A Very Merry Christmas.

Well I know I said that I probably wasn't going to be doing too much more blogging before the end of the year but it's Christmas and I'm at work and nobody else is in the building and since there's no one to talk to, I wound up turning to the one place where I feel I can be myself and speak candidly about anything I feel like talking about.

I just got off the phone with my family. They're all gathered at my Uncle David's house in Sanford. My younger cousin just got engaged and upon hearing the news I was instantly relieved that I wasn't there to feel like the familial leper...the one pushing 30, single and living a like an untamed savage on the west coast. Even if that isn't their opinion of me, sometimes it's easier to assume that it is.



So far, I've thoroughly enjoyed my quiet Christmas. The only thing that really sucks is that everything is closed today. If I could go get a cup of coffee from Starbucks and hang out at home watching old movies all day, I'd be happy as a clam. Last night I saw "It's a Wonderful Life" for the first time ever. My friend Jenny said that a lot of people cry upon watching it...but I didn't. It actually made me grateful for the life I have out here. Sure, I get homesick sometimes and sure I get lonely...but at the end of the day I can say that I did it. Poor Geroge Bailey. Even in his happy ending he never got to do all of the things he dreamed of.



Anyways, I brought my dogs to work with me because my IT guy still has my laptop (see last post) and as I'm sitting here I can tell they're starting to get antsy. I took a picture of Parker sitting in a chair across from me a few minutes ago and he might be hard to see against the purple chair...but I did find one thing particularly amusing.







Look at the magazine in front of him. I said, "Parker are those your homies?" and he cocked his head to the side like he understood. God, I love this dog.

Rock on.

Christmas in California is an interesting experience. Besides Christmas lights on palm trees, I've also noticed an over-abundance of Raider nation themed Christmas paraphernalia. Case in point, our studio decorations. Please notice all of the liquor bottles under the tree. Classy.


Well, this will probably be my last post of 2009. I finished out the year with a pleasant little trojan virus on my laptop so my IT guy has had my computer for about a week now. I figure I'll be lucky to have it back sometime in January.

Last week I made a trip to San Francisco to see some friends. We had dinner at The Cliff House and it was the best night I've had in a long time. Years from now when I've long left CA and have a normal life back home I'll remember the four of us sitting at our table overlooking the Pacific...laughing and talking. For a moment, it felt like a scene from a movie. Three radio dj's and a Capitol Records rep (just hours after learning of her promotion) sharing our work stories...a bitchy Katy Perry, meeting Janet Jackson, and groping Lenny Kravitz. If you're ever in San Francisco make sure you have dinner at The Cliff House...it's majestic.


This past weekend we did a charity event with Danny Glover. It was a Christmas dinner giveaway for struggling single-parent families in Northern California. My biceps were burning after slinging 16 pound frozen turkeys for three hours...of course that's the job I would get. Every time the frozen turkey bin started running low, I'd grab three or four (if I could carry that many) from the truck parked outside in to where they were being distributed...yeah, I broke a sweat but it was worth it.


And finally yesterday was our ugly holiday sweater party at work. And yes, I tied for best ugly sweater with one of my co-hosts. We each got Rock Band 2 Special Edition bundles and I almost cried I was so excited. The only problem is that I don't own a Play Station (which I definitely have to have to play my Rock Band on). Never fear, I'll track one down somehow and I will spend my Christmas on a world tour!

Rock on.

Ms. Grinch

We're having an ugly sweater holiday party at work this year. Everyone is acting like this is some amazingly original idea, which it is not. I don't have the heart to tell them that people have been doing these types of soirees for years. The impending party, however, presents a problem for me as I do not own a sweater of the Christmas persuasion...ugly or otherwise. So I've decided to make my own instead of purchasing one from God-knows-where. This is the picture I will be using:

These are actually two of my coworkers and this is the (photoshopped) picture used on the party invitation that has been circulating around our office. The guy in the blue is my boss and the guy in the red is our producer. I hope I win the ugly sweater contest...I think you get a $10 gift card or something for winning and if nothing else, I should get points or creativity. And if I'm not able to pull it off, I have a back-up plan. My plan B is a t-shirt which simply reads, "Happy Birthday Sweet Litte 8 Pound 6 Ounce Baby Jesus." I'm somewhat concerned that that shirt would offend some of the hardcore thumpers I work with...but I would think it was funny...and even if I didn't win with that one, I think it would be a nice conversation piece.

Well one of the things I will never get used to (living in California) is Christmas on the West Coast. They put lights on palm trees!

Not only that, but I saw a guy dressed up like Santa Claus...he was one of those sign holders who stands on a street corner advertising for stuff...anyways he had the beard, the hat, the glasses, the black gloves...and then he had on red gym shorts and flip flops. WTF...it's Christmas...put on some damn red velvet pants and black boots for Christ's sake!

One thing I have to admit, is that the holidays make me a little testy. It's got to be some kind of weird combination of holiday stress mixed with general exhaustion resulting from too many months of working with no vacation time...add in some cold weather and the obligatory gift-giving traditions with friends, family and coworkers...I tell you, it's enough to make me a little nutty. I gave some poor woman the "death stare" in Target the other day because she couldn't decide which Zhu Zhu pet to buy. Lady, it's a robotic hamster...it does not matter to little Timmy Tommy if you get Mr. Squiggles or Num Nums or Chunk or Pipsqueak...two weeks from now when these stupid little toys are irrelevant and your kid doesn't want anything to do with them anymore you'll regret wasting your time (and mine) deciding which one to buy...now move your damn cart out of my way before I hurl this economy size bottle of Ultra Tide 96 Load at your head!

See what I mean? Testy.

Well, I better get back to work now. I'm starting to get myself all worked up.

Cooled off

Well the good news is that I'm feeling much better since my last post on here. I'm coming off of a four day weekend feeling recharged thanks to the Nintendo Wii and Beatles Rock Band. I'm just saying, whether you need a guitar player or a drummer...I always score in the 90th percentile...so think about it. I wish we had recorded video of the 4 drunken fools singing Come Together. It was epic.

Back to work today.

Now that I'm not doing middays anymore, I have something I can focus my time and energy towards. Every year our station picks a charity and does some kind of community service for the holidays. Last year we did a canned food drive in honor of Brenden Foster, we called it Brenden's Wish. Great cause...great intentions...complete cluster fuck when it came to execution. I wasn't going to let that happen this time around.

I pitched the charity idea at a meeting we had recently. Considering I was the most prepared, they kind of had to pick mine. So we're going to be doing a "Change for the Children" campaign for the Sacramento Children's Home. I went this morning and toured their facility...it reminded me of a run-down summer camp and made me sad for the kids who live there. Their residential program is for the extreme of extreme cases of abuse and neglect. The kids are in custody of the state and have been tossed around to several foster homes with unsuccessful placements...thus, landing at more of an institution than a home.

They are currently facing a $750,000 cut in funding due to the disaster that is commonly referred to as "our state budget."

So that's what I'll be focusing on until the end of the year.

Other things I'll be looking forward to: American Idol starts in January and that's all I can think of for now.

Used and abused.

Well, well, well...here we are the week of Thanksgiving 2009. I started this blog approximately 11 months ago and I'm definitely feeling the end-of-the-year burnout. But alas, now is the time to rally the troops because the holiday season just seems to require extra energy...more so than any other time of the year. I won't be going home for Thanksgiving or Christmas because I need to save my vacation days for next year. More on *that* in a minute. So this week, as in weeks past, I will be hanging out in Sacramento with Parker and Moxie. I do not plan on cooking a turkey, nor will I be watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade...rather, I plan on consuming copious amounts of wine and trash TV.




But before we get too far into Thanksgiving details, let me back up for a minute.



Recently I was invited to attend my first NBA basketball game. The Sacramento Kings people decided that they wanted to forge a working relationship with some of the local radio personalities, fearing that without our help ticket sales for this season would be even more dismal than in seasons past. I mean, we're in a recession. Who can afford tickets to NBA basketball games...especially in Sacramento...with a team that's been struggling? The Kings PR people held a meeting with us to go over ideas about how we could build "personal relationships" with the players and invited us to attend the King's home opener against Memphis. They gave us great seats and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

But as great as the game was...by far...the best part of the night was finding out who we were sitting behind. Alright, see the guy in the black leather bomber jacket and the white hat...he's sitting courtside beside the guy in the purplish-blue shirt? Know who that is? That's Daniel "Rudy" Ruettiger, the guy that the movie Rudy was about!!! I just thought that was something special. He waved to us a couple of times and gave me the thumbs up when I got put up on the jumbo-tron (also a very thrilling experience) near the end of the game.

So that was fun.

Last week I went to two movie premiere's. I did The Blindside on Tuesday and The Twilight Saga: New Moon on Wednesday. They're not really premiere's...more like sneak peeks where you get to see it a couple of days before it officially opens in theaters. The radio stations in our company give away these screening passes so when you show up, everyone in the theater is "a listener." This can be quite the ego-booster because everyone treats you like you're a big deal...when in reality...it's just a movie theater in Sacramento on a Tuesday night. You stand up in front of the audience before the movie starts, you introduce yourself, thank everyone for coming, give away a few prizes, and then harvest a nice, big round of applause...all for you...and it feels good. I see why so many people who do this for a living, over time, start to think that they're actually the big cheese.

Anyways, Friday of last week is what I really want to talk about. If you've been reading this blog then you probably already know all about how I was initially hired by my radio station to be part of a morning show. Then, about 14 months ago, the guy doing middays quit to manage his wife's WNBA career (yes, she's that bad ass...Olympic gold medalist...the whole nine yeards) so I feel like I kind of got bullied into doing it...for free...meaning that I took on extra duties - which someone else was getting paid a full-time salary for doing - and got nothing in return.

At the time, I felt like it was more important to secure my position at the station than to fight about having to do an extra daily shift. Afterall, I was the newest on staff, I was the youngest AND I was the only female on-air personality. I was told at the time, by my boss, that there was NO ROOM in the budget for a raise...that I could either do the extra work for no extra pay and be safe from "the chopping block" if cuts came around or I could refuse and be the first person he'd have to eliminate if he had to get rid of someone.

Our morning show is 5:45 a.m. until 10:00 a.m. and the midday shift was 10:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. That's 8 hours and 15 minutes on the air everyday Monday through Friday which doesn't include the fact that I do all of the morning show website work as well. Keep in mind also that I arrive every morning prior to the 5:45 start time...normally around 5:15-5:30. Listen, I know it's not back-breaking physical labor...but it is a long time to sit confined in a little room...responsible for doing quality work for, what should be, two full-time positions. Oh wait, I take that back - I was allowed to voicetrack my show from 1:00 until 2:00 everyday...a whole hour I was excused from. Did I mention that NOBODY else on the staff EVER had to do double daily airshifts AND they made me work a few 5 hours Saturday shifts as well?

Well as much as I just complained about it, I'm not stupid. I accepted the midday show...a bit begrudgingly...because I felt like I wasn't being fairly compensated for doing two full-time airshifts for one salary...but what else could I do? Come to work everyday wondering if that would be the day they'd let me go? I felt like I had to prove that not only could I do it, but that I could do it well...take the midday show to #1 and be able to say, "I carried this station with my numbers because I'm good. I never got paid a dime for it." Now granted, they did offer me a bonus structure for my midday show, but I always saw that as a reward for the results...not payment for the actual work that was being done.

Not to mention, that over the summer my show was the only daypart on the station that was #1. I beat the morning show. I beat the afternoon show AND I beat the night show. Did I get my bonus for it? No. Because the contract they re-drafted for me which included my new responsibilites as a morning show co-host and midday host excluded the summer numbers. Let me break this down for you...the midday show was the only #1 rated daypart on the entire radio station and I didn't even get my bonus for it...so I did it, absolutely free and got absolutely nothing in return.

Please pardon the "diva tone" I'm using here. But facts are facts. I was their work horse. I did a good job. I stepped up (even if I only did it because I felt like I had to) and I did it well.

So what happened on Friday?

Well, my boss came in told me that he was taking me off middays. He tried to spin it like this was a good thing for me and you're probably thinking the same thing. If I wasn't getting paid for it and all I've done in this post is complain about the lack of compensation...then why would I possibly be upset that he would take me off the show?

Here's why. Remember when I was told that there was no money in the budget and that there just simply wasn't anything they could give me so I'd HAVE to do it for free...but if I didn't, I'd probably get cut from the staff? Well, the reason they took me off middays is so that someone else could do it...someone who's getting paid a FULL-TIME SALARY TO DO IT. Yes, you heard me correctly. The person who did middays before me got paid a full-time salary and the person who took over my show today is getting paid a full-time salary. Did I mention, that both of the people who came before and after me were/are getting paid FULL-TIME SALARIES to do what I was doing for free...getting #1 ratings for...for 14 months??????????????

Now, you might be asking yourself...that doesn't make any sense, why would your boss do that? Good question. I'll tell you why. It's because he had to make room on the staff for his ass-kissing friend. That guy got put on the night show (with a full-time salary)...the old night guy moved to afternoons...the old afternoon guy got moved to middays...and I got bumped back to just the morning show. But wait, I thought that there was no money in the budget to give me anything...and now there's an entirely new full-time position on our staff...who's paying that salary? If there was no money in the budget, then how is this new guy getting paid?

Oh that's right, it's because I was being lied to.

And even if they cut other people's salaries to be able to afford a new position on our staff, then it still doesn't make sense that they'd pull me off a show that I've excelled at...a show that I've invested a lot in and energy in...a show that they could still pay me to do for less than they're paying my replacement. Or am I crazy?

I feel like I just got used for the past 14 months. And as soon as my boss' friend needed a job, all of a sudden we needed to "reshuffle the deck." Please don't insult my intelligence. You forced me to do something I didn't want to do by threatening me with my job...leaving me no choice...and as soon as you waned to make room on the staff for your buddy...the one who has outperformed everybody else on the station is the one who has to give up her show, give up her midday bonus and go back to being the "low man on the totem pole." I got pushed aside without so much as a "thank you for stepping up to the plate." No "job well-done." No "we appreciate you being a team-player." Nothing.

When I told my boss, "My primary concern is that, per our conversation 14 months ago when you told me that I'd likely be the one losing my job when budget cuts came around unless I did both shifts for no extra pay, without middays I'm now vulnerable again. I mean, it goes without saying that I'm less valuable now." In response, he had the gall to look me in the eye and say, "Well that was a different time." BULLSHIT. You used me. End of discussion. Throw a period on the end of that sentence and let's call it a day. Period.

Does anybody else see this from my perspective? Am I the crazy one?

My lawyer friend said that I have a discrimination lawsuit on my hands. He also said that I could go after my company for breach of contract since, technically, my contract is for mornings and middays...but really, what would that accomplish? They'd just throw me back on the middays for no extra pay and I'd still feel like I was getting the raw end of the deal. I don't want to sue anyone. It's not even so much about the money (although I know that's what it probably sounds like it's solely about)...because it's also about the principle too. I just don't think you should be allowed to treat people that way. I don't think you should be able to bully someone into doing something and then take it away from them, spinning the story to make it sound good so that I'll say, "Oh ok...thank you so much for relieving me of the midday show."

One of the things I've noticed about my boss is that he always figures out a way to decide he's going to screw someone over...but then spin the story in such a way so that people don't realize what's really happening. I'm smarter than that. Please don't waste your time insulting my intelligence. I recognize an agenda from a mile away. Your friend needed a job, so everyone got moved around and I got screwed. If that wasn't the case then why not just switch the afternoon and night guys...I mean, if it was really about "reshuffling the deck" like he implied...putting the stronger personality in afternoon drive...then leave me out of it. But no, sadly this wasn't about what's best for our station. At least, not from where I stand.

If you're still reading this by now then let me just say WOW. I can't believe you made it this far. I just had to get all of that off my chest because it's been bothering me. And I have no one to talk to about it all. My parents don't really "get" the way things work in radio. My coworkers are the absolute worst people I could ever confide in and honestly, it just takes so much energy to try to explain it verbally that it helps me to write it all down...get it all out...purge it.

It's ok. I keep telling myself, "I'll be home soon. I'll be home soon."

I feel like I could keep writing...I could talk about my friend Rebecca's wedding how she's asked me to be the Maid of Honor...in North Carolina...six months from now. That's a little overwhelming but I'm glad to do it. I could also go into more detail about our family vacation to Alaska coming up in June (one month after the wedding) and how I'll be using almost all of my vacation time before the 4th of July next year...but I'll save that for another time. Not to mention, I'm suppoed to plan our 10 year High School reunion in N.C. next year because I was the senior class president but my schedule is just filling up too quickly.

The good news is, that if this blog survives into 2010 then I'll have plenty to tell you about when it all gets here. Until then, Happy Thanksgiving...be thankful that you don't work where I work.

There's a slug in my tub.

"Home is where your history begins. Home is where they catch you when you fall." ~Where the Heart Is

A couple of weeks ago when I heard about two job openings...one in Wilmington and one in Charlotte...I thought, "Surely this is meant to be." I want to move home. I've been in CA for about 5 years now, I've been almost everywhere there is to go and I've done almost everything there is to do...Yosemite, Lake Tahoe, the Muir Woods, San Francisco, Sausalito, Monterrey, Nappa, Sonoma, Santa Cruz, San Jose, Oakland, L.A., Vegas, San Diego, Mexico and a bunch of places in between. I used to spend my weekends taking off to a new town, a new tourist attraction, in search of discovery in the wild west. After a while, the trips became less and less frequent. The weekend adventures turned into house-cleaning, errand running, domestic duty obligations.

I don't need to live in Northern California to stay home and vacuum my living room. I can do that anywhere.

Anyways, two jobs...both in North Carolina. My parents live in Charlotte. My brother lives in Wilmington. My mom and dad went so far as to say they'd buy me a house if I moved home. That's a pretty enticing offer and it certainly sweetened the deal a little. I think they just really wanted a ready-made house/pet sitter for when they jet off to Europe, or they legitimately want me back in NC that badly...either way, Charlotte was my first choice. Not to mention, three of my really good friends from growing up live there now...two members of the posse and one of my college roommates.

Then there was Wilmington. The sleepy little town that I couldn't wait to move away from. I swore it was too small and restrictive...I needed much more space for my overstated, larger-than-life ideas to roam free. I lived in Wilmington from 3rd-8th grade and then moved about 15 miles north to a little town called Hampstead for highschool. I left that area when I was 18 so it's been 10 years since I've spent any significant amounts of time there. The idea of moving back made me a little apprehensive. It's changed so much Had the town I couldn't wait to escape from years ago forgotten about me as well? Still, I found excitement in the prospect of reconnecting with old friends, and making some new...rediscovering the place I called home once upon a time.

So needless to say, the stage was set. Two jobs in two places I could see myself living...two jobs doing what I know I'm good at doing. It seemed (almost) perfect, like it was divine timing intervening to lead me back east.

Now let me state my disclaimer for the record: I knew I wasn't guaranteed one of the jobs...I'm not owed anything nor do I think that just because I have family in NC, the two potential employers should look more favorably upon me...however...I really felt like at least one of them was going to pan out. Not to toot my own horn, but when it comes to radio I know what I'm doing. I've done mornings, middays, I've been a music director, news/traffic reporter, I know production, Selector, how to write compliance letters, can do PSA's, I get good numbers and as long as you don't make derogatory religious comments, I tend to get along with everyone.

Well, this has all been a lot of build up to letting you know that I didn't get either job. And to add insult to injury, I found out that I had been passed over for both jobs on the same day. Listen, the job in Charlotte went to a girl who is more than qualified to do the job. She's worked in Philadelphia (market #8) and Portland (market #23). Her name is Kelly, she starts November 30th and I'm sure she's great. I don't know these things because I've stalked her, by the way...it was published on All Access (a website for radio people). So the job in Charlotte, the one I really wanted, went to someone else...but at least I lost to someone who's good...scratch that...better than me. I can accept defeat when it comes by way of someone with more experience.

The job in Wilmington is the one that really stung; like a Portuguese Man o' War. The girl they put on the morning show is nothing short of the equivalent of 10,000 nails on a chalkboard plus ten nasal New Jersey crack whores in a verbal smackdown mixed with fog horns and a thousand alley cats in heat. Their show should now come with a warning: Caution, listening to this show will make your ears bleed. I mean, maybe she's not that bad...I just know that when I was home about a month ago for Greta's wedding I heard her do a live break from a club and I thought it was a joke. Now she's on the morning show. But she's 20-years-old and has blonde hair...shocker.

So no moving home for me...at least, not yet. I'm trying to look at the bright side, the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel. I mean, I get to go see Twilight New Moon on Wednesday night, which doesn't open in theaters until Friday. That's kind of exciting...I guess.

Other than that, I can't think of much else to tell you besides that it's really cold this morning.

Also, there was a slug in my tub this morning.

Ayo Technology.

Here's something interesting. Our radio station is located in the middle of a concrete jungle. We're about 2 miles from downtown Sacramento and we're surrounded by other industrial establishments...Interstate Plastics...Dome Printing and Publishing...a junkyard...you get the idea. There are no farms. There are no pastures or areas conducive to raising farm animals. So of all of the random animals that could have shown up in our parking lot, and are subsequently now declaring it their turf...no, not a stray cat...not a rabbit...but a rooster and a hen.

This morning we had a stand-off.

The problem with having them in our parking lot is that they hover by our back door like, "let us in, bitches." At 4:45 in the morning when I'm half asleep and clumsily trying to find my way from my car to the door at work, I don't expect them to be blocking the door. Not only do they scare the shit out of me, but they are mean little fuckers and they make noise at me when I try to shoo them away.

It's probably our own faults. We feed them and give them water. We've evern built them a makeshift chicken coop out of a cardboard box and some hamster cage shavings. I can't help it...I have a bleeding heart for animals. Now they rule the roost...in fact, when I pulled in this morning I'm pretty sure I heard them listening to Run This Town by Jay-Z, Rihanna and Kanye. We've even named them. Cledus and Shirley. Cledus doesn't treat Shirley well but she's loyal to him.

Anyways...

A lot has happened in the past 3 and a half weeks. I mean, a lot. I guess I should back up a little to the week before my birthday. Now, I'm not trying to play the "woe is me" card because I realize that there comes a time when you (i.e. me) have to stop expecting people to make a big deal out of your (my) birthday. While I recognize that I am past the big "milestone" birthdays, I still expect a select few individuals to, at least, acknowledge when it is. In Northern California I have 4 good friends...these are people I hold to a higher standard than other people in my life. I understand that they all have their own lives and nobody is perfect...people forget things sometimes...that's fine. But the 4 people I am close with, I expect to remember.

I'll make a long story short and just tell you that 3 of the 4 close friends I have out here...forgot. That's 75% of my good friends. Nevermind the fact that social networks like Facebook make it virtually impossible to miss friends' birthdays. In fact, I had friends from middle school (who I haven't seen or talked to you in years) acknowledge that it was my birthday and went out of their way to "write something on my wall" which is a Facebook term for those of you living under a rock.

I'm not going to lie, it hurt my feelings.

I spent my 28th birthday (a Friday night) watching a Lifetime movie with my dogs. And somewhere in the midst of feeling sorry for myself and recognizing that I have no life...in between Part 1 and Part 2 of "The Two Mr. Kissel's" starring John Stamos...I decided that it's time to officially quit California. I've been thinking about it for a year now.

I've applied for two jobs in North Carolina and Friday I had a great conversation with potential employer #1. In just under 20 minutes he seemed to have definitively made up his mind about me (which is either a really, really good sign or a really, really bad sign). Potential employer #1 is a job in Wilmington, NC. I haven't lived in that area for 10 years now...going back would be strange, but that's where my brother and sister-in-law are so it might not be that bad.

Potential employer #2 is in Charlotte. I don't want to jinx myself by making assumptions about either of the possibilities so I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens.

I also recently lost my cell phone. Not a good feeling when you don't have a home phone and your cell phone is your only means of communication. I dropped it in the parking lot at Trader Joe's...apparently...and some good samaritan gave it to a manager who then attempted to call every contact in my contacts. He finally got a hold of my friend Jenny in Seattle and she sent me a message on Facebook. Right before I was getting ready to go on a panic-stricken wild goose chase, trying to retrace my steps from the day before...I got an e-mail from Jenny that she had talked to the manager at Trader Joe's and he informed her my phone was waiting safely at their store for me to come pick it up.

Whew. The power of technology. I could have spent all day scavenger hunting my way around Sacramento looking for my phone...but one Facebook message and the problem was solved! Amazing.

Not so much.

My birthday is one week from today. I'm normally really excited about birthdays but not so much this year. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot to look forward to and things are good...generally speaking...it's just the thought of turning 28 and not being anywhere near where I thought I'd be. I mean, I always assumed that sometime between 28 and 30 I'd be starting to think about having kids and starting a family. I know it's nothing to panic over and things will unfold for me exactly as they should...but still. Sometimes it's hard to find comfort in that which you have no control over.

In fact, if I'm being completely honest...sometimes I look at people with passionless marriages and unruly kids (people I know very well) and I think to myself, "thank God that's not me." I stopped at the mall the other day and as I got out of my car I locked eyes with a woman about my age (give or take a year). She was unloading a stroller from the trunk of her SUV and I could hear her kids screaming from the backseat...she looked at me like she was envious of me...like she couldn't remember the last time she was able to just get out of her car and go inside without the routine of loading and unloading a car full of kids and crap. I was relieved that I didn't have those "things" to worry about...and I felt bad for her.

On the other hand, I want what I think everyone ultimately wants...the handsome husband, a couple of crumb snatchers and a golden retriever. (It actually makes me laugh to admit that). Why is it funny? Am I that pessimistic? Or is it now that much of a stretch, the idea is almost comical? I'll have to think about that one for a while...

I'm starting to depress myself. Moving on.

I went home this past weekend for my friend's wedding. I know I was a little worried about going "home" and what it would be like. Besides the insane humidity (which apparently, I had completely forgotten about) I had a really good time...my hair, though...not so much. I managed to make it all around town in my sister-in-law's very expensive Mercedes without wrecking it AND I got to see a lot of my old friends. Oh, and how could I forget my run-in with the late great Michael Jackson (see picture below).

Anyways, today was picture day at work. Ugh. So you mean to tell me that I have to get up an hour earlier than the already-obscene time I normally get up to blow dry my hair and put on makeup? Oh, instead of 4:00 I'll just get up at 3:00...no problem...that'll be fun. Nevermind the fact that I was at the Jamie Foxx show until 11:00 (not by choice) last night. Am I having a great day so far? Not so much...

Celebrity Encounter at RDU

I am happy to report that Michael Jackson is alive and well at the Raleigh-Durham International Airport.

Homeward Bound

I'm heading to NC in three days. This will be the first time I've gone "home" in almost two years. I've been to my parents new house at Lake Wylie, but home home is Wilmington and I haven't been there since my brother got married in November of 2007. It's always strange for me to go back. It's changed a lot...there are new roads and buildings that weren't there when I was growing up. Sometimes I forget how to get from place to place and driving by the house I grew up in makes me sad. I don't know who lives there now...all I know is that they cut down the big tree outside of my bedroom window and took down my brother's old Carolina basketball goal. Generally it feels like the place I called home for so long, forgot about me a long time ago. This adds to an uncomfortable familiarity. I might drive by something that triggers a memory...the Amoco on College Rd. where Hannah and I would ride our bikes in 5th grade without our parents permission...Hugh McRae Park where my brother and I played on little league teams for years...the Bridge Tender where my friends and I went to dinner before prom when I was in the 10th grade.

Anyways, the point is that it's kinda weird for me to go back. But one of my really good friends is getting married there this weekend so I'm coming home. I'll be staying with my brother and his wife while in Wilmington. I know I don't talk about him all that much on here...we're not as close as we used to be. He's married and I live in California. Life gets busy and thus, we've kinda drifted apart. My brother lives in a neighborhood called Landfall. It's very pretentious and there are all kinds of rules. Last time I tried to go to his house I got stopped by the guard at the gate and he wouldn't let me in because I didn't have a visitor's pass. Whatever.

My brother used to own a bar in Wilmington called The Dirty Martini...of all his business ventures, the Dirty was my favorite because I could take my friends there and we'd all get free drinks all night long. It made me feel like a pimp. He sold the bar a few years back. He and his business partner Tom Reeves also owned a restaurant called Salty's. Now he owns a commerical real estate investment company. My brother is a pilot, entrepreneur, social guru, and (someday) politician...I'm guessing he'll be the mayor of Wilmington because it seems like he knows everyone. I call him the Donald Trump of our family.

My brother's wife is an ex-NFL cheerleader. Enough said.

And then there's me. The one with the inappropriate sense of humor who marches to the beat of her own drum and lives recklessly, with wild abandon. The one who throws up gang signs in pictures to be obnoxious (my mom does not approve) and wears flip flops almost every single day of the year (also something my mom does not approve of).

I don't know why I just went off on that tangent. I'm a little off today. Starbucks messed up my order this morning. I don't even remember why I started this post in the first place...probably just to talk about heading to Wilmington this weekend...and why it's weird for me. So we'll move on...

In other news, I have discovered the downside to living in a really old house...it is FREEZING cold in the mornings. I woke up yesterday morning and, no joke, it was probably 55 degrees in my house. My poor dogs had the coldest little noses.

I have to get back to work. That's all for today.

Testing, testing.

If my day yesterday was a test...I'd say I probably got a C...maybe a C+. Don't get me wrong, I strive for A days but I inherited my mother's peppery disposition which, at times, gets the best of me.

It started with a letter that came in the mail...a notice of filing unlawful detainer complaint...an eviction notice, if you will. Basically, I'm being evicted from a house that I moved out of on August 15th. I called the attorney's office representing the Federal National Mortgage Association FOUR TIMES to let them know that I had vacated the premises well within the 90 days I was given...no return phone call...and then all of a sudden, an eviction notice in the mail...which the post office had to FORWARD to my NEW ADDRESS because I don't live in the foreclosed property anymore.

I tried calling the attorney's office for a 5th time and finally got a receptionist on the phone who told me that she's "not allowed to take messages."

"What do you mean you're not allowed to take messages?" I asked.

She said that that's why they have a voice mail system.

"But I've left 4 messages and nobody will call me back...and your firm is trying to evict me from a house I don't live in...and I want the case dismissed immediately so I need to talk to someone. If I can't get anyone on the phone then I suggest you go get a piece of paper and write down what I'm about to say because I'm taking notes on my end, including names and dates, and I'd hate to have to involve you in this if it turns ugly...do you really want to have to come to court and explain to a judge why you refused to comply with a simple request? Seriously, take the message." (Thanks for the gusto, mom)

She wound up taking my message and within an hour, someone called me back.

The whole situation is almost completely taken care of. I swear to God, if I get another detainer in the mail I'm going to drive down to San Diego and go postal on a). the receptionist and b). everyone else who works there.

So that was test 1. Test 2 came from my "antagonistic coworker" and by now, you should know who I'm talking about...it's pretty obvious if you've read any of my previous posts. We were in the middle of commercials when he decided to start talking about the Bible's reference to the "end of days." His comments were sparked by the story in the news about the 16 year-old in Chicago who was beaten to death...I won't quote him directly because what he said was pretty offensive. I guess I just thought that after the WWWord e-mail incident (explained in an earlier post) that it was pretty clear we shouldn't be talking about religion at work. It has nothing to do with the jobs that we do and it's not necessary. Everyone knows, at this point, that I'm the odd man out...that I don't share the same beliefs...can't we just kinda agree to disagree? His comments weren't even about Judaism. They had to do with homosexuality...you can see where this is going, right?

Anyways, I bit my tongue. I sat there silently all the while wanting to blurt out, "What ever happened to live and let live? If you really feel so adamantly against the way other people live their lives then, according to the Bible, it's not your place to judge. Stop worrying so much about things that don't have anything to do with you." His comments frustrated me so much that I had one of my little daydream/fantasies about quitting my job on the spot. Literally. Sometimes I spend hours at a time, about how good it would feel to walk into my boss' office and quit the bitch. In my head, I imagine mass hysteria erupting in our office as the word spreads, "OMG she just walked into his office and closed the door and very calmly told him that today would be her last day...WHAT HAPPENED?" Oh, the rumors. Why did she do it? Where is she going? Who will replace her?

I know it's not normal fantisize about that day you get to tell your company to suck it...I just can't help it...I find myself, almost daily, asking:

Why am I wasting my time dealing with an idiot? And more importantly, how stupid can he be? Did he not learn the first time that he should keep his narrow-minded comments to himself? But like I said, I sat there silently...it wasn't worth arguing with him.

My test yesterday included two other minor incidents. Hopefully those will blow over, I don't think they were that serious, but I could be wrong.

Aside from the aforementioned tests, things have calmed down quite a bit. I went to my partner's wedding out in Folsom. He got married at The Lake Natoma Inn. I participated in a little charity event. I started planning our family vacation next year...my dad wants to go to Alaska which should be interesting...and I told him I'd take care of planning/arrangements so that he doesn't have to go through a travel agent. Turns out, it's a little trickier than I thought.

That's all I got for now.

The WORLD WIDE web.

I couldn't be 100% positive, but I'm pretty sure I wore the exact same outfit to work yesterday that I'm currently wearing. What do you want from me? I get up early and this morning my brain could not comprehend whether the clothes on the chair beside my bed were clean or dirty. So I put them on in my sleepy stupor...only to get to work and realize that I had made the wrong decision. Whatever.

This past week has been incredibly busy. First, I got my ass handed to me by a no-name comedian. I can't say his name because I suspect that he has one of those Google alert things where everytime his name is typed/written/published on the internet, he gets an e-mail with a link directly to the site...but I can tell you that his initials are M.M. and don't worry, even if I told you his name you probably wouldn't know who he was.

Here's what happened:

It was bound to happen. T.J. has been warning me for quite some time now that if I didn't start being more careful about naming names in my blogs that eventually someone would find out about it. She was right. It all started about a year ago. These were in my Myspace days, when I was even dumber than I am now and decided to write blogs on THE most public forum I could think of.

We had a guy come on the show...a comedian...and he was a dick. I get that sometimes offensive humor is part of their shtick. But I also know the difference between when you're joking and when you're not...and believe me, I can take a joke...as I have been the butt of many jokes. So when you come on the show and you're blatantly rude, I don't think it's funny.

Anyways, after he left I wrote a Myspace blog about him. I used his name. What I didn't know at the time is that he was going to find out about it...and read it...and wait an entire year before confronting me about it.

Yesterday he was booked on the show because he's in town doing stand-up this weekend (big hint) in a town not too far from Sacramento. I had long forgotten about the blog and decided that I'd be polite and cordial even though I remember, all too well, what happened the last time he came.

We do the interview, everythign seems fine. He's being very nice. As it's wrapping up I started thinking to myself, maybe I was wrong about him...he's being so cool. Then he did something a little strange.

He said, "You're not wearing glasses anymore. I like the look."

I said, "Yeah I got lasik about a year ago...wow, you have a good memory."

Then he goes, "Oh yeah, I remember...you're from North Carolina and you lived in Modesto for a while...see? I pay attention. I don't forget those things. I also read what you wrote about me on your blog."

Me: nervous laughter. "Ummmm, what?"

MM: "It was something like, how I'm an asshole that nobody's ever heard of...."

Picture a deer in headlights. My inner (panicked) dialogue: Shit, shit, shit. T.J. was right. It's all coming back to bite me in the ass. Right here, right now. He's going to lay the smack down and make me cry. My first instinct was to play dumb and deny, deny, deny. Clearly that wasn't going to work. He could all but recite my post back to me word for word.

Me: "I'm sorry about that. You have every right to be upset and it wasn't cool of me to do. I mean, I remember writing something I just don't remember exactly what I said so I apologize."

I guess he kind of accepted my apology. He didn't really have a choice. He could, in that moment, spit in my face or make amends. I mean, I feel like it was more of a "I'm going to confront you to let you know that I read your blog and think you're a bitch" move than a real "clear the air" effort because it's not like we're good friends or anything but I do appreciate that he was direct and called me on it, without being disrespectful. He made me add him as a friend on Facebook...it could be a trap...but hopefully it's water under the bridge.

Part of me was like, why does he even care enough about what I have to say enough to address it? I'm a nobody. But then I realized that he takes his career very seriously...and if someone...anyone...has something negative to say then he's not going to ignore it. I can appreciate that.

My morning show partner told me (after MM left) that having a comedian call me out for something I wrote about him on my Myspace blog upped my "bad ass" factor but I actually felt kinda bad about the whole thing. I guess this is a lesson learned...it's called the WORLD WIDE web for a reason.

PS - I tried to find the blog I wrote about him so I could immediately remove it from my Myspace page...and guess what, I can't find it!

Don't take it personal.

Yesterday was not a good day. First, I noticed that I lost one of my five blog subscribers. That means 20% of my reading audience jumped ship! Damnit.


And while that hurts, it's not as bad as what I'm about to tell you. For the past couple of weeks I've been struggling with the decision to try to self-publish The Reusables or to try to get representation. From what I gather, there are pro's and con's to both sides. Self-publishing is expensive and without any experience in this department, you leave the door wide open to making the wrong decisions about everything from picking a printing company to marketing your product...and that's only if you get the funding you need to the project off the ground. But, when you self-publish you have complete creative control. You pick your illustrator. You keep all of the profits. You also assume a much greater risk than if you have someone in your corner pitching to major publishing companies...those same companies who will not accept unsolicited material unless it is submitted by a reputable agency.

Working with an agent ensures that the right people see your work and while you don't get to make as many of the decisions, you know that they will pick only the highest-quality professionals who will help make your work as marketable as possible. The downside, of course, is that even if they convince a big publishing company to get on board there's no guarantee you'll be successful. When you go this route, you get something like 15% proceeds from the sale of your book...and 15% of your 15% goes to your agent...so unless you're selling millions of units, you're not making very much.

Still, most people say that working with an agent is the way to go. Unfortunately, convincing someone to represent you is an uphill battle in and of itself. Agencies require query letters (a sales pitch) before they'll extend an invitation for you to submit your manuscript. Some agencies will allow you to include a sample of your work...but really, it's all about the presentation.

To date, I've written 11 query letters. I took the time to research each agency and personalize each letter I sent because you only have one chance to make a first impression. I spent hours...and hours...and hours on them.

Yesterday I got my first two rejections.

Listen, I'm not naive about this. I know that I might have to go through an awful lot of no's before I finally get a yes. It might not ever happen. Rejection is part of the game. I KNOW this to be the reality of the situation at hand. That being said, I guess deep down I was hoping that my letter...the query I spent so much time on...would be so attention grabbing...and so compelling...that the first agent to read it would immediately jump at the opportunity to take on my project for fear of losing it to someone else.

That didn't happen.

Rejection #1 came yesterday morning from the Heacock Literary Agency. Whomp, whomp, whomp:

At present, we are regretfully going to pass by the opportunity to consider your work for representation. The query must strike a chord which leads us to believe that we will not only resonate deeply with the material but also will be successful in selling it in the current market conditions. Out of necessity, we are frequently forced to pass by material which shows potential. We recognize that in doing so we miss opportunities to represent fine and worthwhile material, but we also trust that if you persist you will eventually connect with the right agent at the right time for your success.

Of all the agencies I researched, this was the one I felt the most strongly about. I really thought that if I got a positive response from any of the agencies, it would be them. Wrong.

Rejection #2 wasn't far behind the first. It came yesterday afternoon. This one was a little more direct:

Thank you for your query. Unfortunately, I did not connect enough with the description of your book to want to see more. I wish you the best of luck in finding the right representation.

Here's the problem. I take rejection personal. I always have. I can't help it. And it's only compounded by the fact that my writing is the most personal thing in the world to me. Up until recently, I never let people read anything I wrote. It was embarrassing. Blogs are one thing...but the rest...forget it.

The other agencies I sent query letters to, say that it might take up to 12 weeks to receive a response. Some even say that if you don't get a response within three months then you should just assume they're not interested in representing you. Oh ok, thanks...that helps. So yesterday I lost one of my few blog subscribers, got rejected...twice...and realized that this might be what I'm in for over the next couple of months. Fantastic.

The moral of this story is that I know I have to stop taking everything to heart. I think I care too much sometimes...not just about The Reusables, but about everything. I care if I get a piece of hate mail at work, I care if someone is mad at me, I care if someone's feelings get hurt...you get the idea.

In the words of Monics: Just one of them thangs, Don't take it personal...

Case in point.

This hasn't been my month for blogging. It's either becuase I've been uninspired or nothing even remotely interesting has happened to me that would be worth writing about. As I sit here, I really don't have anything to say...but there's nothing on TV tonight besides America's Got Talent, which I don't find the least bit interesting, and The Way We Were which stands, to date, as one of the most devastating movies I've ever seen...move over Schindler's List.

I've spent the past couple of weeks hosting and judging the California State Karaoke Championships at the CA State Fair. I totally gave this one guy extra points for singing Amazed by Lonestar because he looked like Dennis Quaid...who I think is a total sweet potato and DILF...even though he wasn't the best singer. So what if I gave him a few extra points for being sexy? Whatever. The best person wound up winning the whole thing anyways. I had never seen people take karaoke so seriously. It was a $5,000 cash prize (cue the seriousness) and the winner advanced to the regionals in Seattle...ultimately hoping to get to the national level of competition.

I also threw my back out over Labor Day weekend. I tried picking up a big box full of books because it had been sitting on my living room floor since my move and I haven't tracked down a bookshelf that I can tolerate yet so I just wanted to put the box in one of my guest room closets to get it out of the way. I didn't realize how bad it was at first, I mean I definitely felt it when I tried to pick the box up...but I didn't fall to the ground in pain or anything. Once I determined that moving the box by myself was, indeed, a bad idea I decided to go take a nap. It wasn't until I woke up from the name Monday afternoon that I thought, "Oh shit...this is bad."

Ready for this to go from an uninteresting story to totally tasteless and wildly inappropriate? It's my forte, what can I say? So Monday night my back started to hurt pretty bad. I popped a couple of Tylenol and called it a night.

When I woke up Tuesday morning I didn't think I was going to be able to get out of bed because I couldn't move...literally. I almost started crying because I had to pee so bad I thought I was going to wet the bed. I couldn't even sit up. I wound up having to kinda roll out of bed to avoid trying to stand up...I crawled into the bathroom on all fours...very slowly...and somehow figured out how to pull myself up. Forget trying to wipe my own ass...it was torture. It took me 20 minutes to do what should have taken me 30 seconds to take care of. Getting dressed was a whole different story. Forget it. I thought I was going to have to call-in sick to work because I couldn't put my clothes on.

Lo and behold I made it through the day. Jay gave me some Vicodin to take which eased the pain but made me feel drunk. I almost fell asleep behind the board during my midday show and because I hadn't eaten anything all day, the pain medication also made me feel incredibly nauseas. Fun day.

Throwing your back out = all bad.

This past weekend was our station's 5th annual Tamales Festival. I was supposed to be in NY for the MTV VMA's...don't get me started on that story. I might get violent. Having to settle for working 9 hours on a Sunday, at a stupid festival, when you're supposed to be in NYC at an awards show is like being told that you won a head-to-toe makeover with a world renowned plastic surgeon but you show up and they tell you that all you're getting is a pap smear. Really? And I'm supposed to pretend like I'm having fun running up on stage every 5 minutes to announce that yet another child is wandering around looking for his/her parents.

At least tomorrow is Tuesdays with the Mayor. I always look forward to it because even though I rarely agree with his politics...we all just hang out and shoot the shit for an hour or so. I forget that he's an ex-NBA superstar and the Mayor of Sacramento because he really is a down-to-Earth, nice, respectful person. And he helped my Carver kids with their California Voices project a few months back...so he gets extra points for that too. When he comes in, he's always accompanied by his two "handlers." They're like his personal assistants, I would guess. They make me laugh because they are so invasive. Our mayor is such a pimp that he also has is own driver who waits for him outside in a black SUV (tinted windows, of course).

He (the mayor) always asks me about entertainment stories because I get the impression he has NO idea what goes on outside of Sacramento and I can't help but think...what if, someday, he goes to do more and be more than just the Mayor of Sacramento? Listen, I'm not saying he's going to be the next President of the United States...but I'd love to look back and have all of these stories to tell about the time I explained to Kevin (that's what he told me to call him after I repeatedly addressed him as Mayor Johnson) all about the Eric Dane, Rebecca Gayheart, Carrie Ann Prejean Gray's Anatomy sex tape scandal!!!!!

Anyways, I need go get in bed. It's only 9:10 but I like to read before I fall asleep. I'm an old lady, what can I say? And I'm a slow reader so I need at least an hour to make any significant headway. Otherwise it would take me years to finish a book. The current novela is "Official Book Club Selection" by Kathy Griffin and I highly recommend it...very entertaining, I've also become an obsessive hand-washer in my old age...but it isn't so bad that I carry hand sanitizer with me everywhere I go...yet...and I've also been getting really bad about going off on tangents...case in point.

The Falling Man

I was a sophomore at UNC on September 11, 2001. I was asleep in my dorm room (class didn't start until 11:00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays) when the phone started ringing.

I was so disoriented when I answered.

Sleepily, "Hello?"

My friend Rebecca was on the other end. She asked me if I was watching the news. At the time, I thought it was a ridiculous question. Why would I be watching the news at 9:00 in the morning?

I remember stammering (with a slightly annoyed tone...to let her know she had just woken me up) "Ummmmmm, no...why?"

"Holy shit. Just get up and turn the TV on" she said.

"What?" I asked, still very confused, but sensing that something big was going on.

She was adamant. "Get up and turn your TV on."

I remember watching the news for hours. My heart pounded and everything else in the world ceased to exist. I didn't go to class. I couldn't move. I felt so powerless as I sat on the concrete floor of my room repeating over and over again, "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God"

I remember when my suite-mate (a Carolina lacrosse player from NYC) was escorted into her room by three people I had never seen before. She was hysterical...screaming and crying in a complete state of panic because her dad worked in the Twin Towers and she was unable to get anyone on the phone who could confirm his whereabouts. She thought her dad was dead. Later I would learn that the three people were psychologists who spent the whole day trying (unsuccessfully) to console her until she finally got the call that her dad had been out of town on business at the time of the attacks. He was fine.

I'll never forget the sound of her uncontrollable sobbing while the news reports came in with pieces of information about what had happened. And I still get chills when I think about being in NYC with my friend Graham on August 25th...about two and a half weeks before September 11th. We were on our way home from a summer camp we had worked at for 10 weeks in upstate NY. We had stopped to visit a friend who lived in Brooklyn (a Pratt student) who had also been one of the counselors. He had promised that if we stopped to visit him on our way back to NC that he'd take us to this huge block party like the ones I had seen on the TV show Brooklyn Bridge...a show my dad used to LOVE that came on in the early '90's. Sure enough, the block party was exactly like I had imagined. Parents and grandparents sat in lawn chairs along the street, kids rode their bikes, there was food and music and it definitely had the "old NY" feel to it.

Now that it's been 8 years, I realize that as much as I thought I knew about the events that took place on September 11th, there's still so much I've yet to learn.

Before today I had never heard of "The Falling Man." When one of my partners mentioned a documentary that has been made about him this morning I decided to do a little research. I Googled him. What I read about The Falling Man is, perhaps the most powerful thing I've learned about 9/11 since it happened. For those of you, like myself, who don't know (or didn't know) his story...check this out:

Do you remember this photograph? In the United States, people have taken pains to banish it from the record of September 11, 2001. The story behind it, though, and the search for the man pictured in it, are our most intimate connection to the horror of that day.

By: Tom Junod

In the picture, he departs from this earth like an arrow. Although he has not chosen his fate, he appears to have, in his last instants of life, embraced it. If he were not falling, he might very well be flying. He appears relaxed, hurtling through the air. He appears comfortable in the grip of unimaginable motion. He does not appear intimidated by gravity's divine suction or by what awaits him. His arms are by his side, only slightly outriggered. His left leg is bent at the knee, almost casually. His white shirt, or jacket, or frock, is billowing free of his black pants. His black high-tops are still on his feet. In all the other pictures, the people who did what he did -- who jumped -- appear to be struggling against horrific discrepancies of scale. They are made puny by the backdrop of the towers, which loom like colossi, and then by the event itself. Some of them are shirtless; their shoes fly off as they flail and fall; they look confused, as though trying to swim down the side of a mountain. The man in the picture, by contrast, is perfectly vertical, and so is in accord with the lines of the buildings behind him. He splits them, bisects them: Everything to the left of him in the picture is the North Tower; everything to the right, the South. Though oblivious to the geometric balance he has achieved, he is the essential element in the creation of a new flag, a banner composed entirely of steel bars shining in the sun. Some people who look at the picture see stoicism, willpower, a portrait of resignation; others see something else -- something discordant and therefore terrible: freedom. There is something almost rebellious in the man's posture, as though once faced with the inevitability of death, he decided to get on with it; as though he were a missile, a spear, bent on attaining his own end. He is, fifteen seconds past 9:41 a.m. EST, the moment the picture is taken, in the clutches of pure physics, accelerating at a rate of thirty-two feet per second squared. He will soon be traveling at upwards of 150 miles per hour, and he is upside down. In the picture, he is frozen; in his life outside the frame, he drops and keeps dropping until he disappears.

Read more: http://www.esquire.com/features/ESQ0903-SEP_FALLINGMAN#ixzz0QoRBP3RU

The Wonderful World of Dating.

Wanted to get one in before the end of the month...almost made it.

August kicked my ass.

That being said, I figured I'd start September strong.

I went on a date Sunday night. I know, I know...Sunday is an odd choice. Here's what happened: this past weekend I was hell-bent on getting the rest of my stuff from my old house. I got up Saturday morning and went over to Yaana's to see her new place and catch up a little before heading over to the house. While we were hanging out she told me about meetup.com - a website where you can find people with similar interests...then you join their group and go do things together. She knew that I had been looking for a writer's group and suggested that I check it out.

When I got home that afternoon, I logged on and decided to start my own group...I called it Transplants...for people who moved to Sacramento from other parts of the country. Almost instantly I got an e-mail saying that someone had joined my group. Perfect. His name was Elliot and he was 26 years old. I had set up a bounce-back message to anyone who joined the group saying, "Thanks for joining...looking forward to meeting you...if you can't make it to the first outing, let me know what days/times work best for you...blah, blah, blah."

He sent me an e-mail back within a couple of minutes. He said that he wasn't sure if he could make the first outing...had just started law school at McGeorge...didn't know anyone in the area yet...and at the end of his message he signed it, "Shalom." Now, I'm not a very diligent Jew but I do know what that means. So I e-mailled him back. Instead of beating around the bush, I went straight for the kill. The e-mail I sent him read, "Are you Jewish, by chance?" His reply, "Yes."

JACKPOT.

Keep in mind, I've never really had Jewish friends so I was taking this as a sign from up above. I responded with, "Awesome! Me too!"

From there, we wound up as Facebook friends...and all the while I was thinking to myself, maybe this is more than a coincidence. Sure enough, we chatted it up for a while and then he asked if I wanted to get together sometime. Now this is outside of the meetup.com rules because the point of the website is to engage in group acitivities. Whatever. I might have just found a future Jewish attorney and I sure as hell wasn't about to let that oppotunity pass me by. I agreed, but was unable to meet him Saturday night because I had to host the CBS suite at Arco Arena for the circus...yes, you read that correctly...I spent my Saturday night watching elephants take dumps inside Arco Arena. I told him that maybe we could meet up the next day and sure enough, after I finished running errands on Sunday we made plans to get together. Nothing exciting. Coffee. It's casual and safe...just the way I like it.

DISCLAIMER: I am not homphobic in any way. I love the gays. I love, love, love the fabulosity. That being said, I don't want to date a closet gay. The reason I'm telling you this will become important in a minute.

So we meet for coffee. He's cute...funny...and very nice....but the first thing I notice is that he's clearly gay. I'm not going to lie...I felt a little silly...I had shown up under the impression that maybe...just maybe...I was going to meet this young, educated, cute, Jewish, future attorney...we'd hit it off and live happily ever after (a bit of a stretch but you get the idea). When he got there, it seemed so obvious. It wasn't just the way he talked, but his mannerisms, body language, everything...and again, I hate to perpetuate stereotypes but c'mon...when it's obvious, it's obvious.

I thought to myself, Oh ok...he's gay, no big deal. In fact, I was more than excited to meet a new potential BFF who would enjoy watching old episodes of Sex and the City with me. Plus, thinking he was gay totally put me at ease. I was almost relieved that he wasn't someone I was going to have to work overly hard to impress.

He told me that he used to work for Wella (the shampoo/hair company) and that he loved romantic comedies and that one of his favorite pastimes was to sit around drinking coffee and "gossiping." Hello? What was I supposed to think? To me, that's not even metrosexual questionable...that's all the way gay. Nothing wrong with it...at all...like I said, I love the gays!

Then out of nowhere he starts telling me about his ex-girlfriend. At first I thought, maybe he's just not comfortable telling me yet. I nodded along and listened to the story. "She" is in law school in Washington DC. "She" broke his heart. "She" is the only person he's ever really loved. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he'd ever really get over it and move on with his life. I could relate. I had been there. As the night went on, he kept referring to this girl and I kept assuming that "this girl" was actually a guy.

We spent a good three hours talking at the coffee shop. When it was time to go we hugged and promised to hang out again soon. I had really enjoyed his company...and looked forward to our future as besties.

Then came the text messages.

Message One: I had a really good time with you tonight. I'd like to ask you out again and next time it will be a real date. We can go anywhere you want.

Wait, did I miss something?

I texted him back: Thanks...I had fun too. I'd love to hang out again sometime just let me know what works with your schedule bc I know you're going to be super busy with school.

Ready for the kicker?

Message two: I will sexy. Have a good week and get ready for the ride of your life. ;-)

WHAT? I died laughing when I read it and then immediately locked the message on my phone so it will never get deleted...who says that? It was so clearly not a date. It very clearly was a gay guy who is A). in complete denial or B). suppressing the homosexual urges like his life depends on it.

One of my coworkers told me that he probably wants me to be his "beard" (aka: the person he can introduce to his parents as his grilfriend while he gets blowies from other guys on the side). TMI? Sorry, I don't have much of a filter when it comes to discussing these types of topics. It's an interesting thought, but I'm in the market for a man's man. I can handle a little gel in the hair and some manscaping (if you know what I mean) but outside of that, we don't need to compare notes on Jennifer Garner's wardrobe or go get mani/pedi's together...that's what my female friends and gay BFF's are for.

And this, ladies and gentleman, was my reintroduction to the wonderful world of dating. It's good to be back...if for no other reason...than because my luck with men is nothing short of non-existent and that makes for great stories.

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

Here we go...

I got a call from my promotions director last night. She said that our sales manager had submitted me for a possible endorsement and that they needed some information from me before the deadline (which was last night) so that's why she had to call me after hours. Well of course I got excited...there's no shame in this game...I'd endorse almost anything. Endorsements mean you get free stuff and they send you an extra paycheck every month just for saying that you like their products/services/etc.

Anyways, I was all amped up about a new endorsement...until she said that I probably wouldn't get it because the company is looking for someone over the age of 40. Ok, now I'm no mathematician but last time I checked, there was a big difference between being 27 and being 40. Am I right? I mean, we're talking a good 13 years (which is basically half of my life span up until this point). So why would they even call me and ask me if I'd endorse some kind of new joint-juice-daily-supplement-stuff? Don't get me wrong, I'd drink that shit everyday and tell everyone I knew how great I thought it was...Mmmmm, tastes just like the nectar of the Gods! I never start my day without it and you're gonna LOVE it too! But the point is, if I'm not what they're looking for and we all know I'm not what they're looking for then why call me and ask me 50 questions about my joint health and how many aches and pains I feel after completing streuous activities?

Got me all excited for nothing. Whomp, whomp, whomp.

Adding insult to injury...this morning we were giving away free buy-ins for this big poker tournament we've got coming up. To give the buy-in away we play a game called "Who's Bluffing Something" where we go around the room and each of the 5 members of our morning show says a statement about ourselves. The first person to get through who guesses which of us is bluffing wins. Simple enough.

Side note about me: I was salutatorian in high school...second place...which most people think is a significant accomplishment...excluding my mom who told me that if I had really wanted to be valedictorian (I lost by one one-thousandth of a point) I could have been, and that I obviously didn't want it badly enough. That was almost 10 years ago and no, I will probably never let that one go.

Anyways, this morning was my morning to bluff.

Jay went first: This is Jay and I am related to Bruce Springsteen.

Then me: This is Reagan and I was valedictorian in high school.

Next up, Wayne: This is Wayne and I once delivered a baby in a hospital parking lot.

Charlie: This is Charlie and I've never had coffee in my entire life.

Juan: This is Juan and I cried like I little girl when I met Magic Johnson.

The callers start calling. Keep in mind, only one of us is lying but all of our statements are kinda hard to believe. Right off the bat, someone calls in and instantly starts accusing me of bluffing. So I say, "why do you think I'm the one who's not telling the truth?" To which he replies, "Girl you're doing your thing and all but valedictorians actually go on to make something of their lives...you know what I mean...they're like doctors and lawyers and no disrespect but if you were that smart you wouldn't be doing what you're doing." Ouch. Stung a little but I'm alright. I was a little bitter so I snapped back, "That's funny because I make more money than my good friend who is a practicing attorney." (No offense, T).

I know most people think we're morons with big mouths and even bigger egos...idiots who are called obnoxious and annoying behind our backs...but to hear it put like that, I'm not gonna lie, it bummed me out a little. After I snapped at him I realized how defensive I must have sounded so I started laughing to play it off like I was joking when in reality, I was being dead serious. Granted, he was right...in more ways than one...I wasn't technically the valedictorian in high school but I came really close. If you were to ask my mom she would tell you that I could have been #1 if I had really wanted it. And after taking a brief moment this morning to lick my wound, I've spent the rest of the day wondering if I really am that much of an underachiever. I mean, really? You would believe that Wayne delivered a baby in a hospital parking lot before you would believe that I am a smart person? Really? No seriously, really?

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

Ready for more? Ok, so after we play "Who's Bluffing Something" we had this psychic come on our show. His name is Gary Spivey and my boss thinks he's ridiculous so he's only on once per month. I took the opportunity to ask him, while I had the chance, if I have a ghost in my house. I'm not saying that I'm definitely a believer in the super-natural but I'm also not a non-believer...I kinda feel like "I can't prove they do exist and I can't prove they don't exist." It might sound silly to some but until I see something with my own two eyes or have concrete scientific proof, I remain skeptical...however, I also don't think that people who have experienced paranormal events are lying. Anyways, my house is old. It was built in the 1920's. I love all of the vintage charm...it has real plaster walls, not sheetrock. It has an ironing board built into a kitchen cabinet. It has a mail slot instead of a mailbox that drops my mail straight into my living room and my garage is almost like a mini-farmhouse. I love it. But weird things happen sometimes. For instance, this a pretty decent-sized three bedroom house. The bedroom at the front of the house (facing the street) is a guest room and I keep the door closed so that the dogs don't go in there and crap on the floor. Well, on multiple occasions that door has opened itself and I'm always very careful to pull it tightly shut so that it won't open again...even if something were to push against it...yet somehow it winds up open. The thing is, it never freaks me out or anything. I just kinda figured that if there were a ghost in my house that perhaps he or she was a friendly ghost and didn't like that door being closed.

When I asked Gary about the ghost today I expected him to say, "Oh yeah...there's a ghost in your house but he/she is glad that you're there and wants you to know that you're welcome to stay." Is that what he told me? Oh no, no, no. He said that I have a Linda Blair panic-attack demon ghost in my house who lays down with me in my bed at night!!!!!!!!! WHAT???????? I was like, ummmmm that's really not funny and he said he wasn't joking. For the second time in one day I wasn't really sure how to react so I made a joke...I said, "I thought my room smelled like pea soup the other night." Everyone laughed, but deep down I was more than a little freaked out. I don't think I want to live here anymore...oh well, one more reason to move home.

Whomp, whomp, whomp...again.

Creepy Steve.

I have to tell you...

I've been following this 'Skanks in NYC' debacle and it's got me more than a little freaked out. If you don't know what I'm talking about, here's the basic gist: some chick named Rosemary Port started an online blog called Skanks in NYC. On her blog, she wrote about this other chick named Liskula Cohen, whom she obviously didn't like. Liskula found out about the blog (probably from Googling herself) and demanded that Google tell her the name of the person writing the blog. At first Google said no...then Kiskula took it to the NY Supreme Court and they made Google give up the bloggers identity. Now, there's an all out cat fight between the blogger and the defamed and it's getting ugly!

As I've been following this story, I can't help but think about my own blog...that which you are reading right now...and what would happen if my coworkers found out about it. That being said, I'm seriously considering putting an end to my online confessions and behind-the-scenes commentary because the last thing I would ever want, is to get fired over some stupid blog...I come here to vent...not to put my job in jeopardy.

Listen, I'm not stupid...this is the WORLD WIDE WEB. It's not the 'only viewable by a select group of people' web. Anyone can read this, and by anyone I mean the people who are directly named as well as the rest of the human population (not that I'm arrogant or presumptuous enough to think that that many people care about what I have to say) but still...in theory...it could happen.

Maybe I should go back to the days of writing it all down, by hand, in a diary...tucked under my mattress or kept in my night stand like I did when I was a teenager. Or maybe I should censor myself more...only talk about things that happen to me outside of work...but then I think, if I did that then this blog wouldn't be what it is...a comprehensive look at my life from my perspective. I'm having a tough time navigating the waters on this one.

While I contemplate what to do...I might as well stay true to who I am and continue to write as I have been...at least for now.

Have I told you about my alcoholic neighbor yet? Didn't think so...

His name is Steve and lives across the street from me. Keep in mind that I've only lived in my new house for 9 days. Steve was the first person I met when I moved in. He told me that he's lived in this neighborhood his whole life (I'd guess he's in his 60's) and he owns an auto-detailing business that he's semi-retired from now. Today when I came home from work I walked my dogs down to the park, which is only a block from my house. When I came back Steve was standing in his front yard with a glass of orange juice. He walked over to meet my dogs and as he approached I could smell the vodka from about 10 feet away. Steve was downing screwdrivers at 1:30 in the afternoon!

He mumbled through most of the conversation, though he was trying to sound coherent, and I found myself inching closer and closer to my front door. I smiled and nodded along for about 15 minutes and after several failed attempts to gracefully excuse myself from the exchange he finally just started walking away from me...mid-sentence. It was very strange. I'm only telling you this because I want you to know where to look first if I go missing. Tell the authorities to check creepy Steve's house...closets, attic, garage, etc.

I've had some interetsing neighbors throughout the years...some have been very nice, some have been quiet, some have been loud and some have been anti-social...but I've never really had the creepy neighbor until now. On second thought, maybe I should be less worried about my coworkers reading this and more concerned with Steve finding out about it!!!

Oh, and before I forget...I've got to tell you the latest and the greatest goings-on with The Reusables. George (from Monkeyfeather Books) is going to have his company make a series of short workbooks (aka: supplemental matierals) based on my outlines and characters that we're going to test in school systems to see if the teachers/kids find them entertaining and educational. Based on the results, we might pursue a slightly different course with The Reusables...where the workbooks will be integrated into the school systems curriculum as part of the "going green" initiative in public schools. These workbooks will be way more interactive than a series of picture books and the kids who use them will do activities in the classroom and at home to reinforce the lessons being taught at school. I can't wait to see the finished product...

At this point, I feel like I have to be open-minded to other ideas even if they are slightly different than what I had originally envisioned. George said that the problem with children's books has always been (and will always be) that they're expensive to print, hard to get shelf space for (espcecially in the big retailers like Borders and Barnes & Noble) and extremely difficult to market. I think that considering all of the possibilities is the quickest way to build a successful brand. His company is putting together the test workbooks this week and we're supposed to have another meeting next week...wish me luck!!!

Two card ritual.

Today is my dad's birthday. My parents started this ridiculous tradition when I was younger, where each year you have to buy two cards for someone's birthday...one is funny and the other is serious. For as long as I can remember this has been "the rule." Actually, this is my mom's rule...she's the only person I know who can spend an entire afternoon in the Hallmark store, reading card after card, in search of the perfect one (or two). I, on the other hand, am not a believer in spending $4.00 on a piece of paper that I am going to write my name on so that you can then, in turn, throw it away 5 minutes after I give it to you...it's wasteful and unnecessary. And then to double it up...two cards...plus tax...that's almost $10.00 that you might as well flush down the crapper. No thanks. I'd rather donate the money to a charity or buy myself two triple grande non-fat no-whip mochas from Starbucks or put $8.50 worth of gas in my car...I can't help it, I was an economics major in college and I still think of everything in terms of opportunity cost. But the two card tradition means a lot to my mom so I oblige...and let me state for the record, that my mom and dad are the only two people on the face of the planet that I'd participate in this silly ritual for. (Yes, I just ended a sentence with a preposition...deal with it).


So anyways, I got two cards this past week...threw a gift card in that he can use towards the new set of gold clubs that he wants...sent them priority mail to ensure they'd get to Lake Wylie on time...woke up this morning...and called my dad first thing to wish him a happy birthday. He was in the yard doing yard work with my mom when I called. He said that when they finished working outside they were getting cleaned up, going to a fabric store and then to go see Julie and Julia. My poor dad. He is 59 today and my mom has him pulling weeds and fabric shopping and watching lame movies on his birthday! When I got off the phone with him I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for not being there. My brother and his wife (who live in Wilmington) didn't come up for his birthday because they had company in town for the weekend. I wasn't there. And so, of course, I've spent most of the day today thinking about moving back to the east coast.


It comes and goes in waves. On days like today I realize that I can't get any of the time back. I realize that the people who matter most to me are the ones who I should be spending the day with...not talking to on the phone from across the country.


I have a plan.


The wheels are in motion and even though it's not happening as quickly as I'd like it to, I've learned that the universe always has a way of unfolding exactly as it should. For now, I live in Sacramento.


My boss told me last week that he's sending me to New York for the MTV Video Music Awards in September. That should be fun, right? Here's the kicker...Jay and I are supposed to go together since Wayne and Juan went to the Grammy's earlier this year but Jay is terrified of flying AND the VMA's are two weeks before his wedding. So, he said he doesn't want to go which means I have to fly to NY and spend the weekend with Wayne. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this yet. On the one hand, it might do us some good to spend time together outside of work. We've never really so much as attempted to "hang out" or get to know one another because for the most part, we're like oil and water. On the other hand, we don't have the best track record. He once told me he had a "swastika tattooed on his dick" (direct quote) and then he sent me Bible scripture which referred to non-believers as those "headed on a path of destruction." Can you blame me for not wanting to spend a weekend with him?


Here's how I look at it. Last year I went to the Grammy's with the person I was madly in love with. I know this is self-inflicted torture...but I still have the pictures from the Saturday night we spent on the beach in Malibu, drinking wine and watching the sun set. He wrote messages in the sand and I took pictures of them which I had planned on still having someday at our 50th wedding anniversary.

Less than a week after the above pictures were taken, he walked out on me without any explanation.

So this year, maybe I'll go to the VMA's with someone I'm less than thrilled about spending time with and who knows...maybe we'll come back with a newfound respect for one another??? And if not, then I'd be an idiot to let someone (anyone) ruin a cool weekend in NYC.



Other than that, not much else is going on. I'm all moved into my new house. My favorite part, by far, is the sun room:

Other than that, I can't think of much else to tell you. I'm still trying to get The Reusables up and running. I've been playing phone tag with the guy from Monkeyfeather Books for the past couple of weeks now. Patience is the key. Either that, or he's avoiding me like the plague.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Sweet Southern Pearls.

One of the first things I learned when I moved to California is that a little Southern hospitality goes a long way...especially out here...because people don't expect it. When I get asked what the biggest difference is between Northern Caolifornia and North Carolina, I always tell them that while I love the palm trees out here the people aren't as friendly as where I'm from. I was taught to say yes ma'am and no sir, I went to Cotillion which is kind of like finishing school (for those of you who have never heard of it), I had a shirt that said GRITS: Girls Raised in the South and I learned to shag to "Carolina Girls" by General Johnson and the Chairmen of the Board.

People in my office eat it up when I throw out a "y'all" or a "bless your heart" or a "what in tarnation" and they go ape shit it when I say, "I reckon." As much as I joke about being a sharp-tongued super-bitch who stomps around spewing insults and cutting people down with my razor sharp rhetoric...it's all a facade...an alter ego...it's Reagan...because in reality, Megan is a polite, shy, sweet and well-mannered young woman. (So, that's a little bit of a stretch but I'm trying to make a point here). And don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about...we're all multi-dimensional. I just happen to go by a different name at work so I can get away with calling myself Reagan and not have to worry about my family institutionalizing me for it.

Anyways, the point of all of this is that I'm friendly. I talk to everyone at work...everyone from the receptionist to the big, big, big boss. Well last week we got a memo that this Thursday (tomorrow) there is going to be a little forced corporate bonding so we can all "get to know each other a little better." Keep in mind that we just moved into our new studios and there have been some growing pains between us (the new ones) and the people who have been working in that building for years. So I understand why they're making us do this. It's at a bowling alley. It starts at 3 p.m. and the memo from our big, big, big boss was signed, "Thanks in advance for your participation" which I took to mean, "Get your asses to the bowling alley and make nice."

Fine, I'll go...whatever.

Now this is where the story goes from, "Where is she going with this?" to "Whoa, TMI." I'm warning you in advance, you might not want to read any further.

You've been cautioned.

So, as a female, I've gotten really good at being inconspicuous when I need to take a tampon to the bathroom with me. I wear a long-sleeved shirt. I put my hand in my purse and I slide it up my sleeve so that I can excuse myself to the restroom without anyone knowing what I'm doing. It's way sneakier than if I were to take my entire purse with me...that would be too obvious. This little trick has always worked for me without any problems...until today.

With tampon up sleeve, I was on my way to the bathroom today when my big, big, big boss passed me in the hallway. Of course, I said hello to him and while I should have just kept going I decided to be my overly-friendly self and throw in, "I'm really looking forward to bowling tomorrow!" Criminy Christmas, holy Lord have mercy, why did I just do that? The big, big, big boss then stopped and started up a little conversation about the impetus behind the bowling party...why he thought it was necessary...what he hopes it will accomplish...etc, etc, etc.

I nodded along and agreed with everything he said.

Here's a little side note about me. I talk with my hands quite a bit. I make lots of gestures and motions...especially in the work environment...it's instinctual...although I'm not exactly sure why I do it.

Anyways, as I was making a broad sweeping motion with my hand (because I had apparently forgotten that I had a tampon stuffed up my sleeve) it came flying out...right in front of my big, big, big boss. At first he didn't know what it was...an ink pen maybe? As if this story couldn't get any worse, he bent down to pick it up for me!!!!! I had never moved so fast in my whole life. I practically dove for it. The panic-stricken expression on my face must have completely given it away because he definitely figured out very quickly that it wasn't, in fact, an ink pen...but a big 'ol hunk of cotton that I was getting ready to put up my vag.

Sweet Jesus. Hail Mary.

We both just kind of froze and as he jumped back (probably out of disgust) I snatched it up and took off running down the hallway...calling back over my shoulder, "Yeah so I'll...uhhhh...see you tomorrow at Country Club Lanes!"

Once inside the bathroom, I wanted to DIE. I had all but pegged my big, big, big boss in the face with my tampon! I had just let him know that I'm currently bleeding like a dead animal...I told you this was going to be TMI...but more importantly, I don't know how I'm ever going to face him again.

I can't think of a time when trying to be a polite southern belle has ever been more of an inconvenience (and utter disaster) than it was today. Please, someone save me from myself...bless my heart.

"Carolina Girls...Sweet Southern Pearls."