Cube Culture

I'm moving up in the world. I now have a .....drumroll..... window cube. I feel a little bit less like I work in a dressing room. It's not a spectacular view, but it's a taller window than this picture shows, so I can see a lot of sky.
Some people deal in interesting ways with the lack of privacy in a cube farm. This coworker affords herself some privacy with this crepe paper 'door'.
I hate the 'Rah rah, let's gather in a circle and sing the Tupperware song' type of soy filler enthusiasm some corporate higher ups try to shove down your throat, but this is cute.

This Weekend

I went to Semiahmoo for the weekend to visit my parents and my precious puppy. Brandy went to the groomer a few days ago and was especially beautiful and silky. Last Thursday was my parents' 53rd anniversary. They are doing great. It is really inspiring to see a couple love each other so much after so many years. My dad is still a walking encyclopedia and my mom is still beautiful. Regarding the picture below, Brandy was not being very cooperative in my efforts to get a picture of my mom and Brandy together. This is the only one where Brandy isn't a blur from moving around.

Tacoma Farmers Market

I work on the 5th floor of the highrise in the background

Peazza

Tonight there was a special thing at work where we all had to stay until 8 pm. My manager offered to order pizza for everyone and asked for requests. As is more typical than not, the men all wanted fatty meat toppings (pepperoni and sausage). My manager enthusiastically concurred. Another woman and I called out that we'd prefer veggie pizza. My manager's response: "Veggie pizza? What's that? Does it have peas and carrots and corn on it or something?"

I think he was kidding.

Recommended Reading

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls.

Every time I finish a book I love, I want there to be a movie of it. I got lucky in that regard with Jennifer Weiner's In Her Shoes. I saw it in Sweden where it was titled i Hennes Skor, and I loved it. The movie adaptation of Rebecca Well's Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood was decent, but seemed to be a patchwork of promienent scenes from the book hastily cobbled together to placate the rabid fans. I've waited ten years for the film version of Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone, but if it hasn't happened by now, I doubt it's forthcoming.

Harry Potter? Who's he?

For some reason, although I love a lot of classic science fiction, I have little to no interest in Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. Yeah, I know. I can hear all of you: "OH MY GOD! Are you kidding?? You don't know what you're missing!!!" Maybe one day I'll make an attempt, but for now all I can say is I'm too busy reading a wide assortment of other genres.

I hear the "You don't know what you're missing" thing a lot about seafood, all of which I hate except for canned albacore tuna (with lots of mayo). All I can say is lobster and crab activate a deep sense of primal dread in me, and I think they taste like poison. I was once at an art museum opening, a lovely catered event, when a friend suggested I try one of the cheese puffs. Cheese puffs. Yum. Sign me up. I bit into it and a second later wondered how I was going to manage to politely chew and swallow it in a ladylike manner. I managed to do so but then asked, in deep, earnest chagrin how my friend could "Do that to me". He shrugged and said sorry, he didn't know it was crab. Ugh! .

In other not-related-to-this-post's-title news, a friend of mine from Portland was in Tacoma this weekend. He used to lead the monthly hikes I coordinated for my singles group. Brad's a cool guy, very intellectual and creative, always excited about something new that he's doing. Right now he's into TV and video production. We walked Tacoma's waterfront on Ruston Way this morning, talking a mile a minute. Ruston Way is a gorgeous walk. I only live a few miles from it and am hereby vowing to myself to get there more often.

An Accidental Sort of Bio

In 1983, when photography was my primary passion, I had a lapse in judgement and showed my latest series of photos (which had earned high acclaim from my photography instructor) to a family member whose name starts with, um, Jill.

1983 was my first living-in-Phoenix experience. At the time there was an outdoor trampoline center called 'Jump'. I was new in town, and taking photography classes at ASU with the intention of entering the MFA program. For those keeping score, I ended up going home to Miami the next year instead, and working in a photography studio. Anyway, I was driving down Scottsdale Road when suddenly I saw flying humans. Suspended in the air, then gone. I knew I had found a place of great visual opportunity.

I spent a lot of time at Jump. I emerged a few weeks later with a unique portfolio of photos. Some of the photos captured the pure lines of the human form. Others captured graceful dance-like movements. Some were downright silly, in an unabashed, giddy way. My favorites though were the ones that represented a metaphor for spiritual levity. In one such photo, the one on which my sister commented, the subject is a young girl, about 11 years old. She has escaped earth's bounds and is blissfully ascending, arms akimbo, her innocent face enraptured and angelic. Behind her is only the cobalt blue of the desert sky. My sister studied the photo for two seconds, maybe three. Her comment, delivered in an impatient tone: "Ok, who's she?"

The purpose of this post is not to make fun of my sister or to hurt her feelings. I seriously doubt she reads my blog anyway. My point is that that experience, and a few others, taught me that not everyone will always 'get' what you are trying to express. People are wired differently. Some people would rather see exactingly-executed photographs of churches, and that's fine. It's really cool though when people do 'get' you. I have a friend with whom I share my stories (I write stories. I'm pretty serious about them). He is brilliant, a Berkeley-educated lawyer, and a great writer. I sent him my first story with trepidation. Long story short -no pun intended - his unbridled enthusiasm has given me a glimmer of hope that I possess some talent.

I had no idea this post was going to take this direction. I meant to write just one paragraph as a sort of disclaimer against the weirdness of the photos I was about to post. Now that I'm here though, I just want to take a moment to thank the people in my life who do 'get' me. I hope I am similarly able to express to my friends and family the unique qualities I appreciate about them.

Ok, this is getting kind of gross.

Next post: Weird photos.

Light at the end of the tunnel

You all are probably thinking "Nooooooo! Not more fiber optic images!"

I am granting you a brief reprieve.

The light at the end of the tunnel refers to the completion of my master's degree in Education. I'll be done on January 14th, 2008.

Optic Nerve

I Love This!

Yes, my new $5 Gottschalk's- going-out- of- business-sale fiber optic night light really does make me that happpy.

Fire Drill

The fire alarm in my building has sounded three times in the past two days. Each time I've had to walk down 14 flights of stairs. One time isn't that big a deal, but three times is annoying.

It's tempting to ignore a fire alarm after the first one's a dud. Except of course you start wondering to yourself if you're going to look like something out of the Pompeii museum if you don't get out of there.

My guess is that the alarm is being pulled by an angry resident. There are a lot of angry residents in this building due to the snotty attitude of the manager, maintenance issues, people getting locked in their own bathrooms, whatever (actually I'm not that angry, but if I will be if they take much longer replacing my door).

This evening after we were told it was ok to go back up to our apartments, a father and his three young children were waiting for the elevator.The kids were in awe of the firefighter, in his full regalia, walking down the hall. As he passed by he held out his hand and high fived each of them. I thought that was sweet.

Next I'll Throw a TV in the Hotel Pool

I locked myself in my bathroom today. It's simple: I was curious to see if the locked worked, as I'd never tried using it.

It worked. Too well. It kept me locked in from the inside.

I stayed calm. For about 45 seconds. I scanned my tiny bathroom for some sort of tool. My search yielded a barrette. I fantasized that with one deft toggle I'd be free. 27 clumsy toggles later I was still trapped, and composed as a chimpanzee on crack.

Not only am I high strung, I am extremely claustrophobic. I can't even stand sleeping in a bed with the covers tucked in. I wanted out and I wanted out now.

For the first time in my life, a bathroom scale became my friend. I picked it up and smashed it into the door. Ah, victory. A small tear produced a window of light. Somewhere between ten to fifteen increasingly vigourous smashes later I had produced a large enough hole to climb through.

Of all the things I try to be grateful for, I will now have "Not being trapped in my bathroom" on my list.

I needed to get back to work, but stopped into the leasing office first to tell them what had happened. Let me start by saying that I am a perfect tenent. I pay my rent on time, if not early. I'm ridiculously quiet. I'm 47 years old and I wear a lot of pink and well...I don't exactly look like some party animal who goes around smashing in doors. The arrogant and condescending property manager (he had never bothered me thus far, but everyone in the building hates him) wasn't swayed by these facts. He's, um, (I'm whispering): he likes boys and kind of right out of central casting about it. When I told him what had happened, he gave me a special look and said "Do you think maaaaybe you overreacted? Couldn't you maaaaaybe have just kicked the door?" He made it very clear that he had superior breaking-out-of-bathroom skills and I did not. Ok then. For some reason I didn't get angry. I stated the facts, signed a work order and walked back to work.

When I came home four hours later the entire door had been smashed in. As in pieces of door and door splinters, but no actual door. Maybe tomorrow they'll put in a new door. Maybe they won't. All I can say is that I'm happy I'm sitting here at my desk, watching the shipping traffic on the Bay.

Benihana of Twenty Something

I once read that Benihana of Tokyo is so inauthentic that in Tokyo it is called Benihana of New York.

Anyway, Benihana is where I spent my Saturday evening. The occassion was my coworker Jamie's bachelorette party. Her bridesmaids in attendance were in their 20s; the other coworkers she'd invited were 21 and just-turned 30.
My coworkers had told me they really wanted me to be there. For some reason, at this somewhat advanced stage in my life, people in their 20s like me. One of them last night said "Wendy, you tell the best stories." Maybe that has something to do with it.


The whole Benihana rapid-whacking -up- of -meat- and -vegetables thing was cheesy but fun. I pronounced this loudly whistling, steam plume-producing onion 'freakish and wrong' but it was quite good with gingery dipping sauce.

Coworkers Ashley and Diana. Diana, the one on the left, is pretty close to being a perfect coworker. She is really sweet. She reminds me in ways of a coworker in Phoenix named Meghan who had a lovely, lilting voice and was always in a good mood. When I was all but banging my forehead against my desk in administrative-overload frustration, Meghan would e-mail me pictures of puppies and offer me half of her Twix bar.
Jamie, the bride-to-be. The wedding is August 11th.

Why yes, we do!

One of my coworkers hung up from an incoming call Friday, turned to me and said "Wendy, you are not going to believe this one. "

They guy she'd been talking to had told her he'd been a truck driver for years. In what she says sounded like total seriousness, he explained that he now wanted to become a bounty hunter. Did we offer a degree in that?

Congratulations ____ and ______

I live next door to the Landmark, a facility that hosts wedding receptions. Every weekend the marquee changes at least three times, sometimes just a few hours apart: Congratulations Kim and Devin. Congratulations Brittney and Bill. Congratulations Julie and Corey.

It is both heartwarming and amusing to see the variety of bridesmaid's dresses. Today I slowed my car to allow a bridesmaid to dash across the street from the parking lot into the building. The bridezilla to whom she was attending had not chosen the dresses wisely. The dress looked like a pastel flowered clingy white nightgown. It had wispy spaghetti straps. The bridesmaid was at least a size 18 and had several large tattoos on her arms and back. I wish I had gotten a picture of her. She was just really interesting visually. Her face was sweet and she was very likeable as she tottered on her heels in the rain, trying to make it inside before her carefully styled hair got wet.

Yep, That's My Plan

I am lucky to have a wonderful, fun, 27 year old manager. He's a very positive person and maintains an upbeat atmosphere without being cloying. He not only tolerates my silliness and sarcasm, he encourages it.

Sample dialogue:

Him: Hey Everyone! Wendy's appointment is here. She's going to enroll this guy! Right Wendy?
Me: Yep.
Him: Hey Everyone! She's not only going to enroll him, she's going to get him to do his application before he leaves. Right Wendy?
Me: Yep.

Pause

Me: You know, I think that's not enough. I'm going to do something more.
Him: Hey Everyone! Wendy's going to do something more!
Me: Yeah, getting him enrolled and getting the app isn't enough. I'm going to usher in a new era of world peace.
Him: Hey Everyone! Wendy's going to usher in a new era of world peace!

International House of Dogs

When I opened this picture, sent to me by my sister, my reaction reminded me of something my niece had said to me a few years ago. Said niece, who was in her sophomore year of Reed College, and I were at a crosswalk in Northwest Portland waiting to cross the street. Out of the blue Sarah said to me "Wendy, please don't gnaw too loudly." Baffled, I asked her what that was supposed to mean. She informed me that there was a really cute dog behind me and that whenever I see a cute dog I burst forth with a resounding "Nawwwwwwww!"

The title of this post comes from the fact that Zoe is a Shibu Inu, Brooklyn is an...er.. New Yorker, and Sierra's ancestors were of course from the land down under.

Pink Thoughts / Views from an Apartment

"Pink Thoughts" by the Swedish artist Charlotta Sandberg became mine thanks to a winning ticket at a holiday party art auction in Sweden. I didn't really take anything with me to Phoenix, so this is the first time I've had it in my home.

A glimpse of my bedroom, including mirrored closet doors (bad feng shui, but good for extending the water view and for getting dressed in the morning). Couldn't get the lighting right on this pic (too dark without flash), but it gives you an idea.

Yes I know I've shown this view before but it's a little different each time depending on what's going on on the water and how visible the mountain is. And after living in a room in Phoenix that looked out onto a wall, I don't think I will ever get tired of this view.

Trophy Wives

After my mother read my "Ted Nugent School of Home Decorating" post, she told me she had recently read an Ann Landers column about almost the exact same situation. She said the woman in the column had complained about her husband's (similarly) appalling taste in decor, and that the woman in the column had draped the deer head trophies with sheets whenever they had company over.

Maybe it was the same jerk's ex-wife? Or perhaps there are more women out there than we realize who are having to live with dead animal heads on their walls. If so, maybe there should be a support group. I think 'Trophy Wives' would be a good name.

Views from a Train (Tacoma to Bellingham)

The nebulous forms in the background are the San Juan islands. You see blurry, I see mystical. Let's call the whole thing off.
This post is an experiment to see if the text works better below the photo (as I usually do) or above (as in the caption about the San Juan islands). Let me know what you think.

View from an Office Window

This is from the window closest to my desk. If you look to the left you'll see a green awning and red and white umbrella tables. That's El Toro, a restaurant where we often go for lunch. We also sometimes go there for a very late lunch at 3 pm, when happy hour starts. For the cost of a Shirley Temple (yes, Jamie really orders that) and a diet coke (guess who) and whatever else everyone is drinking we get free burritos. They're not that great, but their green salsa, which is heavy on the cilantro, is wonderful. Last Friday four of us went for drinks after work. We compared dating horror stories. My entry tied for 1st place: I was on a third date with a good looking and well-educated guy I really liked. He wanted to sit on the same side of the booth in the romantic Italian restaurant he'd invited me to. Toward the end of the evening he sidled closer to me. I was excited. I thought he was going to tell me I looked pretty or that he was really enjoying getting to know me. Since I already mentioned that this was a horror story you know he did not say either of those things. What he said was "I'd appreciate it if you'd contribute $15 toward the check". The women asked me if I paid it. When I said yes a collective "Arrrrgghhhh!" went up. One of them- I'm not sure if it was Sojourner ("Sojo") or Faauu- summed it up well "Girl, you have got to raise your bar" That, in essence, is what my mother keeps telling me. And for the most part, with an occassional lapse (in the form of a troglodyte named Larry) I have.

To get back to my point of this post, I love the street my office is on. This same street, Broadway, turns into St. Helens avenue, where my apartment is. So what you are seeing is the first part of my walk home from work.