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."

This side of normal.

I had a minor freak-out yesterday. As you know by now, I have to move out of my house by Sept. 10th because the owner foreclosed on it. I've also been wrestling with the idea of moving home for quite some time now and I was hoping that, perhaps, the two happenings would coincide with one another but it doesn't look like that's going to work out. I'm not ready to make the move home yet...but I have to move. The problem is that every place I've found so far requires a one-year lease. Well that leaves me with no other option but to sign a one-year lease.

Crap.

Yesterday I bit the bullet and went with a house that's only 1 mile from our studios. I signed a one year lease and coughed up a $2400 deposit. Cue freak-out. As I was driving home it all hit me. I felt so trapped and locked-in. Granted, my contract here is through November of 2010...but still, I hadn't actually planned on staying that long. And while most people are searching for commitment and stability right now, I find the prospect of being here for another year...daunting.

I came to work this morning and told Jay that I had rented another house and how nervous I was about it when he made an interesting revelation. He said, "You don't like to be tied-down to anything do you?"

I was very quick to shoot him down with, "No it's not that. It's just that the house is really old and I've never lived in an older house and what if something happens and I'm in this lease that I can't get out of...what if the people who move into the guest house in my backyard are the neighbors from hell..."

"Exactly," he said. "You want to have the freedom to leave at any time without anything holding you back."

Again I told him that he was wrong, that it was just the house that makes me nervous...that I was having second thoughts about getting a place that was built in the 1920's. There are two houses on the property. The front house (the one I rented) is the main house but the back house is a 2 br/1 ba guest cottage and I don't have any say in who moves into it. Whoever takes it will be living in my backyard. What if it's a disaster? Jay said I'd have reservations about any house I found...and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he might be right about me. I have so many big ideas and visions of what I want my future to be like. Unfortunately Sacramento isn't part of the equation so knowing, now, that I might have to invest another year here makes me feel uncomfortable.

Not to mention, I'm going to be on my own...living by myself...for the first time ever, really. I've had 19 roommates in the past 10 years. This is where I get a little finicky because as much as I need my space and know it's time to do my own thing, I also don't know if I can handle being all by myself. What if I get lonely? What if I get scared?

And more importantly, what in the hell is the matter with me?

Why can't I just be glad that I have a great job and a super cool new house to live in?

Please don't think I'm completely crazy...I'm not 100% gone yet...there's hope that I'll make it back to this side of normal at some point. I just can't help second guessing everything. Did I pick the wrong house or is there something inherent in my personality causing me to feel uneasy about my decision?

Anyways, enough about that. I went and saw G.I. Joe over the weekend (not by choice) and I have to be honest, I was entertained. I felt like a complete dumb ass when I said...out loud...that I thought G.I. Joe was the name of the main character Army dude. Apparently that's a huge faux pas because the G.I. Joe-ites were offended. While the people in my group were laughing at me, some guy sitting in front of me turned around and schooled me on the history of the Real American Heroes.

I'm now an expert in all things Joe.

We also had Tim Meadows on the show last week. I used to love his Ladies Man character on SNL...so I was excited to hang out with him for the morning. Unfortunately, Tim was upstaged by one of his improv apprentices from Second City...I don't remember his name but he was wearing a shmedium Jazzercise t-shirt and I got a good laugh out of it.

Jay ruined the picture, but you get the idea:

My Tahoe Epiphany

So nobody likes the bedding I picked out. TJ hates them all and Jenny B said #2 was ok but that the others looked like something you'd see at your grandmother's house. That being said, the search continues.

Today is Wednesday. It has taken me almost three whole days to find the time to sit down and write this. This past week was interesting. First there was the trip to Tahoe...and don't worry...I've got plenty to say about that, then we have the Monkeyfeather update (which is starting to make me nervous) and last, but certainly not least, there's the huge milestone in my life that I've got to tell you all about.

TAHOE: The plan was for everyone to meet in Fair Oaks at 3:00 p.m. Friday afternoon so that we could beat rush hour traffic. I left work at 1:00 and went straight home to pack/let the dogs out. I had the house/pet sitter lined-up, I had my car cleaned out (so I could drive through the mountains with the top down) and I had approximately one hour to get the rest done. I figured that if I left at 2:30, I would make it with a few minutes to spare. Keep in mind, that I only knew one of the other six girls going on this trip so I didn't want to be late because I didn't want them to be sitting around waiting for me...it's not a good first impression. I wound up leaving at 2:40 and was already stressed because my GPS kept giving me an ETA of 3:07.

Like I said, I HATE being late. It doesn't matter if it's work or a movie or anything else...my mom was ALWAYS late to everything when I was growing up so now I make it a point to be on-time, if not early, to wherever I'm going.

I got to Fair Oaks and nobody was at the meeting place except for Katie's sister Jenny P. What? I thought I was a couple of minutes late but apparently, I had somehow arrived first. As I was sitting at Jenny's in-law's house (they were watching Jenny's son Carson so that's why we all met there) I watched the clock tick by...3:30 came and went...3:45 came and went...I started getting slightly annoyed because I realized that I could have taken my time but it wasn't the end of the world. The rest of the group arrived over the next few minutes and we hit the road around 4:15.

To get to Lake Tahoe from Sacramento, you take Hwy 50 east. It's a straight shot. However, Hot August Nights was going on in Reno the same weekend we were going to Tahoe and because of all the road construction on I-80 (which is how you'd get to Reno), there was double the normal amount of traffic on 50. Wonderful.

I drove my car separately because I knew I was going to have to get up Saturday morning and go to Bank of America to get all of my debit card crap taken care of...plus the idea of being stuck with a group of girls in a hotel suite for the weekend without an escape plan made me nervous...like I said before, I only knew one of the prior to the trip.

We finally made it to Tahoe around 6:45 which really wasn't too bad. It was still light outside and the weather was amazing. Once we checked-in, we decided to let Katie open all of her presents before heading to dinner. We were all told to bring Katie lingerie (it was a bachelorette party, afterall) and what I bought for her was...by far...the hottest. All of the other girls bought cotton tank tops with things like "Soon to be Mrs." written on them or some other lame stuff...which is all well and good as I respect the practicality angle...but I decided to get her something that she'll wear for 2.2 seconds before winding up on the bedroom floor and for that reason, I didn't think comfort and/or practicality were all that important.

After the panty party we went to dinner at The Naked Fish...a very trendy sushi restaurant in South Lake Tahoe. It wasn't until we were sitting at dinner, and everyone was talking about the weekend of events, that I started asking myself: When did I become so un-fun? No seriously, what the fuck happened to me? None of what they were talking about sounded remotely entertaining to me but I had to keep reminding myself that this was Katie's weekend, not mine. As we sat there I gave myself a quiet little pep-talk. I said, "Just go with the flow and try to enjoy yourself. If Katie's having a good time, that's all that matters."

Here's a fun fact about me...I'm allergic to avocado...which really sucks because I think it's super delicious...but when I eat it my chest gets tight, I can't breathe and I feel like I'm dying. Sushi restaurants put avocado on almost everything. So when I order sushi, I always have to specifically ask for "no avocado." Well, the group of girls thought it would be easier for us to order as a table instead of individually. I was trying to be a good sport so when the girl ordering asked if there was anything anyone didn't like, I said that I couldn't have avocado but that it wasn't a huge deal for me to just pick it off. I thought she would say, "Oh in that case, why don't you just order your own because everything I'm about to order comes with avocado." That didn't happen.

The sushi came. I picked out as much avocado as I could and thought, perhaps, I'd be ok. WRONG. I ate two pieces of sushi and almost instantly my chest started getting tight and because I felt like I was going into cardiac arrest, I passed on the sake bombs and other alcoholic beverages.

Then the bill came. Listen, I don't think I'm a cheap person...but...I wasn't too keen on paying $50 (my part of the bill) for two pieces of sushi that almost killed me and alcohol I didn't drink. Whatever, it's Katie's weekend.

After dinner, the group wanted to go to Cabo Wabo...my worst nightmare. When I was 19 I would have thought that Cabo Wabo was God's gift to the world. Now that I'm almost 30 I'd rather get a pap smear than spend my Friday night in a cheap well-drink serving, loud and crowded bar full of drunk, horny idiots. Keep in mind, too, my chest is still tight and I'm having trouble breathing...not emergency room worthy or anything...because I only ate a little bit...but I definitely should have gone back to the room and layed down so that I could be still and breathe slowly and deeply. So we're all standing in Cabo Wabo when a group of young(ish) guys decide they are going to "grind" up against us. The girls in my group seemed to be enjoying them so I tried really hard to tolerate it while subtly making my way to the perimeter of the circle. Too bad I backed right into one of them, which he mistook as a cue to start thrusting his pelvis at me. I tried to get around him, but he wasn't having it. Finally, through the pain of my avocado allergy attack and his obscene thrusting, I looked at him and said, "If you jab me in the hip with your hard-on one more time I am going to stab you in the jugular."

That's my sense of humor. I was, very sarcastically, letting him know to back the fuck off. Would you like to guess what he said in response? Go ahead, you'll never guess....

He said, "If you stab me I'll rape you."

WHAT???? I was speechless. Ummm, I know that what I said wasn't that funny (even though in my mind it was) but you threatening to rape me is even not funnier than what I said. I thought, "No, this fucker did not just give me a dose of my own medicine!?!?" I didn't stick around long enough to find out what the outcome of that situation would have been. I excused myself from Cabo Wabo to use the restroom...conveniently located on the casino floor...and while in the bathroom I texted Katie to let her know that I'd be at a Craps table and to come find me when they were ready to leave.

Saturday morning the girls wanted to go to Zephyr Cove but they wanted to leave early because it gets so crowded by 10:00. Well I had to go to Bank of America so I told them I'd meet them down there. For the first (and probably only) time in my life I was relieved when I got to the bank and found that there was only one customer service rep working. I was sixth in line...fine...great...take your time. No hurry. The guy in front of my had a similar story about his card getting stolen so we sat and talked about how annoying it was for almost an hour while the one person working helped the other people in line before us. Despite the night I had had before, I looked around the bank Saturday morning and realized, so this is where all of the good looking men in Northern California are hiding. They were everywhere!

Those who know me, know that I like 'em a little bit older and there was a straight up JFK Jr. who had me drooling...henceforth, I will be hanging out at the Bank of America in South Lake Tahoe every weekend...jk.

I left the bank and went to meet my group at Zephyr Cove but once I got there I called three times, left a message and sent a text, which all went unreturned, so I just hung out by myself for the morning. It was so crowded that there was no way I was ever going to find them. I wound up meeting some really nice people from the Bay area and took a little nap on the beach bfore heading to Harrah's to play some blackjack.

I won over $200. I was happy.

At 5:00 in the afternoon the girls called to let me know that they didn't have any cell reception at the cove and that they were so sorry they had missed my calls. Secretly, I was glad that I had gotten to have some "me time" without them. We all started to get ready in the one bathroom we were sharing among the 7 of us...which was not fun...Katie's weekend...deal with it. The problem is that I didn't grow up with sisters. I had an older brother and I never had to share anything with him. I always had my own bedroom, bathroom, wing of the house, etc...so sharing is not my strong point. But I did my best to be quick and stay out of everyone's way. I am proud to report that I was ready...start to finish...in less than 45 minutes while the other girls took over 3 hours to shower and get dressed.

Anyways, Saturday night the plan was to go to Club Vex. I wanted to go see the Chicago and Earth, Wind & Fire concert...I know, I'm an animal...Katie's weekend...Club Vex it is. We got to the club and I found myself thoroughly amused by the people in attendance. I did some people watching...and while I was distracted by some tool in an Ed Hardy shirt trying to flirt with one of the go-go dancers, my group left me! I turned around and they were gone. I looked in the bathroom...and when I didn't see them I went back to play more blackjack where I won another $100.

Sunday morning we checked out of the hotel and headed home. Katie rode back with her sister so it was just me, the gorgeous scenery and more amazing weather. I drove home with my top down and my music up...it might just have been my favorite part of the whole weekend. I find so much comfort in being alone with my thoughts...it gave me time to just think.

You know, as I've gotten older my life has become more boring...and I'm ok with that. I've mellowed-out. I'm more low-key and who cares if I don't enjoy loud nightclubs anymore...things change, people change and this weekend I realized how much I've changed...my Tahoe epiphany. I just hope this is where I plateau, otherwise I'll be playing chess with myself, in my living room, on the weekends by the time I'm 35.

The rest of the stuff I was going to tell you about will have to wait. This has gotten entirely too long and I've got to call it a night.

Short and sweet.

I'm not a pastel person...pastel colors make me nauseous. In my house, I like bold colors. Moroccan blues, greens, golds and reds in the living room and Earth tones in the bedroom. I've had the same bedroom set-up for a few years now and I'm thinking it might be time to change things up a bit. Here's what I'm currently working with (it's like a sage green and dark brown):

It's alright, but I'm starting to get bored with it and I know it's hard to tell from the picture but I have a California King so sometimes it's a little difficult to find bedding that I like...that will also fit my bed. I mean, it's HUGE. Anyways, I've started looking around for new bedding ensembles and I'm thinking about stepping outside of my comfort zone a little. Nothing too crazy...just a little pop of color to brighten things up a little. Here's what I've found so far:

I'm not in love with any of them but they're kinda sorta along the lines of what I'm thinking. Your thoughts?

Anyways, I found out yesterday that someone has been using my debit card. I spent two hours on the phone with B of A reporting the "suspicious charges." I was looking at my bank statement and saw over $500 worth of charges in Utah and Nevada over the past week. What? I asked the lady on the phone how that was possible...I have the card in my possession...and she said that people are making counterfeit bank cards with other people's account numbers on them and when they go to use them at gas stations or whatever, they say that the magnetic strip doesn't work and that it will have to be entered in manually. It doesn't seem like it should be that easy but I guess it is. So annoying and so not cool.

I hadn't felt so violated since my parents found (and read) my diary when I was 13.

In other news, I booked my flight to NC for Greta's wedding in October. I'm flying into RDU on Thursday the 8th...and my ticket was only $277 roundtrip! Sweet. I'm saving those frequent flyer miles so I can go visit Hannah in Paris next year! (For those of you who don't know...one of my best and oldest friends from 3rd grade is an engineer for Areva and they're moving her to France!) She is a bonafide badass and I will fully take advantage of a free place to stay in Europe, Oui s'il vous plaît.

Well, that's all I got for now...keeping it short and sweet today!

The Reusables.

I had my meeting yesterday with Monkeyfeather Books out of Salt Lake City. Things went really well, so far as I can tell. My potential publisher seemed really enthusiastic about my series...The Reusables. The owner of the company - his name is George - is currently working on projects with Michael Ward (former member of The Wallflowers) and Joel Harper (Ben Harper's brother). We're supposed to talk again at the end of the week, once he's had a day or two to read through all of the work I've done so far.

I don't want to get too excited because I'm all too familiar with the notion that rejection is a natural part of the creative process...which is hard...because this is very personal to me. I remember talking to Carlos Alazraqui when he came on our show a few months back. He played Deputy Garcia on Reno 911! and he's done character voices for dozens of cartoons...Family Guy, Rocko's Modern Life, Phineas and Ferb AND he was the "Yo quiero Taco Bell" voice of the Taco Bell Chihuahua. Anyways, Carlos told me that it would probably take years to get my idea - The Reusables - off the ground.

So for the past couple of months I've been brainstorming here and there, writing ideas down, bouncing things off my family and friends...but I haven't devoted my full attention to this project. That being said, when George goes through everything I sent him last night, he might come back and tell me that we've still got a long way to go...or he might politely pass on all of it.

Here are my sketches...and please keep in mind that these would be redone by a professional illustrator who will make mine look like kindergarten drawings, which is basically what they are right now. Oh, and please excuse the fact that the ones at the bottom are upside-down...that was an accident.



The series is about a (culturally diverse) group of recyclable products from a recycling plant who form a band and go on tour in a recycling truck, their tour bus, singing songs to kids about different environmental issues. Not only is the series about teaching kids how to be environmentally conscious and socially responsible, but it also promotes using problem solving strategies and team work to overcome obstacles. Think Berenstain Bears, Spongebob, Veggie Tales (minus the religious aspect) and Safety Kids...with a very clear and distinct voice.

Each adventure that the characters go on focus on a specific environmental "buzz" word or term in a way that is both educational and applicable to real world scenarios.

I think it has limitless potential and while I don't have any kids myself...if I did...I would want them to read books for recreational and educational purposes. If I could find a series of books with compelling characters that entertained my kids while spreading an important message...well, I'm pretty sure I'd jump on board. I hope George agrees.

Plus, there's nothing else like this on the market right now. I recently spent a Friday night at Borders and asked the lady working there if she could show me the children's books about environmentalism...she took me straight to the non-fiction section and not only were the books aimed at/geared towards middle school aged chilren (and above) but they weren't very interesting...they were non-fiction...educational...dry. There were no books for the 4-8 year olds. There were no cute stories with cute characters. I'm just saying...

Think about it. Environmentalism is one of the biggest issues in the 21st century. The books (printed on recycled paper, of course) with music/songs and well-developed story lines...I mean, the cross-marketing opportunities would be endless.

I've already written the first book in the series. It's an introduction to the characters and it sets the stage for the future of The Reusables. I'd love for my friends (ie - those reading this right now) to check it out and give me some feedback so leave me your e-mail address in the comments section and I'll send it out to you. Or even better, if you have a small child (or have access to one...or two) then read the story to them and see if they react to it at all. Then let me know what you find out. It will help me write the rest of the series...and I'll make sure to include you in the "special thanks" section!

PS - Just checked the weather in Tahoe this weekend...sunny with a High of 80...lows in the 40's...PERFECTION!!!

Double Bonus, Cha Cha Cha.

First item of business: an update on the WWWORD situation. In the middle of the show Thursday (the day after the e-mail was sent) he leaned over to me and said, "So I understand you were offended by what I sent you yesterday." I looked him dead in the eye and replied, "Yeah...actually...it kinda did." I guess what happened next was to be expected. It started with a half-hearted apology. Then it morphed into a self-indulgent defense. That's his tactic. He has a really creative way of twisting the details to fit his version of the story...which was that he wasn't even thinking about the possibility of offending me when he sent it to me because the thought never entered his mind. He challenged me and wanted to know why I found it so offensive. He tried to dissect the situation and back me into a corner so I'd have to admit that I "overreacted" and ultimately wind up letting him off the hook. I'm sure most women fall for it because he's good at it...I'm not one of them.


And while I never got the sincere and/or genuine apology that I was hoping for, I had to stand firm and lay down the law to let him know that I wasn't going to change my mind. Listen, I get it. Perception is reality. If we perceive the situation differently then our realities are going to be different. He doesn't feel like he was in the wrong so he feels like he has no reason to apologize.


Keep in mind, this is the same person who once told me that he didn't "see anything wrong with being a Nazi" and that he "had a swastika tattooed on his dick," so like I said, why would I have reason to expect a positive resolution?


The good news was that almost immediately after the show Thursday we all became instantly distracted by the Arbitron ratings. Allow me to explain a little about how ratings work. There are over 1.9 million people who live in our listening area. Every month we get a trend. The trend is a market share based on the total number of people who listen to our station (the "cume") and the time spent listening (or "TSL" as we call it). At the end of three months, the trends are averaged into a book...our ratings. We have four books per year and they are, of course: Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall.


On each of the 4 days per year that ratings are published, we all come to work wondering if we're going to be on the chopping block. If we get a bad set of numbers, we're rarely given an opportunity to "wait and see" if the next set of numbers will be better. Our ratings determine everything: how much we get paid, our bonus structure, how many enorsements we get, our testimonials and basically, how valuable we are to our company.


So anyways, we just got our Spring book numbers back and our morning show came in #2, a far cry from 8th place...which is where the show was when I came to work for KSFM 10 months ago. I would never claim full credit for the newfound success...afterall...it's a team effort and there are 5 of us who have worked very hard to achieve what we've accomplished. So I got a bonus for our morning show numbers and I was excited. I guess it just goes to show that you don't always have to see eye to eye with your coworkers, and you don't always have to like them, or agree with them...but sometimes you do need them.



Middays, on the other hand, is a solo effort. I do the show by myself. Those numbers are mine and only mine. I came in 2nd in middays too, so I got another bonus for that. Say it with me now: DOUBLE BONUS, CHA CHA CHA. Thank you CBS. Oh, and mark my word...I will beat the guy who came in 1st...he works for a rock station...his name is Pat and he's been on the air here for over 20 years...he's the veteran and I'm the rookie...step aside old man, there's a new kid in town.

The week ended well. Not even my creepy caller stalker could mess it up. I hear from him from time to time. He calls himself General Patton and he thinks my name is Claire. I don't know what his real name is. A lot of radio people have creepy caller stalkers. It's weird because we're nobody's. We're not famous, we're not celebrities. We're not even remotely interesting. I guess that's why we attract the creme de la creme of crazies...the ones who don't have enough sense to attach themselves to real celebrities. It's people like General Patton who make make me realize why I don't use my real name at work. Check this out:

I hung up on him. That seems to be the best way to handle him and most of the time he leaves me alone after that, but it doesn't always work. On this particular day, he called back. He doesn't normally get belligerent with me...only when he hasn't taken his medication. Apparently he's schizophrenic and I've been assured that he poses no real threat to my personal safety or well-being. I'm almost embarrassed to let you hear our exchange in this next call...he definitely managed to fluster the unflusterable. Damn you, General Patton:



Hahaha...I'm not black?!?!?!? That's the best I could come up with????? Seriuosly????? Ugh, makes me cringe listening to it. At least he doesn't show up to my live events. I know this guy named Mike who works for a station on the east coast and his creepy caller stalker always shows up to his remotes. His is WAY funnier than mine:

Moving on. Yesterday (Saturday) I learned the downside of Freeze getting fired again. I had to work for him. Well I didn't have to, but I'm not stupid. I'm the youngest, I'm the newest on staff and I'm the only girl. I have to prove myself by letting my boss know that I'm a team player. I'm the go-to girl. I'll get the job done even if it means sacrificing my Saturday to cover for someone I really don't like. Call it what you want...ass kissing...brown nosing...or being incredibly smart (that's the one I like the best). I spent the morning broadcasting live from a Subaru dealership and then I spent the hours between 2 and 6 pm on the air doing a regular shift. I know, I know...woe is me...and yes, I would like some cheese with my whine.

Today, Yaana and I took a trip to Modesto. I had to finish cleaning out my house because I have new tenants moving in on August 1st. One of the many joys of home-ownership, I'm learning, is that you have to do a lot of un-fun shit...especially when you don't live in your house and you rent it out to people who don't take care of it the way you would. Anyways, the trip started with a stop at a U-Haul place and let me just say...I'm pretty sure I missed my calling in life. I was driving that truck like it was nobody's business. Are you supposed to get them up to 85 mph?

No? Oh well.

Anyways, Yaana and I were like Amazonian women. Between the two of us, we moved a couch, headboard, footboard, mattress, box spring, kitchen table, chairs, and big ass mirror all by ourselves...in the 100 degree heat. We said a lot of "f" words and got a little creative with a brick when we couldn't find a hammer (thanks for nothing T-Pain) but all in all, we laughed more than we worked. I know I have a great friend in Yaana when she shows me she's willing to spend an entire Sunday in Modesto...the arm pit of California...in the blazing heat...helping me move my crap...and for that, I shall be eternally grateful.

And now here it is, Sunday night. I've got a big week ahead. Some of you who know me really well, already know that my name is not synonymous with the term "child-friendly." I think I would really like my own kids, if I had any, but generally speaking I find other people's kids to be really annoying. Keep those things on a leash. In any event, I have a meeting on Tuesday with a publishing company out of Salt Lake City (thanks to my TJ the DJ) about a series of children's books I've been working on. Don't laugh, I'm being serious. His name is George and he owns Monkeyfeather Books. They've published a series called Mike and the Bike - with a forward written by Lance Armstrong - aimed at teaching kids about the Tour de France and I don't want to get too excited yet but I'm definitely anxious to talk to him.

Then of course, this coming up weekend I'm going up to Tahoe for Katie's bachelorette party...with my double bonus in my pocket. Say it with me again: DOUBLE BONUS, CHA CHA CHA!

LAWD HAMMERCY!!!

WARNING: THIS IS A LONG ONE

Well, I've certainly gotten myself into a little "situation" at work. Before I launch into the nitty gritty, let me tell you a quick story about myself.

I'm Jewish. I grew up in the south and the entire Jewish population of North Carolina, where I'm from, is approximately 1% (according to Wikipedia). So I know what it feels like to be different. I was the only Jewish kid in my classes, I never went to vacation Bible school and I don't know the words to most Christmas carols. I had a Bat Mitzvah, I went to Hebrew School on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons and I celebrated weird holidays. When Adam Sandler's "The Chanukah Song" came out in 1996, I thought it was the most brilliant thing I had ever heard. At 14 years old, I remember thinking, "Finally people understand that it's ok to be Jewish."

I've been told twice in my life, to my face, that I'm going to hell because I don't believe in Jesus. It happened once in Middle School and once in High School. I'll never forget those incidents for as long as I live. I guess you could say that religion is somewhat of a "hot button" for me. At times, I'm a little hyper-sensitive about it because of the experiences I've had in the past. But that's not to say that I don't crack jokes about religion and being Jewish - because I do - funny is funny and jokes are jokes. However, I'm used to being around people who don't share my beliefs so I think I'm very cognizant of what I say when in the presence of other people. I've learned that I have to be respectful and tasteful...and that there's always a fine line between humorous and offensive...harmless and malicious...especially when it comes to religion. On the flip side, I totally get that most people aren't used to being in the religious minority and don't realize that I'm as sensitive about it as I am.

You get the idea.

Anyways, at work this morning, a conversation (off the air) started in our studio about religious fasting. Wayne, one of my co-hosts, voluntarily fasts for 24 hours each week to represent his understanding of the sacrifice that Jesus made for his followers, as taught by Christianity. My boss (the program director) and our assistant program director were both in the studio along with the other 5 of us who do the morning show together everyday.

Side note: Wayne goes to church every Sunday and his father is a preacher. He also has pre-marital sex, watches porn, drinks, gambles and engages in various other forms of sin-like behavior...all of which I know to be true because he openly talks about. He would not deny any of what I've just told you. He is free to live his life in any way he chooses and it is absolutely none of my business...but I do find it to be ironic. I call it the "beat your wife on Saturday night, go to church Sunday morning" mentality. The notion that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, as often as you want - as long as you ask for forgiveness at your convenience. He

And let me be over-abundantly clear about one thing...I'm no angel either. I have a devious side just like most other people in the world so I'm not trying to distinguish myself from Wayne by pretending that I'm holier than thou. I'm realistic. I think, for the most part, we all try to be good friends, family members, coworkers and contributing members of society...and we all fall short sometimes.

My APD (assistant program director) is the opposite of Wayne. His name is Randy. Randy walks the walk and talks the talk. He lives the straight and narrow. I find this to be equally as annoying (on a personal level) as someone who talks out of both sides of his/her mouth, but I respect that he practices what he preaches.

So the fasting conversation is taking place and my boss (who we'll call BK) said that he didn't understand the concept of religious fasting because he doesn't believe that God cares whether people eat or not. He said he thinks it's a little self-righteous to assume that God pays that much attention to any one person's dietary habits.

I didn't say anything.

Wayne and Randy seemed intent on proving their point, so the conversation lasted a lot longer than it should have. Finally I spoke up. I said, "Well, BK I'm Jewish so don't feel bad...I don't understand any of this." Everyone in the room already knew I was Jewish because I'm very open about it and have mentioned it, both on and off the air, on several occasions. Actually I take that back. The only person who didn't know about my religious beliefs before I made the comment was my boss. He didn't know because we aren't really acquainted with one another on a personal level. I've never seen or hung out with him outside of work, like the rest of my coworkers have. Like I've said in the past, it's a boys club...no girls allowed.

So after the conversation ended everyone pretty much dispersed in different directions. The show ended and that was that.

An hour or two later I got an e-mail from my co-host Wayne. The subject line read: WWWORD. I didn't know what it was so of course, I opened it. I'm just going to copy and paste the whole thing below because it'll be easier than trying to re-type it all:

From: KSFM Waynee Wayne
Sent: Wednesday, July 22, 2009 2:18 PM
To: KSFM Reagan
Subject: FW: WWWORD


1 Corinthians 1:18-23 (New Living Translation)
The Wisdom of God
18 The message of the cross is foolish to those who are headed for destruction! But we who are being saved know it is the very power of God. 19 As the Scriptures say,
“I will destroy the wisdom of the wise and discard the intelligence of the intelligent.”[a]
20 So where does this leave the philosophers, the scholars, and the world’s brilliant debaters? God has made the wisdom of this world look foolish. 21 Since God in his wisdom saw to it that the world would never know him through human wisdom, he has used our foolish preaching to save those who believe. 22 It is foolish to the Jews, who ask for signs from heaven. And it is foolish to the Greeks, who seek human wisdom. 23 So when we preach that Christ was crucified, the Jews are offended and the Gentiles say it’s all nonsense.

I read it once.

I read it again.

I went back and re-read it for a third time.

I sat for a moment and processed what the passage was about. Keep in mind, I've never read the Bible so all of the numbers were throwing me off a little bit. And then, in an unelicited response to the e-mail...I started crying. I was angry, offended, frustrated and hurt. I found it inappropriate and uncalled for. We work for a Fortune 500 company. William S. Paley, the chief executive who built CBS into one of the foremost radio and television network operations in the United States, was a Russian Jew. Not that that has anything to do with the scripture message I had just read...but loosely, the point is that using work e-mail for spreading Christian ideals and beliefs is neither professional nor appreciated.

It gets worse. The e-mail was originally sent by Randy (one of my direct superiors) to a group of people who work in our building. He sent it 15 minutes after the conversation we had in our studio about religious fasting...when I spoke up about being Jewish. Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe not. I do find it suspicious that the scripture he chose made direct references to Jews. Again, I haven't read the Bible so I don't know if that's a common occurrence or not. But I found out later in the day that Randy sends these types of e-mails out almost daily...from his corporate e-mail account...on company time. Tsk, tsk. He sends them to about 15-20 people in our office as a type of bonding-through-Christ kind of kinsmanship. Obviously I'm not on that e-mail list but Wayne decided that I needed to hear the message so he (as one of the e-mail recipients) forwarded it to me.

I had some irrational thoughts while I sat there crying. My instinct was to print it out and march straight to HR. I could picture myself heading down there (e-mail in hand) on a mission, with a vengeance...demanding reprimand...refusing to accept anything less. But I've learned not to react emotionally to work situations. So I did the next best thing. I called my dad...but not before forwarding him the e-mail so that he could read it while we were on the phone together.

Here's a little 411 about my dad...he doesn't get mad. He's cool as a cucumber all the time. He is even-tempered, he's methodical and he's VERY patient (afterall, he still puts up with me...and my mom). I've seen my dad get really worked up on one or two occasions. Honestly, the rest of the time he's exceedingly logical. I call him every time I need him to "talk me off the ledge" and no one can reason with me the way my dad can.

Well, I can tell you this...Dr. J was PISSED!!! I don't know if I've ever heard that tone of anger in his voice.

He kept saying, "If I found out this was going on in my organization I would be livid!!! This is grounds for termination...what the hell are they thinking???"

We talked about the options I had. I could:

a). Do nothing...let it roll right off...take the high road and shrug it off

b). E-mail Wayne back, addressing him directly, about my disapproval

c). Talk to my boss about the situation

d). Go to Human Resources

I chose to e-mail Wayne directly. Listen, I'm not trying to get anyone in trouble...I don't want anyone to get fired...and I don't want to "be the girl who ran to HR" over a stupid little e-mail and got everyone in trouble. That's not how I operate. Here's my response:

Hey Wayne,

I totally respect your beliefs and don't mean any malintent in saying this, but I'd like to ask that you please not forward me Bible scriptures in the future. I know sometimes I joke about being Jewish but at the end of the day, it's something I take great pride in...I am firm and secure in my beliefs and would very respectfully like to make it clear that I do not wish to receive scripture e-mails from you or anyone else here at work.

Thanks,

Reagan

I went home after I sent the e-mail and thought that should have been the end of it...but it wasn't. One of my good friends in the building overheard me talking to my dad on the phone and went to tell BK about the e-mail because he knew I wasn't going to. From what I understand, my boss flipped out. He panicked, thinking I was going to turn on everyone involved (and by everyone involved, I mean the entire WWWORD mailing list, of which BK is a member). As it stands, I don't know who knows what or what the public perception of the situation happens to be.

Further, it's not even the content of the scripture that upsets me as much as it's the intent and motivation behind Wayne's decision to send it to me. He was trying to put me in my place and show me the error of my ways. It was deliberate, premeditated and reeked of superiority. It's totally characteristic of the working relationship I have with him (which is an entirely different issue all together...kind of).

So, I'm going to show up to work tomorrow as if it's business as usual but LAWD HAMMERCY!!! You know, I've often said that if you're the kind of person who always has issues with people at work then the common denominator is you. I don't know if I'm the problem or if this is all being brought on by outside forces.

I have to stop typing now, I'm getting a hand cramp.

PS - Freeze got fired again and I stand corrected...this was the fifth time he's been terminated from his position with CBS. He's got to be setting a record or something...is that worthy of an award? I feel like I should make him a certificate.

Dear Freeze,

Congratulations on being the employee who has been fired more times than anybody else in the history of the Columbia Broadcasting System. Job well done...not.

Regards,

Reagan