Excuses

My supervisor? His name is Kosta. He's Greek. Which has nothing at all to do with anything, but yeah. Greek. And he has very animated facial expressions, which is horrible for someone like me who picks up other people's mannerisms all too easily. Every time I have a conversation with the guy, I feel my face start to twitch.

He transferred to our hotel just over a year ago. Just before the drama with my maybe-someday-ex-husband. I'm not sure if one had anything to do with the other, but let me just say this: I. Hated. Him. Kosta, that is. Not my sorta-husband. Although, sometimes I hate him, too.

Kosta eased into the new job with about as much finesse as a tornado. He grabbed our department with both hands and shook us like a despised rag doll. It was all too much too soon. With him, there was no stinkin' honeymoon. He felt like things should be done a certain way and we should've started yesterday.

I wanted to shove a pen through his eye.

I'm a good employee. I'm knowledgeable, efficient, and a bunch of other synonyms. After Kosta's first month, he had pulled me into his office on three different occasions to lecture me about God only knows. Which is about three times more than anyone else in the ten years I've been here. After that first month, he hadn't made many friends.

Today? He has somehow managed to worm his way into my top three favorite people. I don't know when or how the hell it happened (I thought I'd hate the guy until I finally ran his ass off), but now I can't imagine not working with him. More than that- I can't imagine not having him as a friend. (Wow, what a sap.)

(And it's about to get worse.)

He's one of the funniest, smartest, most thoughtful people I've ever met. We talk about everything, yell at each other often, give each other shit for every little thing, and we laugh. Constantly.

I don't know when I stopped hating him, but my God, am I glad I did. He still makes me crazy. Hell, I still make him crazy. But at some point while I wasn't paying attention, I let down my guard and we bonded. Don't tell anyone.

Last night, he turned to me at work and said, "I'm gonna need a beer after this. Interested?" To which I responded, "Um, YES." We left work together at ten. I followed him to the bar and I thought, we'll have a quick drink, I'll be home before midnight. It would leave me plenty of time to blog! (And, yes, I realize "blog" is a noun and not a verb. Get over it.)

At two-thirty a.m., after hours of talking and laughing, we said goodnight. And even though it made me a teeny, tiny bit sad to realize that once again I wouldn't finish what I started, I was (am) perfectly content in my failure.

My niece is cuter than yours.

That's all.

P.S. Holy shit, is this month over yet!?

A lesson in advertising.

This is a sign in front of a gas station near my sister's home in Utah. I wish I would have gotten a picture of it the last time I was visiting when it said, "Come eat and get gas."

Puzzle pieces.

There's this huge red dirt field (also known as an "expanse of land," also known as an "expanse of red adobe desert," also known as "uncharted desert territory," also known as "raw clay land," et al., etc., ad infinitum*) behind my sister's home. I took the dog out there earlier to let her run off some energy and found this old wooden gate thing. I say "thing" because it's mostly in pieces now and I have no idea what it was before or what it may have been surrounding while it was actually standing. Anyway, scattered around it were all these puzzle pieces. It was bizarre. Someone had to go through a lot of trouble getting rid of their puzzle this way. And, I mean, no one likes a litter bug.

*My mother, sister, and I got into a very heated debate when I asked if they'd call that big expanse of land a "field." I thought it only fair to include all possible descriptions.

Not at home. For once.

I'm in Hesperia tonight. Which is only 75 miles from home, but might as well be on the other side of the country. Here's the thing about me, peeps. I'm an O.C. girl. Most people don't travel beyond the Orange Curtain after dark. I don't travel beyond the Orange Curtain ever. Unless I have a very good reason to do so. It's not that I think Orange County is superior. Because I don't. At all. But, good Lord, traveling anywhere takes forever. Traffic is a nightmare. Doesn't matter the time or day. And I'd just rather not, thank you very much. And, well, I get lost easily which is never any fun and getting lost in Los Angeles even less so. But, here I am, in Hesperia, where it's only, like, 35 degrees (how cold does it have to be for snow?) and the wind has kicked up something fierce and I'm sharing a hotel room with my mother. (I just can't escape this woman.) Tomorrow she has business to attend to, I'll sleep in, and then we'll hit the road bound for Utah. Because I haven't seen my sister since December and that's just way too long. The end.

Not the only one.

I always feel like kind of an impostor while sitting in Starbucks, doing nothing more than checking on my cafe. So, it made me smile when, a few weeks ago, I looked up and saw this. Makes me wonder what everyone else is doing on their laptop. Especially that cute guy that sat next to me the other day, without ordering anything, turned on his computer and began furiously typing away. No more than fifteen minutes later, he packed it all up, ordered a drink, and left. Weird, right?

Expressions

I think her's is saying, "Really? Another picture?"

What do you think?

Me and Mother Nature

Neither one us can make up our minds about anything.

Crazy

Earlier tonight I was at my local Whole Foods seeking out the all natural and organic ingredients for the cleanse I've decided to attempt I'm not sure why. (Maybe 'cause I need something else to blog about for another ten days.) As I was looking at the jar of cayenne pepper and imagining what kind of God-awful taste it would make when combined with lemon juice and maple syrup, I promptly made a gagging sound. Out loud. Then I chuckled. Out loud. Then I looked up and caught a guy staring at me. So, I did what any self respecting 28-year-old woman would do when caught talking to herself. I pulled out my cell phone and immediately pretended I had been on it the entire time. Because I AM NOT CRAZY. Then again, lemon juice, maple syrup and cayenne pepper for ten days? Maybe crazy is exactly right.

Big boats.

Yes, more pictures from the boat. Of other boats.

My biggest fear, aside from insects, is that of being on a sinking ship. Think Titanic. And not because I'm afraid of the water or of sharks or even of drowning. No, mine is a fear of the unknown. Of being stranded out in the middle of the ocean, just bobbing along, with no idea of what might be beneath me. The thought gives me the freakin' willies.

Photos are tricky.

Once again it's twenty minutes to midnight and I'm this close to failure. I was browsing through more boat photos (I took about a million of them and then never did anything with 'em) (story of my life), looking for something, anything, to share when I came across this photo of my kid sister. (Who, by the way, turned 16 and got her driver's license since last I wrote about her. Which is just plain scary.)

It speaks to me. I don't know why. It certainly isn't perfect by any means and after staring at it for what feels like forever, I can't tell if her skin looks totally red and discolored or if it's just my imagination. But, nonetheless, I love it.

Of course, then I asked my mother, "What do you think of this photo?" and she came in and looked at it and kinda shrugged like "meh" and then said, "Well, I wouldn't tag her." I rolled my eyes and told her, "I wasn't planning on putting it on Facebook." But then, a few seconds later, "Wait. Are you saying it's awful?" I asked.

She assured me that wasn't the case, but I guess that's the thing about photos. One person's "I love" is another person's "meh." (Or, even worse, another person's "don't you dare post that photo of me!") Makes me realize that I should stop caring so much and just post whatever photos I love. Regardless of what anyone else might see or think.

St. Patrick's Day

I couldn't tell you what I was doing a year ago. Last March was a furious blur of disbelief and sadness. Did I even realize it was St. Patrick's Day?

Today I spent working and thinking of you often. Little pinpricks of regret throughout the day. I think of what we've done in years past. Bar hopping with friends in downtown Huntington Beach. Sitting on the patio, drinking, talking, laughing.

It was a source of amusement, us celebrating St. Patrick's Day. Neither of us is Irish. But your best friend is and so, by association, were we. At least for the day.

And I'd get shit every year for not wearing green, but damn it, green is so not my color. Unless I'm going for that sallow, I've-spent-the-day-with-my-head-in-a-toilet look. In which case, perfect.

But tonight something occurred to me. I was changing clothes after my shift and thinking about what I was going to write... something about you, about missing you, about missing you during the holidays. (God knows, the holidays have been the hardest.)

I had a clear image in my head of a St. Patty's Day two years ago. Us on the patio of a bar with friends. And a small smile curved my lips as I remembered... and then I remembered accurately.

The patio of a crowded bar. All those people. Most of them inebriated by noon. Loud music. Shouting to be heard. Secondhand smoke. Shudder.

God knows I miss you. Every. Single. Day.

But I don't miss that.

And someday I might even be able to admit that I'm excited to eventually meet someone with whom I'm actually compatible without feeling so treacherously guilty.

Smile for the camera.

My parents talked me into going out on the boat a few weeks ago. One of the best days ever.

Did I mention I love this dog?

Five. The "just come back in April" edition.

I don't know what I'm trying to prove with this whole post-every-day-for-a-month thing. Oh, yeah. That I can FINISH SOMETHING. Blah blah blah. I should have challenged myself in February.

1. I'm having trouble sleeping. There, I admit it. I sleep too much, or not enough. I can't fall asleep or stay asleep. It doesn't help that I stay up late reading and wake to the fucking coffee grinder too early. I have bags under my eyes. Bags. Under my eyes. Making me look older than I am. Not cool.

2. A couple days ago I forgot my own age. I couldn't remember if I was 28 or 29. I had to USE MY FINGERS and count it out. And, still, 29 didn't sound right. Probably 'cause IT WASN'T. Today, a friend showed me how to COUNT CORRECTLY and, whew, I'm only 28. Thank goodness.

3. THE DOG LIKES HER WATER BOWL. (Fist pump.)

4. The bearings on my car are shot. I don't know what that means, but apparently that's why my car has been vibrating and making about as much noise as an 18-wheeler. I think this means I'm about to learn something new.

5. When I was younger, my dad used to make us play the What's New game. We'd all sit down for dinner and we'd each take a turn sharing something new. There was only one rule: it didn't count if anyone at the table had already heard it.

Some friends and I have been making a habit of going out to dinner. It's our new thing. We take turns picking new restaurants. We eat too much, laugh a lot. It's seriously great. Last Thursday, I made them play the What's New game. It was the best way I could think of to get those of us that work together to stop talking about it. Total success.

So, peeps, what's new?

Faking.

It used to be that I'd come home, put my stuff away and wander into my mom's office. I'd lean on the back of her chair, look over her shoulder and ask, "How are your fake customers?" or "How's fake business these days?" For a while now, her and my sister have been positively hooked on these Facebook games like Cafe World and FarmVille. She'd laugh and say, "You should play! It's fun!" To which I'd respond with a vehement no because a, Facebook is the devil and b, the last thing I wanted was a mindless game sucking up all my time. I mean, I have books to read and, well, that's all. Which is probably why I eventually caved. And it didn't take much. Back in December, while visiting my sister (who, by the way, checks on her cafe at least eighteen times a day) I said, "Okay, fine. How do I play?" And it's been a problem ever since.

But a really fun problem.

Five. The second.

1. I had this thought that if I failed in my attempt to post everyday for a month, then that would suggest I have some sort of life. So, I talked myself out of caring too much that I wasn't going to post today. Except then I realized that I wasn't going to post anything because I slept in until eleven, went to work, the end. And that's not much of a life. So here I am, forcing myself to write something, anything, since I have no good reason not to. This doesn't mean I have anything exciting to share.

2. I have the next two days off. Now this may come across like I'm being all down on myself, but please don't misunderstand. That's not it at all. I'm just stating facts here. Having the weekend off these days... well, it's not that exciting. In fact, it's a bit depressing. Everywhere is much too crowded and the few friends I do have are working. It leaves me with too much time to think about someone that I miss.

3. I miss my husband. There. I said it. I miss him. Is that so horrible? I think about him, um... a lot. This whole thing has not gotten easier, and instead seems to get worse each day. I asked a friend, "Isn't it supposed to be getting better?" and he said, "Well, sure, eventually." I asked, "What does that mean? How long?" To which he replied, "I don't know. A few years?" Just put me out of my misery now.

4. The weather has been incredibly gorgeous the last few days. Like, call-in-sick-and-head-to-the-beach kinda weather. Not that I would ever fake an illness to get out of work. Ha. I don't particularly care for sand, but I might have to make an exception and go soak up some sun this weekend. Although, get in a bathing suit? Not sure I'm quite ready for that just yet. Maybe next year.

5. I bought the dog a new water dish. She sniffed at it, took a few sips. Then the water made a bubbling noise and scared the shit out of her. For the rest of the day, she stood outside the kitchen crying. Seriously pathetic. She's slowly getting used to it, which is good because I was afraid I'd scarred her for life.

Piece of cake.

Back in December, I dragged my sister and her two girls along with me to Walmart for the midnight release of Eclipse. And, dang, ol' Walmart sure knew how to throw a party. Well, you know, for Walmart. In Utah. But they had cake! And cake makes everything better. Even if they did say no when I asked for Edward's face. Jerks.

My process.

I bought a notebook for, you know, The Novel. Which was a totally genius idea, even though it wasn't mine and a part of me worried that I was only buying it to feel cool and that I'd be wasting the ninety-eight cents.

It has come in very handy. Like, at three a.m. when that perfect idea struck and I was able to reach over, grab said notebook and begin scribbling furiously before I lost my train of thought. Now, to decipher my illegible midnight handwriting...

I have very basic ideas right now. Boy and girl meet. Boy and girl fall in luuuuv. Boy and girl are separated by tragedy and/or conflict. Boy and girl realize the error of their ways. Boy and girl live happily ever after. See? I told you. Basic.

Okay, I'd be lying if I said I didn't have anymore details than that. I do. I have an impression of my two main characters. I can see Her incredibly clearly. He, on the other hand, is taking a while longer to show Himself. I have a very rough timeline drafted out and I'm filling in the details as they come.

Certain how's and why's are giving me pause. Like, sure, I know I want them to get from point A to point B and then from point B to C... but why? How? What are their reasons?

Save for a few paragraphs that came tumbling out of me a couple days ago, I'm not writing. I'm scribbling. In my notebook. Notes and ideas and a whole lot of question marks. And then more notes. And sometimes I doodle and stare out the window while sitting at Starbucks. It's all part of the magic... I think.

If the world ends before 2022, I'll be pissed.

I receive mail at two different locations and I live at neither. So, I've come up with a really effective system for keeping track of important documents, bills, etc. It's pretty simple, too.

1. Dump everything into an old Wet Seal bag that you've been carrying in your car since last April.

2. Let it sit (and this here's the tricky part) just until you reach that point when your gut kind of clenches in anxiety at the thought of finally going through it all.

3. Sort through the contents of said bag only when it's bulging at the seams and you're unable to carry the weight of it on your pinky finger.

I'm nothing if not totally efficient.

Truth? What mail I do receive consists of nothing but credit card offers and bank statements. (Although, tonight I did find a check for $28 bucks. From December. Whoops.)

The envelope above? I wrote a letter to myself when I was, I dunno, 14? 15? And if the thickness of said letter is any indication, I had a lot to say. I'll be 40 in 2022. Only 11 more years to go! (No, seriously, I love this shit.)

I had lost sight of the letter for a little while, but I always assumed it was somewhere safe and I'd find it eventually... Turns out I keep it with all the other envelopes I don't open. Makes sense, right?

How to start a novel.

1. Go somewhere quiet. Like, the library!

2. Check your e-mail, Facebook, and Twitter. Just to get those out of the way.

3. Open a word processor of your choice.

4. Stare at blank page for precisely six minutes.

5. Stare off into space for another two.

6. Notice how the woman a table away apparently has no problem getting her brain functioning if the rapid motion of her fingers across her keyboard is any indication.

7. Contemplate your hair. Notice split ends. Count back to last haircut. Wait, it’s been A YEAR ALREADY?

8. Place hands over your keyboard because maybe if you go through the motion, the words will come.

9. Stare at fingers hovering over the keys; swear to quit biting fingernails.

10. Regret not going to Starbucks.

11. Slump back in chair; think about how quiet the library actually is.

12. So quiet, you may have to do serious bodily harm to the man reading the newspaper. I mean, really, does he have to turn pages quite that loudly?

13. Debate putting headphones in. Decide angry rap music probably won’t help.

14. Realize you have to use the restroom.

15. Spend eight minutes looking for the restroom. Contemplate asking an employee, but decide against it ‘cause that’d be too easy.

16. Browse the endless aisles of books on your way back to your table. Wonder if your masterpiece will ever grace the shelves. Think, not at this rate.

17. Sit back down.

18. Repeat steps 2 - 14.

19. Finally realize you still haven’t written a word; refuse to feel at all defeated. After all, it’s only the first day!

20. Pack up and head to Starbucks for much deserved latte.

21. Write new blog post.

One of those days.

Written earlier this afternoon...

I love this day. It kind of took me by surprise. It's warm, the sun shining. I'm sitting on the patio at Starbucks with a perfectly made latte to my right. I’m wearing my favorite jeans. The ones that somehow manage to have a (much needed) slimming effect while not crushing my internal organs at the same time. I am, in a word, comfortable. I’m not obsessing over anything or struggling to make (or accept) a decision. I’m not even tweaking over the appearance of my blog. (Can I get a hallelujah?) Maybe if I sit here much longer, I’ll have a need for the sweatshirt I brought along, but right now I’m enjoying the sun and the breeze and the amazing southern California weather that is responsible for our sky high house prices and congested freeways. Only adding to the perfect is the fact that someone chose to put Mumford & Sons on the sound system. I have a real thing for them lately. (I did mention how attractive I find Marcus Mumford, right? Just checking.) I wouldn’t go so far as to say I feel peaceful, but it’s the closest I’ve felt in a long time. Maybe this beautiful day, this sense of almost peace, is a sign that normal isn't too far off.

Easter candy and stuff.

First, I would like a different table. This table just... doesn't. Not for photographs, anyway.

Second, I've realized that when it comes to food photography, I prefer natural light and for my subject to be backlit. So, yeah, I pretty much wish I could go back and re-photograph everything I've ever baked and blogged about.

Third, I feel like an ass using words like "photography" and "subject."

Fourth, I think Easter has the best holiday candy.

Last, I am not a fan of the color orange.

Now, what do you think? Should I have gone with the photo I chose (above)... or should I have chosen this closer-upper photo?



I hate making decisions.

If my inconsistent posting is any indication, I'm already a failure.

I want to write a novel. A romance novel, naturally. But there's a part of me that feels like an asshole for even thinking I could do so. I mean, what do I know about romance? And who am I to presume I know what people want to read? And, let's face it, in my current frame of mind it'd probably have a less-than-happy ending. Someone would get hit by a bus. Everybody would hate the book. I'd be a miserable failure. Come to think of it, I wouldn't be able to take the criticism. Ah, what the hell. Might as well try. I should probably brush up on my grammar.

March on the wrong foot.

This inability to chill the fuck out is starting to scare even me. I can't seem to let anything go. Like, at all. And it's not just this goshdarned blog. (Now you know the one obscenity I try to stay away from.) It's every little insignificant thing in my life that requires me to make any sort of decision. NO MATTER HOW MINOR.

It's why my blog changes appearances more often than I do. It's why, rather than make a decision, I bought FOUR DIFFERENT KINDS of Easter candy. It's why, when asked to make a display at work, I made it three effing times. 'Cause it was never quite perfect. And I could do better. And if I didn’t, it’d be a terrible reflection on me as a person!

I've always been a perfectionist. In high school, I would rewrite my notes. I used to make my bed just before I got in it. But this... this is a different beast entirely.

In other news: I've made two vows to myself. First, to stay away from that stupid fucking "design" button on my blog. And, second, to post everyday during the month of March. Obviously, I'm setting myself up for failure but WHAT ELSE IS NEW?

In other other news, I recently took a mandatory health assessment. When finished, it gave me a list of things to work on to improve my overall health. What was at the top of the list, highlighted in a lot of ugly red? Stress management.