How-To: The Continuing Story

Survival Tip #2

The Meeting Position

Bored of the routine? Try the Meeting Position.

Meetings are those little get-togethers always foretold of as "short affairs," and yet. You know how it goes.

And keeps going.

Ooohhhh.

Reliable? Every Wednesday.

Rigid? Often.

Romantic? Probably not.

Restless? Pick me.

Ok, so include "Resourcefulness," category "Rescue Devices," and see what happens:

1. "The Notebook," welcomed for notes of the meeting, of course, and with endless possibilities. Consider:

• Connect-the-Dot creations: anything goes...is that a lampshade of so and so's face?
• Gestural Drawing: a particularly ingenious option as the object is to draw nearby people without looking at one's paper. Oddly placed facial features make this gratifying every time.
• Flip books using the corner of the notebook pages. Perhaps wait to flip them gleefully in all of their animated glory till after the meeting.
• Ongoing games of M.A.S.H. Remember all the ways you learned to manipulate the game as a 4th grader, and the ones you perfected last meeting.
• Grocery lists for the pragmatic, weary, and hungry.
• Doodles that allow release of all those pent up "work emotions," everything from boredom (lazy leafy patterns) to rage (hangman gone very apathetic).
• As I said, the possibilities are hard to expire. Have at it...

2. Secret signs and symbols: For best results, share collective agreement on interpretations.

Unless confusion and chaos is desired, as it very well might be.

• Hand-motions: colloquial and common, everything from thumb's up to slashing movements across important arteries work.
• Eye brows: wriggles, skips, waves, culminating in the classical cocked stance. Generally, this codes for "Oh my g...STRANGE."
• Mouth: pursed, mobile corners (imagine they are hooking with thread and pull on the strings), or open abyss/yawn when things get especially windy.
• Various twitches, ticks, shrugs, stretches, and bone-cracking techniques when you just have to MOVE and hear something besides so and so...
• Mimes: "The Hunchback of Notre-Dame," "Moby Dick," and the "Birth of Shiva."

3. Borrowing...Thieving

• Waterbottles
• Pens
• Other people's precious notebooks
• Computers
• Bags
• Money
• Wallets
• Social Security Cards

*These items will be kept only until the owner notices, which could be for a very long time depending on execution, and if the item belongs to the group "absent minded professor."

4. The Meeting Position. Ah yes, here it is.

Ambiguous, yet effective in nearly all situations.

Throw down this moves when all else fails, or just for pure pleasure.

Meeting attendee should:

• assume a position of interest, even of intense fascination in what is being discussed.
• slowly, almost imperceptibly, this position should melt, slowly.
• most logically be lying on the floor in the end, the puddle stage. Eyes closed.
• maintain this position for at least three minutes for maximum effect.
• enter a meditative state, which is what's been desired all day. Delightful.

Best of luck and do let me know how it goes.

The How-To.

Surviving the Workplace...

and other applicable scenarios.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Sick day. And sick of it. Today reports of rumors, rigors, and other unreasonables causes me to say, "Rubbish."

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Circumstances sometimes stink. This is a given. Unfortunately. More variable is how we handle the stench. Will we, for example, rationalize everything so that it's really "nothing?" Or if it does resemble "something," clearly indicate it certainly isn't our fault? Conversely, will we allow for a little expansion of the issues at hand?...making them into epic episodes, heady with good gossip material and emotional trauma, and still, not our fault?

There's really no easy fix. Humans just tend to make depressing matters all the more well, depressing most of the time. Even so, some coping skills may help alleviate the pain. Beginning today, a series of "Survival Tips" will be available to those in need. Though some are specific to certain situations, please feel free to adapt any and all that catch your feverish fancy.

And so, in the face of madness,

Survival Tip #1:

Act according to the "Rosa Parks Model."

Whatever you do, DO NOT give up that bus seat, aka remain steadfast.

From now on, at work whenever you're asked to do anything extra, a firm attitude must be implemented: "Oh...I'm sorry...I'm not gonna be able to do that." This is said slowly, while shaking your head, presumably out of deep regret.

When faced with an unattractive task, pull a "Rosa:"

The photocopier says, "No more copies for you!"

You say, "No more copies for anyone."

The reimbursement form says, "Enumerate all expenses, both real and imagined, that is, prospective."

You say, "Sounds too nebulous for me. I can't do this in good conscience."

You are asked to sub for someone too stressed to show up for work.

You slowly lie down on the floor and close your eyes.

Etc. and best of luck...

Espresso, Yoga, and Really Small Dogs.

Words are flying out like
endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe

Lyrics from "Across the Universe" (the Beatles) sift through air laden with espresso and artificial sweetener--I am distracted by a GIANT creature lumbering past the window. It is a Great Dane in blotches of brown and white, accompanied by a woman and stroller, both of which could probably ride this dog instead of jaunting along beside it. They are just one of the many such ensembles dotting the sidewalks in downtown Kirkland on any given morning--woman and beast, endeavoring to do that great deed which they have done every day, "the walk," except for when at the salon getting the hair done (yes, even the dog), possibly with tomorrow's walk in mind.

In the lowlights of dawn, I grope for black dress pants, a black shirt, black flats, and for good measure, a brightly patterned scarf. Contrasts, you know.

My mind drifts, perhaps not across the universe, but at least across the I-405 overpass, down to the waterfront apartments. I have not made a habit of peeping into rich condominium windows, but if I were to, I know Women A, B, C, and D would also be reaching for black pants. Yoga pants. Short socks, tennis shoes with new performance insoles placed carefully inside, sports bra and sport shirt of sweat-resistant synthetics, light jackets (insert name brand of choice) = ready to go. They are dressed for a Half-Marathon Challenge at the least, but a walk along Lake Washington will do.

Well, not quite ready to go, actually. The warrior companions, as the ancient Anglo-Saxon tribes called their kinsmen, must be readied as well. Women A, B, C, and D are going to walk their dogs. Not the yo-yo trick. Real dogs. Real, yet unlike the great beast I just saw outside my window, really small. Really small dogs.

Woman A nearly cries herself after stepping on Princess's delicate paw with her new New Balance Performance Runners. Such an unearthly noise to come from such a tiny, irresistibly cute body. Princess is the size of a NFL game ball. Woman A quickly snatched up Princess, coos in her face, and tenderly wraps her little self in a sport sweater, just Princess's size, to keep her warm on this morning's excursion.

Princess will only be able to last about two blocks though, hurt paw, you know. Woman A will again swoop up the dog and carry her for the last two blocks.

Woman B brushes her Fredrick's fluffy hair until evenly full of static electricity. Fredrick sparks over to the door dutifully, waits for his studded collar, so he matches with Mommy's watch. Fredrick feels proud of himself, so much so that he begins to quiver all over. He is surprised to feel himself pee right on the front-door rug.

Woman C awakens to something cold on her hand. She groans. She knows it is George. George is hungry, as usual. It has been a long time since he hoovered up the last kernels of kibble from his dish some two hours ago. George must nudge Woman C's hand from the floor because the very thought of heaving his stubby frame onto the bed makes him even more famished and would require levitation. For now, his paws have a ring of thick skin ruffling them; his breathing is labored.

Woman C groans again. She predicts her nearly daily trek to Starbucks for her morning hot chocolate, whole milk and whip, yes please, will seem extra far this morning. She hopes some passing BMW will at least appreciate her triathlete attire. After all, dedication should count for something. It's only been four days since she walked to Starbucks and only one day since she drove there.

Woman D breaks the stillness in her room with a scream: "Arieeeeeeeeeellll!" She noticed her absence while applying moisturizing bronzer spf 15. Where was Ariel? Not in her cushy bed, not under the plush pillow with dog-bone print, not under the silk bedskirt. Where was Ariel? Had she been taken? Crooks these days look for any opportunity. Ridiculous ransoms, power games. Goodness, there might be an intruder right now!

Woman D tries to stifle the panic quickly tightening in her throat. She picks up a wire hanger and creeps out her door, into the quiet hallway. The sitting room and entry way are dim, gauzy light from the curtained windows making the scene hazy and eerie. She carefully tip-toes down the stairway--"oh no!" she's forgotten her iphone upstairs, too scared to go back. Bare feet on the cold stone landing make her shiver. All seems quiet...

"Argh!!!!!" Piercing scream, a sudden movement by the door. Woman D's purse is moving. Moving. Two pointy ears pop out--Ariel is ready for their walk early in her trusty portable and fashionable "carrier."

..."don't you be so bad..." Espresso and sweetener and music drift back into my revery.

...Words are flying out like
endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe...

I slip across I-405.

I don't own Yoga pants.

I don't own a small dog.

I just drink coffee and smirk at the combination of the two.

Stress Factories.

Ever just feel frustrated? Ever just want to throw something or say what you really want to say?

Perhaps more significant, ever done it?

So many things can cause that little feeling, the one that begins in the perimeter of your neurons, tickling up tubes in tides of hypersensitive electrodes. Nudging and niggling their way into the hipocampus, collecting most persistently and inconveniently in a reservoir of irritation. It bubbles and brews, belching steaming aggression into your nose like sulphur from my grandparent's shower head. Before you know it, it's evidently steamed up your vision because suddenly you become inexplicably blind to anything or anyone around you. You and your feelings are all that exist. The really terrible thing is those feelings are not friendly or forthcoming at all. It'll be at least an hour until they even start to make sense and in the meantime, sense is teetering toward extinction. You open your mouth as wave after wave of electrodes fill your facial cavities--you are going to electrocute someone. Soon.

Ah, stress....

Note to self, avoid these things in light of your currently limbo-like, subtly unstable mood.

You won't have any friends, any more.

I googled "Things that cause stress" and pages of websites popped up, all boasting the "Top 10s," "Top 7's," and so on, each listing the usual, predictable issues: finances, work, family, relationships, worries, etc.

One site listed everything categorically-like, perhaps some organization will help the problem. Interestingly enough, that relationships stuff topped the charts for "stressful events:" divorce, separation, marriage, and engagement. Hmm. Telling chronology.

Environmental changes can apparently add to the whole nasty business as well: too much heat, too cold, too much work, too noisy. "Too" being the quantifier of choice.

And not to be neglected, not that they'll let you, PEOPLE. Guess who?

Hard Bosses, Noisy Children, People Who Annoy You, and People Who Remind You of Something Unpleasant. This list especially intrigues me.

Just for fun, I decided to see what happened when I grouped some of these stressors together...Kind of a catharthis type of exercise, maybe we'll all feel better when we see we don't have it this bad...

1. I'm engaged to the man of my dreams, though I wish he would stop that little habit of gargling his soup, but while I'm fantasizing about that, I mean about being engaged, I get 23 calls from work reminding me of 23 inconsequential and innocuous things I've left undone and I realize tomorrow will be a great opportunity to leave at least 23 more such loose ends lying around just to trip up and annoy all these brownosers who really annoy me.

2. I'm getting married today and the only thing that could ruin it would be seeing my bipolar boss stealing my gifts at the reception or menstrating. Me that is, my boss is male. And I'm not. Oh...my...dear.

3. After all of that, or maybe because of all of that, I'm getting a divorce and I'm sweating...not because of the divorce, but because it's too flipping hot outside. I feel like punching some noisy children in the face.

But back to that list of PEOPLE FACTORS. These are really quite entertaining because we've all dealt with emphatic employers, crying or cussing children (airplanes are the notoriously haunted areas), annoying awkward people, and yes, even those who remind us of what we really don't like. At all.

And let's be honest, doesn't it just sound exhilarating to walk calmly up to someone, I mean right up to them, face them directly, giving them a winning smile, wait for their expectant, though more hesitant one in return, and say confidently, "You really remind me of something unpleasant." *Sigh*

Life seems to hold few control factors--with so many variables, the art of keeping one's cool is one to truly master, against all odds. I'm still in kindergarden. I just hope I don't look too silly squeezing into that toddler regalia when the time to move up finally comes. Till then, let us be careful in our circumstantial and community combinations--it's hard to evacuate a planet.

Resolutely Resolved...or something akin.

New Year's Resolutions!

Oh that fateful phrase. Oh those high in the sky like a pie expectations. Oh the places you'll go and the things you'll do...or at least those you imagine you will this January 1, 2010. 2010? How in the world did we get here? Isn't the world suppose to end in 2012? Should I plan my resolutions on a two year plan basis?

One thing's for sure: Out with the old, in with the new.

The majority of Americans list exercise plans and better health, aka loose that fat, in their top five resolutions. This recurring theme shows up every new year actually, since everyone has failed miserably and feels empowered by the changing calendar. It's a new opportunity to burn the old one and pretend that "nothing" never happened. Also, it's a definite must as a way to cope with the extra stuffing taken on (in?) during the holidays:

"Let's just have a little sweet something-after all tis' the season! I'll just have like one...or twelve,"

"Ooo, See's candy...see me eat the candy,"

"This is the only time of year I can order my peppermint-gingerbread-egg nog latte. Yes, I want all three flavors in one drink. Make it non-fat. Whip cream? YES."

"My aunt makes this GREAT dessert using all of the fatty ingredients you can find in your fridge and you just throw em' all together with sugar and a buttery cookie crumble crust in a greased pan. Leave that for Santa and you'll be getting whatever the heck you want."

Ok, that's enough. It's just too bad we didn't get around to this realization during the frosty feasting fetish.

Thus, dieting is a communal rite, added to that are managing money and get a better job, which brings us to reducing stress.

Is it just me, or do all of these carry undertones of "I am completely out of control?"

Because let's face it, since the fall of man and the beginning of human havoc-hindered history, we've been grasping for something solid every since. Sometimes I just want to let myself go, unbrushed teeth, unwashed face, and not even put on my contacts for a day so that I may bumble in blurry bliss and forget things like image, prosperity, or the fate of my offspring.

So what if no one recognizes me because I will definitely not recognize them.

The point is, while we promise ourselves we will be slim and trim, savor financing instead of food, dash to our dream jobs every day, while deeply inhaling air undiluted with distress this 2010, what are we doing to actually bring this about?

"Let your yes be yes and your no be no." Leave a little space for real conviction and we just might find 12:01 AM, January 1st, 2011 a time of resolve rewarded rather than renewed remorse upon review.

My Multiple Personalities

Personality test scores for me always tended toward "I'm such a FEELER. Can I feel you? Feel me." This was back in my semi-hippy days, where every opportunistic college lower-classman feels the need to vascilitate between "budding-philosopher-I-am-like-so-becoming-enlightened-right-NOW" and "Is it EARTH DAY?" This is supposed to ensure the individual with everything from a cool, natural, not-at-all-matching look to a cool "I am ME" reputation. I can pretty safely say I was too overwhelmed with just being in college to form much of an alter-ego, but somewhere out there, there is a photo of me with flowers in my long, "Is it curly or just bumpy?" hair; I am clinging to a tree yes, in a park. Jesus was also there, I'm quite sure. It's so serene, I can almost deny the humiliating truth that I am soooooo out of touch with the real, modern world. Oh well.

Myers Briggs indicated as much as well-A intuitive feeler who finds JOY in people, empathetic toward emotion, and ever so easily hurt. This was about 5 years ago.

Yesterday a friend asked me if I had been one of those "Mean Girls" in high school. When I said no, her clearly skeptical facial expression brought about some very intriguing questions. Why was she so disbelieving? Have my current traits of constant sarcasm, intrinsic judgement, and strong opinions got anything to do with it?

It was then that I realized,

I HAVE CHANGED.

In high school I was absolutely ADAMANT about everyone liking me and thinking I was a nice person. Oh the tears shed over what seemed a cold shoulder or impatient remark or the worst, gossip about me. I was friendly to everyone...then.

Now? Well, I'm afraid somehow, someway, the Myers Briggs characteristic of JUDGEMENT has snuck its way into my harmony-loving heart. This demonstrates itself in a variety of ways, to the point where I have been tagged as the Facebook friend who "won't take your crap," and dangerous in the deed of discipline: "Ms. Clark will devastate you if you talk in class!" "You are gonna whip them into shape!" and so on (authentic student quotes). Just being jokingly called "jerk" by friends has got to mean something. Oh dear.

When I look back to the years of the flowers, I have no idea when this change came about. All I know is I got older and consequently MEANER. Were I to categorize most of the people I see and events we as human deal with on a daily basis, words like "stupid," "ridiculous," and "Really????" would successfully convey my perspective. Unbelievably, I have warped into a proxy snob.

BUT,

I haven't given up entirely on feeling though. I'm still easily affected-funny since I hate to admit it. I still love my friends and would probably write a scathing blog about anyone who had mistreated them in the hope of destroying the provoker's LIFE (wait...is that protective or mean?). I just tend to fancy the feeling of logical reasoning as well. I can't say as I really thought through very much as that breezy teenage girl-I was too preoccupied with EVERYTHING, so much so that my conclusions drifted towards nothing.

I suppose this entire piece is a sort of apology-not the "I'm so sorry, can I weep on your shoulder?" kind, but the "Can I try to make sense of and explain myself?" kind. It's also to assure you, gentle reader, that I don't hate you if I laugh at you or say something sarcastic that ends up making you feel idiotic and publicly "dunced." Likely, I lack some of this wisdom and judgement I've been advocating for here. Is that the way it always is? The things we fixate upon the most are the biggest struggles for us? If I'm really honest, I'm currently trying to rip those little white daisies out of my tangled hair without anyone noticing-I don't want to look stupid.

Logic. Judgement. Feeling. Balance? Yes. Then I can move to the next square. Myers Briggs, brace yourself.

On Dating Duty.

I’ve been studying the letters in the word “Adventism” lately, and although I can pull the word “date” out of it (ooo, shiver), I was somewhat confused by not being able to also find “courtship,” “marriage,” “Christian offspring,” or especially, “if you don’t marry asap, you will be conversely ostracized just as quickly, so sign up for Adventist singles first…asap.” After all, I had heard such token terms companioned with "Adventism" so frequently, I had just assumed...something. It’s an amusing situation, bordering threateningly close to completely comic—in a “please put me in an insane asylum for safe keeping, I am laughing so hard right now” type of way. If you are currently a single Adventist young person, you may be laughing like this right now…self consciously, because as much as you would like to make fun of the idea, you are absolutely terrified the old elders’ tales are true—that you are already past the point of no return, that you already are a spinster, male or female, doomed to a long life of imaginary games.

Various friends of mine show the symptoms, “I don’t understand guys/girls these days…well, I mean, I can’t really because there aren’t any my age. Every Sabbath I come and sit in these pews and just stare at the couples, but mostly the white hairs, or the sullen gleam from lack of hairs. I’m getting old too. In approximately 40+ years I will be just like them. What am I going to do…? Time is running out! Wait, whoa, is that a new guy/girl? He/She’s ALONE! And he/she’s seems to be fairly alert, relatively mobile, and even breathing…I gotta check them, I mean, this out…”

I’m not exactly exaggerating. Really. I wish I was. But here we are. I just can’t figure out the mentality of, “if I appear desperate enough, I’ll be sure to find someone.” Yes, you will, though perhaps not someone who’s quite ideal; “Let me wave my neediness like a banner so as to attract all possible takers, namely those just as codependently hungry as me, aka the vultures.” While it is true that these birds of prey do commonly feed on carrion, there is no reason to place yourself so self-deprecatingly in this category just yet—I promise. Please believe me…

Despite catch-phrases like “wife-hunter” and “theology major” sending chills down all female spines the first couple years of college, these same shivering ladies will be flocking and flogging each other trying to be first in line in a few years time, after several Sabbaths alone and single in their solitary career worlds. It’s too late… Around this point, it is apparently definitely time to begin actively searching for any and all divorcees, older individuals, and if necessary, ex-cons.

It is true that women do not age well. I asked my mother at what age does it all slide irretrievably downhill. She paused and looked surprised at my question, and somewhat offended, “And you’re asking me this why? Because I know?”

“No, no! Just out of curiosity, I want to know how to mentally prepare myself.”

“Honey, you don’t need to worry about this. There isn’t an age.” Mom, yes there is.

I feel the impending doomsday lurking out there just as tangibly as every other female under 40, or maybe 37. Somehow, someway, it goes. Guys, if you’re confused about this dubious “it,” I won’t explain in hopes of keeping you in the dark. Girls, well, you know what I mean. My point is that I can sympathize with the feelings of insecurity that come with each passing week, month, year, wrinkle, sag, and scar. BUT, let us not advertise these sentiments! What ever happened to good acting? It seems we truly are too influenced by Hollywood…’s low standards in dramatic presentation. Walk with your head high in the church aisles, ladies—and not purely for the sake of scanning. Yes, yes, I refer to the infamous and widely used method of looking around nonchalantly for prospects, and if there are none, scornfully judging all of the competition (it is a fact that if you are female, more women will check you out than men in your lifetime, no contest). Forget about it all! Ignore references to “Wedding Colleges,” “Social Networking…Sabbath School Dating Services,” and DO NOT GO TO SINGLES CAMP. Do not. I would love to see my proposition that we the youth age in peace and couple in the right time with the right someone proven possible. Please.

The only regret I have about seeking to banish biologically/theologically driven, yet so chemically unstable patheticism would be the absence of a very real source of social entertainment for me. What will I laugh at and make fun of? I’m creative though and resourceful. I’ll survive. What worries me more are the chances of our survival if we continue at present—will the divorce rate climb or will we remain faithful, sufficiently solving the problem of global population by depressed copulation? Either alternative seems a sorry second to just being happy. Choose the dating diet—Eat, drink, and wait to marry, in a few years you’ll still be spry.