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?