Digi-Scene

How does he know that he's not hungry 10 WHOLE HOURS BEFORE SAID MEAL?

The better question is: How long is it going to take me to get a clue that he DOESN'T WANT TO HAVE DINNER WITH ME?

I think I'm on about the 50^th time that I've had this discussion with him. I must be a slow learner. It's probably going to take about 100 times before I finally stop asking him if he'd like to have dinner with me...

“Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar.” - Drew Carey

I don't HATE my job, I just don't LOVE it. Is that a fine enough distinction? Makes me wish I drank...

"Our wounds are our uniqueness"

I may actually change my mind about network television after last night.

I happened to catch the last 10 minutes of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, and was pleasantly surprised both at the quality of the writing and the quality of the acting. Sometimes when Hollywood gets a little too self-referential, it's kind of off-putting to the majority of us who aren't in on the joke.

It's amazing the number of quality stars that are in this show and even the bit parts that come together so effortlessly.

Monday Night Football may have a run for its money in this household.

Congratulate me on 5 full days of working out at the gym this week. I'm off to celebrate with a plate of chocolate chip cookies...

Dooce put up a post today, asking about our experiences with dating and what were deal breakers for us in the men we dated. After reading over a hundred comments, Kaitlin Duck Sherwood (I wish she had put in the URL for her blog if she has one), said exactly what I wanted to...

"I used to think that I had specific deal-breakers: no smokers, no fatties, nobody who had completely different political or religious convictions, etc. But what I found is that those are really preferences, and don't really matter nearly as much as being kind/considerate.

Note that he needs to be kind/considerate to everyone/thing, and that manifests itself in many ways, most of which have been detailed above.
+ If he's considerate of himself, he's not likely to be addicted to food, drugs, or alcohol.
+ If he's considerate of me, he's likely to modify his personal appearance and/or grooming habits to suit me (and won't beat me).
+ If he's considerate of other people, he's not likely to be divorced, feuding with his parents, or rude to service personnel.

Being crazy about me also is a big plus. If I don't absolutely thrill him, he should find someone else. (Note: I believe the tshirt that says, "I am somebody's fantasy". The trick is finding that someone.)

Now, after ten years of being deliriously happy with my husband, I'm much less willing to believe in absolute deal-breakers in case I were widowed. (Okay, I should admit that death is a complete deal-breaker.) If I had to go out looking again, it would be *easier* if he were physically gorgeous and had great teeth and dental hygine and loved what he did and didn't care about the money and shared my political and religious tastes, but those are far, far less important than whether he is kind."

Amen, sister.

I wish I believed in astrology. Wouldn't it be nice to have a daily map to what was in store for you on any given day? I think it might make the decision about whether to get out of bed or not an easier one.

Since this is my horoscope for Thursday, what's the answer? Do I get out of bed in the morning or not?

"You can quip and converse with the best of them. If someone wants to get into some deep issues, reschedule for later. Right now witty repartee is your forte. Profound topics could confuse you both."

Sounds like I should skip work tomorrow and start the day with happy hour instead.

"I'll marry when everyone can marry," declared Brad Pitt this week. Am I the only cynic out there that thinks that rather than being a moving voice of solidarity for same-sex marriage, this sounds gratingly like a commitment phobic divorced man?

I guess in this day and age even prenups aren't good enough anymore to get a man to the altar. Instead, women will have to alter the course of western civilization first. I say that because in all honesty I doubt it will be men who will be out there stumping for the cause so that they can finally marry their woman.

If she puts up with this load of horse pucky, Angelina deserves her man. Married or not.

While lying in bed early this morning and listening to the news on the clock radio, I had this great idea for a blog entry. I wrote a good deal of it in my head as I lay there and when the radio went off, I promptly fell back to sleep.

Obviously I lost my beautifully well-thoughtout piece when I reentered dreamland and started dreaming about being a professional synchronized swimmer. I wish I could remember my original blog entry so you wouldn't be forced to hear about my synchronized swimming career.

I'll spare you anyway.

I feel like I'm back in college.

I work around people who have worked in the marketing department of my company, for, well...FOR -EV- ER. They also have the coolest corporate chatchki's laying about their cubicles, just ripe for the picking. Why do I only have the urge to break commandment #8 on the list of the 10 commandments when it's a stupid corporate button that says "I Love Jaz" or an old Pets.com sock puppet?

Everyone else's dorm room (read: cubicle) has so much cooler decorating stuff than mine. They have signed memorabilia from the short time that Boomer Esiason was a company spokesperson and I'm relegated to displaying an ugly travel mug of a product we scrapped 9 months after launching.

Will I ever be cool enough to warrant having the groovy chatchki's? Answer me, dammit....

Do I really want to create and give Microsoft Presentations for a living? And travel? And work in a truly hip downtown office?

Showtime is this afternoon at 5:15 pm. Wish me luck...

My sister, her husband and my 5 year-old niece have been vacationing in Cabo San Lucas this week and unfortunately were unable to evacuate ahead of Hurricane John that is spinning towards them as I write this.

Please, dear God, keep them safe and help Nicole not to be afraid. Oh, and I guess thanks are in order that I work for a big, bad company that wouldn't allow me to take vacation so I'm not there with them...

I haven't written on my blog about the one event that has been the most significant thing to happen in my life to date. There's so much I don't understand about it and my feelings that I don't think that talking about it here would be helpful or good for me. However, there is one thing that I've discovered about myself as a result - I'm someone who is an emotional eater.

I've never been all that slender, but I've been what I call healthily curvaceous. I can finally admit that I'm not even that anymore, I've become flat out overweight. I've realized that the only thing that is going to get my weight in check and my body healthy is for my mind and spirit to become healthy again too.

I wish I was already there and that I didn't see the months and months of hard work that await me. I think I'm finally ready to start making some small changes. It's gotta start somewhere...

1. The answer ring of my co-worker's cell phone that he invariably leaves unattended on his desk while he's getting a cup of coffee (Justin Timberlake? Really????)

2. Mom calling during the last inning of the ballgame.

3. The tourist in front of me in line at Bronx Pizza who wants to know what "whitestone" is.

4. The police helicopter hovering over our neighborhood at night giving unintelligble instructions over its loudspeaker. Turns out it was an escaped mental patient from the nearby hospital. I was boiling my water just in case.

5. People who think they can "help" me with my job, because "I use Google all the time".

I'm not a person with very discriminating tastes. I'm not the one to ask to give a review of a restaurant, a movie, or a theatrical performance. If it doesn't outright suck, everything gets a big thumbs up from me. Which is why I make such a good fan. Particularly of San Diego Padres baseball.

The Padres don't outright suck and because of that, any game they play gets a big thumbs up from me, win or lose. I figure that when they lose, they didn't mean to and they'll make it up to me next game. If they win, it's always a pleasant surprise. I think I personify the Padres type of fan. Which is funny when you contrast us with say an LA Dodgers fan.

LA Dodgers fans seem to bleed Dodger blue. They come to our stadium sporting their bright blue hair wigs and painted faces and they really stand out. A Padres fan stands out if they actually own a piece of team memorabilia like a jersey or a hat. We also sit during the games (soaking up the sun) and we'll rouse ourselves to clap if somone gets on base. Otherwise we're seated until the 7th evening stretch (or the next beer run). The LA Dodgers don't personify a true California team, they still seem to carry with them that ol' Brooklyn Dodgers attitude, lo these many years later.

I think this laid back attitude towards sports comes from our cultural environment here in San Diego. I've been to the east coast a number of times and it's always a culture shock when I go there. Everything really is at a much faster pace and more importantly everything's so damn serious, even sports.

I've never understood the phrase "work hard, play hard." Why? I'd much rather take it easy ALL THE TIME and enjoy life as it comes. That's kind of the way the Padres are right now. Yes, there's only a month left in the season and we're a game behind the Dodgers in the division standings, but there's absolutely no sense of panic here or even anxiety to pass the Dodgers. We're enjoying these final long days of summer and aren't necessarily in a hurry for them to end.

OK, I've complained here ad nauseum about my hairstylist because of her uncanny ability to cut hair like she was stuck in Bad Sitcom Land. Well, she has finally moved to Florida and I've been seeing another stylist in the same salon for a couple of months now. The good news is, she has actually given my hair a modern style even during this awkward growing out stage that it's in. I should be in heaven, right? RIGHT?

Well, I am. Sort of.

Unfortunately I've traded in a hairstylist who can't cut hair for a hairstylist that can't seem to get hair color right. Not that she gets it wrong, per se, but it's just kind of....off. Because my hair is so overtly gray, not coloring it isn't an option. I want her to darken the brown in my hair so it doesn't look so red by the time I need to get it colored again. However, my definition of auburn and her definition are miles apart it seems. I'm thinking more Julia Roberts circa early 90's and her version is Lucille Ball circa early 50's. Failure to communicate, indeed.

I recently had a nightmare in which she left out the brown completely when she colored my hair and it ended up being bright orange and then she wouldn't correct it. In my dream I opened up a can of whoop ass on her as my mother watched on in horror. Isn't it interesting that in my dream, my mother was more horrified at my potty mouth than she was about the train wreck that was my hair?

Man, I need a boatload of therapy...(and a new hairstylist)...

Last Thursday, I got the grim news that I was getting the boot from my company. My parting gift wasn't exactly a years supply of Rice-a-Roni, but it wasn't that NEWWWW car, either. I gave the 5 1/2 best years of my life to this company and that's the thanks I get?

Thankfully they gave me a 2 week transition period in which to get my head wrapped around the idea of unemployment and trying to figure out where you go to develop the skill to write up a carboard sign with something clever enough for someone to give me money.

So here's the timeline.

Thursday - Get called into HR. "Sorry to tell you this Kim, but you are part of the RIF. You'll be here for 2 more weeks to 'transition' your remaining projects, and then it's adios. Here's your separation packet. Unfortunately it's not complete with everything you need, because we just decided this morning to add you to the list. Have a nice day."

Friday - Get a phone call from the guy in Geneva, Switzerland who will be heading up the new international version of my team. He asks what I do. I tell him that I can win at solitaire in only 15 moves on a good day. He wasn't amused. Neither was I.

Monday - Begin sending out resumes. Get a phone call that afternoon from a company wanting to interview me.

Tuesday - Get a phone call from the guy in Geneva again. He just found out that a key member of our team who was NOT laid-off has another job offer and has given her two week notice. He'd like to lobby the company to see if I can have my job back. I tell him that I'd love to discuss it further but I have a job interview in half an hour. Subdued, he says that he wishes me well and that I can use him for a reference. What a swell guy. I head out to my interview with a software company just down the road from my current job. The CFO likes what I have to say and I think the interview went well.

Wednesday - Get a frantic call from the guy in Geneva asking me if I won't PLEASE reconsider staying at the company. I tell him I will consider it. He still doesn't know if the request will go through, but his VP has approved it and so has HR. It now needs to be approved by the President of the whole frickin' company. HR asks for a copy of my resume. Hey I just happen to have a VERY up-to-date version to share. *snicker*

As I go home, I reflect on the pros and cons of staying vs going. I know that the software company is very interested, but I honestly don't know if it's going to be a good fit for me. I'm torn.

Thursday - Get to the office and the guy in Geneva calls again. He's already recived a call by the software company to provide a reference. He's put them off for now because he can definitively offer me a job on the new team. I negotiate with him for a few perks that he readily agrees to along with an accelerated review for a pay increase. I ask for 24 hours to consider the offer. I go home and stew and fret and consider. By Friday morning I've decided I'm going to stay.

Friday - Get to the office and find out that the software company has called ALL of my references already and they want to speak with me. I have the unpleasant task of thanking them for their interest, but that I've decided to stay with my current company. They ask if there's any way I would reconsider (ie $$$$), but it really isn't the money, it's about the job. I give the Europe office a ring and let them know I'll be staying. I've let them know that I understand that my employment is "at will", which means that not only can they lay me off, but I can leave whenever I want to too.

I don't plan to stay here forever, but the job market is good right now, and they always say that the best way to find the job you want, is to be looking while you still have a job. I plan to do just that.

That's what it's all about!

I went in this morning to have my first mammogram. If nothing else, I'm glad that I read somewhere in a magazine article about taking some ibuprofen beforehand to minimize the discomfort. Discomfort, hell! They smash your boobs flat between two pieces of plexiglass. On the plexiglass are little red measurement marks and sure enough the technician pulled and tugged and smashed just to see how far along the line my breast could be elongated. I think I scored a 10. As you are imagining that pretty sight, they go ahead and snap a picture of it. It was just my luck that they had to retake one of the images, too. Arrgghh...

I'm trying not to think about the potential results, especially in light of the recent diagnosis my friend Jennifer received that she does indeed have breast cancer. Instead, I just sit here and pray that I get the letter (everything is OK) and NOT the phone call (we need to see you again)...

I love my birthday. I know, I know. Having reached the advanced age of 43, I should be cursing my birthday and the passage of another year, but I honestly love my birthday and I'll tell you why.

It's the one day out of the year that I feel absolutely no guilt about having an entire day that is all about ME. I don't give a rats ass about anyone else on this day. I do what I want, when I want, and for how long I want because, hey. It's my birthday.

Today was a perfect Kim birthday. It started with Boni serving me my favorite breakfast in bed (french toast). Even though he fretted for a solid week because he had never made french toast, I thought it tasted wonderful. Partly it was because I felt completely selfish and decadent about having someone cater to my every whim today, but Boni not only did it willingly and cheerfully, but he was looking for ways to make my day perfect.

In addition to the breakfast in bed, I received a beautiful bouquet of tulips from Boni too. Anytime I receive flowers I get the silliest smile on my face. I honestly think Boni gets as much pleasure out of that as anything else. He also bought me a cake and even sang happy birthday to me, not once but twice (once at breakfast and then later after work when we cut the cake and had ice cream).

Many phone calls and birthday wishes later and quite frankly I am feeling very loved. Isn't that what a perfect birthday is all about?

My boss is nowhere to be found this afternoon. And I'm irritated.

Big changes are afoot here at the international conglomerate that I work for and none of them bode very well for us cubicle dwelling minions. At least this time when they started "right-sizing" the company, they started lopping dead weight from the top first. That at least was refreshing, even if the CEO got what amounted to 18 months of severance pay. What's wrong with him getting the two weeks that most of the people who work for him get? I understand the concept of golden parachutes but that doesn't mean that I can't wish that they would fail to open on the way down.

Last week during my 1:1 with my boss, I got a nice pep talk that "keeping your nose to the grindstone and staying focused on the organizational goals during a time of transition is your best defense against getting the ax". I'm not sure what planet he's from, but in my world, that doesn't amount to squat against a pink slip.

So here I am polishing my nose to a high sheen on this grindstone. And my boss? Since he hasn't been in his office for days now, I'm assuming that he's out on a few job interviews telling other people about how focused he is on organizational goals....

Well, I finally have a term that describes my life in a nutshell, thanks to this URL. I've been self-diagnosed with continuous partial attention or CPA syndrome. This malady manifests itself as the ability to mainly focus on one task, while simultaneously monitoring other background tasks, just in case something more important or interesting comes up.

I recognized the symptoms when I found myself watching a Padres baseball game on the TV this last weekend while at the same time IMing a friend AND paying my bills online. How did I make the leap to a diagnosis of the more serious CPA syndrome rather than just a 24 hour case of multi-tasking? When I realized that I wasn't doing any of these tasks to save time or effort, it was merely because I didn't want to be stuck doing something that was irrelevant or boring. Heaven forbid that I should be bored, even during my leisure time. That was the lightbulb moment that let me know that I was dealing with something more insidious than merely trying to be efficient.

The only way I console myself after having been given this awful news is that at least I don't suffer from polyattentiveness. No one seems to want to hear about your batle with polyattentiveness, but if you mention CPA syndrome, they'll want to tell you all about their ability to do things like blog about an event AS IT IS HAPPENING.

I'm not that far gone. Yet.

People who can argue well, aren't necessarily right.

Earlier this week I was involved in a slight fender bender on the north-bound 805 going to work. Traffic was at a crawl as usual when a woman behind me who was yakking on her cell phone (naturally), didn't see me slow down and rear ended me. She hit me with a fair amount of force, so it was with fear and trepidation that I got out to survey the damage. The only real visible sign of the collision was some scratches on my bumper and the right backup light popped out. As I examined the light later with Boni, turns out that the light bulb also popped out, but wasn't broken. We plugged the light bulb back in and it worked! We reattached the case into the bumper and you can't even tell I was hit.

Just to be on the safe side, I'm going to have a mechanic look at it on Tuesday. How much do you want to bet that he finds a broken whatchmacallit INSIDE the bumper that will cost at least $1,000 to fix? Anyone wanna take that bet?

On a lark yesterday, my friend Patrick and I decided that it was important that we stand in the most southwest corner of the USA and get our picture taken. Obviously this means that we were standing on the beach with the ocean lapping at our feet inches in front of the hideous border fence between California and Mexico. The United States side of the fence was completely deserted except for a few curious folks like ourselves and about half a dozen border patrol agents. This area was supposed to be a park, but the grass around the picnic tables was all dead and there were floodlights and cameras everywhere. It reminded me of that old WWII movie Stalag 17. Unfortunatley, our side is the side that looked like the prison. I could see through the fence into Mexico and see many shops, a pleasant park and a bullfighting arena within feet of the border line. While I looked longingly through the fence at the delicious restaurants and nice hotels in Tiajuana, I saw many faces looking back at me with equal longing at the vast expanse of nothingness I was standing on.

I felt a sadness in me as I looked at these people, milling around the fence, obviously waiting for the few hours until sunset when they would make their attempt at crossing the border. As I talked to Patrick about the recent protest groups here in San Diego that are doing their own border patrols, the anger Patrick displayed about our policies on illegal immigration began to bubble in me too.

You know what I thought of? I thought of President Reagan years ago in Berlin saying "Mr. Gorbachev, TEAR DOWN THIS WALL". In my heart I was saying the same thing. Somehow I doubt President Bush hears us, though...

Today is Day 4 of my New Year's resolution to exercise every day. So far so good, but I can feel a little bit of rebellion coming on with regards to these "good for me" resolutions I promised to make and keep this year. The other two resolutions are to eat healthy and to cut out the Diet Coke. I'm doing a good job at eating healthy mainly because that is the only way Boni cooks and since I have hired him to wait on me hand and foot, I can't in good conscience complain about what he cooks can I? Whenever I whine about wanting a Diet Coke, however, I get no sympathy, just a stern look and a reminder that I've done really well to be "off the sauce" for a whole week now. I hate it when he's right.

I think it would be funny to tell my parents that Boni insists that Diet Coke is tantamount to a shot of whiskey. I wonder what he'd say if he knew that the former Bishop was harboring four 12-packs of "the sauce" in his garage. I'll let him continue to have his delusions about my father. They'll be blown asunder the first time he hears my Dad curse anyway.

Update: I fell off the wagon and had a shot of Diet Coke for lunch. I'll begin the 12-step process anew tomorrow. Just don't tell Boni, OK?