It's My Deadline and I'll Cry if I Want To

I cried at work today. These tears had nothing to do with a death, or an accident, or a fight with a loved one. These tears were shed out of frustration.

Usually I get angry- spitting mad- when the stupidity of the job gets to me. Today they broke me. I went through a stack of Chipotle napkins (note to self…must get more Chipotle) while hiding behind my cubicle wall so no one could witness my demise. I MUST have been utterly frustrated to actually call someone and cry on their shoulder. I think I scared them. Mamasoo is known as a bitch, not a crybaby.

So, not only was management being reluctant about giving me answers I needed to complete a report I'm working on, I was forced to delay a deadline- twice- because of it. And of course, when I get frazzled, I get sloppy. I get so angry and upset that I don't think things through. The report I had to prepare for this certain manager in order for her to get answers from her manager had to be redone three times. Information passed to me months ago was recanted when brought up, and it skewed the results of the report. At least the CRETIN that scurried over to the manager to inform them I was running the routine wrong (using their information) called and apologized for "getting me in trouble". Then, after correcting the report (not my fault), I neglected to correct a comparison (my fault). A nasty email from the manager informed me of that error. I was already into my fifth napkin by then (they're made without bleach and from 90% post-consumer recycled paper! At least I'm earth-friendly while I cry…) and this just made it worse.

I think I snapped today because lately I've been at everyone's beck and call to produce reports, drawings and proposals for upper management. And we all know upper management needs these reports IMMEDIATELY and extremely dumbed-down because they don't want to have to "think about it", IT being the results of the report.

But when I need something on a deadline- which happens EXACTLY FOUR TIMES A YEAR- no one takes me seriously. I was actually questioned in a meeting with the above-mentioned manager about my deadline date. Management has no idea what my process is, so why am I being questioned? I guess the point of this part of my rant is that I don't question management's deadlines, why should they be questioning mine? As it turns out…it doesn't look like I'll get any answers until the MIDDLE OF THE MONTH anyway!

Okay, I just realized that the middle of the month for me means PMS. That...might explain my reaction to this situation, but seriously, it's still a situation. Do I like being everyone's whore? Do I like being everyone's circus bear- jumping through hoops and juggling balls? My business contacts love me- they've told me so many, many times. My boss has doled out the rare nuggets of praise over the years. But Upper Management? One member of Upper management…has referred to me as "Autocad Lady" and won't speak to me in elevators. Another member has ignored me at the mall. And never respects my deadlines. Am I destined to be a peon the rest of my working career?

I left the answer to that question hanging until I got home. I had two hours of commute to think it over. And the answer is yes…I am destined to be a peon for the rest of my working career. And I'll tell you why.

Even though I've supervised many people, have made crucial decisions and worked on multi-million dollar projects in past jobs and am perfectly capable of being Upper Management it will never happen. Requirement number one to move up the corporate ladder is that you must kiss ass. And the LAST thing I do is kiss ass. I usually tell it like it is, and if I don't like you, you know it.

Requirement number two is you have to attend meetings. I think meetings, especially weekly meetings, are a waste of time. They're usually run by the wrong (read "stupid") people and end up not accomplishing what they've set out to do. Plus being late is a pet-peeve of mine, and it's a requirement that you MUST wait for Upper Management to show up, since they're so busy doing other things they can't possible get to a meeting on time.

Requirement number three is you will probably have to work late. No, let me rephrase that. You'll probably have to stay at work late. Doesn't mean you're necessarily working. You might have taken a LONG lunch hour with the contractor-du-jour and need to catch up. You may be trying to get Lady Gaga tickets for your kids. You may be surfing p0rn sites (even though our company doesn't let you on anything remotely suspicious…) But whatever the reason, you'll be working late. Me? Sorry- I have a family to go home to.

Requirement number four- you have to torture the people under you. After all, they are the people who make you look good. You have to harass them to get you reports that are all ready available if you would have just listened to your underlings when they told you where to look. You have to harass them to print things out for you because it really is too much trouble to find the print button in the document you have open. You have to harass them to make even minor corrections on reports that you've created because you're too busy to make them yourself. Seems the higher you go up the corporate staircase, the less work you actually have to do?

Notice the money didn't even come into consideration. I wouldn't trade my freedom at the job and the freedom at home to make the salary these managers make. I'll stay where I am, thank you. Frustrations and all. As long as I have recycled napkins and a shoulder to cry on.

Trouble on the 5:04

I know, I know. It's been a few days since I posted. I can't get my thoughts together to write a cohesive post. I'm mad and now I'm sick. I've re-written this post twice already.

When I take the LIRR home (which has been pretty much every day the last few days) I usually take the 5:01 to Ronkonkoma. I don't live on the Ronkonkoma line, but that train is pretty much empty every day, plus it leaves three minutes before the 5:04 so I can get out of Dodge faster. My connecting train is usually at Jamaica when I get there so I don't have to wait outside or battle the hordes on the 5:04 to get in to get a seat.

The only thing I don't like about the 5:01 is when I get to Jamaica and the doors open the people waiting don't let you off. I've shouldered plenty of people out of the way so I can get off the train. I've exchanged words with a few people crowding to get on this virtually empty train. Whatever. I get my knocks in- do you know how heavy Stephen King's new book is? Hidden in my bag, it's a formidable weapon.

Once I get on the 5:04, it's about 25 minutes to my stop. Sometimes, it's the longest 25 minutes of my life. Especially if one of my favorite characters is on board that day.

Character #1- Smelly Lady. This heavy lady is very nice- I've heard her speaking to other people on the train, but one has to hold one's breath when passing her. She doesn't smell like unwashed flesh, or body odor but like sweetly rotting organic matter. Like a compost heap. She looks clean but she smells dirty. Earthy dirty. I can't describe it- I just know I feel like gagging when I walk past her. So I try not to.

Character #2- The Stalker. I'm not alone when I say Dan is disgusting. I met him previously when I had the party place- he came to a kosher party with his daughters. We talked, realizing we both took the same train home. I would like to say that he stares at me because I made such an impression on him when we met that day, but no. I've caught him staring at other women on the train. With his hand down his pants. One time vigorously rubbing. Yeah, I know. Gross.

He's slick about it, too. Once he finishes his card game with the other commuters, he'll stand in the doorways or in seats facing the me and use the reflections in the windows to check me out. I've woken up with him standing in the doorway peeking out behind the advertising signs. Staring at me. One time Diane, a fellow commuter and friend of mine, confronted him and told him he had to stop gawking at the pretty girls* riding the train. He feigned ignorance and went on his merry way. To stalk me and stare at me. Diane and I compared notes the next morning.

MR sees him walking to home when the train leaves and swears he's going to follow him home or run him over. I haven't seen him in a week or so (thank goodness) so I guess he's safe. For now. Bwahahaha!

Character #3- The Bombay Nightingale. Lordy. When I see this Indian lady on the train, I know now not to sit in front of her. She rides the train from Brooklyn and she's totally plugged into her MP3. And she sings. Indian music. Not the whole song, but the most annoying parts. And she's LOUD! The other day she kept bursting into song and startling the whole car. I made eye-contact with several of the other riders and they were as pissed off as I was. Granted, I did have a splitting headache so that didn't help.

As the train neared my stop, I got up and went to stand in the door area. Another woman joined me and we rolled our eyes together whenever the Nightingale screeched another song. We exchanged "pleasantries" about her singing and rolled our eyes again when she joined us in the door area. I shot her a really dirty look and she had the NERVE to ask what's my problem?

Oh, no. You didn't.

I told her that her singing was disruptive to EVERYONE in the car and that she was singing for the whole ride. "Am I disturbing you?", she asked really snottily.

D'uh.

"Yes, you were. You were disturbing everyone." At this point the other woman agrees with me.

"Oh, now you're disturbing me. Why are you disturbing me. I don't disturb anyone."

W. T. F. Okay, lady. you're nuts.

She followed the other woman off the train complaining the whole time that she's not disturbing anyone and that we're the ones disturbing everyone. When we (the nice lady and I) crossed paths at the bottom of the station platform, I told her some people just don't get it.

So now I have to contend with crazy singing lady when I ride the 5:04.

I think I'll start taking the bus home. I may be the only one that speaks English on that ride, but at least no one breaks into song.


*Clarification...I am certainly not pretty, and certainly not the only woman this guy stalks.

I Always Feel Like...Somebody's Watching Me

Hi Internet Friends! Whoops, sorry. Speak softly, they might hear you. Eesh- I'm typing too loud. Type quietly, Mamasoo. You never know who might be watching. Or listening.

Like maybe, um, my company?

They've blocked blogger.com so I can't post from work.

They're taking the fun out of working.

Now, when my routines are running (and running, and running) I'll go out for a smoke. Except I don't smoke. So I'll go downstairs for coffee. Or tea. Or donuts salad. Or maybe I'll clean my office. Or run up 37 flights of stairs. I certainly can't work because the program gums everything up EXCEPT the internet.

But I'll find something to do.

Like write my blog on Word, send it home and copy and paste into Blogger at night. Ha! More than one way to skin a cat, Corporate Toads!

Stay tuned...

The Whore of Babylon

Okay, maybe not Babylon. I'm not THAT far out on Long Island. But today, I definitely felt like a whore. Or maybe a bitch. Yeah- today, I was everybody's bitch.

I decided to become an architect early on in life. You see, I was a Brady Bunch fan. I loved Greg, was jealous of Marsha and wanted to slap Cindy around. And before I knew he was gay, I loved Mike Brady. I waited anxiously for him to come home from the office with a roll of plans, or catch him in his office at his drafting table- damn those kids for always interrupting his creativity! And Mrs. Brady. How many times I seethed when she draped herself around him while he was trying to work. Yes, I loved and admired Mike. Whenever anyone asked me what I wanted to be, I would say (after my customs-inspector stage) an Architect. If Mike could support six kids, a trendy wife, a live-in housekeeper, huge house and awesome vacations to Hawaii then architect looked pretty good to me. Plus I could draw and was pretty creative. I knew I wouldn't make any money being an artist, so it seemed like the perfect job.

Um. Yeah.

Fast forward to college. I was at an immediate disadvantage my first year at NYIT. I didn't know how to draft, I had no tools and had no idea how to use them once I bought them. Drafting was NOT taught in college- most of my classmates had taken drafting in high school. Add the construction classes to my confusion. Again, a lot of my male classmates worked construction after school or during the summer. I didn't know a stud from a beam.

Throw into that mixture of college angst a fiance and a wedding and cook up a recipe for disaster.

Fast forward my first architectural job. A small architectural firm in Queens. My mom put in a good word for me there (she had dated one of the partners and the other partner lived a block away from them.) I learned how to make blueprints the ammonia way, stand in line at the building department (several hundred times pregnant) and how to produce a set of construction drawings that eventually didn't look like they were bleeding after the partners got through marking it up with the red pen. I was happy there (except for the time the guy came in with the gun- but that's another blog post) but the pay was paltry. I was basically there just to serve the apprenticeship before I took the exam to become a registered architect. I was married with a baby and both salaries weren't cutting it, however. And it was here I learned that architects are whores.

Philip Johnson, one of the greatest architects of the 20th Century said it best- "Architects are pretty much high-class whores. We can turn down projects the way they can turn down some clients, but we've both got to say yes to someone if we want to stay in business. " So right. And you can be the cleverest, most innovative, artistic architect in the world- if the client doesn't like that color because it's too "mustardy" then you have to change it.

Fast forward to my second architectural job. Regretfully, I left the first job for double the salary working for New York City Housing and Preservation and Development. Earning my halo renovating abandoned crack houses for low and middle class housing. Learned Autocad. Worked my way up to supervising 10 other architects. Lived through the drama of a morally corrupt set of bosses. Got pregnant with Obdurate Daughter. Divorced Ex-Asshole. Met my hubby-to-be. Was tenth in line to become a Permanent employee. Got passed over in favor of all "the good ole boys". Filed a EEO complaint. Answered an ad in the Times (thanks, Frank) for my current job.

Sidestep, please, to the Registered Architect Exam. In order to take responsibility for your drawings and project, one must be registered with the State of New York as an architect. In order to become registered, one must pass an exam.

The Mother of All Exams.

Harder than the Bar Exam.

Harder than the Medical Exam.

This test (in my day) was four days long, composed of nine parts- Structures, Planning, Design, Plumbing/HVAC, Site Design, etc. The LAST day was a 12 hour long exam where you plan a building within the guidelines and produce a full set of drawings. I know people who have thrown up before this test, have taken this test nine times and who have had nervous breakdowns because of this last exam. I've taken it three times, as had MR. All in all, he's passed five parts of this torture test, I've passed two. Is it something I wish I've accomplished? Yes. Do I need it for my current job? No. It would have been nice to be registered, but then again, think of the liability insurance...

Fast forward to my next job, the present job. I started in my current job as Chief Architect. I was responsible for plans and fit-studies of the home office of a major Financial Institution. I designed trading floors. I spoke with heads of departments. I instituted Archibus (a facilities database) to help with cost allocation. I was one of a kind in my little world of Facilities. I was newly married to MR.

Fast forward through one merger and one layoff then 12 years later. I no longer do design. I no longer do planning. I do mostly data input. I have a deadline one week out of every quarter. And it seems that everyone wants a piece of my ass during that week. And I usually get my period around that time, so it makes the idiocy that I deal with all the more idiotic. But isn't this your job, you may ask? Don't people need the reports that you produce? Yes they do, and I do support management with my reports. It's all the "extra" crap that's not really in my job description that people ask me to do because they know it will be right, and they'll get it quickly if I do it.

I won't go into specifics about who and what pisses me off. I don't want to be "Dooced". But today I should have just laid down on my back and let them have at me. They did anyway. And they didn't even offer me a smoke.

Curse you, Mike Brady.

Have you Heard About Pandora?

From Wikipedia- "In Greek mythology, Pandora was the first woman. As Hesiod related it, each god helped create her by giving her unique gifts. Zeus ordered Hephaestus to mould her out of Earth as part of the punishment of mankind for Prometheus' theft of the secret of fire, and all the gods joined in offering this "beautiful evil" seductive gifts. According to the myth, Pandora opened a jar (pithos) in modern accounts referred to as "Pandora's box", releasing all the evils of mankind— although the particular evils are not specified in detail — leaving only Hope inside once she had closed it again. She might have opened the jar out of simple curiosity and not as a malicious act."

From the Greek, Pandora means "all-gifted." A specific gift she was given from Apollo was the Gift of Music.

A few months ago, a co-worker gave me a gift. He told me about Pandora.com. I opened it, used it, and flooded my musical tastes with all sorts of new music. Not to mention my iPod.

Pandora is a product of the Music Genome Project. Created by Will Glase, John Kraft and Tim Westergren to "capture the essence of music at the fundamental level" using over 400 attributes to descrive songs and a complex mathematical algorithm to organize them. Again, from Wikipedia- " A given song is represented by a vector (a list of attributes) containing approximately 150 "genes" (analogous to trait-determining genes for organisms in the field of genetics). Each gene corresponds to a characteristic of the music, for example, gender of lead vocalist, level of distortion on the electric guitar, type of background vocals, etc. Rock and pop songs have 150 genes, rap songs have 350, and jazz songs have approximately 400. Other genres of music, such as world and classical music, have 300–500 genes. The system depends on a sufficient number of genes to render useful results. Each gene is assigned a number between 1 and 5, in half-integer increments. Given the vector of one or more songs, a list of other similar songs is constructed using a distance function.

To create a song's genome, it is analyzed by a musician in a process that takes 20 to 30 minutes per song. Ten percent of songs are analyzed by more than one technician to ensure conformity with the standards, i.e., reliability."

Wow. 20-30 minutes per song? They add 15,000 analyzed tracks to the Music Genome a month. They must have millions of songs in their collection!

Okay. So what? Big deal. What does that mean for me, you ask?

With Pandora.com (which I listen to at work to drown out the large ambient noises) you can set up "stations" using your favorite artist or genre. They will then play songs that are similar (using all those attributes and vector thingys) to what you initially like. For example (and don't laugh) my stations are:

• Stone Temple Pilots Radio
• Billy Joel Radio
• Queen Radio
• Christian Rock Radio
• Red Hot Chili Peppers Radio
• Traditional Folk Radio
• Soundgarden Radio
• Rockin' Holidays Radio
• Swingin' Christmas Radio
• Classical Christmas Radio
• Boulevard of Broken Dreams Radio
• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Radio
• Panic At The Disco Radio
• Fortune Faded Radio
• Ramones Radio

Currently, I'm listening to "How's it Going To Be" by Third Eye Blind, on the Red Hot Chili Peppers Radio. Now it's "Rearviewmirror" by Pearl Jam on the Stone Temple Pilots Radio. I'm using QuickMix- you can check the Radio stations you want to hear, and they'll "shuffle" for you. So I never know what I'm going to get, but I will know I'll like it. The Music Genome said so.

"Hello Hopeville" by Michelle Shocked just popped up on the Traditional Folk Radio.

I also loaded Pandora.com onto my iPod. And I have a two page list I compiled this week of all the songs I need to buy from iTunes. Why? Because the Music Genome knows what I like.

A Few Things Before My Life Gets Back on Track

I start work on Monday. I had three nice weeks of unemployment. No, I really only had six days of unemployment. The rest of the three weeks I was off courtesy of UBS. They escorted me out of the building on April 23rd, but my last day of employment was May 7th.

I start my new/old job with Cushman & Wakefield. Doing what I was doing and where I was doing it when UBS fired me. My boss called me the other day (after I was home for two weeks- whatever!) and asked me if I was going to be coming back bitter. Why would I be bitter? I recieved 33 weeks severence, four weeks paid vacation, got three weeks off and still got a job after all that. Not bitter- bittersweet. I'm going to miss putting Zombiegirl on the bus in the morning, being there for her when she gets home and doing homework with her in the afternoons. But I have to bring home the bacon.

Mmmmm. Bacon. Only had it once while I was home.

I wanted to blog alot while I was off, but I was too damn busy. Here's a recap and some updates:

• Killer the Fish seems to have made a complete recovery. He's no longer swimming upside down, or hanging out on the bottom of the bowl. It was like he had a mini stroke for awhile. He's active now, swimming around like normal. Thank God. We almost flushed him twice.
• My hallway upstairs, which is the size of a room since we raised the ceiling after it collapsed on the kids and Lola, is almost finished. I can taste it. Pictures will go up on the blog next week. It makes me happy to go up there.
• Zombiegirl's room is being painted. It's a most awesome blue. I should be finished with it next week also.
• My man Parker's Dad and Zombiegirl's soccer coach, Jason, hurt his leg showing the girls a follow-through at soccer practice yesterday. And ended up in the ER. This put a damper on our night-the girls were supposed to go out drinking. Oh well, as long as he's not seriously hurt. He seems to get hurt alot. He screwed up his hand last Memorial Day weekend at our house in Riverhead cheating at tug-of-war! Get well soon, Jason!
• I've planted my vegetables, herbs and flowers I got at Z-girl's school and the St. Andrew's Youth Group plant sale. I'm now growing Mint, Basil, Parsley, Rosemary, Lemon Thyme, Eggplant, Peppers, Peas and Tomatoes. We've planted Chamomille and Cilantro from seed and they're just starting to come up! If you know where I live, you'll know I have very little sun on our property. I was out there every hour on the hour evaluating my sun situation. We get about 5-6 hours of full spring sun in the morning, and dappled sun after that. Hopefully that will be enough for our little plants to grow. I'm planting more herbs from seed today.
• I'm the new webmaster for St. Andrew's church! I'm learning as I'm going. Rob got me a copy of Microsoft's Sharepoint (ha!) Designer and I've successfully copied from the already established webiste onto Designer by .ftp. I'm fiddling around with some layouts and changes- all advice is welcome! I'll link when we're up and running. Go me!
• Mother's Day was hard. I suffered two losses recently which made celebrating this holiday tough. Thankfully, my wonderful sister-in-law Paula had us over to her house to celebrate my niece Lily's 2nd birthday. My other SIL Laura, my MIL Johanna and Paula's MIL Gerry all celebrated being mothers/grandmothers/godmothers/aunts. My other niece Samantha and nephew Raymond made me forget my woes for a little while. (I really have to blog about these kids- they are adorable!) So a really nice party and really great gifts from my family made this Mother's Day bearable. Thanks guys!
• I got my bike fixed. And got one of those holders added to the back. MR then put saddlebags on the back for me to tote stuff back and forth- to the library, Stop N Shop or church. I'm going to try to either walk or ride whenever going anywhere in the neighborhood.

I enjoyed being a SAHM for awhile, but it's back to the real world. The daily grind. The treadmill. I've downloaded a lot of songs onto my iPod so that the commute will be bearable. Now if I can figure out something to make WORK bearable.

It's been a week...

After a grueling weekend of soccer and hiking (which I'll post about sometime in the next few days,) the week of April 20th started off really great! I had a decent day at work on Monday. It was pretty quiet in the office, and I was able to get alot of work done. At home that night, it was quiet too. Tuesday, April 21st was great- because it was my birthday! My 46 year old self had a surprise waiting for me when I got into the office- cookies from Soulspeak23! White chocolate macadamia chili chunk chewy goodness. Vegan, too! No eggs! They were too awesome to keep to myself, so I put them out for everyone to enjoy. And they did. The vultures in my office had them gone by lunchtime. I was able to get a report that was due out that day, and I finished up some stuff that I had hanging around my desk. Will, our mail guy, gave me an Estee Lauder bag with makeup, which was a really nice surprise. And I got tons of birthday emails and phone calls. Except for Rick, who forgot. We didn't celebrate my birthday on Tuesday because I had Girl Scout Camp training at night, which was pretty interesting. I'll post on that next weekend, when I get home from the overnight.

So we postponed the celebrating until Wednesday, which turned out to be an awesome day. Soulspeak23 and Ruddyna surprised me with lunch with an extra special guest- SS23's hot Hungarian wife, Ildi ,drove in to meet us and take us to Havana, a Cuban restaurant in the Village. A pitcher of Sangria (yum!) and a pork (yes, but it WAS my birthday) sandwich later- I was feeling happy and psyched for the rest of the day. When I got home, the whole house was decorated with balloons, and MR got Chinese. Dad and Rob came over, and the six of us pigged out. MR and Beena lit the "37" candles on my cake (they didn't have a 4 and a 6- it could've have been worse- they could've made it a 73!) Rob gave me my own bottle of Maker's Mark, which I opened and shared (yum again!) and MR gave me an iPod touch! Awesomeness! Beena and Zombiegirl bought the covers, plugs and screen protectors for the iPod. This was great- it's my first iPod!

On Thursday, the wind turns. The tide goes out. I roll a snake eyes.

I walk to the bus stop using my new iPod, listening to Meatloaf. I miss my bus. I forgot my ID, so I need to get a temporary. I get to work late. Certain co-workers get snarky with me. I started a big project and deleted a good portion of one of my floors. My Executive Director comes into my office, closes the door, and fires me. Yes, I was terminated. After 11 years with the company, I got laid off. I knew they were doing a massive layoff, but you never think it's going to be you. I'm escorted up to HR (after shooting a quick IM to SS23 to let her know what's going on.) The very sweet HR rep went over my severance and medical, then got me a car to take me home. And so starts my new life as an unemployed, stay at home mom.

Friday, after emailing and speaking to ALMOST everyone at work, I met some of my coworkers at the Port Authority Bowl and celebrated my birthday and layoff! Thanks Rick and his sister Diane, Troy, Ryan, Ruddyna, Kamila, George, Jackie and her hubby Patrick, Cassandra, Teri, my new veggie friend Rich and Vivian. I had fun! No bus incidents on the way home, but I did sleep past my train station (where MR and Z-girl were waiting) and got off two stations past (and about 3 miles away.) Thank goodness I had the iPod and Optimum WiFi. I was able to get MR to where I was -sheepishly- waiting.

So this week could've been worse. I could have been laid off ON my birthday! It's all good.

Hello? Anyone out there?

Today my co-worker told me he found my blog. Which isn't very hard since I posted the link on Facebook, and it's in my email signature. It is a little disconcerting. The first thing I said was "Ooh- don't read my blog!" To think someone whom I work with everyday getting a glimpse into my lunatic ravings made me a little embarrased. I write specifically to 3 or 4 people as well as thousands of unknown web-lurkers. Yeah, I know Soulspeak reads my blog, and she works with me everyday- but she already knows I'm a lunatic, and I tell her all this shit anyway. And my soccer moms are just as nuts as I am, so no worries there. But I respect this specific co-worker's opinion, and I'm a little worried that he'll think I'm shallow for even writing a blog.

But wait a minute...

I call this guy 30 times a day for help with Autocad, Archibus, my PC and general corporate crap. He probably already suspects that I'm stupid, idiotic, dysfunctional. He puts up with alot from me, as well as the rest of my team. So what am I worried about? Hey, Rick- read me! Maybe you'll get some insight into WHY I'm so crabby all day! And that it's not only work that makes me crabby! Isn't this the whole point of blogging? According to Wikipedia, the definition of a blog is "A personal or corporate website in the form of an online journal, with new entries appearing in sequence as they are written, especially as dealing with reflections or opinion, and typically incorporating links to other articles." Why else did I post a blog if not so people can read it. So come on people- read my blog! I'm reflecting. And VERY opinionated. And I ain't got nothin' to hide...

To celebrate my realization that people might ACTUALLY read what I write, I'm having a giveaway. Tell me in the comments what your favorite Girl Scout cookie is by midnight Sunday, January 11th and I'll randomly pick a number and send the winner:

A $25 iTunes gift card. I actually have this in my possession, so no owesies.

Oh, and by the way, Zombiegirl is selling Girl Scout cookies (nice segue, ya think?) They're $3.50, and shipping is free. If you actually buy a box (or more) when you comment, I'll put your name in twice for the iTunes gift card!

Ten Rules for Being Human

My friend Ruddyna sent this to me today. How very introspective.

Ten Rules for Being Human
by Cherie Carter-Scott

1. You will receive a body. You may like it or hate it, but it's yours to keep for the entire period.

2. You will learn lessons. You are enrolled in a full-time informal school called, "life."

3. There are no mistakes, only lessons. Growth is a process of trial, error, and experimentation. The "failed" experiments are as much a part of the process as the experiments that ultimately "work."

4. Lessons are repeated until they are learned. A lesson will be presented to you in various forms until you have learned it. When you have learned it, you can go on to the next lesson.

5. Learning lessons does not end. There's no part of life that doesn't contain its lessons. If you're alive, that means there are still lessons to be learned.

6. "There" is no better a place than "here." When your "there" has become a "here", you will simply obtain another "there" that will again look better than "here."

7. Other people are merely mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects to you something you love or hate about yourself.

8. What you make of your life is up to you. You have all the tools and resources you need. What you do with them is up to you. The choice is yours.

9. Your answers lie within you. The answers to life's questions lie within you. All you need to do is look, listen, and trust.

10. You will forget all this.

A funny thing happened on the way home from Hoboken...

My co-workers and I went out in Hoboken to celebrate Jackie's straight A's in college. After drinking margarita's and Corona's at East LA on Washington Street , I needed to get home at a decent hour- we had Soccer Awards in the morning.

George dropped me off at the ferry in Lincoln Harbor, and I had a nice evening boat ride back to Manhattan. I hopped on the ferry bus to take me to Penn Station. All was going fine, a really nice night out.

As we approached 6th Avenue and 34th St., I buzzed the buzzer to get off, gathered up my things and stood up to move toward the front of the bus. I was a few seats back from the front when the bus driver slammed on the brakes, going from a decent clip to absolutely stopped.

I wasn't standing for long. As I went flying down the aisle, as I approached the front, I grabbed the pole in the front, and swung around headfirst down the bus steps! My head slams through the front doors, and I end up with my head and shoulders outside of the bus, reading the ad on the side, which by the way, was for "Don't Mess With the Zohan".

(Yes. I know you're laughing. I think everyone in front of Macy's on 34th St. was laughing. I'm laughing now too. You know you can't make this stuff up...)

This very nice man comes up the aisle and tries to help me up, managing to get my head back in the bus. He's trying to help me up, since I can't contort myself in the narrow stairweel to turn around and get back on my feet. He's pulling me up, but I'm not going anywhere. My hair is stuck in the door! I tell him this, and he yells at the bus driver to open the door so I can get up. The bus driver, by this way, is apologizing all over the place, but never got out of his seat. Now the door is open, and EVERYONE can see me upside down in the stairwell! Another very nice man outside now comes over, and between the two of them get me standing.

I'm trying very hard not to cry, and to try to focus on the two gentlemen helping me, but everything is blurry and messed up. They find my shoe, which I literally FLEW out of when the bus stopped. They find my bags- one that fell off the bus, the other still left in the aisle. They asked again if I was okay, and I assured them I was. I wanted to get out of there- I was so embarassed!

I get down to Penn Station, get on my train, call Husband and immediately burst into tears. As I'm sobbing out my story to him, I notice the blood dripping down my arm! A cute couple gets on the train, looks over at me, and turn around and head the other way. I don't blame them! Another couple sit down near me, with their kitten, and ask if I'm okay. I smile at the kitty, and tell them I fell out of a bus. She gives me a napkin to wipe the blood off my arm. New York City- lots of strange people (a kitten?) but very nice...

Taking inventory, I have a bruised left shoulder, radiating pain down to my elbow, bruised tendons on my right arm, maybe from grabbing the pole, a 13" bruise on my butt 2" wide and straight across- right where I hit the step, a sore head and for some reason my knees hurt. God looks out for klutzes, He doesn't let us seriously hurt ourselves.

Somebody Google "Lady falling out of bus at 34th st NYC". Let me know if you find anything. This might be worth framing!