I went into work today… I was planning on just dropping off the brochures, so the entire fam came along for the ride. I was going to take John to a local donut shop, where they have excellent cake donuts, but the joint was closed. Then, the boss called and I got sucked into prepping presentations. Frickin’ A. But John was a good sport about it– the whole thing reminded me of grad school when he’d come down to visit me in Florida and he’d end up waiting for me for HOURS while I ran my experiments. Anyway, I finally got out of there just before noon. We hit Fuddruckers. Gotta give it to them for making damn good burgers on fresh buns. Tasty. Afterwards, we checked out a new park on East Bay– Dry Creek. Basically, it was like going to a farm with acres and acres of open fields and mountains… and with grazing cattle even. Remy and Martin were in heaven frolicking around. When they happened on a small herd under the shade, Martin started barking (he never barks!). We were surprised the dogs didn’t run away once the herd (of three) started moving.

We continued on our hike up the path. The weather was beautiful: sunny and breezy and you could see so much of the area (Hayward, San Mateo Bridge, even SF) below. The bad thing was that the fields were littered with dung piles. And even worse, Remy and Martin had a thing for rolling around. I knew they were up to no good, but John thought I was being too hard on them: they’re just dogs–they like to roll around in the grass. Uh yeah, until Martin came running up to us soiled in fresh shit all over his back, ears, and brand new harness! And let me tell you: John is the biggest shit phobe. Poop is like blood— when he sees it, he gets all dizzy and grossed out. So that kind of put a damper on things. We decided it was best to head back. Luckily, we found a stream and the dogs, overheated and thirsty, plopped right in. Yes, I washed the shit off of Marty. Touched it and all. What could I do? It was fine. It was like washing a baby’s diaper or something. No big deal. Of course on the drive home, John was still trippin’ about the fecal matter on my hands. “Don’t touch me.” Total wussy pants.

We were pretty active today. In the afternoon, we shot some hoops at the local courts. Man, I suck! Never sucked this badly. I was throwing up all bricks. Kind of lost interest pretty quickly. I think I’m going to focus my efforts on tennis now. That and look what I just discovered: Landrollers, the same things Caesar Milan uses. Yeah, $250 is a pretty big price tag… I’ll be scouring Ebay and Craigslist for the next several weeks. Then again, the big 4-year anniversary is Friday… may just have to treat myself. The reviewers say Landrollers are much easier to use for beginners. I love the fluidity of rollerblading, but unfortunately, I’ve never been able to pull that shit off. I am embarrassing in rollerblades– with me, it’s all about abrupt, jerky movements. Landrollers could very well be the answer…

John and I are one of those “grass is greener on the other side” kinds of people. We acknowledge that we are very fortunate, yet that never stops the yearning. I’m always searching for something…

When I first came to San Mateo, I remember posting a blog about Siebel (software company recently acquired by Oracle) and its kickass office space in town. The edifice was so impressive, all glossy and shiny with its pools and fountains. Walking by, you could hear the raucous little rug rats at the onsite childcare center. It must have been a dream to work on such a beautiful campus. Or so I thought.

After Oracle acquired Siebel, a bunch of people got laid off. One guy ended up joining John’s company, and damn did I have it all wrong: Mandatory work on Saturdays. No food/drink at your computer. The poor dude never saw his kids… he was out before they awoke and home after they were asleep. How could I have been so far off?

The world of business is a scary place, and I admit, I have my judgements. But still, working day in and day out with the CEO of my company has definitely shown me a thing or two. The thing is, I’ve always had a gut feeling that sleaziness usually goes hand in hand with business. Even when I worked in engineering consulting, I put two and two together when the same contractor always won every single project bid. But I suppose that naive, idealistic side of me always hoped for good clean fun. I’m not saying my CEO is a dirtbag, but I will say he does stretch the truth. And as a total goody-goody two shoes, even little white lies make me nervous. They just do. I can’t lie to save my life.

So anyway, I’m also starting to see patterns. Patterns amongst my own observations and experiences as well as amongst John’s. Granted, that’s still a very small sample size, but it seems that CEOs can often be harsh, moody, and downright unprofessional.

You see, I had a major meltdown at work last week. Long story short, I’d been busting ass working 15+ hour days. One morning, he called and jumped down my throat about not calling a customer. Now I’d been calling this damn customer every single day for a week. They never had a meeting date for me. So this one morning, the boss called at 9:30 a.m. I hadn’t called yet, and then he went off about how I lacked follow through and was being half ass. I couldn’t believe it. Part of me was thinking, “are you fucking kidding me?” but the other part was just plain weak. I felt like a child being scolded by the teacher. I was so upset. I ended the call abruptly and just said “bye.” Later, I met with a coworker who sensed something was wrong… my face likely said it all (I told you I can’t lie to save my life!). He kept asking me what was wrong. I said I was fine, but I just couldn’t convince him. He kept pressing and I started feeling the sting in my eyes. No tears but crazy ass stinging. Finally, the deluge came. I cracked. And I know, ALL the job websites say you CANNOT fucking cry at work. Was horrible. I had the fucked up breathing and all. Fortunately, the guy was really nice and understanding, but… I holed myself up in the bathroom for like 20 minutes trying to pull it together. It was bad.

And afterwards, I was so pissed at myself for letting it get to me. I hated my passivity. I should have said something, but I didn’t. I planned to say something the next day, but I didn’t. Now the time has past. What I realized though, is that I have to stand up for myself. We as employees have to stand up for ourselves. That’s one pattern I’ve noticed at my workplace. The employees are all super cool, but they don’t challenge authority. They don’t negotiate offers. They don’t make demands. In that sense, we have an entire fleet of goody goodies. And that is probably by design. In the end, who can we blame but ourselves. The world isn’t fair and unless we demand fairness, we’ll rarely get it.

Anyway, this week, I told the boss (sort of in jest) that he was working me to a nub. To my surprise, he sort of paused, thought about it, and then agreed. What do you know, at the end of the day, several of us received what we thought was spam in our inboxes (that’s how little we expect…). We got gift certificates thanking us for our hard work! I was pleasantly surprised.

So since my incident, I’ve still been working all the damn time but I’m starting to wet my feet with marketing. I sent out four cold-call emails requesting a call for us to introduce our company and product. Two people bit! And I developed a product brochure which was fun… that is, until I was forced to change it into something I don’t like as much… (ah, the joys of working with others). Anyway, at least now I’m getting some positive feedback for my work, which is nice. Ok, time to go enjoy my weekend. More updates later.

When I was a little girl, Kmart was my absolute favorite store. Kmart fulfilled all my needs– Barbie, Prancer, Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony plus clothing, shoes, the polar bear ICEE AND blue light specials multiple times a day. In my book (the black speckle book, that is), Kmart rocked.

A few short years later, Kmart and I had a major falling out. You see, suddenly, my favorite store had become the epitome of uncool. Wrangler jeans, Dickies–they were all the wrong labels. Mom and Norrie continued to shop there but somehow over the next two decades, even they turned to newer alternatives– Wal-Mart and Target. Everyone, it seemed, weaned off of Kmart.

Fast forward to today: I was out running errands, and I drove by a Big K. I figured I’d give Kmart a try– after all, she used to be my fav.

Well, I went in to purchase TP and office supplies. Let me tell you: I stood in line for 30 minutes with only three people in front of me. Of the three people, 2 required price checks. Totally junko stinko. I’m so disappointed, I don’t understand how Kmart’s even still around. Yes, it was THAT bad.

When a friend of mine first introduced me to freecycle about a year ago, I was overjoyed. The concept was great: divert good (albeit unwanted) stuff from the landfills by giving them to people who can use them. Sounded easy enough. I quickly joined three freecycle Yahoo groups in my area. I picked up a nice Pottery Barn paper lamp. I also acquired a box of 3-ring binders. Sure, some of the stuff wasn’t exactly in “good” condition– the binders were covered in an inch of dust and some of their rings didn’t close all the way– but who was I to complain: the shit was free after all. Over time, however, people started rubbing me the wrong way with their ridiculous requests. People asked for free cars, ipods, and laptops. I mean, wtf, this wasn’t a frickin’ Christmas wish list, you know? I mean for offbeat stuff like red worms (for worm bins), that seemed ok, but an iPod? Puhleez.

For my part, I mostly offered cardboard boxes. I often took them home from work (many were going into the dumpster as trash….). We get tons of shipments in daily, so every night before heading home, I’d load the car up with medium and large boxes. At first, my boxes were a hit, and it was so easy to just put them on my stoop. The selected freecyclers would then come the next day and pick them up. No face-to-face interaction required. I even had a wait-list with previous “customers” wanting more boxes. John joked that once again, I engaged myself in a time and energy-consuming activity that yielded no financial gains. Sigh. What can I say, I suck at bringing in the dough. And unfortunatley, as statistics would have it, I started getting burned. Some people wouldn’t show up. Others wanted all kinds of info before driving out– box dimensions, no damp boxes, blah, blah. And some people seemed only to check email once every other day. Wtf?

My latest issue is no interest. Last week, I posted my boxes to offer. Absolutely zippo response; meanwhile, my stoop is loaded with boxes. John’s complained that his stoop isn’t a junkyard. If my boxes go unwanted for much longer, I’m certain the homeowners association is going to cite me for uglifying the community. Frickin’ A. And they’re perfectly good boxes– would be such a shame to send them to the recyclers. Recycling is still so uneconomical for so many materials (but it doesn’t stop me from participating…). And a local auto recycling facility in Redwood City just suffered another huge fire yesterday…sketchy.

Well, I think I just need to wait patiently. Surely, some one will need boxes for moving or shipping or whatever…

In other news, John and I saw Showboat on Friday night. I was so tired though… the show ran from like 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. A long frickin’ time. Storyline was cheesy, but I got sucked into the dancing and singing. Gets me every time. Last night, we went with Chuck and Fonda to a local Irish pub. OMG, that place was like Sunrise assisted living. 70+ year old dudes doing the Heathcliff Huxtable groove. Ladies too old to be strutting around in minidresses and skin tight, high waisted blue jeans. Was such a odd sight. But hey, gotta give it to these peeps for staying active and enjoying themselves. I have to say, I wanted to go home within ten minutes of arriving. I’m just not made for that scene: super loud music, lots of alcohol, really bad dancing. Not a whole lot of fun for a sober prissy pants. Oh well, was something different I suppose.

So today’s Sunday already. We ran some errands in the morning. I’m in the middle of some work. John and I are gearing up for Entourage. John’s going to watch Sopranos too. Tv. It’s so damn evil: people cannot be responsible in the presence of tv. They just get sucked in– good programming, bad programming… regardless, it sucks away far too many hours in the day.

Back in the day when I was a spring chicken college student, I had incredible stamina. School, work, play all on four hours of sleep? No problem. Since leaving the Gothic Wonderland, my sleep requirement has shot up significantly… I think I’m up to like 7-8 hours now, so you can imagine why I’m still recovering from what went down at work last week– the equivalent of college exam week. The stretch of sleep deprivation was notably shorter than a week, but damn, those were some long-ass three days. I was in around 7:30-8 and out at 3 am, 10 pm, and 8 pm. Plus I did more work after I got home. Thankfully, Bubbey held down the fort at home.

So yeah, work was just crazy. Customer visits, presentations, etc. The usual insanity and then some. The week started off badly too: the CEO told me one of the presentations was “piss poor.” Yup, gotta love the constructive criticism on that. Whatev, not like I have that much control over the content or the delivery anyhow. His comment totally rubbed me the wrong way, so I stayed up till 4 working on another presentation. The next day, he again told me that presentation was crap. Fuck it, you know? Ultimately, the customer postponed our presentation twice. Now, days later, we finally have something decent. Still not perfect but at this point, Jesus, how many times can you rework something?! On top of this silly powerpoint, I had to work all sorts of magic to get a vehicle delivered Friday. And holy shit, to my surprise, I pulled it off.

This past weekend, I slept like frickin’ Rip Van Winkle, and even after Monday rolled around, I was still hurtlocker. Gotta love the over 30 period of life: muffin top, curmudgeon outlook, and zippo stamina… Although I will say that the peeps at work were impressed (apparently, it doesn’t take much), particularly because I don’t drink coffee… Whatever, the secret sauce is called OCD: I can’t fucking rest when crap is on my mind. That’s why I’m still tired, because even though I slept all weekend, it wasn’t restful sleep; I dreamt anxiety nightmares half the time.

But enough about work. Work is work. This Friday, I’m going to see the musical Showboat at the San Mateo Performing Arts Center. Last time, John and I saw Miss Saigon there. Sooo good. Can’t wait.

In other news, John’s been seeing a lot of the doctor lately. He went to a migraine specialist, who put him on all kinds of meds. Plus, he had an MRI done. I think that test came back normal, but there ain’t nothing normal about his headaches. He’s due for some big life changes, and he’ll be taking off work next week to address all that.

I watched Infernal Affairs III last weekend. Is it me, or was that movie totally confusing? May need to watch again. I’ve been listening to Cantonese tapes on my commute… didn’t help me understand shit with the movie. I love language learning but I’m such a slow dumbass learner. Sigh.

Ok well time for bed.

I’m such the wannabe bad ass. I got sick of seeing my roots show through the red chunky streaks. It was time for a repair job. Unfortunately, the last time I had dyed my hair myself, I was a freshman in college. Yovanni helped me apply the “red currant” Natural Instincts. I remember I was supposed to leave it in for like 20 minutes. Instead, I did an hour. No fucking change whatsoever. Was a huge disappointment.

So this time, I anticipated similar problems. The lady at the store recommended the dark brown, even though my natural color was black. Fine, whatever. So I left it in for maybe 35 minutes. Turns out 35 was way too long. The result? Initially, I was pleasantly surprised by the uniform color and wonderful luster. But after I dried my hair, I could see, this “dark brown” was like goth black. It was weird: the hair had shine but something just looked off. But what could I do? The dye was permanent. No turning back.

The next day, I was stunned: many of the guys at work (there are only three women) noticed. Not in any flattering kind of way, but whatever. Who would have expected any comment at all, particularly since no one said a thing when I’d gone to work with uneven blond/orange chunks in January. My friend Derek was horrified. Gotta give it to him for being brutally honest, “OMG! What did you do to your hair? It’s so unnatural!” Uh hello, newsflash: did you think random red highlights was natural? Please. After his comment, I starting feeling a bit self-conscious. What if the strong black washed me out? I dunno. But when I got home and looked, it was fine. Yes, very obviously different, but black was black. As a joke, I considered punking it all out– wearing all black and putting on the combat boots, thumb rings, nose rings, and doing the black eyeliner. In the end, I was too lazy for it. Oh well, the take away lesson here? Going darker with permanent color works very well. Lighter– maybe not so well, but darker, watch the process time.

Hmm, I can really see myself getting hooked with hair coloring… so much easier than wardrobe or body changes.

Believe it or not, I’m actually in a decent mood today. The weekend was really good– after what had felt like weeks of incessant fighting, John and I finally called a truce and we had a really nice weekend hanging out. Certainly, the discovery of a good Chinese restaurant helped. I know, you’d think tasty Chinese would be a cinch in this area, but let me tell you, we’ve hit so many bombs it’s not even funny. Frankly, I’d given up on finding decent Chinese. But man, Oceanic was awesome: we ordered enough to feed a village (of course, for us it only lasted two meals). Tomato beef, lemon chicken, mu-shu pork, fried rice… And I got to bust out with my Chinese. God, it’s been too damn long for sure.

The next day, we went biking. Way too windy that day but at least the sun was out. And I’m glad I did something to combat this growth that is my muffin top. I gotta do something about my bike seat though– it is ultra narrow and rock-hard. I thought I’d gauge my level of committment before investing on a $40 gel seat, but at this point, who can suffer through a butt blister? Aside from the seat, this bike is really odd. It has this super bizarro front valve that’s either defective or made for the pro-biker, because I have a billion adapters on my bike pump and none of them can pump air into the front tire. I know, I should just take it in to the bike shop… see what the story is. Of course, I could also just get a new bike– a road bike and one that fits me properly. We’ll see…

On Sunday, I attended a rally: Unite to Fight Global Warming. The idea was that people would ride the train down with Carl Pope (the pres of Sierra Club) from SF to Redwood City. Karen and I would gather the people at the San Mateo stop. Uh, no one showed up. It was just Karen and me. And on the train? It was just Carl and Rafael. A bad start indeed. But once we arrived at the destination, there was a respectable turnout. And Carl was a really good speaker. I’m glad I went. But now I have to get back on track with regular postings on the climate action blog… I’ve been slacking.

No, I’m not announcing a Baby J in the oven… that’s not even funny. Actually, aren’t you weirded out by this mid-week post? Let me just tell you: I am so glad tomorrow’s Friday. This week is bleed week (you figure it out), so I’ve been especially impatient and cranky. That said, I’m doing a little better with the whole work compartmentalization thing. My latest obsession concerns my muffin top. Yes, you heard me right. I was doing so well and then wham! back up on the scale, and the muffin top is overflowing. Somehow I can’t enjoy my new $5 Target jeans (I know, sooo cheap but I swear they look good!) when I feel all this extra jiggle in my stride. Yup. Time for a program. For real. The problem is, unlike my very disciplined, marathon-running friend Joon, I’m an exercise-phobe. Not that I’m a sloth– I just don’t like to sweat. Yes, perhaps the pool is the answer. I’m waiting for it to warm up. The damn condo association doesn’t heat the pool in the winter. And they only heat the hot tub Fridays through Sundays. Fuckers. Sure, they’re saving electricity but damnit, I need my daily soak; otherwise, I’m a raging beotch. But, back to my earlier point: TGIF tomorrow!

Going by how great the weather’s been this week though, I’m hopeful for a nice weekend. Maybe we’ll even go biking again. I was thinking of checking out the horse races too at Bay Meadows, near our former apartment. Not sure what I think about horse racing though… somehow it carries a negative vibe for me, as does dog racing. Am I retarded? Need to look into that. Well at least it’s not like dog fighting or boxing or something ridiculously violent. I should check out the races regardless. I read an intro brochure on it though, and is it me or is betting super complicated? How many degrees do I need to figure that shit out?

What else. Oh, I found my stash of music (well it was on my old lappie)… burning my Jay Chou CDs now. Aw yeah. Ride in tomorrow is going to be rockin’. Speaking of rockin’, have you heard the new Avril song? Ah, to be young, gorgeous, talented, and bad ass. Sigh. Can you feel it? Very soon, I’m going to turn into one of those resentful, crusty, old hags. Might as well start smoking like chimney now. Anyway, I was putzing around Shanghaiist tonight (in my moment of nostalgia), and apparently Avril’s done a version with the chorus in Mandarin. Word on the street is that her Chinese totally sucked, but I actually thought it was decent. And hey, she says it super fast. Gotta give props for not getting tongue-tied. I seemed to have trouble with the lines myself (not that I was boppin’ in front of the computer or anything).

Ok, enough with the chitty chat. Going for a long walk with the pups. They say “hi.”

My grad school roommate was in town visiting this week… Like me, Grace is very low maintenance: she doesn’t have a list of demands regarding things to do, where to eat, and where to go. When I visited her in August, we went shopping, ate grilled cheeses for dinner, and watched a DVD. And it was fine.

Although work’s been super busy lately, we still squeezed in some chill time: watched some TLC WNTW, went through some magazines, shopped (no luck), etc. During the day, she slept in, went running, got sucked into Comcast On-Demand (those bastards!), worked on the computer. She also hung out with some friends in the city– all in all, a full couple of days.

This trip though, I sensed she was a little bothered by my B.A. (bad attitude) on life. She’s an optimist– always has been. On the other hand, I’ve always been the “glass is half empty” kind of gal… but she says this time my attitude is worse. Is that possible? Yes. Certainly, I’m disgruntled and disappointed: idealistic yet pessimistic. She suggested that I look into CBT, cognitive behavioral therapy. I’m not sure what to think. I’m a realist and cynicism just goes hand-in-hand with that. It’s not as if I walk around hating everyone and everything. I just don’t get that excited about things… none of this is anything new, really. I’ve just always been a somewhat drab and depressed soul. I don’t mean to drag everyone down; I just can’t relate to exuberance and I refuse to feign it. Is that so wrong? Is that why I’m losing blog readership? 😛 Too much complaining and not enough action? Hmm. Are they complaints or matter-of-fact reports on happenings? I admit: I do let things get to me. Definitely need to work on that. Step back and chill out about things that cannot be controlled. Jesus, the amount of self-work is endless.

Anyway, in other news, I started listening to Pimsleur Spanish on the drive in. At first I was skeptical about the audio only format, but it’s not bad. And Grace was impressed by my progress (in one short week). I’m on to the second set of CDs now. Hehe. I should pat myself on the back for making it this far on a few of my New Year’s resolutions:
– Stop eating out for lunch everyday at work (they go to the same boring places)
– Start learning Spanish
– Cook more at home

I still have a long way to go with self improvement but all in due time.

So yesterday John and I took the pups to Fort Funston Park in South San Francisco. Fort Funston has an off-leash dog park right on the beach. Remy waded in the Pacific Ocean! She’s such a goober though– she kept snapping at the small waves and she ended up swallowing a bunch of salt water. But the pups had a fun time running up and down the beach. There were so many dogs– we saw an Irish Wolfhound who wouldn’t stop licking Martin’s ‘nads. Poor Marts. Gets harassed every damn time.

Today’s shaping up to be a good day. I’m going to hit the hot tub (gotta start the day off right). Then we’re going to Costco to get a HEPA air filter. My allergies have been really really bad lately… and we now think there’s something in the new house that’s triggering it. Maybe the former tenants had cats upstairs. I dunno. But John was determined to pinpoint the problem. Consequently, for two days, I was not allowed upstairs. He brought everything downstairs for me– my clothes, my contacts, my laptop. The idea was to see if that would stop the serial sneezing (15-20 in a row). It did. So now we know it’s something upstairs… John and the scientific method. Freak.

On Monday, I’m scheduling a visit to a different ENT. I may opt for the full-board allergy test just to know more about my “condition”… already I’m a pretty big wuss, with allergies to pollen, grass, and cats. I just hope I’m not allergic to like wheat or pizza or cheese… that would be a total killer.

Contrary to popular belief, winters in California can get surprisingly cold. As John, Derek, and I experienced that Saturday morning at the Muir Woods restoration project, the rain plus cold was a real bitch. So last Thursday, as the crap weather continued into my morning commute, I noticed my gas gauge was down to three bars. Normally, my gas level doesn’t dip much below half (thanks to my OCD) but this time, I had let things slide. I opted to get into work early, so I procrastinated on filling up. After work, the rain never subsided… I thought about filling up before driving home, but I could hear John’s voice telling me “Three bars is plenty to get you home, especially at 40 mpg.” Maybe I did need to let the OCD rest. Again, I passed off on filling up.

Well serves me right for pushing it to the limit: I nearly shit my pants on the way home. Traffic was worse than usual, thanks to the rain. As the battery bars disappeared one by one, I dreaded the worst: Fuck. Stranded on the goddamn bridge without gas. The angry commuters would probably ram me off the bridge so they could get going! I was about to get screwed. I turned off everything: radio, heat. I don’t know if such things even rely on the gas, but at that point, I wasn’t chancing it. I finally made it across the bridge… just two more miles to go to the ARCO gas station. Then, there was a backup at the exit before mine. There I was, less than one exit away… my palms started sweating. The gas indicator light had been on for way longer than I had wanted AND the final bar was gone. Uh oh, I was running on empty. Running on fumes!! I started wiggin’ out big time. Never again would I ignore my OCD! I should have trusted my instinct. Surely, this day would be my downfall.

Eventually, I did make it to the gas station: the engine choked up it’s final breath just as I rolled into the lane. Whew! As soon as I got back in business with a full tank of gas, I called John. He laughed and called me a “Drama Queen.” Whatev man. I definitely couldn’t expect someone who lives 0.5 miles away from work to understand.

Several days later after the trauma died down, John located the fuel tank size in the manual. I always figured the tank was 10 or 11 based on my receipts. Last week when I filled up, I put in like 9.8 gallons or something. Yup, 0.2 gallons left– I really was cutting it close.

Well turns out Honda doesn’t trust its drivers. The car’s tank is like 13.5 gallons! So the gas gauge is based on on 10 gallons, but there’s 3.5 gallons in padding. 35% backup? Seems a tad extreme, but I suppose that’s good to know. And certainly, in my case, I shouldn’t be complaining. 🙂