gobble gobble

I saw a car driving somewhat erratically on the freeway this morning. Well, maybe not so much erratically as Yankee Doodly back and forth in its lane. I’m borrowing my parents’ SUV (against everything I stand for: protecting the environment, efficient fuel consumption, not looking like an obnoxious bitch, etc.) and it gives me a higher vantage point. I don’t condone the SUV, but I must say, I am drunk with its power. At any rate, I happened to drive up next to the Willy Weaver and I saw a girl in the passenger seat with her body and head slumped over his lap. Sing it with me now…”The best… part… of waking up”… is a little morning fellatio.

And now, things I’m thankful for:

1. Living in LA where everyone drives and a select group gets head while doing so.
2. Not being part of that select group.
3. That the boyfriend makes me laugh.
4. Being able to have my sister stay with me at my apartment.
5. Homemade cupcakes.
6. The lack of traffic this morning.
7. Feeling sleepy when it’s time to sleep.
8. Sunshine.
9. A boss I admire.
10. Legends on maps.
11. The ability to keep the friends I love close to me, while letting the needy ones go.
12. Acknowledging and accepting that this is selfish.
13. My gay friends and the fact that I can’t even imagine homophobia.
14. Egyptian cotton towels.
15. The nighttime chats with my parents in the backyard.
16. Pants that don’t forgive.
17. Coworkers I am happy to see every day.
18. The fact that Val is one of these coworkers again.
19. Comfortable shoes.
20. Road trips.
21. My acceptable health.
22. Flowers.
23. A new pair of contacts.
24. Sushi dinners that are expensed as work functions.
25. IMing with friends during work.
26. Manhattan.
27. Speed dial.
28. Dim sum with lots of tea to cut the grease and combat food coma.
29. My new scale.
30. Hand sanitizer with moisturizers and Vitamin E.
31. Silk scarves.
32. The internet and all the diseases I researched and thought I had but don’t have.
33. The right blanket.
34. Not being addicted to caffeine.
35. Being able to bake pumpkin bread.
36. Hawaii beaches.
37. Learning new things.
38. The humility I feel when I read really great writing.
39. My digital camera and the photos that my friends ask for to hang in their homes.
40. Knowing more about football.
41. That my sister makes me laugh.
42. Steinbeck the dog.
43. The “Rhymes with –an’s”
44. Free bottled water at work.
45. Electricity.
46. The boyfriend’s nose.
47. Country music.
48. A clean floor.
49. Sharpened pencils and scratch paper.
50. My life, my love, the turkey that is me.

fertilizer

Today, I was sitting in my cube, have a pretty bad coughing fit. I have been getting over a cold this past week and with the return of dry Santa Ana winds, I wish my post nasal drip would evaporate post haste. I was making a lot of progress actually. I have been spooning this truly hateful Chinese herbal powder almost hourly, much to the agony of my taste buds. I can’t read the label but I’m sure the ingredients are dirt, powdered fingernails and peppermint because the shit tastes like shit. The first time I ever took it, I practically threw up on myself. Sadly, the shit (there is no word more apropos) works. Well it worked for a while anyway.

So after a hit of the now innocuous dirt, I was sitting in my cube, hacking for almost five minutes, gripping my desk for support, when up over my frosted cubicle window appeared a very concerned, very sympathetic VAL.

“Oh, you poor little kid. Do you need anything? I’ve got some Echinacea at my desk.”

This was NOT a drill, people. This was the real deal. Maybe the dirt had a little shroom in it because I saw Satan walk by wearing a Gap parka, sipping a hot chocolate. This is the new Val. Sadly, this is also the old Val. I believe it is a high time for an update.

A week or so ago, I popped into Foghorn’s office at the end of the day to ask how things had gone when he had his talk with Val. I pretended not to have any preconceived outcomes. He said that it had not been the best experience for her. I told him to get. out. of. town. I then told him how I overheard her wishing cancer on me and being generally cold/worse than before. Foghorn is a good guy. But he is also a lawyer. He negotiates with dodgy assholes all day long and works with sums of money in the millions. He hears people whine for a living. He could give two farts what I had to say about Val. I’m sitting there with genuine concerns and he’s sitting there with one eye on his email and a dismissive sigh teetering on his lips. He had haltingly done his part and now he was washing his hands of it. Yeah, wash up buddy, I'm sick. Wouldn't want it to spread. He told me he never named names. He told me to just give Val time and that she would calm down. I knew this would be the last time that I would ever go to him for help. My mental health was my own deal, not the type to be brokered by Foghorn Leghorn, the chicken.

Elizabeth however, the executive who had been tasked with confronting Foghorn was much more proactive. I came in to the office on a Monday morning and found a potted plant on my desk. Val had one on her desk as well and so did Lacey. Turns out that the weekend after “the talk,” Elizabeth bought flowers for us. When her husband asked her why she was including Val, she said that it might help open up a dialogue. I thanked her for mine, an amaryllis. Val got paperwhites, a favorite of my mom’s and Lacey got something purply. I thought it was a beautiful gesture. Flowers mean no harm. They bring tranquility and life into a place. It was exactly what we needed. What woman doesn’t like to receive flowers? Val. Someone stopped to admire her plant and I overheard her say “Well, we’ll see how long they last. This place sure can suck the life out of you.” I think I saw a petal fall, along with my hopes. It was only a matter of time until Val was left with nothing but a shriveled garlic clove withering on a wisp of desiccated potting soil. I schemed to water it in secret.

Plants are constantly growing. Every second of every day, they grow silently in their pots or in their gardens and it is only after an absence that you can appreciate their effort. This is Val. A few days after our garden was in place, she said good morning to me but nothing else for the rest of the day. The next day, she came to admire my plant. No more. But, every day since then, she has come over to talk with me about my plant which is flourishing in a white frenzy. She has been smiling and cheerful and although I suspect it might be attributed to an increased dosage of Paxil, I will happily delude myself with the prospect that it is the old Val, blooming again. I want to borrow paperclips from this Val. I want to chat with this Val. Dare I say, I want to hug this Val. I want to hug her and tell her that I hope her cancer never comes back and that I know she didn’t really mean to wish it on me and that she’s more special than any breakfast combo the cafeteria could concoct.

Brother asked me why it bothered me so much that Val was mean to me. I honestly can’t figure it out. Now that she has become the kind Val whom I once knew when she started working here, the mean Val seems like a bad dream. It’s like when you feel better after kicking the flu. You almost can’t remember what sick felt like. Me, on the other hand, I am still sick. But, the best medicine tastes the worst and every gardener knows that shit helps flowers grow.

big

I’d just like to clarify for those whom it may affect that I did not break up with the boyfriend. My previous post has raised concerns among a couple of my friends (boys, surprisingly) who thought that perhaps I wrote “10 tips for getting over a broken heart” because I was the one who needed these tips. The boyfriend and I are doing just fine and I am genuinely touched by the really kind questions that have come my way recently, “are you OK?” being the most common one. I feel cared for and loved.

I’ve always wanted an older brother. I wanted a big tall boy to protect me. Kill the spider in my room. Beat up the mean kids at school who made fun of my Wayne Gretzky running shoes. Of course, when I think about an older brother, I don’t think about the incessant hair pulling, the Barbie doll mutilation or the construction of a maxi-pad house with a live-in tampon family and other machinations common to young men. I am the oldest in a family of all girls and I wanted someone to take the pressure off me. No Dad, I don’t want to learn about a catalytic converter. No Dad, I don’t want to help you remodel the basement. No Dad, I don’t want to go fishing with you…although my sister did. She would get up at like 6am to go fishing with him. Look at me! I’m the good daughter who can bait her own hook. What a fucking daddy’s wench. I’m digressing and I’m going to the bad place. I’ll stop.

A broken heart can be one of the worst parts of your body to heal. You can’t dab hydrogen peroxide on it. You can’t put it in a sling. You can’t stitch it up. I was dumped a long time ago and I didn’t think I could ever be myself again. I thought that my fibre, my joints, my guts, my everything had dissolved into a dusty wisp of a memory along with my relationship. If the Me Now had told the Me Then that one day I would fall in love again, the Me Then would have cut a bitch. But the Me Then got through one dreaded, 1000 lb. day at a time, eventually accomplished a thing or two, reclaimed her self-esteem and slowly evolved into Me Now. Me Now is ridiculously awesome. I mean, it’s a joke how great I am. Holy crap, someone pinch me.

It was a dark time even though it was the middle of August. It was the summer before my senior year of college and I was in summer school and completely devastated. I walked out of my room into the living room after it happened (over the phone) and my roommates said to me “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Yeah, I saw a ghost of the relationship that had turned me on my ear.

To my friends who are going through a break up right now (and there are oh so many, the poor darlings) I stress that it was a day to day battle. One moment rockstar, no regrets, no pain, no flashbacks to the pretty boy who broke me. The next moment, choking on salty sorrow, nausea and the flare-up of anxiety…impending disaster. I had a friend, Chris, who was older, who had already graduated and who worked a 9-5 job. Pathetically, I called Chris EVERY MORNING when I woke up. He is one of the most sedate and reticent people I have ever known. Most days, we would just sit in silence. Some days, we would make small talk. Some days I would repeat myself over and over and over. “I can’t get out of bed.” “I’m so sad.” “I don’t know what to do.” There was silence on the other end. I wasn’t getting advice, I didn’t need advice, I needed someone to care. He listened and that’s all it took. After a while, I realized that I had to stop calling him because I needed to live instead of lament. But he was there for every call, every morning and he never said he was too busy to talk. He was like the big brother I never had.

A few years ago, my friend who was dumped by a girl I knew and I figured it couldn’t hurt to be the same big brother. We spoke every day. I tried to see him regularly. We’d make food and meal together. We’d talk about music. We’d talk about pop culture. And we’d talk about her. I was never too busy to talk about her. I knew where it came from, that undeniable hurt. I wasn’t going to make him feel ashamed for being vulnerable. He was on his own schedule and when he slipped and fell in hope with her after an attempt at rekindling things, I cautioned him but I still had time to talk. He made his progress independent of me. I was just there to observe and listen. They didn’t stay together but he fell in love again a couple of years ago and is happier than I’ve ever seen him and I’m happy for him.

Which brings me to today, I began talking to another friend whom I haven’t spoken to much in the past few years. He has recently suffered a broken heart and I chatted with him online yesterday and today. I ask him how he’s feeling. When he says he’s ok, I ask him for more. I tell him that I’m fine with listening to him vent. No, I don’t mind if he talks about it again. I know what he’s going through. I know what it’s like to be embarrassed to feel, to be real, to be un-California sunshine oblivious, to sort through the see-saw emotions that have more facets than a diamond and cut just as easily. He is Me Then and I am Me Now. I’m not going to fix anything. I’m just going to stand by. Sometimes, you just need someone to listen. Today, before he signed off, he said to me, (and I hope he doesn’t mind that I am quoting him) “thanks for chatting with me, you're saving my life. well not my life, but it's definitely helping.”

That's what big brothers are for.

10 tips for getting over a broken heart

1. Get out of bed. Sometimes it feels impossible. But getting out of bed every morning will remind you that you have to keep living. Yes, your ex is also getting out of bed. Maybe they’re getting out of someone ELSE’s bed and while that hugely sucks, you are not going to let them win by sleeping past 2pm. You need to get your ass back on track and that starts anew every day.

2. Brush your teeth. I like to do this every day but some people… not so much. The cool, crisp sting of the toothpaste in your mouth will make you feel like kissing someone. If your ex is getting some from someone new, you best get to steppin’ and get the fuck on with your bad self. Clean teeth, fresh breath, there is no reason you won’t have some hottie’s tongue in your mouth within a week.

3. Eat healthy. I’m not talking about eating a dick or some girl’s cooch… I’m talking about fruits and vegetables. Ice cream and whiskey do not a smokin’ bod make. Eat healthy so that oily forehead disappears and people actually want to look you in the eye when you’re hitting on them at Kohl’s. Pick up some apples and some green leafy veggies and knock yourself out. You will feel energetic and optimistic instead of depressed and rude like you normally are.

4. Exercise. No one wants to be the rebound of a fat ass. Run, bitch, R-U-N. Get on the treadmill. Go to the beach and swim in the ocean. Take a yoga class. If you have gotten out of bed and had a healthy meal, why can’t you go for a jog? The more you move, the more you sweat, the more you sweat, the less toxins are in your body, the less toxins in your body, the more endorphins in the brain, the more endorphins in the brain, the less you have to spend on blow. It’s just fucking practical.

5. Cry if you want to cry. Now, I’m not saying cry like a punk ass bitch. But, if you feel the need to shed a tear, go ahead. Do it quietly and discreetly and try not to do that heaving sob shit. When you’re depressed, you body makes chemicals that it doesn’t normally. When these chemicals build up, some of them come out in your tears. Seriously, I read this somewhere. So, you can cry your ass to sleep and feel better. But don’t let me see you.

6. Talk about it. I don’t care how many people you know, tell EVERYONE about it. Whine about it. Re-hash it with them. Post it on your website. Pretty soon, enough people will avert their eyes to their watch while you go on and on about how fucked up things are that you will realize that you are not in that bad of a place. You have your health and everyone knows your ex is a whore so, fuck them, you’re not giving them the time or day no matter how many different ways it gets back to them that A) you cried and B) you can’t stop talking about them.

7. Acknowledge your feelings. All you have to say is… “I’m a pussy.” Realize this and your own inner drill sergeant will kick you in the shin and make you run through the rubber tires of healing. Your ex acknowledged their feelings: “Hey, it’s over.” So catch the fuck up and know who you are inside and deal with it. You can’t hide from yourself forever and the sooner you fess up, the sooner the Hennessy will flow.

8. Get out of your apartment. Do you really want to watch Dr. Phil? NO. So get the hell out and get some goddamn sun because you’re starting to look like a ghost and I don’t mean Patrick Swayze. Staying around your mess will not help you stop thinking about your ex. Oh look, there’s you anniversary gift from 3 months ago. Wow, you haven’t seen that picture of the two of you in years! GET OUT. Get out before the memories swallow you whole and spit your pale ass out onto the rug you bought together. It’s time to see the rest of the world and not just the wallowy one you’re secluding yourself in.

9. Buy new CDs. Yeah, they borrowed them and yeah, they’re supposed to give them back and yeah, it would give you a reason to see them but you are NOT on welfare and you can afford to spend $100 on CDs that you lent to them and will never see again. You know what? Don’t even re-buy the old CDs, buy new ones. Get on iTunes and listen to some new shit and try some new shit on for size. You will not grow if you keep looking back like a daily high school reunion. Move to the beat of a new drum and learn some new routines because that cabbage patch shit will not cut it for long.

10. Know that you will be OK. Sure people say this when someone dies or when you get fired from the bait and tackle shop. But honestly, it’s the truest thing ever. Only in movies are people completely debilitated because someone dumped their ass. That’s just the cheese talking. You will not lose your hair and marry someone else and always long for your ex. Even the most pathetic of pathetic people learn to adapt and change. It is your survival instinct. You will find yourself in time and move on with your rockstar life. Repeat steps 1-9.

rat-a-tat-tat

Have you ever had someone hate you? It’s quite an awful feeling as I know this firsthand now. Val, mean breakfast queen, thinks I ratted her out.

As you may know from my earlier post about Val, she has not a lady’s temperament. Recently, a very important executive witnessed an episode between Val and her boss, we’ll call him Foghorn and brought it to the attention of a nearby HR/ Administration executive, we’ll call her Elizabeth. The VIE couldn’t believe that an assistant would speak to her boss with such rancor. The rest of us accept it as Val on any given day.

The executive Elizabeth who was tasked with speaking to Val’s boss Foghorn is a very proper and calm person. She and Foghorn had a chat about Val’s negative attitude and the fact that other executives were starting to notice. She mentioned how unfortunate it must be for me and for Lacey, a woman who sits on the other side of Val, to endure the constant tirades and big exasperated sighs whenever work is to be done.

I’m sure Foghorn, a real milquetoast guy who doesn’t seem to notice or care that Val is a seething mess of a grandma, took the news in stride. That evening, he called me into his office after Val had left and asked me what I had been hearing. I told him that we were all aware of Val’s bad attitude and that it was out of concern that we would ever say anything. I told him it didn’t affect my work but that it was hard to sit next to someone so vile and jaded. He listened to what I had to say and then said that he was going to have a talk with Val the next day. “After we talk, the following day is going to be a bad one.” Great.

The next day, as promised, at the end of the business day, Foghorn called Val into his office. I scurried under a bookshelf to avoid whatever possible fallout there might be after Val took out her glock and capped her boss. I wasn’t sure how she would react or how Foghorn would handle the delicate situation of having to tell someone “Hi, so, ah, people think you’re wretched. Fix it.” But, I would soon find out that Val is not one for constructive criticism and Foghorn is an extra-large pussy royale with cheese.

Val was SUPER quiet the day after “the talk.” She barely said anything to anyone let alone Foghorn that morning. When I passed her in the hallway, I said “Hi, Val!” as cheerfully as I could and was met with a very terse, very dagger-filled “Hi.” Odd behavior? No, just a normal day, or so I thought. Then I overheard her tell Lacey that she “can’t talk too loud.” And later as she laughed about something with Foghorn, she said “Oh, wait, I can’t laugh too loud.” Hm. She didn’t say anything to me. Maybe because she thinks I complained about her? No. Couldn’t be.

YES.

How do you know, Katie? How could you be sure? Well, thanks to the fantastic acoustics in my office, I overheard the following tidbits Val shared with her sister during one of their usual sessions…

“…apparently, someone complained that I’m too loud… they’re all a bunch of 20-somethings and I hope they get cancer. I hope they get cancer and can’t take hormones. I don’t want them to die, I just want them to get cancer.”

Might help the gentle reader to know that Val is a survivor of cancer. Yeah. Twisted, right?

Later, Lacey filled me in on what I had missed.

“She said “They’re all a bunch of stupid assholes who don’t do anything all day.””

Now, maybe because I heard Val tell her doctor that during a recent visit, she forgot to pick up her Paxil refill, I understand that she may be moody. But, to wish a disease upon someone… a disease you overcame yourself… don’t you think that’s a little bit excessive? Oh, Foghorn, you let me down.

The conclusion that I’ve come to is that Foghorn didn’t man-up and address Val’s issue which is that her attitude needs some tweaking. I suspect he simply told her that people have complained that she’s too loud and those people are me. Today, when I went over to her cube to ask her a question, she simply turned around in her chair and stared at me when I said “Hey, Val…”

Perhaps I am reading into things. Maybe she just doesn’t like the Chinese. Whatever. This is an office and that she is childish enough to become uncongenial towards me when I ask her a work-related question is beyond my comprehension. Unfortunately, there is no way to ever convey to her that I didn’t rat her out. I was asked a question and I answered it. Whatever annoyance I felt before is tantamount to the uneasiness I feel now, knowing that she sits there all day and thinks malicious thoughts about me when she’s not mopping up another rousing game of Solitaire. She doesn’t minimize it. And what’s worse is that I do have to sit next to her all day… STILL. I’m just trying to go about my day as I did before but now I try to ignore the forcefield of evil that protects her cubicle. I think I may start pinging it with jellybeans to see if it can be penetrated with the innocent sweetness of processed sugar.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

verbatim

This is an actual IM conversation I had today:

Me: if i die, play really good music at my funeral.
Me: no sappy organ crap.
Friend: ok
Friend: i will
Friend: hip hop?
Me: um...no hip hop.. oh maybe “tha crossroads” by bone thugs.
Friend: gotcha
Me: and have good snacks.
Me: have ahi tuna on crispy wontons.
Friend: sounds good

If all goes well, I may have more people at my funeral than at my last birthday party. Except, at my funeral, I won't be stressed out or anything.