I left my cell phone signal in San Francisco

Have you ever met a Cookie? I have.

This last weekend, I took a bus trip up to San Francisco. It was my first time to take a Greyhound bus and I found out one thing....I haven't been missing anything. If you enjoy being cramped in a small, confined space for eight hours at a time, smelling the B.O. of the person sitting next you - Greyhound is for you. If being a captive audience to the ramblings of a sweet little lady named, "Cookie" appeals to you- Greyhound is for you.

Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Cookie. Cookie loves to eat. Cookie loves dorritos that make her breath smell of powered, process cheese and garlic. Cookie has two dogs, LuLu and Striker. Cookie used to have a dog that climbed trees, but that dog got arthritis and couldn't get down one day. That stupid dog kept trying to climb the tree, regardless of it's old age. It eventually got run over by a truck....twice.

Cookie works at a school as both a custodian and supervisor. Cookie works long hours. Cookie has diabetes. Cookie loves her family, that's why she is on this bus - she is going to a family reunion. Cookie loves interior decorating and must show me the five different ways that she plans on decorating her bedroom/kitchen/bathroom/dining room. Cookie is getting a treadmill to put in the dining room, because they don't eat in there any more - Cookie wants to lose weight.

Cookie needed a headrest for her head so she could sleep. Cookie borrowed my sweatshirt for the rest of the trip. But she didn't nap. She kept talking. She eventually sat on my sweatshirt. It's now my cookie sweatshirt.

I really did love Cookie. She just talked. A lot.

My trip to San Francisco was amazing. I hit nearly every tourist trap in San Fran, and only bought one souvenior. Success. I ate at awesome restaurants and drank at some sweet bars. Best part of San Fran? The Bart. Why? Because I got to travel under the Bay and listen to bums talk. At one point, a man got on with a boom box that was blaring rap music. Party on the Subway!!!

I wish I could take a picture of San Francisco the way I saw it. The homelessness and dirtyness were a little overwhelming - I wanted to help all the bums. But at the same time, I just wanted to see the fun side of San Francisco.

On my last day there, my cell phone died. It couldn't get a signal. I think that San Francisco overwhelmed my phone. It couldn't handle the excitement. I left my cell phone's "soul" in San Fran. Now I can get my Droid X. Thank you, San Francisco, for encouraging me to get a better phone. I'll come visit you again when I need a new laptop.

Memos and working hard....or hardly working: The Double Feature

I have violated the cardnal rule of blogging: frequent updates. I have failed all five of my readers. I am sorry. To show repentance, I am writing a double feature.

Blog post that should have been posted last week: The Coffee Memo

There are two kinds of people: people who care about stupid things and must make the biggest deal about said insignificant stupidity and people who blog about those people. Being the blogger, I just wait for people to flip out over things that are about as important as a week-old newspaper. Fortunately, I never have to wait long.

Last Friday, someone at work snapped emotionally and decided to declare to the world through masking tape messages how they felt. I wish I had taken a picture, but here is where my writing skills will be put to the test. Allow me to describe what happened.

We have a "fancy" coffee pot at work. Instead of having to brew a six-cup pot of coffee and forcing all 15 people in my office to drink the same kind of coffee, management bought a nifty coffee machine. This coffee machine brews individual cups of coffee. A person merely chooses the kind of roast/flavor they like and inserts the single serving "pod" at the top. About two minutes later - bam, their customized brew is ready to go. Awesome, right? (because really, forcing people to drink the same kind of coffee should be against the Geneva Convention - I might have to work with these people but I shouldn't have to like their coffee too!!!! But I digress....)

However. This is where people become passionate activists. After making coffee, there is a 5 second procedure commonly known as "removing-your-pod-of-used-grounds-before-leaving-the-coffee-station." The trash can is about 4 feet from the coffee pot and this task should be relatively simple. But hey, we are paid to work, not throw away coffee pods!!!

I confess - I have been known to leave my coffee pod in. I'm sorry. I was too wrapped up in the debate of whose weekend was more fun to remember to take out my favorite Kenyan Bold AA pod.

Apparently, this "unact" of leaving in coffee pods kept ruining someone's day. They were tired of being people's maids. So they wrote a memo....on masking tape.....on the coffee machine.

Because masking tape was not exactly designed for business memos the message was chopped up on about ten different strips.....that ryhmed. The message itself made absolutely no sense, and the only part I can remember distinctly was and I quote, "He who wills it, kills it." I have no idea what that has to do with coffee pods....but I got the message.

The rest was sort of broke up like this:
Strip of tape #1: Whoever keeps leaving pods
Strip of tape #2: Must know that I don't nods
Strip of tape # 3: Because I have to pick up after you.
Strip of tape # 4: Use the coffee but don't make me blue
Strip of tape #5: Because everyone uses coffee not just you.
Strip of tape $ 6: He who wills it, kills it. (once again I have no idea how that related to the whole "coffee conundrum")

I wish that they had taught "Masking Tape Memo-writing" in business school, I think it's a very effective means of communication. I have mended my ways, I no long leave my "pods" in the machine. Lesson learned. Masking tape memo: 1 Me: 0.

Blog post for this week: "Working Hard or hardly working"

I worked the hardest I have ever worked in my life today...pretending to work. Now, to any future/present employers who I am sure read my blogs regularly - allow me to defend myself: I am a very hard worker. I love being so busy and working on so many projects that the day flies by. I like to take pride in my work and I enjoy feeling accomplished as my head hits the pillow every night.

There. That was my disclaimer so I won't get fired. Moving on.

The hard part was - there was absolutely NO work today. I sat at my desk and pretended to work. I even went to my manager and confessed the lack of work that I had, and I was instructed to go back to my desk and "look busy."

The problem is...I work at the most visible desk in the office. So...I can't just goof around, I have to look busy.

So. I watched shark attack videos for 2 hours, I read every news article published today on CNN, LA Times, NY Times, Tech Report, I looked up the next smartphone I want, and I watch a lion hug a human (on Youtube, not in the office). As a counter-being-fired measure, I created a word document to write random sentences in. If the owner of the company walked by....I keyed up that document and wrote stuff like, "....and therefore sales should be expected to increase by 56 percent if we continue to streamline the economics of the quicksanded supply and demand of the target market."

It worked. No one got mad at me all day. But man, I worked hard. I ran out of shark clips, news articles, and random sentences to type by about 3 - and I was told to stay until at least 4. So....I had to entertain myself for an entire hour - after already exhausting the internet. It was hard work being that bored.

What do you guys do when you get bored at work? I need suggestions for tomorrow.

Never let me choose my title

I got the power. This last week my boss asked me what I thought my title at work should be.



One thing you should know....you should never ask me what I think my title is. It could get pretty ridiculous.



Allow me to explain what I do. I am in the "marketing department." What does that mean? I blog, I call people, I go into meetings. Routine. However, before you envision a bustling department thriving with ad campaigns and streamlined online presence.....don't get too excited. Why? Because I am the only one in the marketing department. Yep. It's me, a computer, and a phone.



So technically....i am the marketing manager. In fact...i am the SENIOR marketing manger. There is no one ranged higher in my department.



I started brainstorming on my title. I mean, there is so much potential. I could be Marketing Wizard. Just think of the cool introductions I would get. "Um, yes, you want to speak to our Marketing department? Let me transfer you to our "Marketing Wizard." The only problem may be that people might confuse me with Harry Potter.



I could be Marketing Director. But I shut that down because what am I directing exactly? I really don't have any power, because all decisions have to be finalized by senior management. So....all I could direct is what snack I get out of the vending machine, which makes me only the director of snacks.



My next idea was to make a super long title for myself. Why make introductions easy for others? "You want to speak to our Marketing Department? No problem, let me transfer you to our Marketing-and-self-directed-specialist-in-all-things-related-to-communication-and-social-media-manager-who-coordinates-campaigns-and-updates-our-Web-site-Vice-President-of-public-relations."



I'll probably get stuck with a lame title that no one can decipher. "I'm the marketing coordinator." Uh....so you coordinate? What do you coordinate? "Myself, I coordinate myself!!!!"

Marketing. It's so awesome that it can't be put into a title. No title is worthy enough.

Well... I guess I have been needing the workout

My dad just repainted his '98 Honda Accord....and it sucks.

The paint job itself looks fantastic. My dad is just trying to save money and not buy a whole new car just because the paint on his Honda had peeled a little bit. He is just being frugal, and that's great.

However.

He is now treating this 12+ year-old car like it's a Mercedes Benz or BMW, special edition.

We have to park in the farthest, most remote parking spot in any lot.

Today, after we had already parked in most out-of-the-way spot on a trip to Subway, he realized that he had parked SLIGHTLY crooked. Not even all the way out of the lines, just slightly slanted. Well, he had to get back in the car and repark. I had to stand to the side and wait for my 50+ year-old father to adjust his 12+ year-old car (a very BORING car, not even a cool classic car!!!) in a parking spot that was so far from civilization that we probably could have gone hunting for our food (yes, we were in that remote of a spot-wild animals had to be close).

I am not complaining....don't get me wrong. I just hate having to hike to Subway when technically we did drive there. But I guess I can always use the exercise.

I am just secretly waiting until a shopping cart gives us a ding or a bird poops on the car so we can park where normal people park.

Sir, in the "real" world...that's called a hostage situation

I love people who are annoying. They are awesome.

Today, a man on my commute tried to save the world from late buses...and in the process created a rather awkward environment, which made this all even more awesome to enjoy before a long day at work.

Here is what happened:

We had arrived at the Metrolink station down in Burbank around 6:55 a.m. and were waiting for our "Beeline" Burbank bus.

A note about The "Beeline." Yes, this is the actually name of the Burbank metrolink city bus system. Their slogan is "getting you where you need to 'bee'." Their maintenance crew must take the "bee" part very seriously, because you literally can hear the "buzz" of these city buses from about a block away. They seriously buzz and vibrate like a rather tired, old drone bee trying to make his last haggardly flight back to the hive.

Apparently the bus time schedule had been changed, but only by a couple minutes. A normal, mentally-stable, sensible person would not have their whole world rocked by a five-minute late bus.

Fortunately for my entertainment, the public transportation system is populated by those who do not possess those qualities.

About three minutes after the bus was supposed to arrive, one of the middle-aged, slightly overweight, probably divorced men(because I doubt any woman could put up with this guy...as you will soon see for yourself) began to pace with increasing intensity. He began to rant about why do they always change the schedule, and "Dave" (apparently a regular "Beeline" bus driver that this guy knew) would never do this to him!!!!!

Four minutes into this very horrifying injustice of the entire incapable and inept public transportation system and greedy-capitalistic-corporate-monsters-who-were-going-to-make-him-ten-minutes-late-to-work, another Beeline bus arrives. Bad Situation adverted. This man (shall we call him "Bob"?) cooled down until we realized it wasn't "our" Beeline. It was for a different route. But don't worry, the woman driver assured us...our "Beeline" was on the way.

Well that wasn't good enough for Bob. He need to go to work NOW. The woman driving the "wrong route Beeline" was trying to reassure Bob that she was sure that our bus would be there soon enough.

Nope. Bob wanted her to take him to work. Right. Now. He then announced to the rest of us commuters that we could board this Beeline and that this woman would switch her route just for us and she would personally drive each and every one of us to our work.

Bob suddenly grew very knowledgeable about the management structure of the Beeline bus system and informed the driver that she could just switch her route. "It's okay," he said rather passionately (this may be the most exciting thing that has happened all week for this poor guy.) "I talked to your dispatcher before. You can just change your route."

"Your boss won't mind. I will personally talk to the dispatcher myself!!!" He declared proudly- more for the benefit of us other commuters to know that he in fact was in total control of this "terrible" situation.

The poor woman radioed back to dispatch and of course found that it wasn't normal protocol to just start driving random routes whenever a person wanted you to.

I believe that Bob really would have made us all board that bus and may have driven us all to work himself if our Beeline hadn't shown up right about then. If given the chance, Bob may have also taken a couple detours to pick up his dry cleaning, grab some breakfast, and maybe even stop a couple "bad bees" from destroying the world, one late bus at a time.

Confession: If "Bob" had done this....I so would have been the first willing passenger. I really wanted to see Bob save the world from late buses. That would have been much more exciting than going to work.

I just would have hated to tell him that in the normal, un-pretend world that we actually live in, late buses don't give one an excuse to create a hostage situation. However....I might have waited to tell him that a couple minutes into our hijacked bus adventure.

Because seriously....annoying people are awesome. They try to save the world.

How to [Not] watch movies with my parents

My parents almost never watch movies.

Movies waste time you could be doing dishes, doing the laundry or gardening. However, sometimes I convince them that it might help them to watch a movie so that they can do even more work(or rather commission me to do even more chores) afterwards.

Today, I got them to watch Young Frankenstein- they were able to watch half of it. My mom has to make a comment about every swear word.

Usually, she goes like this:
Movie: "$&@&!!
Mom: Ugh!!!! How can people say that!!!! Do they have no moral code?!?!?! What is wrong with today's society?!!!?!

My dad loves the action and the funny quotes. However, it's very, very, very awkward to watch a movie as father/daughter when it makes any male anatomy reference.

Movie: :::Male anatomy reference:::
Dad: :::stern/serious/no expression face:::
Me: :::looks intently at my shoes:::

My parents are the only people in the world who can make me want to go do the dishes instead of watch a movie.

Movie: ::Male anatomy reference::: #*@*!!!
Mom: UGHH!!!!! The nerve of today's Hollywood!!!! I can't take this anymore!!! :::storms out of room:::
Dad: ::stern/serious/no expression face:::
Me: I am going to go clean my room.

I think I will be doomed to watch Princess Bride and Little House on the Prairie forever, and repeatedly clean our entire house.

Gangsters have pretty handwriting

I ride the train to work now. The best part of my daily trip back and forth to the office is admiring all the "artwork" displayed on the adjourning walls that line the railroad tracks.

You gotta admit, gangsters have pretty handwriting.

As we whistle our way down the tracks, I try to read my local gangster news update, posted on their wall (kinda like on facebook.....wait was facebook created by gangsters??????????) . I, of course, don't understand gangster language as most of it is written in some form of acronym code...and I am sure if I did actually know what the signs and letters meant, I would be disgusted.

However, I always try to think the best of everything, and therefore I come up with my own translation of the curvy, colorful letters that whiz by my train window.

Here is what I "translated" today. By the way, if you are an actual gangster (because, of course, I am sure my blog is read by the most afluent gangsters) and these next couple translations aren't what you meant....send my a complaint lettter.

And pull your pants up.

Gangster's wall post: BFRWOER $*@&$&@!!!$$#*$&@! Death

My translation: Best Friends R Wonderful Only Everywhere Radical. Flowers, Rainbows, Sunshine......Death (okay, I really don't know how to translate a gangster word if they actually write out the entire word in English.)

Gangster's wall post: GRWIOQ ::Peace Sign crossed out::: :::Heart:: :::Random blob on wall:::

My translation: Great Rain Will Ink On Quietly. :::I heart Peace::: :::See, I drew a heart:::: :::Freudian Ink Blotch...I want to be a psychiatrist when I put down this spray paint can:::::

My train rides are full of great reads. Forget books or newspapers, I read gangster literature.