is deteriorating faster than the American dollar is dropping (coincidence?)....and just because you plop a foozeball table in the middle of Corporate America, that doesn't make your company any less corporate or not in America...

After being denied health insurance by four companies for an irregular pap smear (despite perfect health), watching Michael Moore's inspiring and reality-checking "Sicko", and being all but bitch slapped with the words "young and hip" by every would-be employer (seriously, do genuinely "hip" people have to tell you how cool and hip they are?...I think my lady doth protest too much...), I'm ready to pack it in and move to France (any single Frenchmen out there?). Truthfully, at 35, at I'm entitled to some justifiable outrage at the soulless condition of our "democratic" society. If I were 20, you could tell me that I was spoiled undergraduate who doesn't understand the cost of living. But having lived on my own for the past 13 years, I would much rather pay the taxes treat someone else's health condition, than have the extra cash to buy $400 jeans, or whatever crap I'm supposed to want...

I'm unplugging from the Matrix (even while I listen to Journey in Wireless Coffee Shop Land) and it's kind of scary.

Just for today, I can have an existential crisis (even though I said I wouldn't).

When I was first laid off, it was difficult to adjust to a life without the structure of a job. Seeing as I don't have the structure of a relationship, family, or anything really (except salsa), I was afraid I might start to feel disconnected, like I might float away.

Not anymore. I've since realized that not working for not working's sake is an excellent reason to tap into my savings. Just the fear fact that I'm no longer spending 8 hours a day in a stressful environment akin to the ER is a huge relief. It's really no surprise to discover that my natural rhythm doesn't quite jive with corporate America and if it weren't for my religion of Coffee, I wouldn't be able to function in it. If I feel this good, how can unemployment be a bad thing?

Here are the improvements in my life:

1) I feel peaceful
2) My sinus infection of four months is gone
3) I feel healthy
4) I've bought lots of plants and resoiled my old ones (metaphor, anyone?)
5) I feel happy
6) I feel happy
7) And, I feel happy

Just for today, I can love not working.

I'm really tired of hearing and reading the words "hard work" and "commitment" in regards to writing. Having experienced creative suffocation under the burden of discipline, I can't say it's always worked for me.

So...for the sake of experimentation in the name of positive evolutionary growth, I have decided to forsake the Protestant American work ethic to see if, given the opportunity, my creations will manifest themselves with nothing more than faith, good vibes, and strong coffee. Sort of like a teenage pregnancy, they will just "happen," whether anybody likes it or not.

Just for today, I can do things differently.

I'm in the Coffee Shop, land of laptops and people who can't work in their homes (like me). I understand that cafe's have historically been places of great social interaction in Europe, but doubt they were filled with people staring at their typewriters and notebooks. Occasionally, I am privileged to eavesdrop on an Internet Date, but those get boring pretty quickly (no surprise for this jaded sister). Looking around at everyone busily typing away, I wonder sometimes if in 1,000 years we will be born with laptops attached to our bodies (my gene pool will surely have the Mac strand...). Mastering the social etiquette of being a regular in a wireless coffee shop has been tricky, a delicate balance between exchanging sincere pleasantries, and maintaining a an appropriate avoidance of all prolonged conversations on such topics as chiropractic work (especially after Adjustment 08), Heath Ledger, or Election 08.

Between the issues with my back and other strange health conditions which shall remain nameless (if you really want to know, ask me in person), this was a tough week. [I did, however, enjoy a great dinner with my father and brother (after the earth shattering Adjustment).]

I was telling Soul Sister Writer Friend about all of my petty little health woes (none of them are life or death) and she told me that according to a yoga teacher this week was difficult for many people due to a hole in the Kundilini.

"Like, the solar system? Like a Venus is in retrograde kind of thing?"

"No, just a hole in the energy."

"What energy?"

"The energy field. Something like that..."

I'm really not a stickler for facts and figures, but still...I going to need a little bit more information to drink this brand of kool-aid. I find it interesting how you take rationale educated people and set them in Los Angeles and suddenly they the idea of adopting the mysterious logic of an Indonesian medicine woman is all-too palatable (I will take the Medicine Woman over the yoga teacher teacher). Something tells me that the facts got diluted somewhere...

Hole or no hole, I'm glad the week is over.

Just for today, I can blame energy holes for my health woes.

Funny how when you don't bring in a big steady paycheck, the numbers in your bank account get smaller...I'm beginning to feel some stress, confusion about how I'm going to support some important things, like my salsa shoe habit (and other things, like rent). Decisions, decisions...

Do I go back to Corporate America and deal with a culture that treats The Client like God and, yet, is willing to pay me enough for me to afford an HDTV, a new Marc Jacobs bag, and my habit of roaming insanely priced adorable boutiques? Or, say, "who needs that shit?" and resume my Marshall's, Targae-loving (let's face it, though...when will I not love that Target?! Never!), basic cable life for the overwhelming benefit of feeding my soul and pursuing my dream?!!!!!!! (an infinity of exclamation points!!!!!!)!!!!!!!!!

Like my Therapist says, it's not Either/Or, but it feels that way to me.

Just for today, I can look at the numbers.

I started a new job today, and I've been so nervous about it that I had a dream last night that I didn't get to work (today) till 3:00 pm. And, then, when I got there, I told my boss that I thought that's what time work started. Since when does the working day in Corporate America begin at 3:00 pm? In my dreams.

Anyway, the CEO of a company I worked for ten years ago was, as it turns out, the CEO of this company, and he claimed that he had lost respect for me.

In real life, I arrived at the appointed hour of 10:00 am.

Just for today, I can start a new job.

Work is hard (hence, the name).

Especially, the kind that I do. It makes me want to do things like drink white wine and buy shoes. It's a Sex and the City type job. Writing, on the other hand, makes me want to sleep, watch movies, and wear jeans and Ug boots every day.

Giant sigh.

Just for today, I can be tired from work.

I didn't mean to offend anybody with the state of my life, the world, and the chilly vibe of Corporate America. I mean just because I don't value the freedom Capitalism offers me to buy $4.00 earrings from Forever 21, and gas for the same price, doesn't mean that it's all bad. And just because The Man's main priorities is to make dollars and not warm fuzzies doesn't mean that he has no soul or moral compass. No, he has a soul, it's just drunk from expensive vodka that comes in a bottle shaped like cologne, and his brain is fried from his bluetooth ear piece and too many free bagels.

Or maybe I just like to whine...?

Ok, so if I'm going to look at My Part, I may as well admit that responsibility + deadline is not a cocktail that sits well with me, which is odd for someone who spent a whole night in the yearbook office in order to publish that Bible of 90's angst.

Big, giant sigh.

Anyway, I guess there's a reason why I don't have kids or even a pet gerbil. I mean give me a couple websites to manage for a few days and I act like every decision I make is inches away from creating a nuclear reaction. What if I actually had real power? Or, real kids to screw up?

I wonder what a good gold fish goes for these days...

Just for today, I can reflect on my dramatic nature.

Things are looking up again...

...and it's not just because Sex and the City (LOVE THAT SHOW! EXPECT TO LOVE THE MOVIE!) is coming out tomorrow. And it's not just because the vitriol against Hilary Clinton has reached such a point of hysteria as to render it (at least to me) as a kind of disturbingly comical Jerry Springer-style face-slap fest (if that makes any sense...it sounds right). And, it's not because I just bought an ice blended coffee drink (although, the amount of money I've spend on coffee in the past three years could surely afford me some prime California real estate...especially now) and am experiencing the benefits of a caffeine and sugar fix. And it's not just because my current corporant gig is almost over...

...it's because...well...I'm sorry, but it is because my current corporate gig is almost over and, now that I've revisited the oppression (that I will likely visit again in the near future) I'm ready to go back and be a writer...

Just for today, I can see a hair strand sized ray of hope.

Back at work on some ad campaign that totally clashes with my values (good thing my moral integrity is at an all time low). My big joke this week was "I'll work for the man, but I draw the line at becoming his Facebook friend"...(ha?).

The reality is more like..."I'll whore myself for The Man, and judge people who spend as much time on Facebook as I do"...(haha?). At least I can call it R&D.

If I'm not making sense that's because my brain has been fried with Project Management Drama (the worst drug of all). Coming out of my Isolated Unemployment, I'm fresh to the high-speed intensity of corporate life. However, I'm sure that will change very soon, and by Friday I'll be jonesing for the Coffee Shop Creeps and zero structure.

Just for today, I can work for The Man (again).

One thing that I notice in office culture is that people really don't seem to thank God very often for Monday thru Thursday. Me, however, I have had some fantastic Mondays and terrible Fridays. I'm just plugged into a less rigid matrix.

Just for today, I can hear "T.G.I.F" a hundred times.

I sit next to the Food Guy at work. He buys all the groceries and prepares a spread every morning. On most days we have bagels and fruit, including such choice items as coconut, grapes, raspberries, blueberries, mango, grapefruit and melon. On Fridays, like today, he makes quesadillas and fresh guacamole. The Man knows how to keep his drones gratefully droning on in front of their crappy computers. At least it works on me...guacamole and mango? It's like putting Jessica Lange in front of King Kong.

Anyway, it's a good thing that I'm being fed at work, as the dollar might not be worth enough to buy me a taco. Seeing as I don't have enough money in the bank to worry about having it disappearing into the ether, I can fantasize about what to do with the gold bricks I'll buy to keep my money safe. Maybe, I'll build a gold house and that way I at least have something to live in and know where my money's at.

Just for today, I'm happy to be fed.

On Monday, my supervisor/boss/person-with-more-responsibility-than-me suddenly announced (via email) that she was done with work (her father is very ill so she had a good excuse). On Tuesday, I spilled my coffee all over my glass desk two seconds after arriving. On Wednesday, I had a panic attack and ran out of the building crying (I managed to leave the building before the tears came). And today I went into an Office Coma, in which my brain ceased to function.

I know that certain personality types are attracted to high-stress jobs that can only be properly done with loads of adrenaline and caffeine, or cocaine. Since I still don't make enough money to afford cocaine and I'm not sure it came back with retro-80's fashions, I've settled on a high-stress job as my drug of choice.

Since my blogs haven't really made any sense since February anyway, I'll use my last bits of cellular brain mass to say that cocaine aside, if I stay in this line of work I will surely develop some kind of legitimate substance abuse problem.

Just for today, I can survive a stressful week.

I went to an over 40 social networking site today. I'm not over 40, but I can see it from here. Sort of in the same way that I can see the ocean from my apartment if the condo blocking my view disappeared. Well, in terms of aging, that condos coming down...

So, I came across this site because I was taking a moment of quiet time at work after asking - or, rather, telling - everyone that I need some space. I figured, after my supervisor quit last week, I had performed enough heroics in the last week to warrant some quality Office Coma time...

The over-40 social networking site was "packaged" as a place for people with some "life experience." I wonder if the word "old" is going to go the way of "broad" and "negro." Seriously, though, I think there's some serious denial going on about the aging process. While there's no chance that someone can turn female or black, we're all going to get old, so why not just say it?

You're getting old. Lest you die, you will turn 40. Deal with it.

I'm not saying it's good for marketing, but it's a more honest approach.

Just for today, I can become cynical when I take a break from work.

I have no friends at work. Well, that's not true, I do have Food Guy and the Receptionist, who has been here all of three days. Actually, I was friends with the last Receptionist but that's only because he thought I might be able to "help his career." I once mentioned that I used to know some people on TV and, thus, he wanted to have coffee with me....He has a law degree, but hates lawyering and blah, blah, blah...(see how jaded and cynical I've become?...it's so awesome).

Anyway, having no friends at work except Food Guy is not so bad, as it turns out. I told him I live on cheerios and BAM! the kitchen is stocked with cheerios. I told him I don't eat wheat and BAM! a box of Cliff bars shows up. It goes without saying that he's my new BFF. But it's not one-sided. I listen to him talk about his personal life and offer my pathetic, I'm-no-one-to-give-advice advice.

Still, I'm kind of lonely.

Just for today, I can wish for more friends at work.

I realized today while re-reading some of the emails I had sent in a frenzied, multi-tasking bi-otch-y, rush that I need to start grammar checking. I, frequently sound like a recently immigrated Vietnamese ESL student. Some examples include:

"....he has work many hour on this job."

"...she confirm with me morning."

Just for today, I need to take time for spelling and grammar check.

Today, I ran into two women from the Job That Sucked The Life Blood Out Of Me (not to over-dramatize) on the street.

"I almost didn't recognize you," said one of them. "You look so different."

I had almost forgotten that three months ago I was a Raging Bi-otch Web Producer who woke up at 4:00 am every morning and obsessed about banner campaigns...not the peaceful, caffeinated coffee shop dweller who wakes up at --- am.

"My friends tell me that job aged me by ten years," I said. "Only they didn't tell me till I got back from vacation and was looking slightly better...."

Both of the women, an Art Director and Production Designer were recently let go in a round of lay-offs.

"Congratulations," I said. "Welcome back to life."

They were both stressed about money, but much happier.

"It's like working for the mafia," I said. "I just felt...dirty..."

"That's exactly right!" said the Production Designer.

"It's just like Mad Men," I added.

"I can't watch that show," said the Art Director. "Because it's too real. We haven't advanced enough to appreciate the irony of the past. Anywhere you go there's still only one woman in creative The only difference is that nobody smokes in the office."

"It's still a frat house," I said. "Those guys hated me," I added.

I was so glad to have seen them and been reminded of my raging bitch days. None of us want to go back to working in advertising, but will if we have no choice...(which, we very well may not). I'm not sure who is getting killed (the consumer?), but it felt like I was earning blood money.

Just for today, I'm so grateful not to be working.

OMG...WTF...(Insert Exclamatory Anagram)....I'm spending too much time unemployed.

I'm becoming (or am) weird. It takes me two hours to get out of my house in the morning, (as I obsess about what to wear to the Coffee Shop) and ponder the a/c, music, degree of work ethic among the clientele, and quality of coffee at various coffee shops around West LA.

I prefer Peete's for the quality and taste of the coffee but for mysterious reasons, Peete's Coffee establishments seem to have universally become pick-up scenes for the over 40 crowd. On more than one occasion, a strange older men has stuck his face straight in front of my computer and asked, "Procrastinating on Facebook?" or "Are you writing a book?" Old man, it's none of your business. Go back to your novel about time travel in the 1960's, and let me finish my brilliant Facebook status about the taco I'm planning to have for lunch.

Starbuck's has the energy of a hospital waiting area, Tanner's has weak coffee, (though, you could mistake it for the library at UCLA for all of the focused concentration), and the Cow's End is simply too close to where I live (I need to feel like I'm going somewhere).

I can't sit anywhere where I'm too comfortable, or the the music is bad, or the guy next to me feels like he might spontaneously combust from the intensity of his spec 24 script Even though I have a Blackberry (which is very important when you have no job and nowhere you have to be), I insist on having Internet access because if I can't look up Drew Barrymore's age when she filmed "ET" on IMDB there's no way in hell I'm going to finish that paragraph.

I have all the time in the world and, yet, refuse to read the manual to figure out how my phone works. The other day I was talking to my mother, and for some reason she kept talking, even while I was talking. I just kept talking over her, assuming that old age was setting in, or she had just gone totally crazy. It took me a while to realize I had hit the mute button.

Please, God, keep me employable.

Just for today, I can try to stay sane in my unemployment.

I went to a guided meditation today, and ended up waking myself up from a deep sleep by my own snoring. I hope it didn't disturb everyone else as much as it disturbed me. I used to think that meditation was for people who just had nothing interesting to think about, but the last few months have taught me, if anything, that putting all forms of communication and information in one small device (called a blackberry) is not helping my ADD or ability to focus.

I went to the guided meditation in my yoga pants because my friend told me to wear comfortable clothes. However, afterwards we went to lunch in China Town and spent the day walking around, looking at cute stores, and drinking Boba Tea...all in my yoga pants. Now, yoga pants in West LA is like say, like Member's Only jackets in my fifth grade class, or maybe a short, hoochie-mama dress in salsa. Yoga clothes are the three-piece suits of Santa Monica. Sure, guys might check out my ass, but it's not taken as due to something inappropriate I'm doing. Yoga pants in China Town? Now, that was like wearing leopard print to church.

Anyway, between the snoring, occasional meditative moment, and orange chicken, I had a very relaxing day with my friend, and feel better able to conquer the insanity of the world and my obsession with my phone.

Just for today, I can work on inner-peace.

I really have to be careful who I talk to these days. According to some, every industry known to man is on the verge of economic collapse.

"Oh, the book industry is going down the tubes," said a friend. "It's impossible to get anything published, anymore."

Then what is Border's doing? Selling chairs?

Next thing you know, people are going to stop listening to music, eating and wearing clothes. We'll all just breathe the free air in our in the nude as the economy crumbles because people stopped shopping.

Just for today, I can stop listening to negative people.

If anyone still reads this thing (my blog), you may have noticed that I haven't been updating it much in the past two years. What has been going in the past two years? Well, for one thing, I didn't work much. In fact, in the past two years, I was gainfully employed for a total of six months.

So, apparently, having all the time in the world is not conducive to daily blogging.

What is conducive to consistent blogging? HAVING A JOB!

Schedule+Productivity = More Productivity

Unemployed Schedule+No Structure= A Total Halt Of My Multi-Tasking Skills With The Lame Ass Excuse That I Need 24/7 To Tend To My "Opus"

Just for today, I appreciate that having a schedule makes me more productive.

In the name of expanding my network and learning more about publishing, I asked two published writers, both women, if they would be willing to meet me for lunch, so I could put a fork in their brain and pull out kernels of information about publishing. (I know that sounds gross but so does "pick their brain.")

I offered to drive to wherever they might work, live, shop for skin products, and buy them lunch (assuming, perhaps wrongly, that need to eat everyday around the noon to 2:00 pm hour). I have had the same offer made to me on several occasions, and have always obliged. Shoot, for a free cup of coffee or lunch, I will show you how to make smokin' guacamole, and parallel park in a space that defies geometry. I will also tell you about my work experience, and share my contacts (though, to to be honest the parallel parking info is much more valuable).

One of these women flat-out said "No, thank you." And the other said she would be willing to work with me on creating a "marketing plan" for her regular fee of five million dollars an hour. Ok, so it wasn't quite five million, but does it matter? What's next? Are people going to start charging for telling you when the meter maid came by last?

Maybe such advice or help is only for 22-year-olds (and nobody told me), or maybe I'm really annoying (and nobody has bothered to tell me as well...except my shrink, who doesn't count). But barring those two things, I was really surprised and disappointed.

Are older women unable to understand the necessary benefits of networking and giving and sharing professional information?

A couple friends from college offered to connect me with people they knew, and I have found that younger women, in general, seem totally hip to the idea of sharing information, contacts, and business info. That's what has kept The Man in business for thousands of years.

If anything, it gave me a sense of how I want to be in the world...even if I never "arrive."

Just for today, I'm disappointed.

So, apparently Corporate America isn't interested in my creativity, hard-work, and ability to think outside of the box. At least not at full-price, or even 3/4 price. Lately, I've been feeling like the livestock that didn't make the cut.

I don't mind being treated like a possible purchase at that boutique down the street, because God knows I've returned to try on that adorable dress three times before saying "No, thank you," to the sales woman and walking out with my head hung in shame. Yes, I can be a cheap-o, too.

But I do really mind being treated like a bad Match.com coffee date, without the requisite follow-up "Thank you for a time, but we don't have a fit for your skills and experience," email (i.e., we're "not a match"). Did I mention that job hunting is a lot like dating?...well, scratch that because it's just like dating. One potential employer let me infer my rejection when he responded to my thank-you email with "Best of luck!"

It's kind of like when you run into an old boyfriend who you would rather never see again and the feeling is mutual, and you try to get out of it by claiming that you have to pick up your dry cleaning before they close (something lame, but in the realm of possibility) but they go for the clincher and say something like, "Have a good rest of your day." Oh, no he didn't. Yeah, well, fuck you, too!

Words are such a crock. The more rambling, ranting blogs I write, the more I realize that intention is everything. If you don't feel the love, everything is just a ride at Disneyland.

Don't mind me. I'm just living the effects of this economy (f--d up country) If you're looking for faith in humanity, don't look here.

Just for today, I'm a cynical bitch.

My brain hurts from all the paradoxes.

There's something about Spring and having lots of fun things to do that makes me want to stay home and clean my stove. There's also something about having all the time in the world to write that makes writing my blog excruciatingly hard. (I could come up with some really gross metaphors....but I don't want to offend my mom.) There's also something about a sunny day that makes people sing really loud on the bike path. Which isn't a paradox, just really annoying.

There's been a lot of crying, and curling up in a little ball, and wanting to stay in bed. I can't pin it on one thing...so I'll just attribute it to the general degree of fucked-up-ness of life...both what I can't control as well as that of my own doing.

It's all going to change...soon. I hope.

Just for today, I feel tired.

2010 has been a roller coaster. Not so much a Magic Mountain one, as that traveling rent-a-ride my friends and I made the mistake of going on in the 8th grade. The girl in the car in front of us puked, and in lieu of cleaning it up the I'm-sure-shittily-paid attendant threw some disinfectant on it, hit the "On" button, and let winds of motion blow puke in our young faces. {Note to self: remind friends of puke ride at 20-year-high school reunion]. It's not that I feel like puke is being thrown in my face (right now), so much as the sense of being on a moving apparatus that I can't stop or get off of.

I'm on my third job this year and tenth career in my life. On alternating weeks I'm a ambitious writer, dejected blogger, unemployed Target addict, or web professional. During January and April the fires of creativity burned like a giant oil spill, but since May I have felt about as inspired as a network line-up of reality shows.

Last week my father flew in for another whirlwind visit before he leaves for South East Asia to (I'm guessing) find himself. Plans take tangential turns when he's around and somehow we ended up in gay bar playing pool. How did I not know that I'm good at pool? For a second I thought I had a hidden talent and then I remembered that mid-90's dot.com job with a pool table in the conference room. Guess I didn't work much at that gig. But I can play pool! Who plays pool? Dudes! And not in gay bars.

I thanked my father for dinner and for helping me rediscover a passion that could help my social life.

Just for today, I'm going with the flow.

I never realized how much harder it is working for yourself. Sure, nobody cares if I take a four hour yoga lunch or ten hours to finish a 30 minute task, but at the same time nobody is writing me a check and keeping my work station functioning. Yesterday, my four month old computer had a meltdown. Where's tech support?! My chair was sending me to the chiropractor's office. Where's the office manager?! Back in the day when I worked for The Man, I just drove to work, sat my butt down in a ergonomic chair, and shot off emails anytime my browser didn't move at lightening speed.

I called Apple Support and found out that they would charge me $30 to tell me - as I later figured out - to reinstall my operating system. Thank God I'm resourceful, or I'd have to fire myself. Then, I went to Office Max and bought a chair. It came in a giant box filled little pieces. Where's facilities management?! (Or whoever puts together chairs...). I, finally, put it together...now I'm exhausted.

Just for today, I need some help.

Yesterday, I showed up for my hundred millionth interview for a career that I'm, apparently, no longer suited for. This is the question that I flubbed:

"What's the latest hot cool new thing?"

Dudes love "cool." I think I deleted my post about the job filled with guys whose sole creative direction was to make said work, "more cool-looking."

"I tend to start with thinking about what people need..."

I think if I had said "Atari" that would have been closer to the right answer. Did Mark Zuckerberg sit down to code "something cool?" No, the world made it cool, he just set the stage by thinking about what people want.

I went on another interview, and I won't say who the client was, but the product's name refers to a fruit that comes in the colors of green and red.

"What's your favorite banner ad campaign for [brand name]?"

"What?! They had a banner campaign? Or is that a trick question?"

Realness is not a quality sought in this job market.

I came home from the last interview and found two checks in the mail. I took it as a sign to stay the course that I'm on, and that is working to become a user experience designer.

Just for today, I am humbled by my lack of control in life.

In this tanking economy, job interviews seem to be getting longer, and longer. They used to be a half hour or hour, tops. You met with your direct supervisor and if he or she liked you, that was it. Now they are two to three hours long and you meet with every single person who might graze your cubicle on the way to the restroom.

It's the marathon that kills me. I can sound great for thirty to forty-five minutes, but by the second hour, without any commercial breaks, or enough caffeine, my game face starts to crack. It's just too much pressure. Eventually, my diarrhea-of-the-mouth disease makes itself known, and before I know it, I am letting on that I have interests in other things besides working. [POTENTIAL EMPLOYERS PLEASE NOTE: I am a kick-ass employee!...and, no, I don't use words like "kick=ass" in client meetings or documentation]. So, although, I am a kick-ass worker bee, my extracurricular interests (salsa, blogs, play) can appear like creative energy flowing out of the office. But it's really not...in reality it ricochets back into the office.

Besides, do we want a job force made of steely worker-bots, who bill time in two minute increments and can stare down the Terminator with their laser like focus? Do we want to fill our vocabulary with enough Corporate Speak ("off-line" "bandwidth" "deliverables", etc.) that the old "think outside of the box," sound like rap lyrics?

Until the economy recovers, I think we do. Giant sigh.

Just for today, I believe I am a valuable asset to any company.

The other day a recruiter called to ask if she could send my resume to a company in Orange County.

"You can send it to Tijuana, too, while you're at it."

The Orange Curtain seems about as far from my reality as border patrol.

The next day she called to tell me that I would get a phone interview in five minutes. Five minutes later a woman called me and this is how it went:

"Hello. How are you?"

"I'm good. Thank you."

"Can you start tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Ok, I'll send you a confirmation email. See you tomorrow at 10:00."

The recruiter later called and told me that said company had approved my rate.

"Are you sure they don't want to meet me in person first?"

"No, we trust that you're fabulous."

This is true. But these people have no proof. I could walk into the office barefoot with a pet ferret on my shoulder.

However, by the end of the day, I still hadn't receive any instructions, and had become convinced that the whole thing was a scam. I worried that if I drove to said location I would find nothing more than an empty warehouse in the middle of a desert, with tumbleweeds blowing around, and two bouncer looking guys carrying rope and a cloth sack, ready to abduct me and into a life as a human subject for illegal medical experiments. So, I called the recruiter again.

"Are you sure this is a real job? I still haven't gotten an email..."

"Oh, yes, it is. I swear. I'll send you the address."

Against my better judgement, I got up this morning and drove in the rain into the nether region behind orange curtain. Every time I go to the OC (which has been about twice in my life) I expect to run into the one person I know who lives there who I dated five years ago for three weeks. So, in addition to worrying about driving in the rain and my possible abduction, I had the added stress of how to react to guy weirdness.

However, I arrived at the building and was amazed to find a Real Office with hardwood floors, creative directors walking around, and a receptionist waiting to validate. Everybody seemed grateful to see me, as if I were Santa Claus, and some were actually smiling. At lunch time, I walked outside to get something to eat. No ex in sight. However, there is a Forever XX1 at the corner...a danger I hadn't foreseen.

Just for today, I'm working in the OC.

Yesterday, several people at my new job walked up to me and introduced themselves. I thought maybe they mistook me for the person who received the giant bottle of Patron (it's sitting on my desk next to a box of wine...). Then the same thing happened today. Who are these people?! I don't have to work with them. What do they want from me?!

And then I realized...I'm not in LA anymore, Land of No Eye Contact and Parallel Universes.

I've worked at agencies for weeks without so much as a nod from the person sitting next to me, a few feet away, and yet, living in another world. I came to accept that that, in this Darwinian work culture, extraneous people were no more than possible objects of collision, like plants or walls. Names came way too later, after I'd gotten used to the nicknames (Goatee and Hip Rock T-Shirts Man), or after I'd been forced into a person's Circle of Immediate Reality, like people thrown in an elevator together. Everything else is a blur. There are exceptions, but generally speaking the first few weeks or months of working in a new place is a time of invisibility. You may be gone a few weeks later. You're expendable. You're in Corporate America.

But my commute takes me outside of LA and into the midwest (aka, Orange County).

Just for today, I'm realizing what a callous bitch I've become.

(SFX: SUPER ANNOYING ALARM SOUND)

WHAT?! What's happening? Why is it so early?! W.T.F? Job. Oh, yeah. Job?! Late! Go!

Shower. Jeans. Boots. Hair (sort of) dry. Car. Coffee. Peete's...long line. Order faster, Coffee Drinkers. Damn high-maintenance Coffee Drinkers! See fellow Coffee Drinker Friend. Hello...late, commute, rush, bye! Coffee! Magical coffee feelings. I heart coffee. It's a new day! Freeway. 405. Straight shot...woohoo! I love driving, too! Slow down. Stop. Stay stopped. WHAT?! WHY ARE WE STOPPED?! Open traffic app on Blackberry. Accident?! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?! #$&*@! Denial. Anger. Sadness. WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?! #$%*! WHY DO I LIVE IN LA?! Acceptance. Speed up again. Oh, thank God. Mysterious traffic flow. (Note to self: Study traffic flows). Faster. Flying. Coffee. NPR! KCRDUB! Bright sun! Going to work! Woohoo! More traffic. WHAT?! I HATE YOU 405! Get off the 405. PCH. Beach, ocean, waves, surfers. Wow. California is pretty nice. I live here. Surfers. Why don't I surf? (Note to self: SURF BEFORE YOU DIE!). Take picture of view while driving. Apply make-up while driving. Talk on phone. See cop. Stop everything. Hands on wheel. Slow down. Cops don't care. Speed up. Arrived!

Work.

"Happy Friday!"

Friday. Happy. Drive home.

Just for today, I commute to work.

Today a guy at work yelled out, "She's just like her mother....really hard on the eyes!" We all just looked at each other like, "We could get really offended...or keep our jobs."

Advertising = White Heterosexual Males

Deal. But what creative, economically advantageous industry doesn't?

The longer I work in advertising, the less ironic Mad Men becomes.

Just for today, I can live in reality.

In a twisted sort of Holly Hunter in "Broadcast News" way, I love what I do, producing Creative Digital Things, working with talented people, and being the advocate of Getting Shit Done. And, most importantly, I really love Getting Paid. But Project Managing/Producing/Whatever You Want To Call It, is the kind of work that is antithetical to my deeper passion, writing. Writing thrives on large chunks of unstructured time and unstructured brain waves. The creative butterflies only like to visit me after I've been sitting for hours on end thinking about I would say if I met Mark Ruffalo (I'm yours?), and ways to blow my sugar-free, wheat-free diet (which is neither).

In high school I was the Editor-In-Chief of Yearbook (we never said "The Yearbook"). The staff was a mixture of self-proclaimed "cool people" (like myself), skateboard/comic book nerds, and adorable geeks, and some plain straight-up, served with a side of coke-bottle glasses, Geeks. We spent afternoons eating fried rice or Panda Express while working on Computers that looked like ATM machines. Once I spent the entire night at the Yearbook Office. I was 17 and I was trying to make up for the fact that I a) shamelessly plastered pictures of myself and my friends on every other page (who wouldn't?...people with integrity), and b) allowed my friends to write secret messages all over the 400 page opus (newsflash: 8 pt upside down text is not really that big of a secret). The Faculty Advisor caught it (who knew he did anything?), and yelled at me. I yelled at him back. He cowered. And that was then I knew my calling. Tell people How It's Supposed To Be Done. And, if you don't know, ask them how they would do it, and then say, "Good job!"

Little did I know that the smell of fried rice and Panda Express would follow me to a multitude of agencies filled with just such people, only grown graduates from art school, and well-paid web developers. After college, I discovered this weird thing called "the Internet." It wasn't exactly publishing, but there was plenty of alcohol around and, yes, that smell of fried rice.

Project managers tend to be women, I'm not sure why. It's a hopelessly codependent type of gig, you have to carry the weight of everything and maybe women are used to that. But, in the end, it's like giving birth (which I've never done). You have a baby. A thing. A project.

And then you go into a coma.

Just for today, I'm taking a Coma Day.

WOMAN jumps. EVERYONE stares. Very AWKWARD.

SOME OTHER IMPORTANT GUY
Why'd you do that?

OLDER IMPORTANT MAN
To get her attention.

WOMAN
You got it.

Working in advertising is kind of like living in a television series written by God. That is if God were an eccentric southern white male with good people skills and a healthy respect for money.

Just for today, I work in advertising.

If I have to work for The Man, I have to say that I'm really glad he's Korean. Between the two full-time baristas staffed at the coffee bar and the view of the ocean, I can't complain. There were too many reasons why I needed to take a full-time J.O.B.:

1) Artsy Unemployed Creative was starting to look a little scraggly on me...(starting to?)...little have I ever known (coming from Berkeley, land of body hair) that the only thing standing between me and beauty was $100 a month in beauty products (for my skin alone). Along with paying rent and food, there's a lot of things that I think I need (though, I know I don't) that I never knew about (and often wished I still didn't).

2) Less may be more with regards to words, but "more" is far less than "less" when it comes to vast quantities of Unstructured Time as related to Writing. The more time I think I have to do anything, the longer it takes to do anything, like, say, get out of bed. Getting out of bed can take a split second or become a daylong project. [However, with regards to words on the page, less is always more. Mark Twain once said, "If I had lived longer, I would have written less." Judging by my long-winded blog entries, I must not believe I have a long life-expectancy.]

3) Everyone has a day job. (Unless you have a trust fund, in which case your job is supporting the drug trade/rehab industries and doing community service).

There's a dream that a chosen few love every second of their work (unless they just love "work," which seems kind of pathological). But even Prince has to play "Purple Rain" one more freakin' time. Ok, maybe playing "Purple Rain" in front of thousands of adoring fans night after night never gets old. But "Little Red Corvette?" There's gotta be one song (Nicky?") that he wants to puke every time he thinks of playing one more time, but knows it's part of the bill of keeping up the Purple Palace or Paisley Park or whatever it's called. Not that I question the integrity of the Purple One, (I'm still planning on seeing him) I just know that he has created a lot of other music in the past thirty years.

Just for today, I work for the Korean Man.

So my new second career of becoming a Super Genius User Experience Designer isn't quite working out. Would Einstein be willing to sit through an InDesign tutorial? Would he learn the short cuts? Or would he laboriously scroll to the menu bar? I'd say he'd laboriously scroll through the menu bar and then write something pithy about master files.

Either way, my lack of design skills and/or lack of desire to attain them has led me realize the need to declutter my career goals. Like with the french horn and tap dance, I had to admit to myself that I just didn't want it that bad. Why do I need to start another career? I already have two kind of teetering on the brink of extinction.

It's time to retire my life of being a Jack (or Jane) of all trades, master of complicating my life.

Just for today, I'm happy to let go of something.

"What are you reading?" said Guy I Work With.

I'm sitting alone in the cafeteria at work. It's high school all over again.

"Uh...a book written by a psychotherapist who claims to be chanelling Jesus Christ."

Awkward moment.

"Oh."

I don't have the energy to keep my freak flag under wraps anymore. But we work together so he has no choice but to talk to me.

I don't consider myself religious in the slightest bit. But having been traumatized throughout my childhood by a highly dramatic fantasy world, also known as the Catholic faith, I consider any positive association to JC (besides the musical) a therapeutic necessity. My first communion school teacher swore on all our souls that if we ever used the words, "God Damn," without following them with ten Our Fathers and twenty Hail Mary's (the Hail Mary's didn't count as much...like all values associated with women), then something bad would happen. I never asked what, but only imagined by the tone of her voice nothing short of the earth splitting open with flames spewing from below, followed by a red man with horns and pitchfork. I was 7 or 8 years old. I don't think it's an exagerration to say that I probably said a million "Our Fathers" and two million "Hail Mary's" by the time I went to college.

And even then I didn't stop.

So, flash forward to when I'm thirty and my therapist tells me to read, "A Course In Miracles." Sometimes I came into her apartment, where our sessions took place, to find her cooking dinner or hanging out with other shrinks. She was a very nice woman, but boundaries were not her strong suit.

But "The Course In Miracles" appealed to my literary interests, as the text is dense and requires English major skills to decipher. The book was written by a psychotherapist named Helen Schuchman in the 70's,who claimed her words were coming from JC himself. I guess if you weren't on drugs in the 70's, you were channelling dead spiritual gurus (I know that's what I would do).

Well, according to the book, the great C as channelled through Helen felt that the folks who wrote the Bible totally didn't "get" God at all. So, JC was like, "Hey, someone better channel me and get this shit worked out." As it turns out, God has no "wrath," does not believe in self-sacrifice or martyrdom and is totally cool with pre-marital sex so long as it's about connecting to another person. But the apostles and other bible writers had "issues" and thought Jesus was showing off by talking about forgiveness while being nailed on the cross. And so a movement of martyrdom blew up over the past two thousand years.

Everything comes down to communication. Sort of like what happens when a guy I'm dating says something like, "You look nice in those pants," and I'll somehow interpret it as a suggestion that my ass looks fat in every other pair. It's my issues in the way of a positive message. (Good thing I'm not starting a religion).

Just for today, I can read in the cafeteria.

The woman who sits behind me at work loves to sing to 80's music. Not just listen to it. Sing to it. Out loud. At work. She's an eccentric designer, so it's tolerated. And I'm a fairly tolerant worker bee...but this...most of the songs make me feel queasy when played in their native fashion. Even Trader Joe's knows that 80's music is over. But now I just can't take it anymore. Here are some recent atrocities I have been subjected to:

"You are an obsession...you're my obsession..."

"One thing leads to an-na-nother..."

"Urgent...urgent, urgent..."

"Lying beside you, here in my arms..."

Because I try to be kind and generous, I have thought about her life. I think she had a good time in the 80's. It was her decade. She was in love. Felt young and free. And now, somewhere in middle age land, all she has are some tunes that she's going to SING...DAMNIT!

Just for today, I can listen to 80's music.