I was supposed to fly out of Oakland around 11 tonight. But when I checked my flight status online this afternoon, to my horror, my flight was delayed two hours. My time of departure is now 1:30 in the morning. Nice. And of course security took me all of about 5 minutes. Record time. So here I am, early as hell, at the gate. Thankfully, I have John’s iPod to kill some time. I’m listening to George Michael, and now I’m totally transported to middle school. Ahh, such fond memories during that period. Yeah right. Can you say T-R-A-U-M-A?? All those damn school dances. Jesus, and in the cafeteria and gymnasium no less. Shit man, middle school was all about awkwardness. Who the hell knew such issues would continue into college. Shit. Unhappy times. But, boy did I have the hots for George. Remember that Careless Whispers video? I can still remember sitting in front of our huge blocky 25-inch Magnavox. I had no idea what he was saying, much less singing but damn, he was captivating. Ha, ha. It’s so funny how fickle little girls can be. I swear, I had the hots for a new person like every week. I had a crush on my pediatrician (and later fell for his son— my classmate). I also liked Peter Jennings. I know, I was a total dork. I mean come on, 10 years old, and having a crush on Peter Jennings? In my defense, back then, my love knew no bounds. 🙂

Uh oh. Father Figure playing now. Oh god. I remember at the 8th grade dance, this was the last song, and I actually scored a dance with this kid, Aaron. I was so nervous, we danced with like 2 feet between us, and my palms were so sweaty. And then this damn song… It went on forever. Jesus, felt like an eternity. But I can only laugh now. Eighth grade. I was a Miss Know-it-All, stubborn beotch even then. Sigh. Ok, I have to switch albums soon. I can’t be reflecting on middle school shit. It’s not healthy. Fuck man, I’m 30. Two decades AFTER Monocacy Middle. Ok, now I’m freaking myself out.

And right on queue, here’s Careless Whispers. Ok, I’ll dwell a tad longer… Such a sucker for my man George.

As the music dies, something in your eyes….

Moving on…

John and I always joke that Remy and Martin are the canine forms of me and him. Martin, you see, is super laid back. When he’s ready to sleep, he calls it a night and leaves us alone in the living room while he heads off to bed. In the car, he’s fine with missing out on the scene as long as he can curl up into his tight ball and sleep. On the other hand, Remy likes to know what’s happening with everybody else. She has to stay in the same room as us to monitor what’s going on. When we take her in the car, she always sits up to see/smell out the window. The other thing about Remy is she prefers a schedule. In bathroom terms, that means she is very regular: she dumps twice a day, within 2 minutes of being outside. Just. like. clockwork.

So like Remy, I clear out the bowels morning and evening. Let me tell you, nothing like starting the day off right by dropping the kids off at the pool. Only thing is, when my morning commute ranges from 35-50 minutes, I don’t fuck around. Even if I’m running a tad late, I have to ditch the kids; otherwise, they’re riding along on a trip that never seems to end (“Are we there yet?”), know what I mean? Too risky. Needless to say, I was supposed to drive John to the airport Wednesday morning. We needed to leave the house by 6 a.m. Well what do you know, right at six, the kids started clamoring. I was in a hurry, and well, as soon as they dived in, I realized my sash (I was wearing a duster sweater) took a dip too. Yup, gross. Shit like that only happens to me, no?

So on Friday, the CEO asked me to take on some HR responsibilities. Mind you, I’m currently a contractor with zero benefits; yet, he wants me to sit down with new hires to review the company fringe benefits policies. Say what? A little weird, but whatever. I’d actually forgotten that within the last year, HR was something I thought about getting into… HR and recruiting. I always thought to myself, “I could do that kind of work… I think.” Well I suppose now’s my chance. But the disturbing thing about being asked to take on this new set of responsibilities is well, what the CEO said about our current HR administrator. Apparently, he hasn’t been too pleased. Of course, I was surprised, because just last week several of us (including the CEO) went to lunch with her. She was really cool and knowledgeable. I defended her. Here’s how my boss responded: It’s one thing to be cool; it’s another thing to be knowledgeable; it’s a third thing to deliver.

So I guess that’s why I’m not a business person. I like people; I give them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, I go by personality more than academics: I suppose I believe getting along is more important than having the book smarts. I don’t know. Regardless, what he said really bugged me. I mean, the other thing is, just because some people aren’t workaholics, that doesn’t mean the way they lead their lives is wrong. I mean, these are all individual choices, and I don’t necessarily think you should penalize an employee for say, prioritizing family and balance over work. Am I too much of a softie? I don’t know: I suppose I always find myself siding with workers rather than with management. Even when I was working at CDM, we did these management consulting projects evaluating the efficiency of teams at a government water agency and I always sympathized with the laborers. Come on, they were unclogging shit in your sewer pipes, clearing used condoms off the bar screens… hell yeah, they deserve raises. Shrug. Instead, the project engineer concluded that most of the workers needed to be axed. Sucked.

So I’m feeling a little disheartened with work, be it this workaholic lifestyle or the “rude” comments by the head honcho. All of this negative energy is compounded by a notice from our lame-ass apartment complex: rent is going up $300/month if we want to continue month-to-month leasing. Fuckers. So yesterday after work, we checked out this “charming cottage” in Menlo Park, down towards Stanford University. Jesus Christ. That place felt like a mortuary. Was fricking built in 1945. I thought I was going to croak just breathing in the stagnant air. Had all kinds of quirky decorations– like Chinese wood carvings mixed with shabby chic ruffles. Now I’m all for hodge podge, but seriously, this place was a mess. After being totally let down, we headed to PF Chang’s for a Chinese dinner. We ordered lettuce wraps and received three lettuce shells. Honestly. Three. I wasn’t even in the mood to pipe up about it. I just really wish I were elsewhere. I know, it’s the holidays and everyone is supposed to be all hunky dory. Well I’m bummed as hell. This isn’t how I want my life to be, and now I’m just among that list of people who are unhappy but are also paralyzed with inaction. What to fucking do now? To cap it all off, I got this for my fortune (because fortune cookies are Chinese, didn’t you know?): You believe in the goodness of people. Yeah, whatever. Tell it to the fucking hand. I put in my dues. I believed in the system, and look at this bullshit moron we elected as President. Some lady was on the news the other week for microwaving her infant to death. Wtf is wrong with people? Screw the goodness of people, man. I’m a misanthrope this holiday season, so whatever. Get this though: John’s fortune? Good thoughts make life better. Ha, ha. Is good thoughts going to pull us out of this sinkhole? I know, I know. I have a fortunate life. I could be deformed. I could really be on the edge of survival. But just tell me what to do to maximize on this privileged life. Donate to charity. Volunteer. Join the area Climate Change Action group. I’m doing those things, and still, I’m so frustrated. I’m irritated that companies squeeze as much as they can out of their workers and then as soon as the employee wants to negotiate and really bargain for perks, that employee is labeled greedy or “just in it for the money.” Such bullshit. I mean, if money were no issue, I certainly wouldn’t be working for the private sector (unless it was my own gig). Then, there’s our housing dilemma. There’s like no decent housing around here and it’s all expensive as hell. So now our choices are apartment complex A or apartment complex B, because none of the private landlords accept dogs bigger than 20 lbs. I mean, what is with the size discrimination? Isn’t the Bay area supposed to be dog heaven? See how I am just at my wit’s end? I can’t even convey my argument convincingly. I suppose it’s just the culmination of everything. I miss Shanghai. I miss my friends. I miss that great situation that ended. I had hopes of rebuilding, but I’m 30 now and when I shared my excitement last Friday about acquiring a new boardgame, my CEO rolled his eyes. Apparently, Scattergories doesn’t appeal to anyone here, so I’m left to play with John. And he hates the game. Like the kid in About a Boy claims, people need backup. Where’s my chain of islands?

Damn it’s been a long time since I’ve had to crunch numbers. A few weeks ago, the CEO/President asked me to crank out some calculations on pollutant emissions from electricity generation. Fuck, man. Had to do all these nutty conversions from like moles to grams and KW to GW. The number crunching took me an eternity, and at some point, I put the figures into a Powerpoint slide, only to have him change some assumption and recalculate the numbers. Well, for whatever reason, my numbers were correct but he forgot a zero when he input the data. Well holy shit, screw me with a spoon. I was supposed to proof the whole PowerPoint, and the 0.1 (instead of 0.01) slipped my radar. Just the day before, one of our dataplots was timeshifted. He had just told me the importance of checking our numbers, because errors damage our credibility. Blah, blah. Whatever. Anyway, point is, I was scolded about the data plot. Naturally, when I discovered my oversight with the 0.1, I started stressing out big time. Like almost had a breakdown at work. That night I got home, and I was flipping out. John could not understand my distress over a silly typo. So I emailed the CEO. Two days later, I got a major nasty gram. I won’t insert it here, but basically I felt like he was threatening me with losing the job. I was so pissed, because 1) why was I being pinned to this expectation of perfection when he was guilty of overpromising product performance (doesn’t that damage credability too?) 2) calculations are not in my job description. I’m a customer liason. 3) I submitted the right numbers but he kept changing the assumptions and he input the typo. Anyway, I was really upset, and I swear that other leg was starting to itch that evening. Return of the shingles? Not good.

The next day, things were a bit tense at the office. We actually avoided each other. Finally, I just wanted to get things over with. I went into his office and reviewed the calcs with him. That was the end. I’m not going to live in fear or whatever because of some threatening email. Fuck it: I’m still a damn hard worker and valuable contributor. I’m not going to be intimidated by a silly job.

Since then, the big customer visit and associated presentation has come and gone. I ended up working closely with the perfectionist manager on project boards and parts displays. I don’t know how a hodge-podge decorater like me got pulled into that. Anyway, the visit was a big success, so I guess I’m redeemed. Either way, like everyone else warned, work–no matter what it is– is overrated.

OMG, I was at the Trader Joe’s yesterday, waiting in line for an eternity because the lady in front bought her groceries via check. Hello, it’s 2006! Who pays for groceries with a personal check? Seriously, seeing the lady bust out with the checkbook… that just blew me away. Get with the program people!

These days, people are really trying my patience. I had the biggest ordeal earlier this week jumping through the multiple bureaucratic hoops just to get to the point of submitting my application for the CA clean air sticker (which would grant me the special privilege of driving my hybrid in the HOV lane). First, I had to go to the DMV myself (rather than wait for the dealer to do it on my behalf) so I could get the plates the same day. Unfortunately, different DMV offices require different paperwork. My first trip to Fremont DMV was foiled. Supposedly, I needed some special dealership signature. Then I went to the Hayward DMV (because they didn’t require this paperwork) but the line was so long, I had to leave to get back to the office for a meeting. My third attempt finally worked. First thing, right as they open the doors. That’s the only way to do it. Got the plates. Step two was a trip downtown to get a hybrid fastrak (like the SmartTag) transponder. Luckily, I took the day off Friday, so I had plenty of time to sit in traffic (because people out here drive in the rain like people in DC drive in the snow) on the way. You know, I really don’t understand the segmentation between faxed applications vs. in-person applications. You see, ever so obsessed with efficiency, I called Fastrak to see if I could fax in the paperwork and then just pay to have them Fedex the gadget to me. Nope. Faxed applications take five business days. If I want the transponder sooner, I have to go in person. So fine, went into the office. No one was freaking there. I mean, the place was dead. The good news of course is that I was in and out in a few minutes. The bad news is, why couldn’t those same people process the faxed orders since they were shooting the shit anyway… whatever. So once I got the plates and the transponder, I was legit to submit my sticker application. Apparently, these things are in limited number. Only 3,000 stickers left, like for ever. And it’s first come first served. Hopefully, I’ll get in just under the wire. Otherwise, I’ll have to figure out alternatives. Regardless, I’m driving in the HOV lane one way or the other… ‘Nuff said.

So yesterday was my company holiday party. We had this “white elephant” gift exchange, and I was getting all stressed out finding a decent gift for under $15. I don’t know about you, but you can’t buy shit for $15. Seriously, you have to cough up a bit more for anything that won’t end up in the trash. So I thought and thought… in the end, I think I did rather well. I bought a badminton set. Obviously, not the best quality but still, I’m pretty proud. It’s much better than potpourri and mugs. In fact, my gift was a winner. But the thing that stressed me out the most was the wrapping. You see, I was fine with just tissue papering the set and putting it in a gift bag. However, John insisted that I had to put it in a box. Then I thought okay, I’ll put the gift in a big cardboard Dell box. And I’ll put a bow on it. Nope. Not good enough. Apparently, you have to wrap it and make it all pretty and presentable. God, I hate that shit. That’s what I hate about the holidays. All that waste. I mean seriously, wrapping paper is ridiculous. I mean, what are we, dogs who love to rip through packaging to get to the treats?

Ultimately, I caved to pressure from John. I not only put the gift in a box, I filled the box with stuffing (which was cross-cut paper from my shredder) and I even wrapped the fucking box with newspaper. I know, ugly as hell but what the fuck ever. That’s the lowest I’ll go. Yeah, yeah, maybe gift wrap is recyclable but for one, I’ve never seen people recycle gift wrap/packaging. In fact, at the end of our party, I ended up taking home all the empty cans and bottles and boxes. I know, totally anal but I can’t help myself. I have OCD. What you going to do about it?

The holidays are just so excessive. And if you don’t want to participate, you get ostracized for being a Scrooge. I actually would like to give a donation on someone’s behalf, but John thinks that idea is lame. Shrug. Supposedly, there’s a movement to simplify the holidays… unfortunately, I just don’t see this catching on yet.

So I’m back to my habits of disordered eating. Mind you, I don’t have an eating disorder, but certainly, my feeding habits are shoddy at best and then when I’m busy or stressed, I tend to skip meals because I can’t be bothered to stop what I’m doing. I know, I’m messed up and I should really watch myself considering my mother has stomach problems and as a child, I gave myself UTI because I didn’t want to take the time to pee. Psycho. Anyway, the last two weeks, I’ve been ditching on the lunch group at work. To be honest, part of my reason is that I get bored with their dining choices. Not particularly tasty and well, the group is so big that it’s difficult to really mesh. In the end, it’s like eating mediocre food in this awkward/uncomfortable environment. Sorry, but I’d rather skip and leave earlier than normal (which, btw, still isn’t early).

So work itself is going ok. Busy, and sometimes I feel like I don’t have answers when questions are asked (I told you my short-term memory has gone to shit) so then I appear retarded or unaware or not on top of things. Whatever though, I’m working pretty hard. And while I have a knack for tracking things, I have to say, it’s often a pain in the ass. I don’t like harassing people and following up a million times. Is this a glorified secretarial type thing I’m doing here? I don’t know. Working with all these hardcore EEs and MEs and ChemEs is giving me a serious complex. I’m like in that weird in-between space of not being technical enough for the product but also not really non-technical. Hard to explain. Anyway, yes, some days– or rather, at least once a day– I feel stupid.

My god though, I’m digging deep to unearth my stash of engineering “knowledge.” Shit, man. I had to do unit conversions the other day, and I was slow as a snail. I haven’t touched a TI or HP graphing calculator in years. I swear the CEO thought I’d never done math before. I couldn’t even work the basic desk calculator (having gotten so used to converting shit on Google and just doing +/- operations with the computer calculator). Seriously, I need to dig my HP out of the storage boxes. I can’t use the TI crap where you input everything in series. I do the reverse Polish notation (RPN) stuff. It would still take me a bit to warm up, but I already know I can’t deal with the equation style input. What else? Oh yeah, had to research all this stuff about converting gas concentrations, like ppm and g/L… we’re talking ideal gas law and shit. What the hell? It’s hard to imagine I once considered myself a math/eng/science person. Now I’m total fru fru, I tell you. No calcs. Just writing and emailing correspondence. See? Glorified secretary.

Anyway, our project is going ok. I’m having some issues with glossing over our system performance. I guess you could say I’ve always been a “half empty” kind of person, so when the Pres downplays the errors and focuses on the benefits, I feel dishonest. Maybe that’s not the right word… I guess I feel uncomfortable not being as blunt or frank as I would prefer. I don’t know what my hang up is exactly, but I’m kind of feeling like my position is not going to lean into marketing (as I had originally thought)… don’t think that’s up my alley anymore.

In non-work related news, I finally got a car! Jesus fucking Christ. How long have I researched that? For weeks, I was in total analysis paralysis. There must have been like four stages and each stage I thought I arrived at a decision, only to realize later it was the wrong selection. For example, at first, I wanted the natural gas vehicle. Then it was noisy as hell and supposedly, you couldn’t drive when temps dipped below 35 (it actually frosts here at night). Then, I was going for the used 2005 Civic hybrid. Then I upped to the 2006 because Honda did a redesign and the new engine had more kick, plus it was more fuel efficient. In the end? I got the 2007 hybrid, because it was actually cheaper than a used 2006 plus I could get the alternative fuel vehicle federal tax credit. So damn complicated, and that’s not all. My main motivation was to get the HOV sticker, because I don’t know what is up but since Thanksgiving, my commute has gotten longer. Literally, it was draining the life out of me. So the deal in California is, you have to apply for the sticker. And my god is that a process. Plus, the state DMV is only issuing 10,000 stickers, and supposedly, they’ve already handed out 6,000. So the sticker is now this limited edition thing. I’m telling you, there’s going to be crazy sticker theft! I’m stressed, because depending on how quickly all the bullshit paperwork gets processed (I’ll have to go do all this crap in person), I may very well be SOL. In other words, I paid a premium for a hybrid (in the end, it’s still just a Civic, know what I mean?) only to be denied that damn coveted sticker (my ticket to a shorter commute). But I’m trying to prepare myself for the worst: even if I don’t get the sticker, the car aligns with my principles, blah, blah.

No seriously, I am glad to have a hybrid. I’ll definitely enjoy not having to fill up every week. That said, I’ve gained some insight from this whole car-buying process: I’m becoming more and more of a commitment-phobe. Not with my relationship with John or anything, but just like with settling down and with life in general. It’s tough to explain, but John and I are both finding it difficult to say, want to buy a condo/home or even purchase the car, because we now measure these things in months or years of freedom overseas. So we reason, “For x dollars, we can live in China for 1 year without a job… ” That kind of perspective just changes everything: we now have such a different way of valuing things. Sigh. I’m rambling. It’s late. Well, I guess I still ended up caving and getting the car. Poor John. Now he definitely won’t get that convertible he’s been eyeing. Instead, he gets my Camry– with its dysfunctional ABS and screwy driver-side window. On the bright side, at least he won’t have to walk to work in the brisk cold.