Jane’s Hiring: Must Be Good With Convolution, One-Trackness, and Brain Routing

My friends are  professionally accomplished, and have big important jobs.  Using classic Under-Achiever logic, I feel I don’t need to do more with my life, because they are doing so much. It’s kind of like I’m achieving by association. (Keep up the good work, guys! I like feeling important.)

The big important jobs happen in the big important city. Super Achieving friends have major commute. Months-without-sleep kind of commutes.

They never whine. I never hear about freezing at the bus stop at 3 am or the four hours a day some friends spend driving back and forth to their jobs.

I’m only on day three of driving back and forth to San Francisco. (I do not get to call it a commute: by the time I hit the freeway, everyone is finally up to the speed limit, I have an “ish” arrival time, and I do not have to apply mascara at an ungodly hour.) Annoyingly, I still want to whine.

I don’t have to be functional when Tokyo comes online. I just have to stay in my lane.

The Under-Achiever in me feels super important about how well I stay in my lane.

Re-wiring issue #1: No Whining.  I think we all understand why it’s imperative to keep Jane from whining about the drive. She’d like to keep her friendships.

Re-wiring issue #2: Because my usual commute involves a short hallway and bunny slippers, my brain believes driving to San Francisco is a Road Trip.  If you regularly follow this blog, you immediately know why this is a bad thing.  If my brain continues to send out Mayday “Road Trip” signals, I will never fit into my skinny jeans again.

Yesterday I needed more caffeine to keep up my excellent lane-management skills.  I stopped at a gas station for a diet Coke. Twenty-seven seconds of aisle-frenzy later, I was sitting in my car staring at a candy bar (love),  vinegar potato chips (hate), a pack of gum (?) and a diet Coke. All for the low, low gas station price of fifteen bucks.

Amend the above: if I don’t stop the Road Trip mentality, I will be fat and broke. I yell at my brain.

Jane: This is not a Road Trip!

Brain: I know. Sheesh. What was THAT all about?

Jane: Um. Shouldn’t you know what that was all about?

Brain: Nope. Sorry. Take it to a shrink. Not my job.

Jane: C’mon! You’re the brain, you’re in charge!

Brain: Hello. Obviously I am not in charge.  Look down.  Vinegar chips.  9:30 am.  I rest my case.

I have to concede the point. It knows I don’t like vinegar potato chips. In fact, I can’t remember my brain ever suggesting I buy them.


IT Position: Laid back company with “ish” mentality, welcomes driven, proven, IT managers with systems routing experience. Must have current psychotherapy license, sense of humor, patience, and strong “Mother says NO” attitude capabilities. Fast reflexes a must: light duty cellophane bag snatching is required.  Salary commensurate with results.

Any takers…?

Life Trumps Us Again…

It’s been one of those weeks.  This morning’s highlights:

  1. I got an email from Jill (? I don’t know anyone named Jill).  I read further. Oh, Jill Biden, the Vice President’s wife.  And I’ve never met her!  How nice is that?
  2. Her email asked me if I’d like to sign Michelle’s birthday card. Dang.  I think she has me mixed up with someone else. Who is Michelle? I don’t know any Michelles.

A brain cell politely knocks on my gray matter.

She wants me to sign Mrs. Obama’s birthday card, and thinks I know her well enough to call her Michelle!  Well of COURSE I’m going to sign. And add my personal message.  Via a mass emailing to random democrats. Who cares? I’ll say happy birthday to the first lady, especially when invited by the second lady. Whoa. Someone in the White House knows I exist.

I’ve been seeing a lot of this over the last few days.  It’s winter.  No fog in San Francisco!

Our weird spring weather has finally stolen away.  I was patting myself on the back yesterday for replacing Hudson’s winter blanket.  He sure was going to need it. Bella said she’d cover his care for me.  I’m all set. It’s supposed to be 20 degrees tonight.

Something is nagging at me.  What is it, Lassie? The blanket? Yup, all set.  Where is the blanket? Why, it’s…Uh-oh.  For reasons known only to that poor brain cell, I threw the blanket back in the trunk of my car, after checking the fit. (I’m sure it was heat stress. Who needs a heavy winter blanket when it’s almost 70 degrees?)

Hudson is about 2 hours north of this picture.

It was a pretty drive.

It’s going to be a pretty drive today too.

But at least Hudson has this:

(We are experiencing a slight delay in programming. Translation: you may see some preeeeeety stupid stuff up here until I get it together!)

A Walk in the Park

This Episode of TLH brought to you by sheer exhaustion and Shaun

She not only finagled a friday off work, but thoughtfully spent that day surprising me with a trip to one of my favorite places on earth.

Come on!  We’re going over the Golden Gate bridge (yes it really is that pretty), into San Francisco, to The Japanese Tea Garden.  It’s the perfect time of year to be in San Francisco.  Mark Twain wasn’t kidding. Fall: cobalt blue skies, warm breeze, 70 degrees, no humidity.  Tourist season is over, so it was us and the fall gardeners busy with winter pruning.  The women in the ticket both inspected Shaun and I, and pronounced us “locals”, and would not take the regular entrance fee, even when we told them we didn’t live in San Francisco.

Spring is the Tea Garden’s big splashy drama.  Fall is subtle: one’s focus is drawn to the beautiful structure of the garden, rather than the impossible explosion of cherry and plum blossoms.  Why do I love it so much?  I’ve been going since I was a kid.  As formal tourist-attraction gardens go, it’s tiny.  But it’s magic.  I can’t move six inches without seeing the a completely different vista, a slightly changed focal point, a new frame for a changed picture.

Okay.  And there are Koi.  And Gen Mai tea that never tastes as good when brewed at home. And a small plate with three perfect squares of moochi.  I’m seven again.

A stream winds through the grounds, maybe six to eight inches deep in most spots, with deeper hiding spots for the Koi.  The water is perfectly clear.  I skipped immediately to the stream: where are my Koi?  The way I feel about Koi is the same way I felt about a pony as a child.  My grandmother had a Koi pond, with some very old, very tame (read: demanding) Koi, that came to me for food, and to be stroked.

Unlike most horse-struck girls, I was going to have a pet pony AND a giant fish.

Without a ladder, it’s difficult to photograph the vistas from the narrow twisting paths: I focused instead on getting the feeling, rather than the view.

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While Shaun was in her meeting, I wandered around the concourse between the De Young Museum and Academy of Sciences.  Maybe that will be our next monday mini photo vacation!