An open letter from a friend has me considering colors. What does it mean that forest green is a comforting color to me, and why don’t I have much blue in my wardrobe, when I love the colors of the ocean so? Today, not feeling well, I wrapped myself in white cotton and a comforter of navy, cobalt, periwinkle and white, and slept away the afternoon, choosing to lose three hours of work rather than force myself to get through the day, only to lose more time tomorrow. Soft green leafy thoughts cushioned my mind while I dreamed peaceful things.

The day began with me stumbling around in a sleep-befuddled state, going through the motions of showering, putting on makeup, etc. We left the house at seven, stopped at Starbucks (where, I have to say, it’s criminally incompetent to have a new barista working during morning rush). I got to work to find that a file I KNOW I had stips for was returned by the underwriting for lacking the very stips I was certain were put in. I told my teammate K, who was covering my desk this week, that I would handle it at lunch, but either she didn’t hear me, or the manager on-call was trying to be helpful, because it went to underwriting AGAIN, and was returned with a “Decline Incomplete” status.

Meanwhile I was in the training class from hell, in which Scott (not his real name) went through a powerpoint presentation of screenshots of the new software (which, mind you, we had two weeks of training on in APRIL) as a helpful “review.” Had this lasted the five minutes – ten at the outside – that it really required, this would have been bearable, and almost informative. Alas, he kept us captive for THREE HOURS, during which he went through every. single. screen. Twice.

You know that scene in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when Ford and Arthur are subjected to Vogon poetry and their heads nearly explode? I felt like that. Only instead of being repulsed, I was bored nearly to tears. And that, coupled with severe lack of sleep, meant that it was all I could do to stay awake and pretend to care about what was being said.

It wasn’t just me, though. At the break there was almost a queue to beat our heads against the wall. Almost. A teammate, my manager, and I all vented to each other, then got more coffee (I’d already nursed a quadruple venti iced almond nonfat latte all morning).

So, by noon, I’m bored, jittery from a quantity of caffeine that was a bit much even for me, and crabby because I was tired. We went to lunch at the corporate cafe where they were pimping the most amazing taco salads ever, and I proceeded to douse my shirt with cranberry juice. (At least it wasn’t white).

After a luxurious twenty minutes of actual lunching, we all trooped up to our desks, working for forty minutes while our teammates bitched about having to help with our files. Well, not MY teammates, because our team is uber-cool and we get along splendidly, but the other ppl’s teams were much with the bitching. Not fun.

A bit later, we went back to class, where we were subjected to a lesson on how to do a verification of employment. We have all been through training on this. We all do about ninety such verifications a month. We told the trainer this when he asked. HE WENT THROUGH THE ENTIRE THING ANYWAY.

I’m pretty sure I slept through most of it, because by that time my pod-mate and I had amassed a collection of chairs, and made ourselves comfortable, and Todd’s voice is relaxing, with a neutral accent, and no real dynamic changes. . Our managers shook their heads, laughing, and didn’t care. (They were busy surfing flickr and looking at vacation pictures, anyway.) Anyway, we were granted another break, and the lot of us trooped over to the espresso bar for caffeine and sugar. (The sugar ended up being one really intense slice of chocolate mousse cake and ten forks, – we all shared the cake.)

We sat in the cushy lobby chairs and chatted for a while, then went back to class for another hour, after which half of us went back to work. I was greeted with a plate of really amazing pizza, and an apology from another teammate. “I forgot you were in training, and we ordered this today. Have some?” It was cold, but I like cold pizza.

Still, my brain was fried, is fried, and I barely got through the last two hours of my day. Finally I could leave, and now I’m home, beating my Creative Zen Micro into submission and preparing for sleep, and another boring day of training I neither need or want.

Would someone remind me, please, why I sold out to the soulsucking corporate world?
Yeah.
I don’t know either.

I’m in training all week at work, because they think it actually takes a week of eight-hour sessions to learn a piece of software. I’ve begged them to just give me the manual (which is in serious need of editing) and let me just figure it out, but they say I have to sit through it.

(I hated school for the same reason I hate training classes. I have no patience for people who teach to the lowest common denominator.)

I did score my own copy of the manual, however, so, hey, bonus.

* * * * *

The worst thing about being stuck in a class, however, is that my usual schedule is that I still have to work from the end of class, at five, to the end of my normal shift, at seven, which isn’t so bad, really – we’re well paid – salary + OT + incentives – and they’re bridging our bonuses so those of us in training aren’t losing income – but class starts at 8:30, and I have enough of a workload because I was covering two desks in addition to my own, last week, that I have to be in by 7:30 or so every day this week, in order to keep caught up.

Which means being up at six.

And I am so NOT a morning person. I mean, I LIKE my cushy 10-7 shift, and not having to worry about what the traffic will be like between Grand Prairie and Irving, or lines in Starbucks, or, or or…

Ugh.
Yeah.
Just UGH.

We keep the ringer on the bedroom phone turned off, for the most part, so when I heard the phone ringing at 12:15, I thought it was the television. Of course, I was watching Rent, and the phone in the guy’s flat sounds nothing like any of our phones, so I did finally glance over and see that the caller ID was active, and the area code was from Minnesota.

I knew, of course, that it’d be Julia (Bripadme to the LJ crewe) calling from Cupertino, where she’s spending her weeknights for the next month or so. “Melissa!!!!!!” she shrieked into the phone so loudly that I could actually count the six exclamation points. “Guess where I am?”

But I knew. Well, sort of.

“San Jose!!!!!!!” I squealed back, using SEVEN exclamation points, because, hey, I’m the one writing the entry. (Actually, I did not squeal. I never squeal. Ever. Well. Not in public. But I was properly enthusiastic, if a little jealous because I’ve been homesick all month, and it’s not improving. )

Anyway, she was calling from the middle of Stevens Creek Blvd to ask for advice on late night dining. I’d recommended Hobee’s because no one should miss out on such a place, but it was after ten in California (obviously) and since it’s Sunday, it was closed. She found an IHOP as I was looking up addresses for Denny’s (which I knew would be open, though the only one I’m familiar with is the one on Bascom in Campbell) on the web, but it, too, was closed. (As I’m writing this I’ve just remembered that the IHOP on N. First in downtown San Jose is open past ten, but sending her to downtown San Jose, from Cupertino, after having been on a plane all day, seemed cruel. I mean, if I was gonna send her that far, I’d have just sent her to Original Joe’s.)

I need to remind her that there’s generally a nifty piano player in the lobby of the SJ Fairmont at night. She’d enjoy it, I think. (Actually, I dated a guy who played piano at the Fairmont way back in the mists of my pre-Fuzzy life, but that is a completely different story, and I’m saving it for the book, I think.)

Anyway, I finally just sent her back the other way on Stevens Creek, knowing that if she went far enough she’d eventually hit Safeway and/or McDonalds, and I recommended she check out Miyake for lunch while she was in town, so all is well.

But the ten minute conversation we had was enough to wipe away the remnants of me being incredibly frustrated and disappointed in myself earlier tonight, and it was good to talk to her, however briefly. *sigh* I really need more women friends.

My last words to her, “Hah, I’m giving you directions in a city I don’t even live in. I am so blogging this.” And so I’ve done.

Last year, with the help of all of you, I raised (roughly) a thousand dollars for Habitat for Humanity

This year, I’d really like to double that, but I need your help now. (I’m also considering a different charity. Something smaller. $1000 goes farther for a small charity than a large one.)

First, I need help with an over-all theme. You may remember that I solicited pix of doors last year, and used them, along with song lyrics, as inspiration for entries and flash fic on a theme of houses and home. This year, I’ll likely be MoBlogging at least part of it, because of external committments, and because it’s way easier to stay awake when you’re out and about.

Second, I need a support system. Especially during the wee hours of the night. If I know you, and you’re local, I’m willing to host a sort of “Slumber Party for Grown Ups,” just to have help staying up. If you’re NOT local, please consider chatting with me over IM during the ‘thon. This helps more than you could ever know.

Third, I need your money. (But not yet.)

Blogathon 2006 begins at 9:00 AM EST on Saturday, July 29th, and lasts 24 hours, with a required post every half hour. Charities are chosen by individual bloggers, and must be able to accept online donations. No blogger ever handles any donated funds..

I say… And you think…?

1. Band :: Aid
2. Tan :: Shoes & pink shoelaces
3. Mount :: Ararat
4. Arcade :: Pinball wizard
5. Customize :: Specify
6. Hamburger :: Mary’s
7. Solid :: State
8. Forbidden :: Forest
9. Deter :: Desist
10. Torment :: Sweet torture

Like this meme? Play along here.

A few years ago, I did a month-long meme in which each days post was centered around a letter of the alphabet, and each letter was handled sequentially. I don’t know if the original meme-host is still hosting it, but I like having a theme to work with, however loosely structured it may be, and since Sky has asked me to share my thoughts on Astrology, I thought I might just do the whole alphabet, while I’m at it.

* * * * *

Your Horoscope For Today

It would be easy to begin this with something easy like, “I am Leo, hear me roar,” but the truth is that most of the time I don’t feel very Leo-ish. I’m horribly awkward in large groups, inhibited until I really warm up to people, and generally disinterested in 98% of the population of the world. (The remaining 2%, however, which is made up by the folks who are competent, talented, intelligent, funny, etc., fascinate me to no end. If you’re reading this, or if I read your stuff/hang out with you/interact with you at all, you’re in that 2%, and I probably have completely inappropriate fan-girlish feelings about some aspect of what you do or who you are.) So, apparently, I’m a Leo who had her self-esteem reserves removed at birth.

Anyway, while I have a very vague understanding of the signs of the zodiac and how they apply to personalities, and while I recognize terms like ‘rising sign’ when they are tossed about, I don’t really have true comprehension of what it all means and how it applies, and, as with many spiritual things, I’m extremely skeptical, and I just don’t like the notion that any external force guides or controls what we as individuals do with our lives. (I feel the same way about organized religion, actually, and the truth is that I embraced (semi) regular church-going more for the sense of community than for any burning desire to get closer to someone else’s concept of God. Well, also, I like the music, and singing in the choir is fun. Ecept for the robes. So not loving the robes. But I digress.)

It may not be entirely fair to lump Astrology in with organized religion, and in truth, I don’t dismiss any of it out of hand. I’ll confess that when it comes to such things, I tend to pick and choose the bits that are relevant to me, and pretty much ignore the rest. Do I read my horoscope? Once in a while, sure, but more for entertainment than for actual information. (I gravitate to Free Will Astrology as much because it’s snarky than for any other reason.) Do I blame Mercury being in retrograde when I have a sucky day? No. Because I don’t think Mercury is responsible for what I do. And I’m far more influenced by the weather report than by any particular alignment of planetary bodies. (And come on, horoscopes are vague on purpose. Anyone can interpret them in any way possible. As with any prophecy, at some point it’s all self-fulfilling.)

Do I think my friends who DO believe – truly believe – in all this, are stupid or naive, or wrong? Never. But I think it’s their belief that makes it so. Religion, after all, isn’t about fact, it’s about faith. It doesn’t matter if the religion involves praying at an altar or calculating the paths of stars in the sky. And deep down, or maybe not so deep, a part of me envies their ability to just trust, accept, and get something out of it. It’s just that my mind doesn’t work that way. I’m not wired for it.

Sky, this doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hear your thoughts, or interpretations, and it doesn’t mean that I disbelieve everything. It just means I’m skeptical. I love hearing your thoughts and ideas, because even when I don’t entirely agree with them, they make me think about things in a new way. And a change of perspective is NEVER a bad thing.

A while ago I posted a meme in which someone gave me a letter and I was to write about five things which begin with that letter and what they mean to me. I then offered to assign letters to others. Recently, my blog-friend Beth, asked if she could have a letter, and when she’d written her post, I asked her if she’d send the meme back my way. She assigned me the letter D.

Degustation.
I first encountered this word in France, as we were driving from Bezier to Carcassone about four years ago. I kept seeing it painted on signs in front of farm houses, or on gates. I wondered about it, but it wasn’t until our last night in St. Thibery that I learned that it meant that the people in those houses were offering tastes of their wine, in order to elicit sales. Ben (or was it Bill?) one of the B&B Owners said that it reminded them of the word “disgusting,” but that most of the wines were quite good. They went on to explain that one should never drink white wines along the Canal du Midi as they’re blended from various grapes, and tended to be uneven, but that the reds were always excellent. They punctuated their lecture on French wine with samples. By the end of the evening, I was buzzed, high on life, and not entirely certain that the fireworks we shot off in the empty field behind the house weren’t just in my head. I spent most of the 13-hour plane ride from CDG to SFO asleep, though, so, it was all good.

Dreams
As a kid, I went through phases where I wanted to be a jockey, a singer (specifically Billie Holiday or Judy Garland), President of the USA, or a marine biologist. Oh, and I wanted to write great books. I think it’s cool that our dream-selves are often radically different from our real selves, but also, I think a little “what if” play is healthy. Speculating gives us ideas and inspiration. I also think it’s fascinating the way our dreams form our lives, even when the actual paths we take diverge in radical ways. I’m never going to be a marine biologist, but I live for the ocean-related shows on The Discovery Channel, and still have a slight obsession with sharks.

the Dark
I’ve never been afraid of the dark, as much as I was afraid of what might be lurking within it, but as I’ve gotten older, the childhood fears have given way to a love of darkness. The dark of night is when my mind is most alive, racing with ideas long after I should be sleeping, it’s also the coolest part of the day, when the heat and its accompanying tension break away, leaving sillky, smooth, restful nighttime in their wake. Isn’t it interesting, though, that light is just light, but dark is always THE DARK, as if it’s not just an absence of light, but an actual entity? Food for thought.

Drawing
I love art, and art supplies, and I would kill to be able to draw, but there’s some synaptic failure between what I see in my head and what my hands are capable of putting on paper. I am always eager to watch others draw, then, and to see how they work. For me, the process is as interesting as the finished product.

Diaries
I’ve owned several diaries, journals, blank books and such over the years, but I can never stay loyal to them. I feel like whatever I put on nice paper has to be GOOD, instead of REAL. When I was introduced to OpenDiary by a friend, I knew I’d found my niche. Blogging gives me the freedom of a diary in that I can write whatever occurs to me, and comes with feedback and external accountability. What could be better?

That’s it for me and the letter D. Want a letter of your own? Let me know!

My aunt, Patricia Klindienst, will be doing readings from / signings of her book The Earth Knows My Name: Food, Culture and Sustainability in the Gardens of Ethnic America

tomorrow (today)
Saturday, June 10th at 2:00 pm at Filoli
(here’s their blurb about her)

and
Monday, June 12th at 7PM at Cody’s Books (on Fourth Street) in Berkeley.

as well as on
Saturday, June 24th from 11:30 am – 1:00 pm
at Common Ground Garden Supply & Education Center in Palo Alto.

You should totally go.

(Also, she’ll be in Seattle on the 21st and in Santa Fe, NM on the 17th. )

A placeholder, and an acknowledgement. Or several.

Beth: Letter accepted. A divine post about d-words is forthcoming.

Sky: Topic acknowledged. An entry is in the stars…

Janet: I’ve thought about the topic of which you wrote (Vampire!Snape), but I prefer His Snarkiness to be entirely human. Still, I’ve been noodling with my original vampire story here and there, and might post bits of it to moonchilde in a week or two. Remind me?

HAPPY FRIDAY