Escalator Guy

You: kaki pants (I think), some kind of brief case, brown hair, kind voice
Me: Orange shoulder bag, jean jacket, red hair, face down on the escalator

I tripped and fell on the escalator this morning. You asked me if I was ok – more out of reflex I think than genuine concern for the well being of a complete stranger. It doesn’t matter, though. Thanks for showing a glimmer of friendliness while I was eating escalator grime.

Random Thought of the Day

The bus driver told me this today (seriously not making this us):
"I want to lose weight, but I don't want to lose too much weight too fast, 'cause then I be all cold up there in that bed." Yes, just like that.

Gender Equality

I have long been familiar with the common belief that women make 72¢ for every dollar earned by a man, all other things being equal. I even believed it — for some (male dominated) professions. Once I graduated University and got that first job, and compared my salary with my coworkers and friends I was pleased to learn that (at BigNameCompany at least) gender was, apparently, a non-issue for my position.

At ConsultingShop I made more than some of my male counter-parts.

At InternetCompany I think I'm making less than I could, but probably pretty close to even with my male colleagues.

However, tonight I was comparing salaries with a friend of mine. He has yet to graduate, and I'm not fully convinced that he is any better at programming than I am. The biggest difference between us is our job titles. That being said, I'm make 83¢ for his dollar. Better than 72? Very much so. Equal? Far from it.

The only difference I see is that he is a bit more "generous" with his skills descriptions on his resume, where I may be a bit more humble — perhaps 'honest' is a better word. It's not that I'm jealous (at some point it's just money), I'm just annoyed that the equality I had hoped and dreamed for doesn't really exist. What good has the Women's movement done, if not to propel us to more equal footing with men?

Melinda

In high school I had a class with a girl named Melina. We had P.E. together one year, and her locker was right next to mine. She couldn't memorize the combination to her locker, so the teacher gave her a lock with a key, which she wore on a string, tied around her neck. I think it was the only key she had ever had.

Melinda was quiet, and not one to draw attention to herself. She could have been rather pretty if she had a cute hair cut that required no attention rather than the bob which probably looked really good when the stylist did it for her. Or, had someone told her, gently, that red lipstick wasn't her color (and never would be), but pink would work quite well — and then shown her how to put it on properly. Perhaps if her pants sat at her waist, or a bit lower, and the bottom at least touched the top of her shoes. All of that said, it wasn't her dress that effected me — it was her kindness.

While we were all making plans to go to college, or join the service, or move to the city and work as servers until our acting careers took off, or to not have plans at all, Melinda was too. I asked her once what she wanted to be when she graduated. She wanted to be a bagger at the local grocery store (that none of us knew was actually a chain). I asked her why (thinking to myself how sad it would be to do that for the rest of one's life). Her answer taught me a lot — that day, and years later. She liked people. She liked being around them and talking to them. She liked to help them and brighten their day. She wanted a job where she could do all of those things, and what better place than a grocery store in a small town. A place where everyone knows you, and being in your line might mean it takes an extra couple of minutes to get out of the store, but it makes them happy to see you happy.

I don't know what happened to her after graduation. I imagine that she is working there, in the dim light of the grocery store, calling regulars by their names and asking about their kids. I imagine that she has found a joy that so many of us will never find.

Why are we talking about her tonight? There is a woman who rides the same bus as I in the mornings who reminds me very much of Melinda (but a few years older). When I see her in the mornings I think of Melinda, and I smile. True joy can be found in the simplest places — it doesn't have to come with large paychecks or in big cities. In the end, it's about finding the true you.

No, Sorry, I Don't Work Here

I have this amazing idea for a wall hanging in my apartment: I want to gather various sizes of canvas and paint them all in a variety of colors and shades. I don't want them to necessarily "go" together, or match. Then, I shall hang them all very snuggly together to form one unit. I wish I could describe it better, but I guess you'll just have to wait for the finished product.

With this goal in mind, I headed to the local craft store to buy a few canvases. I had been painting before I left, so I cleaned my brushes, and headed out, with out bothering to remove my apron. When I got to the craft store a father and son were looking at presentation boards which are kept near the canvases. I was looking for the right size when I overheard the father tell his son to ask one of the employees if they had more of what they were looking for in the back. The son rounded the corner from his aisle, glanced me up and down, and taking stock of what I was wearing determined that the craft store really lets their employees dress a bit too casually. Then, he asked me (rather politely, his father should be proud) if we happened to have more in back. I smiled and said, "Actually, I don't worry here. Sorry."

"Oh, you don't?" He asked, the obvious question being: Then why are you wearing a paint stained black apron?

"No, sorry. I was working in my studio (well, technically, my apartment is my studio) and didn't bother to change before heading over here."

"Oh." Ironically, the ring of disapproval in his voice was barely hidden under the surface.

I smiled and he went to find someone who could really help him. I don't know what was more entertaining: Being mistaken for working at a craft store, or the disapproval from a high-school-er for being an artist.

Japa-what?

I work on an internationalization team at InternetCompany. Our Web site is available in many countries, and many languages. That being said, I have made it very well known that I know the following languages: American, Canadian (the English dialect), and American Sign Language. That's it. Unless you count Pig Latin, which I don't think you can, really.

That said, it was quite a surprise to me when my boss came up to me and announced that I shall heretofore be working on our Japanese Web site for the rest of the week. Um, exactly what part of "I. don't. know. Japanese." did you miss? I expressed my concerns pretty loudly, but they fell on more than slightly deafend ears. His solution was to send out an email with a revised schedule. Notice, if you will, that he has now included his own name on the list. In the immortal words of Chris Farley, "Latty-freaking-da!" that still doesn't change the fact that I don't espeka Japanese! Are you worried? I am. Is he retarded? I'm becoming more and more convinced of it as time goes on.

I hope I can last a year here. It's going to look pretty bad on the old resume to have had 3 jobs in under a year. In other news, I'm going to email my former boss at ConsultingShop. Maybe I can get some spare cash, since I just bought a $200 record player. (ouch!)

New Church

When I moved to the Island I wondered where I would attend church. As it turns out, there is a ward house really, really, close to my place. It's wonderful to still be close to church.

My new ward is great. Last Sunday was the first time I attended this new ward. I wasn't trepidatious, but I was concerned about the age range of the people I who would be in my new ward. As it turns out, I needn't have worried. The ward is comprised of single adults ranging from 21 - 32. Perfect. It's a small ward, but an active stake, which is really nice.

I was so relieved to finally have a home ward again, and to be able to pay my tithing. I think the bishop might have been a little shocked when he saw the size of the checks I handed him, but I've been saving that up for the past two months, waiting until I had a ward.

Today I found out my records have already been transferred into the new ward. I have never know the Church to move that fast on anything, but for some reason they really wanted my records, I guess. The bishop came up to me today and asked me to set up an appointment to meet with him. Oh yeah. I guess that means I'm going to be getting a calling soon. Not that I mind, mind you. I wish we could have done it this Sunday, since the Gospel Doctrine teacher is getting married this week, and there is always a chance I could slide right into that calling. For some reason I really doubt that would happen, but a girl can wish. Can't she?

Warm Door Handles

Every morning when I arrive at work I scan my id badge which unlocks the door. Then I grab the door handle and pull it towards me, opening the door. Each and every time I grab the handle, I am surprised to find it warm, as if someone else had been holding on to it for the last five minutes and has recently released their grip so I could grab hold. There is never anyone in the lobby with me, and no evidence that someone has recently been there. The warmth is unmistakable. It is so odd to me that the handle is warm. Logic dictates that it should be cool to the touch. Or, at least, the same temperature as the room, rather than warmer. Someday I shall solve the mystery of the warm door handles.

Frozen Grapes

There are two ways to eat grapes: straight off the vine or frozen. Any other way is merely acceptable. Oh, and none of those purple grapes. Yuck.

So, here I sit, eating frozen grapes, and shivering. It's like eating ice cream in the middle of a blizzard! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But I can't stop.

BRRRRRR....

Visit

As it turns out, my orthodontist is in Utah (big surprise, I know), so when I have to have check ups, guess where I get to go? That's right: Utah. Wednesday I flew out there for my appointment. I went out to lunch with my friend from ConsultingShop. After an hour and a half I returned him to his office. Then, I ran in to say hi to a few people. I saw my old boss and we chatted for a bit. He asked me if I missed our client company. I laughed. He asked me if I wanted to work with them again. I said, "Sure, for 100 bucks an hour." I think he thought about it, briefly. Honestly, if he called me up and offered me $100/hr I'd put in a few hours a week. Heck, I wouldn't snub my nose at the extra cash. But, as we all know, he won't be calling me anytime soon.

Searching

Exhausted after an incredibly long day yesterday, and a slow, yet painful, one today all I wanted to do was nothing.

When I got home this evening I logged-on, went to the kitchen and recovered what was supposed to be my lunch today from the fridge, returned to the living room and proceeded to catch up on my web surfing.

After an hour or so I was mindlessly negotiating pages and sites I've often frequented. That's when it happened. I was logged on to My Space and decided to search for a friend of mine from college. As I searched I thought of all the reasons I should not be looking him up — the biggest being that he is now married and the last time we spoke our conversation went something like this:

"Hey, Granola! Want a ride?"

"Sure." I say as I open the door to the back seat of his SUV, because of the other person already occupying the front passenger's seat.

"This is my brother-in-law."

We exchange pleasantries. The conversation between my friend and me flows naturally.

"Hey, how's ExOfNote?"

"I wouldn't know. We broke up. For real. Finally."

"Oh. I was always jealous of him."

"Really?" Holy freaking crap! I want to scream. I kept him a secret until it became painfully clear to me that you just wanted to be friends! "Oh." I say casually, maybe a bit too casually, "You should have asked me out. I would have said 'yes'." The conversation continues while I wonder what must be going through his brother-in-law's mind at that moment.

We reach my destination, I hop out, and we part for what now appears forever. As I walk into my house I can't help but wonder how his marriage is fairing. The previous time we spoke he mentioned that things were rocky, and I worried then, I worry more, now.

As I typed his name into various search engines tonight I couldn't help but wonder where he is, what he's doing, if his marriage has improved or dissolved, if he ever thinks of me.

Maybe it's the wrong thing to say, and it most certainly is the wrong time to be saying it, but I think I could have loved him. Deeply. Maybe even more than I loved ExOfNote. As I reflected on these experiences we shared my search deepened. As I wondered what I would say to him if I located him my search slowed. What would I say? How would I say it? What if I were to find him and discover that his marriage has been repaired and they're more deeply in love than the day they got married? What if it has crumbled and all that is left are ancient ruins? Either way, what could I possibly say? Yes, I could have loved him easily. I hope they've managed to work it out.

Official Welcome

I have moved out to an island. Yes. I know. And, no, it's not like that. I had no idea the assumptions people would make when they find out where I live. Sure, the rent is a bit more than had I stayed in downtown Seattle (ick. So not an option. As it turns out, I like small towns.), but not too much. I'm sure I will go on and on and on about the island soon enough, so I'll just get right to the point.

Last night, as I was hurrying to a church activity I came over a hill a bit too fast and started breaking. However, I either didn't break hard enough, or soon enough, because I was pulled over by our city's finest.

He approached the car and asked the usual question, "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Probably because I came over the top of the hill a bit fast?"

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Honestly, no. As soon as I came over the hill I felt that I was going too fast and started breaking, so I'm not really sure how fast I was going."

"I clocked you at 42." (that's miles per hour, Laziest. ;) )

"Uh. Ok."

"Do you know what the speed limit is on this road?"

Well, let's think. Clearly it's under 42, eh? In all actuality, the likelihood that the speed limit was 35 was about 99%, so I opted for that choice. "35." I replied, knowingly.

"Actually, it's 30 here." Then he took a look at my license and such. That is, my Utah license. I never thought I'd be genuinely thankful for a Utah license over a California one, until that moment. "Do you live here, on the Island?" He asked.

"Yes. I do."

"How long have you lived out here?"

"Uh, 10 ... 11 days, maybe."

"Ok. I'm going to go make some notes to myself, I'll be right back." And with that, he walked back to his car.

20 years later he came back and returned my license. Then he told me, "Just be aware, we do a lot of traffic out on the Island. If you haven't been pulled over, you haven't been here long. Just keep in within about 5 of the speed limit and you should be fine." Can you believe he actually told me that? I thought those rules were unwritten and passed on as sage advice from parent to child through the generations. However, you can be sure I was thankful for the information. You never know for sure where your leniency ends. I took the opportunity (since he was in a generous mood anyway) to ask how long I have to change my license over — it's 45 days, in case you care. With that he said, in a friendly official tone, "Oh, and welcome to the Island."

I'm BACK!

Oh, my sweets, how I've missed you!

Through the miracle of modern convenience and the evils of monopolized high-speed internet, we are, once again, reunited. This whole settling in bit has taken me a lot longer than I would have liked. However, now that I'm finally settled in, and have the internet, we shall resume our regularly scheduled meandering thoughts of a mis-spent mid-20's. I have so much to blog about. I've been holding it all in. Hopefully I can pace myself so we don't all get burnt out from me just running off at the fingertips.

Ahh. It's good to be back.