Photo Class - my final portfolio

These were the photos that I submitted as my final project for my photo class

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This was one of the rejects (it didn't work in the series)...but I still kinda like it:

A Tour of the High Line

free association

Fat ass day

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I woke up this morning and realized - I'm having a fat ass day.

I then realized, I'm not.

It's funny, when you take an objective look at the subjective world of delusional days. Things like "fat ass" day... when you feel like parts of your body have ballooned (or in the case of "saggy boobs" day, shrunk) when it makes absolutely no sense that size has changed in the last 12 hours at all. After all, when I put on my pants this morning, they fit the same as they did when I took them off last night. My bra is no less empty on saggy boob day than regular day. My evening of restless sleep did not, in fact, cause my buttocks to swell or cleavage to diminish further in any way. And I know that if I had a scale in my house, I have no doubt that it would say the same number as it said yesterday.

Yet still, when I woke up this morning, I knew it was, without a doubt, a fat ass day.

It's the same lack of reasoning that belongs to many mental issues in this world. I find it distinctly funny when I have a huge pimple on my face, and someone compliments my skin (which never happens when I have no pimples, by the way.) Or when I'm having a "bad hair day" and no one notices that my hair is any different at all - and in fact, I would guess they'd probably say my hair looks exactly the same as it always does. In fact, I would also venture to guess that some people feel they are having a good hair days actually need to know that they, in fact, are definitely NOT (I'm thinking mostly tourists from the Midwest who forget that "feathers" thankfully went out with Farrah Fawcett TV shows and only belong on boas sported by cross-dressing men in the Village Halloween parade.)

I don't understand why this happens, or if it happens to most people at all. Maye it's just me being hyper analytical of a temporary spike in body image issues. Who knows. But when some days when I feel my skin is particularly gross looking, I'll get compliments, and on other days when I feel like I'm looking pretty good, no one notices (especially YOU, Mr. Hottie-who-orders-toasted-sesame-bagel-with-cream-cheese-at-Metro-Cafe-every-morning.)

I don't usually care - those of you that know me well know I don't obsess over these types of issues regularly. I find that is irrelevant, especially when it comes to the parts of the body that I don't even have to look at (my booty) especially when I know that most of it is psychological garbage. I do wish I could move things around a little sometimes (hell, I'm 36, what do you expect?), but not enough that I'm visiting plastic surgeons to see what gets to be pulled where.

So for now, put on the Spanx, ya'll... or just embrace the big booty day and be thankful that Beyonce has made it okay to be bootylicious... at least until tomorrow.

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Oh, and Happy St. Patrick's day! Or, as we NYCers call it... Amature Night. May your fake ID's hold up to scrutiny and your green beer not taste too bad the second time around.

Costa Rica

The walk down to the dive shop:

The waterfall day:

Hiking back up from the waterfall...

The hot springs bar... Best. Bar. Ever.

The volcano...(squint, you might see it)

The street beggars:

The bird that tried to steal our breakfast... and failed.

Diving...

Tortuga!
Sunset

Monkeys by the ocean:

Black sand beaches:

white shell, black sand...

Socks...

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Aaaah, New York City in January... when the grey city skyline is accentuated by the grey buildings, and the grey sidewalks and streets are streaked with the frozen grey water and the cars and building are covered in a grey film... and the people are all wearing black coats and dirty Ugg boots and there is no such thing as a good hair day because of the hats, scarves, and earmuffs... and any makeup is washed off by running sniffly noses and watery eyes caused by the winds whipping off the Hudson... not that makeup would matter anyway since scarves are wrapped up above the nose.

The huddled early morning commuters shuffle from subway exits down to the corner Starbucks, stand in line for overpriced coffees and then shuffle off to little offices... only to do the reverse shuffling trip later, not making eye contact, but simply concentrating on getting from point A to point B in minimal time with minimal exposure to the elements or other people.

The store windows are full of "still on sale!!" trying to get rid of the stock that didn't sell over the holidays and making room for clothing that anticipates spring too early, showing off scantily clad mannequins clad in flimsy fabrics that you can't wear for 5 more months unless you want frostbite in some rather sensitive places...

Yesterday, it snowed. And by snow, I mean...it snowed from about 3-6am, and then it sleeted, and then it rained. Which left a lovely mess of slippery, salty, sandy sidewalks all over NYC, with freezing cold puddles of muddy-grey water lapping at every crosswalk... one of which I ended up stepping into up to my ankle, filling my boot with a lovely mix of unidentifiable NYC washoff and making my sock so wet that I was accompanied by a very amusing squeaking-squashing sound with every step for the remainder of the day. I was literally laughing out loud walking down the street, since the alternative, really, was to cry.

(Why walk when there is a perfectly good subway system? Because delays on the subway were turning 20 minute commutes into 2 hour nightmares, so I figured walking was easier, if not more comfortable).

So in conclusion, it's time, ladies and gentlemen, for a vacation.

It's T-minus 23 days and counting to Costa Rica... a week of blue skies, bluer waters, diving, snorkeling, swimming, canopy riding, volcano-seeing, tropical bug-bitten days of bliss... where I can wake up *after* the sun rises for a change, and toss any offending alarm clocks off a bridge. There, a bathing suit, tshirt, flip flops and shorts are plenty to keep you "warm"... saving you a good 15 minutes of layering up with long johns, socks, boots, scarves, hats, gloves, coats, and sweaters before stepping outside...

Wanna come?
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President Obama

What an absolutely amazing day.

Do you wanna date me?

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Okay, so here's the deal. In the interest of cutting through some of the flak that comes with dating, I've decided to be brutally honest... so if you wanna date me, here's the real deal:

First off, I don't drink that much alcohol. I just don't... it's not that I don't enjoy a cold beer with a good burger or pizza sometimes, or a nice glass of wine with an aromatic pasta with meat sauce, and yes, I even like getting buzzed and giggly sometimes on "real" drinks, too. But, I don't do it often and I dont' drink that much. I like fruit juices and seltzer - how about a tequila sunrise sans the tequila? This doesn't mean that I don't like you, or that I don't want you to drink, or that I'm super-religiously-holier-than-thou, or that I don't know how to still have a pretty decently good time. It just means that I don't drink that much alcohol.

Second, I play video games. Yea, I'm a geek, nerd, whatever, but they're fun. Usually I like single-player adventure games, like the Myst series. I don't like things that jump and me and explode blood and gore all over my screen. But I've recently become addicted to World of Warcraft. I'm not addicted like South-Park-episode-addicted (I do have a normal job, friends and go out with people), but I do enjoy it. And this also doesn't mean that I can't carry on conversations about normal things, nor do I weigh 2,000 pounds and only eat Doritos and go to computer game conventions dressed up in ridiculous costumes. No, I just play it...and enjoy it. I just see it as more engaging than TV, and more interactive.

Third, I like skiing, but I don't LOVE skiing. That seems to be a big one lately... that just because you're single, in your thirties, and live in NYC, you *must love skiing*. Well, I have to say, it's highly OK. I'm not bad at it, I'm not good at it, but honestly, I'd rather spend a weekend driving up to Maine to see the coastline scenery, or take a nice weekend trip to Montreal, or go to Boston to visit the aquarium and do historical tours. This doesn't mean I'm not athletic or interested in activities - let's go white water rafting in July or sea kayaking in Florida, or snorkeling in Belize... but if it's snowing outside, I'd rather curl up with a good book, a warm fireplace, and a big, poofy comforter than hurl myself down a frigid mountainside with 2 thousand other crazy people with sticks tied to my feet.

Fourth, I do geeky things. I cross-stitch (my mom taught me); I taught myself how to crochet and don't quite know what to do with all the scarves I've made. I read Discovery magazine, Newsweek comics, and National Geographic instead of Cosmo. I watch very little TV, but when I do, it's usually documentaries or British in origin, or sci fi stuff like BSG. I hate wearing makeup, but put on undereye concealer and lip gloss every day cuz I'm getting older. I don't like shopping for clothes, and absolutely hate buying shoes (and won't wear heels except on very special occasions.) I'd much prefer to save my money for a trip to Peru or the Galapagos, or Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, New Zealand, Eastern Europe, Norway, Russia or the Amazon. I don't need room service, but I do prefer a warm bed; I don't require hand-holding, but I do prefer company; I do like adventures, but I don't like feeling unsafe.

So there's the skinny... some of the things that "normal" dating scene girls may not admit to, but having just turned 36, it's time that people who want to get serious start accepting me for who I am... or moving on to someone else. If you're still interested, I'll have a cranberry, OJ and seltzer, please.
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BBC TV

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Those of you that know me know that I don't watch a lot of tv. But for the last few days, as I've been hangin' out in the apartment and painting / writing / cleaning / chore-doing, I have kept the TV on in the background. For a while it was on the music stations, then on CNN, and now for some reason, I've gotten stuck on BBC America.

First off, the news reports are far more interesting. But really, the British comedy and reality shows crack me up. "You Are What You Eat" where a psychotic dietitian invades overweight people's lives and insults and chastizes them into eating healthy veggies. She's a little psycho, and seems to obsess over people's digestive systems on a little bit of a disturbing level. But she gets results and makes me want to eat more veggies.

"How Clean Is Your House" does three things: First, it makes me feel better about how clean my house is, and second, makes me want to clean up more, and third, makes me feel very proud about my teeth (c'mon Britain, I'm sure there are plenty of dentists out there... pay 'em a visit, really!) Basically, two stuffy ladies invade filthy dirty homes, insult the residents, kick them out, and clean up after them. It's fabulously disgusting and liberating, and yesterday it made me pour baking soda and lemon juice into my bathtub... it's much better than the stinky cleaning stuff they sell on shelves.

The comedies are funny - there was a "Coupling" marathon on last night - which is a kind of version of "Friends" but with much sexier accents...and less snooty attitudes. Then there's "Kitchen Nightmares" which features famed asshole chef Gordon Ramsey intruding into failing restaurants and insulting the owners/chefs/staff into straightening up their act and - in the end - saving the day.

I'm sure once work starts up again, I won't watch much tv any more. It's not one of my pseudo-resolutions...but it's been kind of amusing for the last few days.
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Notes from the holidays

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So first of all, before we get all gooey about how it's the holiday season, let me say this: Planes don't exist.

In the span of 10 days, I've had 5 flights canceled and missed 2 Christmases. All of these canceled flights were due to "weather", but only once was it snowing and once was it raining. (Yea, I know you're now going to regale me with all this logical stuff about how weather HERE doesn't affect a plane flying from Chicago or some such blah blah. But I've never been one to hold much on to logic, so whatever.) Last week was possibly the most amusing / annoying.

I was supposed to fly out on the 23rd and was at the airport at 8:30am, dutifully arriving 90 minutes prior to my flight departure, when my flight was canceled. I swore, booked another flight for the next day (add on a rental car because it was to a different airport) and went home.

That night, a lovely recorded voice had the decency to call me *before* I left for the airport to tell me that the next day's flight was also canceled due to weather... and I signed up for another flight on the 24th... and changed the rental car.

At 2am on the 24th, my phone buzzed...and the lovely recorded voice says "canceled" again, and a 2.5 hour phone call later had a flight on Christmas day (actually 2 flights) that would get me in late on the 25th. Which was... you got it... also canceled.

Add to that 2 more flights (one from the week before canceling a trip to see extended family in North Carolina) and one more on the return trip on the 27th and that adds up to five - yes, count 'em, five - canceled flights in the span of 9 days. And one helluva lonely Christmas. So I decided to ignore Christmas on the 25th this year and just save it until later, when my nephews get back into town and I can celebrate with them. And I also decied that planes don't actually exist. They are just figments of my imagination and crank calls to my cell phone. So there.

So in the spirit of ignoring Christmas, on the 24th, I went to the supermarket: Bought a mini chicken roast-type thing, canned french-cut green beans (my *favorite*), Pillsbury crescent rolls (dont' have to share this time!), made a nice Caesar salad, bought a bottle of wine (to drink and make a rosemary white wine sauce for the chicken - yes I made that up myself, and it didn't suck), and egg nog for dessert. I had a lovely not-Christmas dinner sitting on the floor of my apartment (New Year's resolution #1: finish the apartment and get a stupid table to eat on) watching the James Bond marathon on Spike TV. (Did you know that Sean Connery wore a hair piece in every JB movie? Fascinatingly good stuff...and tricky since in most of them he somehow ended up in the water, have you ever noticed he's always swimming in the ocean at least once? Preferably with sharks and a scantily-clad bikini-decked woman. But... where was I? Oh yea, it's not Christmas.)

Don't get me wrong - it sucked not being with the nephews. But it was a much more successful not-Christmas than a few years ago, which totally sucked...so that's OK.

(Random side note: They must be testing the confetti stuff for the New Year's Even in Times Squre - little clouds of colorful confetti keep flying by my office window... how quaint.)

Meanwhile, a friend of mine's mom died over the weekend, which is really sad. She died of cancer, and wasn't young... but I wrote her an email that for some reason I feel like I should share...

When my mother passed away, I had so many emotions at the same time.
I was so sad for losing her.
I was angry for her suffering…I was angry at a lot of things.
I was relieved that her suffering was over.
I felt horrible guilt for feeling that relief.
I was heartbroken that my mother had been taken from me.
I was lost – what was I supposed to do without a mom?
And eventually, I was hopeful that I would see her again.

In May it will have been 10 years since she died – I still miss her terribly.
I won’t say that it gets easier – sometimes it is, and sometimes it still hurts pretty bad.
I wanted her at my wedding, I needed her during my divorce, I want her to see my child, if I am ever blessed with one.
For a long time I used to have the urge to pick up the phone to talk to her, especially when life got really good, or really bad.
Those are the worst moments…knowing she won’t be on the other end of the phone.
Even now, sometimes I look up in the night sky and feel her hugging me, and sometimes I just feel the distance between us.
But I know she’s with me every day in some way.
And I know now that I’ll see her again one day… and she’ll be smiling and healthy and give me a hug.

My mother was in a lot of pain for years before she finally succumbed to the horrible thing that is cancer.
Before she passed it was logical that she was dying – we knew it, the doctors told us enough times.
Even then, when she died, it all seemed too soon and too fast, and somehow still a jolting surprise.
I blame that on my age and ignorance… but in the end, I don’t think a daughter can ever be prepared to lose her mom, no matter what.
I don’t know why I’m writing this, except that I hope that somehow you find some comfort in it.

I am so sorry that I missed the services – I didn’t receive this email until late last night.
I hope you are not upset at my lack of a timely response.
You know that I am here when you need me.
Please call, whenever you want to pick up the phone and hear a voice on the other line.
It probably won’t be the voice you really want to hear, but I’ll do my best.

Mile 2.... and 3...

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Okay, well, mile two went fine... but mile three posed issues. The knee problems previously described didn't get better, and my "oh, just work through it" attitude that prevailed in high school apparently doesn't work insanely well in one's mid-thirties.

I talked to a doctor (which is easy since I only see, oh, about 650 of them every day) and he said I have some tendon problem in my knee. He had multi-syllabic word for it, which translated into layman's terms means "you're old and you can't do that any more". So... running a marathon might be out of the question. I'll keep trying... but things seem to have taken a turn for the "not running a marathon" direction. Bleh.

In other news, well, I don't think there's a ton of other news. Life as a single girl in NYC is distinctly monotonous at times, even though I could probably relate some pretty amusing horror stories of online dating. First off, dating *sucks*. Every once in a while, a good guy filters through, but so far, the best I've gotten is the out-of-the-blue "I think we should take a break" or...cyber stalkers. I honestly haven't run into much in between.

One guy was a "wine expert" and loudly slurped every sip of his wine. I couldn't help but think "you know... I tell my 9 year old nephew not to slurp, and here you are, 46 years old (and yea, that's one of the younger ones that *wink* at me) and you're slurping...every...sip?" Even our dining neighbors were eyeing him. /Sigh. Add to that that the first thing he said to me as he walked into the bar and spotted me as I was ordering a drink from the bartender: "I can tell we'll get along because you have a nice ass."

Fascinating. I didn't know that my ass could tell someone so much.

Move on to date #2... nice enough guy (I think this one was in his upper 50's). Says online that he wants to settle down again and have kids... but during our conversation over a lovely dinner, regales me with his theory that men and women are not meant to be monogamous with each other, and how frustrated he was that his first wife simply didn't understand the "primal needs of a man."

Yea... I just primaled right out of that one, too. Thanks for dinner, though.

But to be fair to the unfair sex, not just the men are slimy. Women are nuts too. Half of them, when talking to them about dating, positively require their date to be psychic... or else they FLIP. OUT. From what kind of shoes he was wearing, to the name tag on the jacket, to what kind of job he has, to what size apartment he owns (note: owns, not rents), what gym he belongs to.... you get the point.

Phew.

So the end result... still slogging through the online dating thing. Hoping is always a good thing. So is looking for a new hobby...any suggestions are welcome.
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Mile one

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Sometimes I get crazy ideas. Like walking 39 miles for charity. Or jumping out of a plane. Or getting a tattoo...again. All of which hurt a bit, one of which took almost a year for my toenails to recover from.

This week, I've decided that it's time for another crazy idea, and another thing on "The List". I have gone back and forth with this one, putting it on, and taking it off again. Honestly speaking, don't know if I'll be able to pull it off. But I figure that I'm not getting any younger, and this will *definitely* get harder with age.

I'm going to try to run the NYC Marathon next year. (That's *NEXT* year.)

This will be tough, mainly because I don't really care much for running. At all. But this is what I would consider a fairly minor hurdle compared to the fact that I'm fundamentally a lazy person, and a wimp when it comes to pain. But hey...why not give it a shot?

Today I started my rigorous training by running one mile. On a treadmill. In the gym. Here's how the journey went:

Mile 0.00: I can DO THIS! Yay!!!! (put cool music on iPod, plug in headphones, hop on treadmill. Yay! Inspiration!)

Mile 0.15: I feel great! This is awesome. And damn, this is a really good song, too. Maybe if I make it to a mile, and I feel good, I'll keep going!

Mile 0.25: Already a quarter of the way there! Breathing's tough, but so far, not too bad. Oh, dont' like this song... next.

Mile 0.26: Ugh. Breathing is really tough now. I gotta stop looking at this mile counter thing. It's depressing. (puts towel over machine display)

Mile ?.??: Wow, hate this song (skip) and this one (skip) and this one (skip)... let's go back to the first one, that was good.

Mile ?.??: Getting embarassingly out of breath... I've gotta be about half way done now... (peek at distance meter... it says 0.32.) Damn.

Mile ?.??: (peeked...says 0.35) Seriously?

Mile ?.??: (peeked... says 0.38) Okay, no more peeking.

Mile ?.??: (peeked...says 0.52) YAY!! Over half way there! This song is getting repetative and boring now.

Mile 0.62: OW!!!! What's wrong with my knee?!?! Where'd THAT come from?!?!

Mile 0.75: Three quarters of a mile. I always knew I was a sprinter at heart. You know... one day I will turn this into a marathon blog... "I started with one mile..." so maybe by the time I run a real marathon, it'll be 3/4ths of the way through the REAL marathon that I will feel this bad... (this is a lame attempt to keep myself optimistic, by the way.)

Mile 0.80: OW! MY KNEE REALLY HURTS! This is going to suck.

Mile 0.82: Hmmm... knee getting better... but my .... breathing... is not .... getting better.

Mile 0.90: Beginning to hate my iPod. Note to self: Get better freakin' running music.

Mile 0.93: Almost there! Just hang on... don't pass out now. Cute guy on treadmill #2 won't think that's cool.

Mile 0.96: Wow, it's amazing how far a mile is. Can I do this 26 times? I dunno... maybe this was a bad idea.

Mile 1.00: YAY!!! Took me 12 minutes, but I made it. I don't even remember the last time I spent 12 minutes in a row running.

The rest of my 30 minute workout was spent on the eliptical machine, which didn't bruise my ego quite as much. And yes, I fully realize that running a 12 minute mile is an awefully lame thing to do, and that publishing it on the blog will probably embarass the crap out of me. But I also figure that I'm more likely to actually accomplish a goal by putting it out there than to keep it to myself.

I don't know if I'll run a marathon. My knee still hurts, which doesn't sound like a good way to start this journey. But maybe, just maybe, if any of you are exceedingly bored, or just want to jog alongside one of the slowest runners in NYC, you can join me for a *short* run some day.

If you promise not to make fun of how slow I am, or how many times I have to stop to "tie my shoe," then maybe I'll treat you to a milkshake afterwards.
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Cube wars

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Well, boys and girls, the moment we've been waiting for has arrived. I now have experienced the perfect example of men vs. women here in Cube Land.

Those of you who have been following this last few posts recognize some of the inane conversation that Cube Boys #1 and 2 are prone to having. I haven't even mentioned the dice rolling games they play for each others' lunch money (nope, not kidding...lunch money.)

But today was the full impact introduction of Cube Girl #1. Cube Girl sits in front of me, and sings.... and hums... constantly. The tunes vary, but yesterday, she sang We Are the Champions by Queen using a pseud0-Celine Dion voice. The girl has some talent, I'll fully admit, but having a conversation with a doctor about their experiences during 9/11 during a preinterview is made much more difficult when she busts into full-on vibrato in the cube in front of me.

I justified it by saying a) at least she hits the notes, and b) at least I'm only technically at my desk for a few hours each day.

Today, however, things took a turn. I got an email from one of my co-workers (and co-cube-mates) today (names have been changed to protect the inanely stupid):

The girl who sits directly in front of Beth was humming so loudly, I couldn’t take it. I gathered Paula and the woman behind me, and asked if they could hear “it” (referring to the loud humming). They can’t hear it from their cubes – but when they started walking toward the noise, we ALL heard it! The young woman who was humming says out loud, “I can’t help it, I’m classically trained as a singer!” Then, one of the women who sit behind us, asked her if she could stop – and she told her she does it because Cube Girl #2 is soo loud, and she’s not going to stop.

So apparently, singing is apparently her passive-aggressive way of getting back at another Cube Girl. Which of course is perfectly logical. (What grade are we in again?)

And so, boys and girls, we know the difference between Cube Boys and Cube Girls. One is immature and openly, shockingly inane in their overly-loud discussions. The other is passive-aggressively psychotic.

Yes. Cube Land. A truly wonderous place.
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History in the making

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Well, this week made for some interesting historical moments (ironic, since usually the week before Labor Day is completely dead in the news world) and the next few months will undoubtedly will be fodder for future Jeopardy questions for eternity.

Barak Obama was officially nominated as the Democtratic nominee for Prez (don't know why it takes a week-long, billions-of-dollars in tax moneys spent to announce the obvious at a convention, but whatever), and John McCain this morning announced his VP running mate.

So, in the oval office in 2009 will either be a black man as Prez, or a woman as Vice Prez, which - in either case - is a first for the USA.

But in the grand scheme of the world, it's kind of sad that it's taken this long for a "minority" to be elected into a public office. (I am putting "minority" in quotations because technically 51% of the population of the US is female, making it what, boys and girls? Yes, a majority. But I digress.) Let's look at other examples of those who are, thus far, "ahead" of us:

Chile: President is Verónica Michelle Bachelet Jeria, elected in 2006.
Liberia: Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf was elected president of Liberia in 2005, becoming the first female president on the African continent.
Germany: Angela Merkel became the country's first female chancellor in history in 2005.
Ireland: Mary McAleese has been president since 1997 (yes, that's 11 years ago.)
Latvia: Vaira Vike-Freiberga is the first female president of Latvia, elected in 1999.
Israel: Dalia Itzik was selected speaker of the Knesset in 2006 and as of January 2007, is serving as acting president of the state of Israel, the first woman to hold this position.
Switzerland: Micheline Calmy-Rey was selected president of Switzerland in January 2007 and is the second woman to achieve this position in the Confederation.

Yes, *Latvia* and *Liberia* elected women as their leaders before the US did. But beyond that... let's look at the important stuff... what the Cube Boys are saying. So far, they have decided that the "red states" aren't going to be happy with a minority in either Prez or VP position, so they've concluded that the red states are going to "succeed" (i assume they mean "secede"?) from the US.

And I am, to be perfectly honest with you, horrified at the other aspects of the conversation that I've overheard (and I'm learning how even young, "liberal" males in New York City can be incredible assholes) so I won't add the other commentary that I've overheard into my blog...

So welcome to the moment of the US making history... and the moment of reaction to it. Study hard... one day you may be on Jeopardy.

Okay, back to work, people! We've got a holiday weekend to get to, pronto!
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Should I call?

Cube conversation du jour....

Cube guy #1: Hey... I have a question... should you call a girl back after a first date if you said you would?

Cube guy #2: Well i guess it depends...did you tell her that to get her away from you, or did you really mean it?

Cube guy #1: What if i'm not sure? and if i do call, how long should i wait? like, two days? or a week?

Cube guy #2: Don't you think you should figure out if you want to call her or just want to get rid of her first?

Cube guy #1: Yea. I guess so. But, how long should I wait? Seriously?

Cube guy #2: Do you like her?

Cube guy #1: I don't know.

Cube guy #2: I'd say three days then.

omg, i love kids

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Dinner conversation at my sister's house:

nephew #3: "when was the big boom?"

nephew #1: "the big bang....millions of trillions of billions of years ago"

nephew #4: "I wasn't even born!"

nephew #2: "nobody was born"

nephew #4: "not even china people?"



apparently the order of universal existance is:
the chinese....creation of earth....nephew #4 is born.

(all of this copied from my sister's emails to me)
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New gigs...and why is it still dark out?

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So it's week 3 in the new job. The first week, I don't really count, since...well...all I did was fill out paperwork and try to remember all the 'puter passwords.

Week two was better - the woman I was replacing was here, and I basically followed her around like a puppy.

This week, I'm on my own. My first show this morning went pretty well, I think. At least, no major issues. I answered the phones, didn't mess up too badly, and so far I think the hosts like me. Even waking up at 5am was a little easier (I've made it a habit to lay out my clothes the night before, which is just a complete life saver, so 5am alarm equals a 5:30 departure time, and that's a nice leisurely pace.)

I haven't managed to get to bed any earlier than about 10:30 (and when I *did* go to sleep at 9pm, it was on Saturday night. Awesome. Hope that becomes a trend. <-- That's sarcasm.)

I told my sister, the hardest part is the first 10 minutes: Getting out of bed, turning on the lights (OW!), and realizing I can't climb back in. But seriously, it wasn't so bad, and it helps that the guys I work with are really cool. I do miss my old workmates (yea, I know they were thousands of miles away - I still miss them!) but the ones I have now are really great.

The only drawback: It's still dark when I wake up. (Oh, and I'm so glad I'm not a hypochondriac, cuz this gig would drive me over the edge.)
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Why America is fat

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Breakfast:
Apple: $1.50
Bowl of fruit: $4.50
Orange juice: $2.25
Soda: $1.50

White roll with egg and cheese: $ .75

Lunch:
Kebab from guy on the street: $1.25
Two slices of pizza: $2.50
Large salad: $4.25 (toppings are extra)

Dinner:
Roasted half chicken with steamed veggies: $12.75
Sesame peanut noodles from chinese place: $3.95
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Sights, sounds, scents...

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They say that the sense most strongly tied to memories is scent, and that basically, a specific scent is more likely to trigger a memory than sight, sound, touch, or sound. Today, I had a flashback to childhood...

Scents have some amazingly wondrous meanings...the scent of fresh pine needles takes me back to the mountains of North and South Carolina as a child, crunching around the mountains and looking under rocks to see what critter-crawlies we could find, then squealing and running away if we actually FOUND something with a zillion legs underneath them. Or, most recently, my friend Jim's place - a Christmas tree farm in CT - one of the most serene and beautiful places in recent memory.

Today I had a "scent flashback", but it was not quite as romantic. The bathrooms at the hospital where I work smell like the bathrooms at the campground where I spent my summers during childhood. I had all sorts of flashbacks to beaches, traipsing down to the beach with my sister and 4 cousins to try to build the world's biggest sandcastle for the sand art contest (we never won, and I was always so disappointed). But mostly, I flashed back to the bathrooms... with the perpetually damp, sandy floors, echoey sounds, and spider webs in the corners that I swore could entrap a child... funny how just a scent can bring those once-forgotten memories flooding back.

Next time, I just hope it's not a bathroom that triggers 'em.
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Jobbishness

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So, this seems to have become a pattern in my career... as soon as I join a company, they are bought out by (or buy) another company. It's happened - literally - in three out of four of the jobs I've ever had... and today, it happened again. This time was the closest call, though, since I started my gig last Monday, and today (6 work days later) the annoucement was made.

All good, from what I can tell, except that the joking and good humor in the world of finance-people-cubes has been all but silent today. I guess they're dreading the merger, and have heard Cube-guy-who-is-expecting-first-kid-any-day-now lamenting about how much work he'll have upcoming and they're all making bets on how fast/who gets laid off first. Kind of a bummer.

So far, I don't think this will affect my job - at least not for a while. My little corner of the world is fairly isolated, from what I can tell so far, and the uber-boss is a huge fan of the project I'm working on. So I guess we'll see.

In the mean time, the Crackberry experiment has been mildly unsuccessful. I so far have managed to turn off ALL sounds, which is great, except when people are actually trying to reach me...

And yea, blogging's going to be all about work for a while, since that's what's consuming my life right now. Work, and sleep. The 6-8am shows means a 4:45am alarm every morning, so re-adjusting my schedule is going to be a challenge that's going to take a while to get used to. So if you wanna hang out, that's cool...I just have to be in bed by 9pm. (9 pm? Seriously? Great. Even geekier than before. This is going to be fabulous for my dating life.... (*sigh*).)
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