Unloading the snark in the face of adversity

One day last week my horoscope said to treat coworkers gently, because they were fragile and uncertain of upcoming changes, and they couldn't handle sarcasm or sharp wit. Unfortunately, that was the same day I realized that I've fully regained my sense of humor. And it's, well, a little sharp.

Despite friends' assertions to the contrary, I felt like I lost my most of my sense of humor sometime last year. It wasn't completely gone, but I lacked the ability to turn around a quick pun or a witty double entendre, or a fast flip comment that made some people laugh. I was pretty sad about it, but I figured as I regained some sembalance of normalcy, it would hopefully come back.

And it did, just in time to start whipping out jokes about layoffs and demotions. Humor is an awesome way to deal with stress, and I've had lots of practice with it. But last week, my horoscope was kind of on target, except not in the way I'd thought. I was much more flip, and treated some serious work issues much less, well, seriously, than my colleagues did. But it took me awhile to recognize that only one of them actually recognized my humor and sarcasm for what it was. She laughed, and I was happy to ease the mood for at least two of us.

But now, I'm not sure what's worse: not being able to make a joke, or making one that most of the people around me don't get.

Post Traumatic... Something

When my upstairs neighbor's alarm clock accidentally goes off in the middle of the night, I leap out of bed convinced that the building is on fire.

I still have nightmares that wake me up with a racing heart and memories of all sorts of horrible - but not real -  things that happened while I slept.

I no longer get overwhelmed in huge crowds, but I still approach big rooms of people with sweaty palms and a little bit of trepidation.

I can still cry easily, and hysterically, but I've stopped my daily sobfest on the bus. I don't know if that's good or not, as now people aren't so hesitant to sit next to me anymore.

In the months after my dad died, as I was going through the worst of the mono and freaked out by the nightmares and crowd anxieties, my grief counselor coined the term "post traumatic... something" to describe how I felt and how I was reacting to the world around me. In the last few weeks, I thought it was pretty much gone, and I was happy about it. I feel so much more like myself lately, and a lot of the things that freaked me out last year I no longer think twice about.

Until a construction crew showed up in my building on Wednesday.  They were replacing the siding on my side of the building, and working around my kitchen, main room, and bathroom windows. I'm not going to lie: I thought about hiding all my valuables and packing up my electronics when the noise forced me to leave the building for a few hours. I was, for a little while, convinced this crew would break into my apartment.

Instead of hiding all my valuables, I chose the rational route and closed all the windows, but only after I'd chatted with the construction foreman to get the details on the work they were doing. There would be no scaffolding. The crew would only be working for two days. And he was sorry about the noise, but he'd knocked on my door earlier to let me know about the work, and I hadn't answered.

Ok then. This guy was nice. And chatty. And he didn't seem like like an opportunistic thief. My camera and computer would probably be safe if I escaped the construction chaos for a few hours. But I was still uneasy about the idea of leaving my apartment while they worked so close to my unit. And yesterday I returned to work - keeping the windows locked while I was gone. And when I got home, all my stuff was right where I'd left it.

I'm relieved, but still a little on edge. And I'm reminded that the burglary was only two year ago. And it was just the kick-off event to some really traumatic experiences. It's going to take a lot longer than two years for my post traumatic... something to heal - if it ever fully does - but at least I've made a start. Today when I leave my apartment, I'm pretty confident that nobody will break in through the bathroom window, if only because this one is way too high up to provide easy entry to my bathtub.

On the ranch

Overlooking the barn (that building on the left) with the Ocean in the background.

Four dollars, not payable in nickels and dimes

I've been home with a nasty head cold the past few days. Today, figuring I couldn't make myself much more miserable, I decided to get my taxes done. I usually file by March 1, but I've been dragging my feet this year, certain that the disability pay I received last year would slow me down.

I got to that section of the return and realized the company that handles disability for my employer neglected to fill out Box 20. I know this because my tax return program told me several times that I'd made an error on my return. But nowhere in any of my documents is Box 20 filled out. Perhaps in California Box 20 is optional.

I've used the same tax software for about 10 years, and I like it because it keeps a running total of my refund as I complete each section of the return. And I always have a refund. Always. Every year I get a small refund from the feds, and a small state refund as well. But this year? The year in which I only actually worked - and was paid - for about 6 months? I owe money to the state of California. Four dollars, to be precise.

At first, I didn't understand why the federal refund appeared on the screen in black, but the state refund appeared in red. And then I realized I'm ending a streak of refunds, or breaking even, that started in high school. And I'm kind of resentful of it. I know the state is in pretty bad financial shape, but by taking a pay cut I've already done my share to compensate for that. This additional four bucks is just insulting. And I have to waste a check on it too, because the state won't take cash. Or small change, which is really how I'd like to pay it.

I've got a pretty tight budget as it is, and the state of California just took away this week's caffeine fix. I could buy a latte and have some change left over, but not this week. So if you run into me and I'm tired and grumpy, the governor is to blame. I'll try not to take it out on you.

Rooting for the Underdog and the margarita power half hour

There's a great bar and restaurant on Polk St. called Nick's Crispy Tacos. It serves, well, tacos, and other Mexican food. But the tacos are their specialty. And their margaritas are supposed to be excellent. And there's often a line out the door. Last year, Nick's opened a second location, The Taco Shop at Underdogs, in the Sunset.  I've been waiting months to visit.

It's a pretty nice bar, with high tables opposite the bar, and picnic tables in the rear of the space, with ample room to gather friends and watch the game(s) on their big wall-mounted televisions. But their big draw is happy hour, especially Friday happy hour, which includes a half hour of margaritas for $1 a piece. Or 50 cents a piece if you just want really tiny margaritas - they're more like margarita shots, actually, and none of the people in my party thought they were worth the novelty.

On the recent Friday night I visited, the crowd wasn't outrageous, the restroom was clean, and the margaritas were really good. The dollar deal has some restrictions - the waitress will only serve each patron one margarita at a time, and your glass has to be empty before she'll refill it. The margaritas are not served to order, rather they come out of a big pitcher. And they aren't served with salt.

But for a dollar a piece, who can complain?

And the food was pretty good too. The secret to Nick's tacos is that they're well, crispy. It's a nice twist on a standard taco shell, and at dollar a piece they're a good, tasty happy hour alternative to chips and salsa.

Now, in all honesty, some of the people with me had promised to get "embarrassingly drunk" over the course of this evening. Nobody did, but it would have been very easy to leave the bar and wake up hours later having passed out on the street or something. So if you're going to visit, bring friends. And maybe a designated non-margarita drinker, just in case. We actually had a husband on standby. He was going to check on us if his wife wasn't home from a 5:30 pm happy hour at 10 pm.

I'm not nearly as concerned about revealing the secrets of The Taco Shop as I have been about some other places, mostly because it's spacious enough to handle the crowd, but also because I don't think it's going to catch on citywide. The poor Sunset has a bad reputation for being too foggy and too far away to attract a huge crowd. But it's my favorite neighborhood, and Underdogs is easy to get to. The sun is probably shining at this time of year, so you should check it out.

Early morning sunshine over the Maui coast

I wasn't too thrilled to have to get up before sunrise my first day in Maui. But the view was worth the sacrifice.

Everybody's in a bad mood lately

Ask a colleague in my office how he or she is doing lately, and you'll get one of two responses: miserable (or something similar) or something along the lines of "fine thanks, but everybody here is in a bad mood lately." Such was the response from a coworker at the end of the day today. This was also the content of the conversation I had over lunch.

A few weeks ago, our new director announced a three-phase reorganization plan. Two people were laid off before it started, and two others were laid off the day of the announcement. And rumors of many more layoffs are buzzing around the office like bees around honeysuckle bushes. It's really getting ridiculous.

I can't say I'd be sad to lose my job. A layoff would make me eligible for fantastic career counseling resources through my employer that I otherwise don't have access to. I could live for a few months on a meager severance and take up some odd jobs and do a bit of consulting. Or maybe I'd quickly become destitute. In any case, I'd be much better off not being in a place where, indeed, most of the people who surround me are miserable, both because of the uncertainty of their jobs and their fear of change.

I would be better off not out of anything having to do with displeasure at my job, but because I'm finally not miserable. After more than a year of being perpetually sad, of being really unhappy for reasons much bigger and more important than my workplace, I'm finally feeling, well, happy, maybe. At least generally content, and much more settled than I was even a few months ago. And the collective bad mood at my workplace could really bring me down.

I have some plans in place to battle the workplace discontent, and I'm working to stay positive in the face of adversity.  It's hard, and the misery surrounding me is unrelenting. But I'll keep working against it. And while I'm doing that, if you hear of any job opportunities out there, please send them my way. Especially if happy people work there.

Aloha Tower

Sadly, the tower observation deck was closed when I got there, but the tower itself is pretty magnificent at sunset. It anchors the cruise ship port (dock?) in Honolulu.

And then I embarked on a 7.75 mile "recovery" hike

When we left my vacation adventures, I'd just successfully finished a race. The day after the race, I decided I wanted to move around a little. I wasn't at all sore, but I knew a little walk would be a wise idea. I set out for a little hike in the Makiki Valley - the rainforest in the hills above downtown Honolulu. It was a short walk to the trailhead and my guidebook indicated there was a nice little loop trail up the mountain. Ha ha.

The trail head was a nice 1.5 mile walk. I could have taken the bus, but it would only have gotten me about 7 blocks. So I trekked through the neighborhood to the trail.

He was part of the hike welcoming committee. Or maybe he was trying to warn me to stay away.

I visited the restroom, checked the map, and scrubbed off my hiking boots - a requirement on these trails in order to protect the rainforest. It would be bad news for me to track San Francisco mold or pollen into the rainforest. I could be single-handedly responsible for wiping out an entire mountain.

I picked a nice loop trail that promised a short hike with nice views.

Maybe this should have warned me away. Wild pigs. And hunters. Luckily, I was on this trail on a Tuesday. But still. Wild pigs. It was then that I'd realized that I'd read about this trail before. And I hadn't really been excited about what I read. But I was pretty sure it wasn't a full moon, I was wearing bright clothing, and I figured a dying in the Makiki Valley wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen to me. So I went on.

Maybe I should have reconsidered when I saw the roots covering, or rather, comprising the trail. Most of the trail, as it turns out, would be covered in big roots. They were a challenge to navigate, but a good challenge.

The trail was pretty. Not nearly as wet as I'd expected the rainforest to be, but it's been a rather dry year.

I hiked up, and up some more, intent on making it to the top of Mt. Tantalus. I made a few friends along the way and cracked some jokes with the guys inquiring about the escalator. I'm still not sure if they were serious.

The views were pretty, and the day was gorgeous, but I was a little warm. And after a few hours, my legs were getting tired. So I reached a trail intersection, and after consulting with the map - and having to ask a local because the map was not too accurate - I determined that to continue to the top of the mountain would take another few hours. I wasn't quite prepared for that.

So I thanked him and asked him for the best way to get back down. He pointed out the trail and sent on my way. And 20 minutes later came running after me because he'd realized he'd sent me on the wrong trail. We walked back to the trail intersection with his girlfriend, chatting about missing hikers and local hiking deaths and how he promised not to toss me over a cliff.  I was sorry they had other plans, because I'd have liked to hike with them for a bit longer. But he brought me back to the right trail and sent me on my way.

I made it back to the bottom in about 30 very steep minutes. Along the way, I saw this rock slide sign. It was on the ground. Presumably as the result of a rock slide. At this point, I'd decided I'd done enough for the day. And I'd skirted attack by a wild turkey, mauling by wild pigs, getting lost in the woods, being killed by strangers, and a rockslide. I counted my blessings and walked home.

I'm pretty sure this is what people call a first world problem. Or psychosis

Yesterday, I registered for the See Jane Run Half Marathon. It's in Alameda, just across the Bay from where I live and, conveniently, the starting line is close to a friend's house. A few of us will be crashing on her floor the night before the race.

I'm really excited about this race. A bunch of friends will be there. It's Kathleen's first half! It's a pretty, flat course along the water in Alameda and Oakland. They give away some amazing swag. And they serve champagne and chocolate at the finish line.

But I've been silently stewing for weeks because the Mermaid Triathlon and Duathlon is the same weekend. In the same city. The half is on Saturday and the tri is on Sunday. And there's no way I can do both. The half race fees are pricey. I was kind of tired after doing two races in one week. I just don't think I could do two races in one WEEKEND. And right now, I have no bike legs. Last time I went for a ride I fell down the stairs while carrying my bike outside. I'm really that out of practice. And my asthma's kind of not under control right now. And after my rescue at sea, despite a recent doctor's visit, I'm not sure I want to suit up in the Pacific again just yet.

So my decision's pretty clear, right? This morning, I had the following message in my inbox:

Subject line: We have your next post

Message: We're thinking about signing up for the Alameda Mermaid :)  It's June 6 - come on, you know you want to!!! See Jane Run 5k/half is day before. Cheapest registration ends tomorrow. Sign yourself up before we do it for you!!


They were right on a few counts: I want to do it, and I am going to blog about it (Hi ladies!!). Unfortunately, the cheapest registration ended yesterday. I'm hoping my friends got me in under the wire.

Real life intruded there for awhile...

But more vacation paradise is coming soon. In the meantime, this is a Hawaiian papaya. It's my new favorite fruit.

 

I'm finding them all over San Francisco now that I'm in love with them, and I learned a valuable lesson this week. The papayas grown in Mexico, though twice the size and half the price, aren't nearly as good as the ones grown in Hawaii.