There Is A House In New Orleans

Did you know that you actually get results when you search "songs with house in the title"? There are whole websites devoted to this subject.

Who but me would need to know these things, Google? WHO BUT ME?

Okay, sorry about that. I knew this post was going to be house themed, and all I could think of was "Brick House," but that didn't seem super appropriate. Brick houses in California? They won't be so mighty mighty when the big one hits, amirite? Rookies.

Anywho...I landed on "House of the Rising Sun." Please enjoy the song as you read the rest of this. Try to avoid staring at their super-high-buttoned tailored suits and matching-but-ever-so-slightly-different bowl haircuts. I think they know we're watching them. Could you have made a creepier music video, The Animals? Come on now.

I'm looking for an apartment because I'm tired of having, well...let's say "a housemate." Technically, nothing in my current household arrangement is equal in any way, and I am just mooching off of this housemate's well-earned cash, as I have been for the last 23.8 (rough estimate) years of my life, but the term still applies.

Now, it won't be the first time I've looked for an apartment, but it will be the first time I will be completely financially responsible for the place that I find. No co-signers for me! I'm a grown-up, after all.

Anyone who's ever looked for an apartment knows that it is a lot easier said than done. You have to troll craigslist, weed out the crazies and the liars, make appointments to view places, hope that you aren't going to be murdered, weed out even more crazies and liars (the ones you missed the first time around), fill out applications, get credit checks and reference checks, and finally sign your lease. I probably missed a few steps. As I said, I'm new to this whole apartment-hunting gig.

However, at least in my current location, there seems to be a time window. I'm trying to get a jump on things by looking for apartments early, but since my ideal move-in date is sometime in January, no one in their right mind is going to hold a place for me unless I'm willing to pay December too. I'm not really sure why I'm bothering, except that it gives me hope that there is indeed some sort of post-collegiate freedom on the horizon.

Still, it's tough. Especially because, at school, if you didn't start looking in June for that apartment you were moving into in August, you were totally screwed. I guess I'll just have to hold my horses.

How anti-climactic, right? You totally thought this post was going to be all YEAH I FOUND AN APARTMENT, but instead it was all meh, I guess I have to wait a bit longer before looking. Sorry about that. Not as triumphant a return from hiatus as I had hoped, but you have to take what you can get.

A Swedish Mystery

I was hanging out at Ikea today (you know how I do) and somehow mysteriously found myself in the grocery section, where I witnessed quite the sight:

There was a Swedish person there! He was an older gentleman, looking for what I think was lingonberry jam (though my Swedish is a bit rusty), and he asked the cashier where it was. I looked at the cashier, assuming that she'd look back at me with a puzzled expression and shrug her shoulders as if to say, "I have no idea what you are talking about, crazy Swedish man." But she didn't! She responded in kind. IN SWEDISH. And there I was: in an Ikea in California, listening to two people have a conversation in Swedish, and my mind was blown. I felt like I was trapped in some sort of Ikea Inception.

So my question is this: Do you suppose it is just coincidence that there is actually a person who speaks Swedish working at Ikea? Did she just stumble upon the position and say, "Hey! I speak Swedish. Ikea sounds like the perfect place to work!" Or is there some sort of Ikea trafficking going on, where Ikea HQ sends over at least one Swedish person to every single store in the world, just in case someone starts screaming, "Brunkrissla? Is that even a real word?!" And then she can swoop in and be all like, "Yes sir, it is. BAM. You've just been Sweded."

Learn Something New Every Day

I'm a firm believer in this philosophy. Not only that you do learn something new every day, but that you should actively try to learn new things. Maybe it's just me and my ridiculous obsession with seemingly mundane details. Or maybe it has something to do with my job, where I actually get paid to figure out how fast buffalo run (up to 34 mph) or whether the correct pronunciation of that delicious confection is 'karəməl or 'kärməl. Either way, learning new things is the bee's knees.

It is for this reason that I've decided to learn a new language. Okay, maybe that's a bit of an overstatement. I've decided to try to learn a new language.

I recently discovered that the libraries around here have a partnership with an online language-learning company. If you have an account with one of the participating libraries, you can sign up for free* and get access to language courses ranging from Arabic to Vietnamese (and tons of stuff in between).

At first, I was thinking Spanish because of its practicality. But then my eyes fell upon Pirate, and I knew what I had to do. Belay yer carousin' and haul wind smartly! Then again, it was lacking in the usefulness category, so I went back to Spanish. After completing the first two lessons, I decided to switch over to Italian. Why not, right?

Buonasera signora! Come stai?
Sto bene, grazie. 
Marco!
Polo.

I'm not exactly ready to go to Mexico or Italy or...the high seas, but maybe if I stick with it, I'll actually get somewhere. Now I just need to pick a language. I'm taking suggestions, folks!

*Do you really need to know any more? Check it.

The First Day of Summer

And probably also the last. Today, September 7th, 2011, marks the first and only day of the year where it will be warm enough to wear shorts after dark. Oh, Bay Area summer. Why must you be so fickle?

I keep trying to explain local seasons to my coworkers, none of whom are Bay Areans (have I mentioned lately how unfortunate that moniker is?), but they seem to have some sort of mental block, so I've made this handy dandy graph. Please enjoy.

 

Apologies for the rough* sketch. In a perfect world, the peaks and valleys would be more distinct. The biggest weather-related question I get is some variation of "How can it be raining right now?! It was like 95° yesterday!" It just is, okay? It. Just. Is.

Happy last day of summer, everyone!

*My editor brain is super pissed that only one of the labels on the y-axis has a period. Consistency fail. Laziness win.

Are You an Innie or an Exie?

Two blog posts in two days?! What is the world coming to?

My coworkers and I were having a discussion about introversion and extroversion the other day. It was prompted by this article, which was featured in The Atlantic in 2003. Oh gosh, I just realized that was eight years ago. Now I feel old.

Anyway...

In case you didn't read the article before moving past that link (it's really short, I promise), the basic idea is that introverts and extroverts are practically two different species: while extroverts get energy by being around people, introverts are drained by social situations and need time to recharge. On this count, I definitely agree with the author.

Almost all of my friends are extroverts, and while I love them all, I just...need a break every once in a while. Many of them cannot comprehend the fact that I actually enjoy being by myself. I'm not by myself because I don't have anyone to hang out with; I'm by myself because, after a day of interacting with my coworkers for eight straight hours, I don't have the energy or the desire to be around other people. All I want to do is sink into my chair and watch Netflix movies. Is that really so strange?

I loved almost everything in the article, but I did have a problem with one assertion: the idea that extroverts are easy for introverts to understand. Maybe the author meant that extroverts as people are easy to understand -- they often wear their hearts on their sleeves and are not shy about expressing themselves -- but I took it more as an assumption that extroversion as a concept isn't hard to figure out, which I do not agree with at all.

I just don't get it. How in the world can a person spend every waking moment with other people? I have friends who, during the summer, would just hop from group to group. The only time they would spend at their own houses would be the eight hours or so that they needed to sleep, and the only waking minutes they would spend by themselves was the time it took them to arrange another outing. I never understood how a person could do that, and I probably never will.

So, while I agree that extroverts will probably never understand introversion, it's also pretty hard for us introverts to wrap our heads around how you extroverts do what you do. Maybe we can all just make a pact to be a bit more understanding of one another. World peace and all that jazz. Because I'm certainly never going to change.

My Life, In Numbers

Quite the eventful week this week:

One surgery avoided, thanks to my negative MRI results.

Two computer monitors that are all mine. My new dual system has exponentially increased my productivity, which was the whole point, I suppose.

Three different burrito places visited for lunch. We're on a quest for the best burrito. We will not stop until we find it.

Four(th) hockey class missed. Looks like I'm officially out for the season.

Five new projects at work. The next few months are going to be fuuuun.

Six-month anniversary at my first real job. I've now officially broken my previous employment record. What. Up.

Seven sodas enjoyed over the past seven days, despite my intention to "cut back." No sleep + no caffeine = zombie. No sleep + caffeine = productive zombie. I'll have to work on that.

And, I couldn't think of anything for eight, so I guess this experiment is over.

It's almost the end of July, and I haven't even gotten a chance to enjoy my summer yet. I want to go to the aquarium! And the zoo! Have to go to the zoo.

Serial (Comma) Killer

Dear Oxford University Press,

I was about to sit down and type up a missive on my love of the Oxford comma, but then I discovered that you were absolved of this oh-so-heinous murder. So, my apologies. I should never have doubted you.

But there goes my brilliant idea for a blog post.

Things in my life are about the same as usual. However, I have this overwhelming feeling that a storm's a-brewing. I haven't decided if it's a good storm or a bad storm, but I can definitely feel the rumbling. And yes, that was oddly vague.

In other news, I'm currently in love with Bruno Mars' album, Doo-Wops and Hooligans. Maybe it's just the name - or the fact that I can't get enough of his Rockabilly style - but I've had it on repeat for days.

Sorry for the drive-by, but I have warm weather and cool tunes. Can't get much better than that.

Happy summer!

Favoritism

I'm obviously playing blog favorites here. All I do is work and hockey, and I figure you guys are tired of hearing about work and not all that interested in learning about what new and exciting ways I've found to injure myself, so...yeah. Sorry about that.

I do have non-work things to talk about today!

The most exciting thing to happen this week: I found some vandalism on a Wikipedia article, and I submitted a correction and got an email from the Wikipedia information team thanking me! Okay, so it sounds a lot less thrilling now, but it totally made my day. I took a screenshot for posterity:

First of all, if you're going to vandalize Wikipedia, at least spell "douchebag" right. Second of all, farting? Really? Who messed with this page? A fourth grade boy?

I had to do some legitimate, work-related research on whether or not triple rainbows actually existed (they do), hence the "Rainbow" page.

Other non-work thing: I went running on Wednesday. It didn't suck as badly as I thought it would, but my front calves* hurt like a mother. I was going to go again today, but I managed to seriously injure my knee while skating yesterday. Things popped. It was not good. But I'm all hopped up on acetaminophen with codeine, which is helping with the pain and making it so I can walk. No hockey for me on Sunday, though. Super bummed.

What else? Oh! We went on a field trip to our new office today. It's pretty swanky. Top floor (out of two, but it still counts). Indoor waterfall/rainforest type thing, which is weird. The trees and water combo somehow make it really humid in the lobby, which is also quite strange. It's like stepping from Mountain View into Miami...and then back to Mountain View again. And we'll actually get our name on the door! I'll take pictures when we're officially moved in.

I think that's about it, guys. S, have an awesome time in Jozi. I expect a slideshow when you return! And H, don't die of heat exhaustion.

*I'm sure there is a more scientific name for the muscles over your shins, but I don't feel like looking it up.

Time Off for Good Behavior

This is the third weekend in a row that I haven't had to work. Count 'em. 1, 2, 3. Is this what it feels like to have a regular job?

I'm finding it to be awesome and soul-crushing at the same time.

It's amazing and wonderful and fantastic because I actually get to take a breather. I don't feel like I'm slowly being crushed under the weight of impending doom, which is how most of my workdays go. Having the weekend off gives me a chance to shut my computer down (well, figuratively speaking). I don't check my work email, I don't read drafts, I don't edit anything...I just relax. Biking used to be my go-to activity, but the weird, non-summer weather that has struck the Bay Area in recent weeks makes that relatively impossible. I'm switching to hockey soon, though. Super excited about that.

It's horrible and insufferable and spirit-killing because, these days, I actually realize what I'm missing. I didn't comprehend how tightly I was wound until I got a chance to unwind. I didn't know how horrible my quality of sleep was until I got a few 10-hour nights under my belt. And I didn't understand what havoc all this stress was wreaking on my body until I managed to de-stress and take stock. I still enjoy my job and my coworkers are still amazing (they are definitely the saving graces during those not-so-awesome days), but having weekends off makes me dread Mondays even more than I used to. It's like my body is screaming with all the power it can muster: "Don't make me go back there! I want to liiiiive!"

Still, I do it week after week, hoping that the coming weekend will bring me back from the brink. Luckily, it appears to be working. For now.

In other news, I have a new blog: Riding the Pine. It is going to be all about my upcoming introduction to hockey. I will not blame any of you if you choose not to read it. Like I said, it's all hockey, all the time. Just thought I'd put it out there.

Hey-Oh!

I was about to wonder aloud whether it had really only been two weeks since I posted last, and then I realized that I completely forgot about the month of April. Ah, the joys of working until my brain turns to mush...

And yes, another redesign was in order, thankyouverymuch. I was getting a little tired of my...whatever I had before...and decided to change my background to SPAAAACE. The final frontier. Blogtier? Doesn't matter.

I missed so many things while I was away: Bunsen Burner Day (March 31st), Draw a Picture of a Bird Day (April 8th), National High Five Day (April 21st), AND Save the Rhino Day (May 1st). So many bizarre and wonderful holidays, so little time.

This post was really just intended as a brief blog-and-run, but I guess I do have one thing to discuss: the concept of "overtime guilt."

I think it's a term that I just made up. And a quick Google search confirms its originality. Suck it, Merriam Webster.

Overtime guilt is a thing that I had never really experienced until I started working 80-hour weeks. Basically, it rears its ugly head whenever I don't work 80-hour weeks. It hits whenever I take a weekend off or whenever I work an 8-hour day. I can't help but feel like I'm slacking off. Which is a) ridiculous, b) totally insane, and c) some other closely related word that I can't think of right now.

Bonkers?

No, too adorable.

Whatever this is, it's definitely not healthy. That's the problem with taking your work home with you, I guess. Even when you're at home, it still feels like you're at work.

The one thing I can't figure out is why I never had this problem in school. I did all my work at home, and yet...never really felt compelled to check email hundred of times a day or go to class on a Saturday. Ever.

Maybe it's because I'm getting paid now. Yeah. That's probably it. Now that I'm making the big bucks, it's messing with my mind.

On a completely unrelated note, I'm thinking of starting a new blog about the trials and tribulations of my hockey class. I know you guys wouldn't be super intrigued, but someone might be. I can call it "Get the Puck Outta Here." No, maybe not. "The Puck Stops Here"? Ugh. I think the part of my brain that comes up with horrible puns is officially broken. Good riddance, I say.

Luck o' the Irish

Crosswalks are starting to get a little ridiculous. I remember back in the day when you pushed a tiny button and waited for the hand to turn into the walking guy. That was it. Easy as pie. These days you get all sorts of countdowns and flashing lights and irritating pips (those are for blind people though, so that's okay), but this, friends, is the last straw.

On St. Patty's Day, I came face to face with the most ridiculously aggravating crosswalk ever. I was making my way downtown after work and tiredly leaned on the "I would like to cross, please" button. I waited. And waited. And waited some more. I pressed the button again. Still nothing. I stepped to the curb, looked both ways, and started crossing. I hadn't even touched the pavement before a voice from the crosswalk button yelled, "WAIT!"

I pivoted and glared at the box.  

How did you do that? I wondered, and walked back to investigate. Thinking that perhaps a motion sensor was in play, I waved my hand in front of the box. Nothing. I started walking away again and was accosted with another "WAIT!"

Now it was just taunting me.

What the hell, crosswalk box? What is your problem? No answer. I turned.

"WAIT! WAIT! WAIT!"  

All right, all right, just shut up!! I'm waiting. God. 

I swear it was smirking at me. After another few seconds, I saw that the stoplight was turning yellow. Finally, I thought. It is about freaking time.

The little walking guy appeared, and I started across the street, secure in the fact that I would never have to deal with the crosswalk from hell again.

"HEY!" it said. "THE WALK LIGHT IS ON."

You win this time, crosswalk box. You win this time.

What, Me Worry?

All right, I'll admit it: I am freaking out a little. 

Crazy huge earthquake in Japan = my very first tsunami warning in California. Um...

I was getting ready to go to sleep when the Emergency Alert System bust in on my Man vs. Wild and warned all of us San Francisco Bay Areans (wow, we need a better name) that a tsunami with "significant widespread inundation" was imminent.

I spent my evening watching Japan become the next Atlantis and then was told by the nice newsman that we were about to get some of that action. UM...

The previous hour has been spent researching every possible tsunami inundation map in existence, and my house appears to be out of the splash zone; however, these things are notoriously unpredictable, and I live really freaking close to a body of water that is connected to the Pacific Ocean. SWEET BABY JESUS I AM GOING TO DIE.

Okay, I'm not going to die. Our elevation is about 100 feet above sea level, and the experts seem to think 50 feet is plenty to avoid the brunt of the surge. The water in the delta might rise a bit, maybe some minor flooding, but I don't plan on waking up tomorrow morning knee-deep in tsunami run-off. Still, I'm thinking I'll move my laptop to higher ground. Just in case.

Can't even imagine what people in Japan are dealing with, though...

Get a Life

I think I'm in an abusive relationship.*

Horror of horrors, thy name is Calculus. Last week, it was all butterflies and rainbows. This week...not so much.

We broke up. It was a mutual thing. He thought he could find someone who would appreciate him more than I did; I thought he was too arrogant and egotistical for his own good. We agreed to go our separate ways. I didn't spend a week under the covers, hoarding empty tissue boxes and watching cheesy romantic comedies until I could quote them word-for-word. In fact, I was relieved. Glad to be rid of him.

And then he threw himself back into my life. He tried to convince me that we should get back together. He kept pestering me at work. He started following me home. Calling at all hours of the night. Expecting us to hang out on weekends, just like old times. He went from "socially incompetent" to "class five stalker" in a matter of days.

The worst part about it is that I think his shock and awe campaign is finally starting to pay off. I think about him constantly. I find myself blowing off my other friends just to spend time with him. I even lose sleep.

Something needs to change, so here's an open letter to Mr. C., from me:

Hey buddy, you want to back it up a little bit? I think I need my space.

*Note: I am not actually in an abusive relationship. It's called an "extended metaphor," ya dig?

The Apocryphalypse

Gas just hit $4 a gallon, and there's a chance we'll see snow in San Francisco tomorrow. The end is nigh.

Okay, not really. But it's still pretty freaking crazy over here.

Life is...life. Deadlines are looming, an epic battle is waging between my immune system and the Office Cold, and I am losing sleep for no apparent reason. Actually, there is an apparent reason: I can't convince my body that it's okay to go to bed before 1 am. It's a real problem, you guys.

I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but I feel like I have zero time to do anything but work, eat, and sleep. Still kinda loving it, though. Granted, I think I need a hobby, because I find myself checking my email compulsively and I really don't want to become that person. Rock climbing was supposed to be that hobby, but I'm finding it very difficult to set aside two whole hours for the gym, AND find a partner, AND muster up the willpower necessary to actually do anything but veg out on the couch. Maybe I'm a lost cause.

Still, work is great. Ridiculously busy, horrifically stressful, pushing me so far out of my comfort zone you wouldn't believe...but great. And when it seems like I just can't take anymore and miiiiight just snap, I take joy in the little things: bonding with my coworkers over a common enemy, debating the probability that one of our writers has multiple personalities, or listening to the jingle that the electric kettle plays whenever the water starts to boil. Ah, yes...love is in the air. Not happily-ever-after-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-this-company kind of love, but still love.

Ugh...I just used the "L" word. It really must be the end of the world.

Cubicle Monkey

I am one. Seriously. Every time we run up against a deadline (namely, every month), I start living in the writer's room. Technically it's not a cubicle - I don't have one of those - but "writer's room monkey" doesn't have the same sort of ring to it.

It could be worse. At least I get to talk to people, which is something the real cubicle monkeys don't get to do. Whoever controls the thermostat is a sadist, though...turning on the air conditioning when it's cold and wet and rainy outside. Evil.

My birthday happened. That was kind of a thing. There was a family dinner at a delicious German restaurant in San Jose. Meat. Cheese-covered extravagances. Apple strudel. Oh, and liters of beer. That's right. Liters. Of beer. The food coma lasted for days. Okay, that's a lie. It lasted for about an hour and then I had to stuff myself full of birthday cake. But then that food coma lasted for days. Mmmm.

There's not much else going on. I've been so tightly scheduled these days that I haven't had more than five minutes to do anything but work, eat, sleep, and gym.* And you guys know how much I enjoy being lazy. What a shame.

I have other things to tell you guys, but they can wait until our next Skype session.

*It's a verb now.

Not So Common Anymore

The topic of tonight's post, friends, is common courtesy. Wow, that sounded really passive aggressive. I'm not accusing you guys of being uncourteous*, I swear! No, the target of my ire is my next door neighbor.

I shall call him George.

No, George is too awesome of a name for him.

I shall call him...Wonston. That's right. Wonston. It was going to be Winston, but the "i" and the "o" are really close together on the keyboard and it's too late to turn back now, so Wonston it is.

Wonston has been living next door to me for a couple of years. I've never spoken to him (our neighborhood is not what you might call "friendly"), so I have no idea how many people actually live in his house...but they have seven cars. Seven freaking cars, people. Two are parked in their driveway. Three are in front of their house. And two are in front of my house. Most of the cars rotate in and out - sometimes the Jeep is in the driveway, sometimes it's the Corolla with the "Jesus Loves You" license plate frame - but the ones in front of my house never move. They're just there...in front of my house...forever.

You know what, Wonston? I would like to park in front of my house.

I live on a corner, Wonston. You know that, because you live next to me. Around said corner, there is room for at least six of your multitude of cars. Why do you insist on trying to fit both of your humongotron pickups in the space between my driveway and the handicap ramp for the crosswalk? This isn't the twilight zone. Neither of them magically shrink when the other is present. You either block off the ramp, leaving wheelchair-bound folks SOL, or you extend a good half-foot into my barely-big-enough-for-one-car driveway, forcing me to go off-roading every time I stop home for lunch. 

Wonston is my mortal enemy. And he knows it, too. (Why yes, I am being melodramatic. Why do you ask?) Last week, the parking duel came to a head: I was walking up my driveway as he was leaving his house. I opened the gate, turned, and spotted him. We made eye contact. I glanced meaningfully at my car, then at his, and looked at him. He gave me a nod, seeming to understand. He walked to his car. I loitered at the mailbox. He turned the ignition. It roared to life. He looked at me. Smiled. He got something from the glove box, turned the car off, and walked back inside. CURSES, I thought. Curses indeed.

Also, before you say that I should be a little less film noir with my narrative and actually talk to the guy, there is some shady stuff going on at that house. Unless he just has a bunch of friends who enjoy stopping by at all hours for a quick chat through the windows of their cars. Yeah. I'm sure that's it.

Pretty exciting, right? See what all of you are missing?

First day of bike commuting to work tomorrow. I bought a bell. Here's hoping I don't die.

*It should be a word.

Born to Run

Yeah, that title has absolutely nothing to do with anything; it was just the answer to a pub quiz question from the other night. That's right! I've finally found people who enjoy pub quiz! They're not supergeniuses or anything (not that I lump myself into that category either), but they're cool. Meetup comes through again!

Anyway, I told myself I was going to try and post here more often now that the calendar's rolled over to 2011. I don't know if the content will be any better, but at least more frequent posts will mean shorter posts. That's good, right?

I've discovered in my...nine days as an editor that lists are good. Let's stick with lists.

1. I've been to the cubes! Well, I've been past the cubes in search of the printer. That counts, right? I am starting to learn people's names, though. Kind of. They all start with "D," so it's super confusing.
   
   
2. I have a key! It's not technically mine - the picture on it is a thirty-something Asian lady - but I have one and I don't get locked out anymore! Couldn't have come at a better time because I've become the absent-minded professor over here. They say that multitasking actually makes you less efficient overall, and I'd definitely have to concur.
   
   From the Daily Mail: The human brain doesn’t multi-task like an expert juggler; it switches frantically between tasks like a bad amateur plate-spinner. True that.
   
   
3. I just bought a fancy schmancy new laptop bag so I don't kill my computer on the commute to work. Now I just need a headlight and I'll be good to go for epic bike riding. Well, it won't be that epic. Five miles round trip, I believe. And I have two steadfast rules: (1) no spandex, and (2) no reflective pant-leg-holder thingies.

There's plenty more, but I think I'm wandering into snoozapalooza again.

One last thing before I head off, though: a poll. Do you guys enjoy living vicariously through me as I work my way up the corporate ladder, or would you prefer I stick with less day-to-day and more "hilarity ensues"?

Life Is Like a Hurricane Here In Duckberg

I'd say my life right now is about a category four, but I expect it to increase by a few kilometers per hour and hit category five in no time.

The last time we spoke, I mentioned that I was going to become a full-time employee at some point in the near future. I still had to put the finishing touches on my guide, but it was expected that I would start once that was wrapped up. Namely, I had planned on becoming a grown-up on February 1st.

Yeah...aboooout that...

I'm a full-time employee! And I have been for five whole days now. (It would have been three, but I had to work the weekend. Both days. So it totally counts.)

Long story short (partially because of my non-disclosure agreement and partially because I have been on this stupid computer all freaking day), I got an email on Tuesday night asking me if I could start "tomorrow." I could feel the desperation in The Editor's keystrokes (yes, I'm calling everyone by their titles). I was kind of burning out on my project anyway, so I agreed. Unfortunately, that meant a little less than 12 hours of freedom before officially becoming an adult. I had a minor freak-out along the lines of "oh my gosh, this is going to be my life now," but with that behind me, I was ridiculously excited to start work.

I won't bore you guys with the details of my first few days (actually, I had kind of an awesome time), but here are some observations for you:

1.  There seems to be a clear divide between the "creative types" and the "engineering types." I know that's probably the case in every office, but it seems especially stark at my company because there's actually a physical barrier: a giant glass wall. The writers are all together in "the pit" (which is basically just a room with a giant table) so we can talk to each other, and the non-writers are all in the cubes. I've never even been to the cubes. I just look at them from afar and wonder who's back there. I'm thinking about bringing cupcakes once this project is finished, though. Maybe that will help bridge the gap. 

2.  Something needs to be done about the key situation. Right now, I think there are three keys milling about: an Engineer has one, The CEO has one, and The Editor has one. This would work out just fine if they were the first ones to arrive in the morning, the last ones to leave at night, and just stayed in the office all day. But they aren't, and they don't. So, on my first day, I was locked out. And on my third day, I was locked out twice! I'm going to need to figure out a way to get me one of those key cards.

3.  My office is one exit away on the freeway. One exit! If I ever have time to get to the bike shop and get a new headlight (and maybe a bell, just so I don't die) for the ol' velocipede, I think I'm going to start cycling to work. I've gotten - how do I put this delicately? - squishy since coming back from school. I didn't know it at the time, but riding my bike to class was the only reason one delicious Chipotle burrito a week didn't leave me buying new pants every other month. Not that I've had to buy a whole lot of new pants or anything, but the ones I do have are fitting just a little tighter these days.

I'm sure there are other things, but I can't remember them right now. All I can say is that this job is even more perfect for me than I thought it would be. I get to spend all day nitpicking other people's work, and whenever I need to write something of my own, I get a subject and a length and then get to do whatever I want with it. I also get paid to research things like Horatio-isms (from CSI: Miami) and the Guinness World Record for skipping stones (51). And I get coworkers! Coworkers who don't smell and who don't sneeze on me or creepily read over my shoulder. It's amazing.