7.19.2011

Monsters Ball.


I'm around a lot of conferences and trainings at my new job, which I still like by the way. If you are a frequenter of hotels or functions that are catered, you will know that there is a multitude of free cookies everywhere. Hotels shed cookies. Cookies and continental breakfasts.

It's a cheap way of telling someone, "Hey, we like your business. Have a cookie." And people fall for it like crazy. To the point where if a cookie is not presented, they feel betrayed, robbed even. So, it's become a thing that you must order in the catering world: a PM break. "PM break for 30 participants to consist of cookies." Seriously. Most of the time, if conference goers were just savvy enough, they could surely stumble upon free cookies at any hotel. But, in the grand laziness of American society, the cookies must now also be delivered. First, they must be provided, now they must be delivered.

When I started noticing this, I was a little disgusted. Maybe not as much as I should have been, as I am the type of person who will actively search out any sort of free food, including those blasted cookies, but there was just something about watching the PM breakers devourer those cookies. Maybe I see myself in it, the gross college kid, eating as much as humanly possible because you're really not quite certain where that next meal is coming from. But just the level of "it's free so I'm gonna take all of it" is a little disturbing. In my food scavenging, I'll just take something for me and call it a day. I've seen people stuff their purses full to the brim with cookies. And trust me lady, that one napkin you used to wrap them, it's not gonna hold up. You'll have cookie crumbs in your purse for a year, it's like going to a sandy beach. That's really the only thing that gives me comfort.

And the rage, OH the rage, if there's not enough cookies to go around. You wouldn't believe it! The anger. "WHERE is MAH cookie! I am a PARTICIPANT and I do not have a COOKIEH." I'm sorry ma'am, you might want to check your friend's purse. And because of the purse stuffers, the cost of this PM break is just ridiculous. Like, $8 a person. $8 for a cookie and some iced tea! Seriously guys, just walk down the hall discretely and the cookie selection is actually much better!

So, these PM breakers, these purse stuffers, these lazy Americans, I found it all very, very disturbing for a few months. The first months at my job, I was at hotels A LOT so I spent a lot of quality, one-on-one time with participants who either got no cookies or too many cookies. I was pretty done with the whole thing until I came down to earth, back to my office, and found myself, one stressful afternoon, seriously missing my afternoon cookie. My little token of appreciation, my scavenger hunt. At first, I was a bit disgusted with myself but then I got to thinking. Maybe these PM breakers are onto something. We adore our morning coffee breaks, smokers can't wait for that next cigarette. A cookie in the afternoon probably isn't that bad of an idea. A ten minute break, right when you feel like the day will never end, just to savor something, a token of gratitude, might just be enough for our high speed, high stress society to breathe for a few minutes. Just calm the fuck down, breathe, and enjoy a cookie. No wonder those people take as many as they can. It's a great feeling.

The point is, cookies are great. Enjoy them. Do what you can you have a few minutes to congratulate yourself on going to work everyday, contributing to the gross national product and taking all those giant steps towards full-blown adulthood. Or a few minutes to congratulate yourself for knowing your job isn't who you are, that you'll never stop listening to punk rock and you're stealing a few minutes of precious salaried time to do absolutely nothing that benefits that gross national product. Or just don't think at all. Just enjoy a cookie. Cookies, really, they're seriously fucking great.

But, for the love of Christ, leave some for everyone else.

2.04.2011

Off my chest.

For 2011:
But you'll fight and you'll make it through.
You'll fake it if you have to.
And you'll show up for work with a smile.
You'll be better,
And You'll be smarter,
And More grown up and a better daughter or son
And a real good friend.
And you'll be awake.
You'll be alert.
You'll be positive though it hurts.
And you'll laugh and embrace all your friends.
And you'll be a real good listener,
You'll be honest,
You'll be brave,
You'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful.
You'll be happy.


I was walking home from work on Monday, across the meticulously groomed grounds of the University of Oklahoma, when it hit me like a brick. This is what I've been waiting for.

When I was at UNM, I walked to school almost every day. From the neighborhood bordering the Law School, through the med center, across Lomas and through their own campus. It was about a 20 minute walk, depending on where I needed to be. But I really enjoyed it. It gave me a few quiet minutes to listen to music, go through my daily checklist and sort of pace myself for everything I had coming up. There were some times where I fucking hated it. When it was 98 degrees outside, that first week back every semester, where I swore I would break down and buy a parking permit for South Lot. But nope. Never did it. I just kept on walking.

I noticed a huge difference in myself when I stopped. I didn't notice it then but now that I look back, I can see it. I felt sluggish, not as put together, I started gaining weight. Now, I think that probably had a lot to do with the fact I had just graduated college and I had no idea where the fuck my life was going, but I think if I would have had a few minutes a day to just calm the fuck down, I would have made that transition much easier.

I've been thinking about that time period a lot lately, how scary it was. I was so scared of being an adult that I decided that driving to Canada was a far better option than a desk job. And it really was. I don't regret a single minute or a single mile of that trip and I cannot wait to be able to do it again. But that doesn't change the fact I was running, and from what I still cannot pin point, but I was running (Jenny!). I was terrified of it all; adulthood, credit reports, commitment, leases. There wasn't a single part of being 22 that I was excited about. When I got home, I thought I'd be able to make the transition into commerce with ease with the help of my dear friends at the El Rey. A week and a half later, the Golden West burned. That same day, I was offered a desk job that I feared most of all. And in that fear, I panicked and took it. What followed was nothing sort of emotional hell. I hated my job. I cried on the way to work almost weekly. My mind was so screwed up about the fire and a few weeks later, Annie my hound-dog was put to sleep. If I had the capability of feeling misery by that point, I was there.

And it all tied in. But I associated all that anxiety with my job, most of all. I know now that I should have made the best of it, but that office and that life left a very bitter taste in my mouth. It left the idea that all real jobs are evil and there's nothing to gain from them. And the ones you like just burn away. It was a horrible place to be. So horrible in fact that I became so desperate to make it stop, to make everything change, that I moved to Oklahoma. And it's all been uphill since.

Now, I'm a fairly rational person. I've come to terms that everything that I did, how I handled that job and everything associated with being a grown up would have all been vastly improved if I just would have been a bit more positive, taken some time to myself to figure out where I really was and what I really wanted. But I never gave myself that luxury. I got so caught up in the decadent drama and I had no idea how to make it all stop. About 4 months into my stay in Oklahoma, I think all that came crashing in. And while I couldn't verbalize a single word of it, I was blessed with a fantastic network, both back home, in Oklahoma and across the globe that reminded me that everything would be okay. And guess what, you guys. It really is. And it really always was.

So here we go with this again. I'm 26 years old and the month of January in this, the 2011th year of our Lord, has thrown a lot of changing on me. I was hired on permanent at my first Oklahoma job back in April but I learned fairly quickly that I wasn't meant for the work I was doing and it would be unfair to continue doing it. On a whim in December, I applied for about 12 jobs in one day. And hey, one of those jobs called me back. And what would you know, they hired me. And guys, it's a job I like. That's right. I like it. I don't dread going. I like going. I like what I'm doing. It may not be love, but I'm excited to get there every morning. Who would have thought. And, probably the best part, the job provides some insanely wonderful incentives for me to go back to school. I should be back in a classroom come August. I cannot fucking wait.

This new job's in Norman. For you New Mexicans, that's a haul of a commute from where I was living. But it came to be that a friend of mine needed a roommate. And where is his house? Why, it's a short walk away from my office. I get to walk to work. So, what would you know, I've got a new room, a new roommate and a new commute. I started my new job three weeks ago and officially moved in with Greg Johnson two weeks ago.

I kept telling my mom that all this change was positive but it was just so much change. I was heartbroken to move out of the condo that Chelsey Wilson built. After the bar burned, I didn't feel like I had a home until I got there. We should all be lucky to have friends as compassionate and practical as she. That house was a refuge for me, I didn't feel like anything could hurt me there. The day I moved out, Drunk-Chelsey so poetically told me that when I moved in, I was a caterpillar and now I was blossoming into a beautiful butterfly and she was happy to set me free.

So, it all may still be very new, and I'm still adjusting, but I'm doing just that, adjusting. Not running, not coping, I'm adjusting. Adjusting to this almost-adult Cat, with her car payment, her own office (with a freaking bathroom) and her line of credit. If 16 year old me could see now, I don't think she'd hate me. She wouldn't be my friend, but we'd get along. I think that's a feet that's been years in the making.

2011 won't be any slower. It won't be any calmer. But I think I'm better equipped to handle it then ever. I've been telling everyone I was optimistic about this year. And I really am.

But that's all mush-mush. I'm available to talk about the Oklahoma City Thunder at any time.