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.