Life in the Slow Lane

Apparently there is a great host of people hoping that I will manage to meet my goal of 200 posts for the year 2006. A great host, in this case, refers to two people. I began a post over a month ago, that I have worked on intermittently since then, and while it is not yet fit for gracing this public page, I will excerpt a small portion of it to make my quota: I know that's cheating, but it's almost midnight. And really, what better way to start the New Year than with a hug? So Happy New Year!

According to my long standing tradition, here are some New Year's Resolutions for all of my dear readers to accomplish during 2007: 1) Take on a secret identity to be nice to at least one person. (It's no coincidence that this is the year of 007, is it?) 2) Invent a contraption that looks normal but has all sorts of snazzy features. (Perhaps a coffee cup that also warms socks... or a toothbrush that doubles as a painting instrument.) 3) Build a bridge with q-tips. 4) Clean the popcorn out from under the seat in your car. (Hey, doesn't everyone have this problem?) 5) Comment on my blog. (Just once fulfills this resolution, but don't let that stop you. As a matter of fact, additional comments on my blog makes up for any failures in accomplishing the others. Don't let this great opportunity pass you by.) 6) Spend some time contemplating the construction of a spider web. 7) Create a time capsule for you to open on the next rainy day.

When I was in school, I would start every semester with a long list of wonderful habits. Usually, they lasted until the week before midterms. But I knew not to panic too much, because I would just work on getting the urgent things done, and when the semester was over, I could catch up on the things that got left behind, and re- strategize for the next semester. That worked okay for things like flossing my teeth and cleaning my room, and not quite so well for things like eating well and keeping track of where I spent my money. But that is what college life is like for everyone, so I didn't let it worry me. But about a month and a half ago, all of the good habits I began when I first moved out on my own started deteriorating. Meals were only complete if I used a loose definition of the term. Keeping track of my expenses consisted of throwing whatever receipts I found at the pile on my bookshelf. And that is when I started looking forward to my semester break. But I seem to have

During the summer of 2003 I had one day off. I spent it defrosting the wall air conditioning unit. By the next day it had frozen again, and the day after that we were asked to change rooms. While I had hoped that prying the ice off of the coils would leave me a lasting feeling of accomplishment (as well as diminish the amount of water that dripped continuously , leaving my half of the room soggy) what left me feeling most accomplished was a) I was able to put the unit back together again and b) I had a band-aid on hand for when I sliced my fingers on the coils. Needless to say, no one received a post card detailing my day's activities. As I come to the end of another similarly spent vacation (more accomplishment in this one, though, I hope... no band-aids on my fingers, only "Clear Day" paint) I am reminded of the tradition of co-workers bringing back a little lembrancinha from their vacation. I have received a sea anemone key chain, a matching pen and nail file with

When I was still a school-going child and happened to be sick, I would watch the clock all day long. At 9:52 I would imagine the rest of my classmates discussing Steinbeck, wondering what strange non-existent lessons they were pulling out. At 10:23 I would snuggle warmly in my bed, pleased that I was sick and not dressing out for PE like I would be on a normal day. At 11:34 I would agonize about the quiz I was missing in math and whether I'd be allowed to make it up or not. (Hey, grades were important.) At 12:31 I would wander to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of Sprite and grab a few crackers, glad that I didn't have to eat a mushed pb&j with eau de sandwich bag. And so I spent my sick days, thinking about where I "should" be. (I never would have enjoyed ditching class.) And now there is this weird thing called vacation but it is radically different than the vacation I used to know (also called Summer or Christmas vacation). For that kind of vacation,

Recently I watched nearly 20 minutes of a new film release while driving through LA. I wasn't able to hear any of it, and the size of the screen made it difficult to be able to catch all of the nuances of the film, but I was beginning to feel like I was able to follow the plot line. That is until some little sedan cut me off and made me lose my almost front row seat to the SUV movie theater.

Today a little boy stood at my knee, crying and saying "More food, more food." Talk about a heart breaking picture, especially so soon after Christmas. How could I possibly turn him away and ignore his plaintive cry? Answer: By remembering that he had just gotten in trouble for dropping tuna fish on the floor and then spitting. But really, after taking a look at this picture , you can't really blame the poor kid for trying, can you?

It just so happens that Christmas Eve provides an excuse for many people to visit a church that they otherwise would never enter. This is why it is a wonderful idea to be extra nice to people you don't recognise just in case they happen to be new and are in the process of getting their first impression. It really is too bad that my hymnal accidentally connected with the head in front of me. The worst of it is that it is nearly impossible to tell whether the book that just hit you was a hymnal or a Bible. So if you hear someone telling you about a crazy church where you get thwacked on the head with Bibles... tell them it was a hymnal. That should make everything better.

This last week I have had a cold. Yes, I was the envy of my entire department. Why? you ask. Because I didn't have the flu or the other nasty viruses that decided to move into our office and send out Christmas cards. It's a good thing everyone was sent home for Christmas, we were starting to wear Lysol antibacterial room spray as perfume and use disinfectant wipes to blanket our work station... and the one next door... and the one down the hall. Maybe the germs will finish up their party and go home before we have to punch in again on our time cards.

One of the more mind-twisting aspects of my job is the sensation that I am reading yesterday's headlines in today's letters. Which, of course, leads to a completely new perspective when I read the news. I've written to people who have the out-sourced jobs. I've read pages from a boy whose father and brothers were killed on their way to school because of an African conflict. I've gotten the flurry of letters from friends and family of the high school football hero, now paralyzed. I've held in my hands a request from a man five times a murderer. Is it any wonder that today, when I read a headline about suicide and depression in the Indian army, I read the article with panicked attention, hoping that I didn't recognize any names? I sometimes forget that even though it may seem that I get letters from all 6 billion people on this planet, most of the people I write to will never make the six o'clock news.

1. Go easy on the glitter. 2. Avoid writing it from the viewpoint of your dog. 3. Do not use extensive quotes from last year's letter. 4. If you are going to write it from the viewpoint of your dog, at least enclose one picture of him. 5. If you feel that you must write it as if you are Mrs. Claus, by no means mention people who tried to pinch your Claus covered ******. (Santa isn't going to be able to deliver presents to anyone else because he will spend all Christmas Eve filling their house with coal.) 6. If you really must write the letter from the viewpoint of your dog, do not begin the letter with "This year was a very busy year for my house. Every day my master took me out to relieve myself." While that very well might be the highlight for the dog, there is a reason that dogs do not exchange Christmas cards.

I've noticed a disturbing trend recently: My room gets cold. Very, very cold. As in, I am beneath four blankets, with a heating pad at my feet, and I am still shivering. The good news is I don't have to worry about fitting the open bottle of juice into my fridge space. With my blinds closed, it fits quite nicely on my window ledge. Maybe now is the time to buy another watermelon .

My walk Originally uploaded by biukalee . In a moment of pre-existent nostalgia, I took this picture which shows a portion of the path I take between my place of residence and my work. If this turns out to be the last empty lot of these proportions within Los Angeles county, I will be mad at myself for advertising it. If anyone asks, just remember, you have no idea where this lot is located.

I find it highly ironic that a custom that could only exist in the storage glutted United States takes its name from the East. Sure, our goal is more to inconvenience someone than to ruin them, but where else would people exchange teeth impressions, hideous homemade stockings, and an entire crate of promotional items with the company's name emblazoned on each, nearly worthless item? Everyone gets a good laugh that it wasn't them who got stuck with the slightly pornographic body oil. Someone else doesn't even bother begging for others to take their lovely gift of the flashing teeth and the grow-a-brain. The toilet stopper-chopper wins the award for most disgusting, but instead of imagining an early trip to a dumpster, the recipient looks forward to the next exchange when she can pass it off on someone else. And that's where it gets disturbing. Not only did all of this junk start off in someone's home, but there are plans to store it so that it can be passed on to s

One of my co-workers came over for lunch today. Of course, as exciting as my trash-can-interfering-with-my-towel-drying show is, any real tour of my place includes Pepper and Jackie, of Bunny Love fame. My visitor was ecstatic that I had bunnies. I mentioned, in passing, that I didn't think they got as much attention as they needed, and suddenly I was on the witness stand, asked to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. What I had to say only made my co-worker sad and so we sneaked a carrot to each rabbit before we went back to work. Ten minutes later, everyone in our department knew about the poor, sad bunnies who didn't get enough attention. Suggestions were made about taking up a collection for their proper treatment. An hour later, I was asked "What were the poor bunnies' names again?" Two hours later I was offered a couple of carrots to take home. And every time I walked by my lunchtime visitor, she gave me such very sad, sad eyes. I

I started at the wrong end of my Christmas shopping list this year. About a month ago one of my co-workers gave me the warning that our department exchanged small gifts at Christmas. I thanked her profusely for giving me the heads-up, and then added each person in our department to my "List of people to buy for". And for the last month I have kept my eyes open for that special category of gift that says "I don't really know you all that well, and I can't spend a ton of money on you, but I want you to know that I did think about you, and isn't this a cute gift I got for you?" And since that category is oh, so very small, I put a lot of effort into finding seven such gifts. Then the week after I had finished finding suitable gifts for everyone, they decided that seven people really was too many to buy for, and instead we will draw names and only buy for one. And what I have to say about it is this: I hope those of you still on my "List of people to b

I have found that if there is some unknown object on your person that activates the security alarms upon the entrance and exit of every store, that your shopping excursion will be shortened of your own will and volition.

Today, standing in the Getty Villa, I had a weird feeling of shifting shadows. The Getty Villa is fashioned after a Roman villa in Pompeii. They took the "foot print" of the excavated ruins and used it as the start to the building, adding other characteristics typical to Roman era buildings. Another portion of the museum is made to look like it has been excavated... cement has been molded to mimic the petrified wood found in Pompeii. A year and a half ago I stood in Pompeii, standing in the atrium of an excavated Roman villa. I studied the eerie stone-that-was-wood, and squinted at the barely discernible original art on the walls and floor. And today, as I remembered that place, I wondered whether that was the shadow or if what I looked at today was the shadow. But as I stood, marveling at the beauty of the gleaming Roman columns, with the butterflies flitting from plant to fountain and back, I couldn't help but cast one calculating glance at the mountain shadowing the

Today we had our staff Christmas party. Dress code was business or holiday business. I spent some time considering what "holiday business" might look like, but I guessed wrong. Apparently it means wearing red sweaters with little Christmas pins. But I suppose it is okay that I guessed wrong, because I have never taken the trouble to buy myself specifically holiday apparel. Instead I chose to wear my Kazakh groom's coat. (Please note that the term "my" modifies the word "coat" and not the word "groom".) Perhaps I have grown too comfortable with its appearance, as it has hung in my closet for several years now. But really, how was I suppose to know the stir it would create? My quiet entrance into our morning prayer gathering caused instant cessation of conversation... and a few whistles. During the brief two hours of work before the party, the accounting department sent over a sight seer. Our Christmas party was at the Getty Villa... a mut

Sometimes I am almost positive that I overhear the narrator of the great screen play that is my life. I was on the phone, trying to not dash the hopes of a caller about an incredible new idea he wanted to market (which has already been done a million times over) and I gently chided him saying, "Well, you know what they say... there's nothing new under the sun." And then the narrator said "She gently chided." Really, if someone is going to narrate my life, can't they at least stay away from cliches and tired sayings? I mean, really. "Gently Chided"? But on the other hand, maybe the narrator had to pop in at that point because the audience was having some trouble believing that I was actually chiding gently. Because that is how it is, a lot of times, the narrator has to stick her head in to help the audience know what is going on. For in this instance, the audience probably fully expected me to respond "Where on earth have you been hiding that

Apparently I have achieved touchable hair. But do not envy me, fair reader, for the commercials do not tell the truth. Touchable hair tempts people into batting at the back of your head like a cat playing with vertical blinds. Or to tug on a strand instead of saying "hello". Or to stand and try and scrunch the rebellious strands so that they look more uniform. No, no, I've never seen these scenarios in the commercials. But then again, that probably wouldn't sell any shampoo.

Today a power surge sent our telephone system into chaos. Every call that came into our switchboard could only be answered via speaker phone. Perhaps a workable problem, except that our switchboard happens to be located at the hub of our office. With people discussing the merit of cashew nuts over brazil nuts as they pick through the snacks, and the chatter of women deciding who really should be allowed to cut in line at the bathroom... the result is not pretty. Or should I say aurally pleasing. Yes, there were a number of callers who must think we operate from a cellular phone while in line at the bathroom. But unlike a nightmare, I was not the main participant, I was just standing by, frantically flipping through the phone manual trying to find anything about a speaker phone feature. While nothing was ever found about such a feature for our switchboard phone, it turns out that you turn on and off the speaker phone through power surges and cutting power. So just in case, some day, yo

Since I know many of you go visiting at the houses of others specifically to compare collections of Christmas cards, I have a confession to make: I am using more than one style of Christmas card. Now I don't want you to think that there was a List A and a List B, and that everyone on List B got the other design. There was just a List A and it got longer than I anticipated. And if, in a couple of days you haven't received a card, that doesn't mean that you were neither on List A or on List B (I mean... the second half of List A), it just means that I haven't yet found your address. So if you want to make sure that you get a Christmas card from me this year, and you think that maybe I have lost your address and was unable to find it through online searches and rigorous perusals of old emails, let me know. Because I'm too embarrassed to admit that I lost your address. And, of course, I want you all* to know that I'm still alive . But more than that, I now have a w

Shopping online is hard work. I think sometimes it requires a massive grid of information to be done properly. Not only do you have to know your username and passcode for each site, but you also have to keep in mind whether the store you are buying from has a coupon code that you might find with a little bit of sleuthing on sites like Ben's Bargains or Slickdeals.net . But that's not the end. If you have a rewards program like AAdvantage or United you have to decide whether to add miles to your accounts (and which one!) or whether you are going to use a site like igive to donate a percentage of your purchase to your favorite charitable cause. And then for check out! Do you use Google Checkout and get the (current) offer of $10 off a $30 purchase? or PayPal to get (current offer) free shipping? And that isn't even considering the dilemmas of how to group purchases at stores to take advantage of free shipping offers, buy one get one, and the host of other things created

10. It's Southern California, how cold can it get? 9. I lost my toe nail clippers. 8. I tried buying winter shoes, but the shoe racks are too small to carry my size. (I'd post a picture of my feet to show you how big they are, but your computer screen is too small to display it properly.) 7. How else am I going to open a door when my hands are full? 6. We decided democratically about which shoes to wear, and there are two of my feet, and only one of me. 5. It's such a beautiful day, I couldn't keep my toes cooped up. 4. My feet were playing Survivor , and my toes got voted off the island. 3. Oh, my toes are bare? I guess I stopped feeling them awhile ago. 2. My toe nail polish is so bright, I'm lucky my feet aren't sweating. 1. I do my best thinking when I can study my toes.

There is an empty lot near my place that is a tumbleweed breeding ground. Or so I thought. When I drove by, I would frequently see tumbleweeds that had blown from the empty lot across the street and piled up along the horse trail. I figured there was probably some community group or city ordinance that paid for the occasional removal of the accumulated weeds, because that is the sort of neighborhood I live in. One thing I never could figure out, though, is why so many happened to make their way across the street when it didn't seem that there was all that many on the other side of the street to begin with. And then I happened to drive by while the aforementioned employees were doing their ritual "Remove Tumbleweeds from Horse Trail" assignment. They each grabbed two of the large balls of sticks, waited for traffic to pass, and then carried the tumbleweeds back to their home on the original side of the street.

Give a boy a hammer Originally uploaded by biukalee . This was taken within a minute of the hammer being taken out of its packaging. Yes, this picture is blurry, but it still qualifies as a classic, right?

Today I received Preseasonal Happy Christmas Greetings from my sons and daughters in Liberia. I so very much enjoyed receiving them, that I thought I would pass them along so that others might enjoy this fine greeting as well. So... I greet you with preseasonal happy Christmas greetings!

There is something most wonderful about waking up the morning after a well-lived Saturday and realizing that today is Saturday, too. And then, even better, tomorrow is Saturday as well. And it isn't even Groundhog Day . I say, folks, three cheers for three Saturdays! Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!

Sunset at Big Bear Lake Originally uploaded by biukalee . This picture has nothing to do with Thanksgiving. It is just a cool picture that I wanted to share. So be thankful!

On this, the first day when I am taking vacation time, I thought it fitting to post a picture of my cubicle. This is where it happens, folks, for 40 hours a week, 4 weeks a month, for the last 6 months. Please notice the lovely pillow case in the corner that came with the bedspread . Perhaps now is also a fitting time to announce that this will no longer be my cubicle very soon. I'm moving up! Or rather, I'm moving around. Soon I will be at a desk that will have twice as much desk space, three times as much leg room (I can start bringing my legs to work again!) and no cubicle wall. The desk will be considerably more suited for working, but less suited for showcasing international curiosities. I might actually have to answer that letter sitting on my desk.

When I was little, I had no patience for coloring. I mean what was I going to do with the picture when I was done? It certainly wasn't good enough to be hung on a wall. And if no one was going to see it but me, what difference did it make whether I took time to color nicely or just scribbled on the page? And if it didn't matter if I scribbled, why do it at all? But now, just so you know, there is a newly colored Barbara Manatee next to a completely uncolored Larry the Cucumber, and no one is going to see it, and I didn't scribble. (Or atleast not very much.) If you're nice, I might share my crayons with you.

On occasion (so maybe like twice), in my writing life, I will come upon the perfect set of words. I will be happy they arrived, and continue on with life. But then, sometimes, the perfect set of words will be seen by others, and as they hold them up to be examined, I think that maybe the words are too perfect, and maybe I have actually heard them before and that is why they came so easily. And the fear that I am unknowingly stealing someone else 's words and claiming them as my own, sends me into a panic, and makes me think that perhaps it would be better if I never brought my words out in public. Or maybe the solution is just to wear them for all to see, hoping that someone will recognize them and so have the words returned to their rightful owner.

For months now I have known that I would someday write a post entitled $end Money. I began to keep track of creative ways people had for asking money for that eventual post, but it never seemed quite the right time, because no matter how imaginative the plea was, I always knew that there would be an even better one around the corner, if I just waited a little bit longer. Well, I can put it off no longer. This may become a regular feature, but if, and only if, all of my dear readers promise to not go cynical on me. And so, without further ado: Tried and True Techniques for Requesting Money (Please note: This says nothing of the effectiveness of these methods.) 1. Introduce yourself as a long devoted friend and include bank deposit information. 2. Draw an elaborate picture that includes the caption "Me & [NPO]" only replace the ampersand with $. 3. Ask for money. Then say your house burned down and ask for money. Then say that you need money for a bicycle. Then write agai

So today I entreat my dear readers to be kind to your telemarketer. Do not hang up on them without saying good-bye. Do not yell at them for just being after your money. Do not treat them like some low-life scum. Because perhaps, just perhaps, the person you think is a telemarketer is actually someone who is just calling to say thank you. Don't think it never happens, because it does. I've got the script and the list of phone numbers to prove it.

Have you ever stopped to marvel at how many useless strings of numbers and letters you have memorized? Yes, yes, at one point it wasn't useless information, as it let you get into your locker, or access your money, or retrieve your phone messages, but now? Not only are we stuck with useless bits of numbers and letters, but we are forever being obliged to think up another one. To access my computer at work, my password must have both letters and numbers, must include punctuation and at least one key stroke has to be made while pressing the Shift key. And I must change it every six to eight weeks. And what I change it to can't have been any of the previous twelve. Its a wonder I have sufficient memory left over for remembering my name (any of them). I do have a name, don't I?

So I've spent way too much time jazzing up this place and now, for some reason, bloglines can't find the updates. If any of you have any hints as to how to fix this, I would most welcome it.

Birthday Flowers (1) Originally uploaded by biukalee . Flowers have special powers. Observe and take note.

I made arroz con pollo tonight that would do Barbie proud. Can we say pink ? Yeah, pink. The advantage is that total prep time was about three minutes. And it tasted pretty good. I just probably wouldn't try serving it to Ken. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Using the same opaque containers to store leftovers and once-frozen milk does have its drawbacks.

I spent money on a book entitled Three Weddings and a Giggle . At one time in my life I would have been embarassed to be caught reading it, much less announcing that I spent money on it. But that was before a day like this . And now... I dare you to comment. I dare you. Because I'm sure that will be enough to send me out to buy the sequel.

Some days I would not be surprised to find out that the oceans are filled with tears. The letters I saw today represent literally thousands of people crying. The floods of Pakistan The genocide of Rwanda The earthquake victims of India The impoverished of Bosnia The cripled of Argentina The aged of Haiti They were all at my desk today, along with many others. Brother Sorrow, Sister Pain Some days I ask for a hedge like Job's.

Our new office building will have all new furniture. That means we leave all that we have now behind. Can you hear the circling vultures? A co-worker wanders through and says "Anyone claimed that bookshelf yet?" "Um... no." "Good. If anyone asks, it's mine." Or a casual conversation... "I really like that table. I'd like to have it." "Yeah, isn't it nice? I'm sure you could find one like it at Target or something." "No, I want that table." Like the flags of Imperialism, names are staked on every bookshelf, lamp, and anything else that will make a decent transfer to a living room. For some reason, it all seems so terribly disrespectful to be planning the appropriation and relocation of things we will still use every day for the next two months. But maybe what I feel is just some weird backwards jealousy over the fact that no one has yet laid claim to my filing cabinet-sized desk nor my magic push-you-out-on-th

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Being a Model No further comment.

My first day on the job, as I was shutting down my computer, one of my co-workers passed by and called out "Goodnight!" I started laughing. I thought for sure she was joking. It was only 5 o'clock! We still had another three hours of day light for all sorts of activity, and bedtime wasn't for another 5 hours, why on earth was she wishing me goodnight? But somewhere over time I started saying it, too. Not because I thought it made any more sense, but because that is what we say at 5 o'clock in the 9 to 5 world. I figured it was just one of those things that showed a gaping hole in the sufficiency of the English language. What other terms would you say to someone whom you have seen all day today and will see all day tomorrow? And then today it happened. Night-time came before 5 o'clock. As I sat at my desk and looked out at the thousands of cars making their evening commute with their headlights on, I wanted to say "Hey! I think I got gypped! Somebody stole

Today I set out to accomplish the serious task of spending seven cents. I know, I know. You are thinking "How on earth can spending seven cents be a serious task?" I tell you it is. It took me nearly an hour and a half to do so. The problem all began several months ago when I signed up for a Macy's credit card so that I could save 20% on a wedding gift I was purchasing. A month later when it came time to pay the bill, (what with my change in residence) I had neither my credit card nor my statement and the customer service representative couldn't tell me how much I owed. So I had to guess. And I paid seven cents more than I owed. I never intended to keep my Macy's credit card. I wasn't even going to activate it. But month after month I got the notice that I had a seven cent credit to my name. I'm not one to enjoy contributing to paper waste, so I knew it was time to spend those seven cents. There is a reason I never intended on activating my credit card. I

I'm putting together a list of things to do on Friday afternoon that look like work and could technically be called work, but isn't much like work. So far I have: 1) Delete unnecessary emails from Outlook. 2) Write obvious plans in planner. 3) Check mailbox. 4) Sanitize computer keyboard and telephone. 5) Visit the water cooler. 6) Check for new emails to delete. 7) Change the picture on my desktop. 8) Straighten the pushpins in my walls. 9) Visit the snack area for possible new arrivals of cookies. 10) Clean mug. 11) Check mailbox. 12) Put sticky notes on things that I might forget to do on Monday. 13) Browse through the letters still to be answered and plan carefully for the best time to grab a selection so as to avoid the most trying and insure a good Friday next week. 14) Count letters already answered to maintain bragging rights. 15) Check mailbox. 16) Look for new emails. 17) Check for new emails. 18) Check for new emails. So yeah. I need help. Not only have I not been ab

For those of you who are blissfully unaware, Christmas is less than two months away. I've already participated in sending Christmas greetings to 30 people. I probably have another 20 or so, and then I get to move on to people I know. Which of course is another dilemma. This year is perhaps the first year when it makes sense for me to send out the traditional holiday greeting. Of course every year it is wonderful to get excited at the Christmas season and do your very best to express in words, that cannot possibly suffice, the incredible truth of Christmas, but usually the traditional holiday greeting serves an entirely different purpose. It says, in varying degrees of transparency, "Here I am. I'm still alive. And I want you to know that I'm still alive. And I want you to remember me. And I'd like to know you're still alive, too." I find this particularly necessary this year because after moving to a corner of the world that I didn't even know existed

You know you might be in for a time of it when you receive a 20 page epistle where at the bottom of the first page you read "I won't write much here as usually once my pen takes off it is very hard to stop it, and I don't want to overwhelm you with stuff which probably wouldn't interest you." You know you will be in for a time of it when at the bottom of page five you read "Sorry I haven't kept my writing as neat as is comfortable for the reader but my best intentions in this regard usually do lead the reader to the hell of illegibility."

As I recently confessed, I've gotten a little out of hand with my coupon use. Several weeks ago I spent a 75 cents off coupon on two boxes of Newman's Own popcorn. First, let me advise you to save your 75 cents on something else. The popcorn is kind of gross. But inside each box of popcorn was a coupon to save $1.00 off of some item from Newman's Own. I didn't want to save $1 on gross popcorn, so I decided to branch out and try some other products from the brand. That is when I bought a carton of limeade. Now I should have realized, when one of the first things I did when I brought the popcorn home was to take the bags out of the box, that I did not appreciate staring at Newman's Own face every time I went looking for some item of food. But taking individual bags of popcorn out of a box is a lot simpler than taking the limeade out of the carton. So every time I opened the fridge, there was Newman. And so a battle begun. Did I want to leave him in the front so that I

This week was National Letter Writing Week. I know what you're thinking... "What?!? You waited until Friday to tell us that this was National Letter Writing Week?" Yes, dear readers, I did. But don't worry, I probably wrote enough letters to make up for all of you. Actually I just did some more research and discovered that National Letter Writing Week was the first week of October. I don't suppose it changes anything, though. The entire point behind bringing up the themed week was to point out that you probably did not write any letters and I did. So Ha! I feel special. I think I'll go write myself a letter now.

Yesterday I wandered into a library and found Bill Clinton's book My Life in the fiction shelves. This isn't the start to some bad political joke. It is to wonder why on earth someone has decided that "Large Print" is a subgenre of fiction just like "Westerns" or "Mystery". It would seem to me that there are better ways to organize a library. But what do I know? My personal library has a first aid kit shelved with everything else non-fiction.

There is something gloriously delightful about walking barefoot across an open field with the wind blowing your skirt and singing at the top of your lungs while on your way to work. Perhaps it is the tinge of rebellion in being barefoot during the work day, or the feeling of being untamed just moments before calmly answering a business call, or even the idea that the people you pass are deciding whether to look upon you with pity or jealousy. But friends, as wonderful as this feeling is, it is ever so much greater to do it on the way home from work.

In the little corner of the world that is my cubicle, there is a suspenseful event taking place. A race, five months long is approaching the climactic end. The participants are the blue pen I use for just about everything and the white-out roller that I use for just about everything I use the blue pen on. People would understand if I gave a bit of help to the pen, right? I mean, just a wee bit of little help here... and a little help there... overlooking a few scribbles and misspellings. You'd understand, right?

I've developed a bad habit since moving out on my own. You know that woman who is standing in front of the one item in the store you came to get? The one who is shuffling through her ragged envelope of coupons trying to find the one she just knows is in there somewhere? That's me. I might need to make it to a Couponaholics Anonymous meeting, but I'm not ready to become a recovering addict yet. Who can blame me when my last receipt shows that I saved $14.18 on a total purchase of $25.37? My favorite receipt (I'm looking for a frame 2.5 inches wide by 26 inches long) shows that I saved $59.50 on a purchase of $87.61. That's what 24 double coupons can do for you. Just imagine the face of the guy behind me when I whipped that stack out. But I'm not one of those that will buy something just because she knows she's saving money. I'm smarter than that, let me tell you. I got a coupon that offered $1.00 off a bag of fun-size Crunch bars. Who could resist, reall

If any of you happen to see a burning bush, I think it's for me. I've always considered myself to be somewhat slow of speech and lacking in oral skills. Once I dreamed that I woke up from a surgery to discover that my tongue had been amputated because of a horrible infection. I cried and cried, thinking how I never really appreciated my tongue while I had it. (Technically I did still have it because they had tied it to my hospital bed even though the smell was sickening.) So, me, of the bumbling tongue, got an email from Ms Founder... you know the one who has spoken in front of crowds of thousands... the one that has spoken with presidents... the one who is heard by thousands around the world on daily radio broadcasts... that one. She wants me to coach her on the pronunciation of a few words. So I'm looking for the burning bush. But if you find it before I do, point it out to me. I'll be the one in the tiny cubicle mumbling everything I know about Spanish pronunciation

In the last six years, I've gotten ten years younger. Or, in other words, right now I am younger than I was 10 and a half years ago. You think that gives you a headache? Think how unnerving that is to me! At 18, someone assumed I was over 30. As an 8th grader I was thought to be in college. And now? My dental hygenist (only five years older than me) comments that she thought I was much younger, and the dentist calls me "sweetie" like I am some four year old who got separated from my mother in the grocery store. I was just about ready to write that off as something peculiar to that dental office, especially as the office manager also used a term of endearment with me, but then three cities over in an automotive repair shop, of all places, it happened again. And it wasn't a withered grandfather type or creepy machista ... it was the female service coordinator who was, perhaps, only ten years older than me. "I'll be right with you, Sweetie." What has happen

Today one of my co-workers got a fortune cookie with a fortune which read : You are not illiterate. Maybe it was a fortunate cookie.

The room I rent is nine feet wide and ten feet long. This, of course, makes for some interesting dynamics. For instance, if my recliner is even partially reclined, the door cannot open. When the blinds are open, I can't use the printer. If I forget to move my computer before I sit in the recliner, it topples to the floor. When my fan is on, I can't open my dresser drawers. If I forget to cover my mouth when I sneeze, what with the velocity of a sneeze and the reflective properties of semi-glossed walls, I can catch my own cold before I've finished sneezing. But when I can't close my door without tucking my trash bag in such a way that it won't interfere with my bath towel drying in a position that won't put stress on my computer's power cord which is, itself, placed so that the iron and blow drier won't impede it's mobility and I trace the carefully reasoned placement of each item all the way around the room... I just give thanks that there is a door

Today I made steps to further world peace. The website for my work, as I have previously mentioned, has a form for those who would like to leave a question or comment. In the address section, there is a drop down menu for selecting which country you are from. Currently the list includes 63 countries. Seeing as I have personally been to 21 and I know I have not been to a third of the countries on this fair globe, I realized that there is a problem. Actually, I didn't realize there was a problem until a writer noted that Austria wasn't on the list. I can understand Monaco not being there... even Eritrea, but Austria? So I enquired. We should know by now, that when we enquire about whether we can make a change, it becomes our duty to fix it. So I got to figure out which countries to add to the list. Fair friend, do you want to decide how many countries and which ones should be on the list? I feel like I am faced with the challenge of the UN and the Olympic counsel and then the

Overheard conversation between two children, aged approximately 6 years: "No, no... it's right next to the freeway." "Oh, good. I hate the freeway."

Go to any Bridal Shower or Baby Shower where the programme includes several games, and you will probably be able to find the semi-silent conclave of women refusing to participate in the shower games. Well maybe there isn't such a group at every shower, just every shower I've ever been to. You can make what conclusions about that as you will. One of the games at last night's Bridal shower was "Pin the kiss on the groom-to-be". It was not the groom-to-be in person, just in photograph, but the kiss was not just a paper kiss... it was in person. The guests were supposed to apply lipstick, take the blind fold and a generous spin, and smack the picture -- in order of their birth date. I have never seen so many women under the age of 29 forget when they were born. It also proved to be a most opportune time to get lost on the way to the bathroom.

Today the staff of Life in the Slow Lane bestows upon Me of the One Name, the Bronze Pen in recognition of her 500th letter written in the line of duty. *Much Applause and Acclaim* [Begin Acceptance Speech] Thank you, thank you. I couldn't have done it without the loving support of all of you here in the Slow Lane. When I try to figure out what to write to someone who closes their letter with "RESPONSE NOW" or "P.S. Send money." or "I'm up for parole in 2007" it is a great inspiration to know that all of you are here to cheer me on. To know that I have now written more letters in the last four months than many people do in their entire lives... Wow, what can I say? But thank you, it is an honor to be recognized with the Bronze Pen. [End Acceptance Speech] *Please Note: The Bronze Pen does not really exist. However, the 500 letters really do.

To whom it may concern: Please note that if you have subscribed to an automatic email delivery service, you will automatically receive emails. This, in no sense, constitutes meaningful correspondence. As such, it is ridiculous to insist that the organization generating the emails send you money so that you can afford to access the emails in an internet cafe. Sincerely, Me of the one name

After I was hired for my job, but before I showed up for my first day of work, my co-workers set about getting my work station set up. This involved moving a monstrous filing cabinet infamously known as The Cave (who knows what lurks in there?). This also involved trying (and failing) to convince the VP of Administration that a desk larger than a filing cabinet would not be a fire hazard. And then there was a desk chair. I'm not sure of the entire process they went to in trying to purchase a chair for me, because I ended up with a hand-me-down (This wonder-chair bit by bit, day by day, tilts you forward until suddenly you realize that you are about to land on the floor and your neck aches.), but today I was told of one trouble they encountered. They found a really nice Executive Desk Chair in the catalog, but the disclaimer caught them off guard: Not intended for use for periods longer than four hours. Executive indeed.

A tip: When the object of the object lesson involves details on reading material in the outhouse and a comparison between the tarantula in the outhouse and chest hair... the lesson is not one you want to remember.

For those of you who greatly desire to know the proper etiquette for writing letters, let me give you a pointer: It is generally considered very rude to smear blood on your letter. Even seeking forgiveness for the blood smear does very little to restore a right relationship with the reader. So remember, the next time you write a letter and are oozing blood, aim to communicate thoughts, not disease.

"Good afternoon, *name of NPO* how may we serve you?" "Yes, I called a moment ago and you were going to connect me with someone who could help me with a computer for my son, but you connected me to some woman in a hotel room." Yes, folks, I really am that talented. No one else even knew it was possible, but I managed to connect two callers to each other. The same part of me that has me stretch my neck as I drive by an accident wants to know how that conversation went.

One sure sign of real adulthood is the necesity to attend a seminar for work. Admitedly I went to the seminar with less than rosey thoughts. After all, the topic was leadership, and as an entry level, newest-in-the-department employee, I didn't see much purpose in my attendance. It proved to be much less horrific than I thought, and day two actually provided new insights that I can use. But among the many "Let's find out if you learned what we wanted you to learn" questions at the end, was "Have you written a personal leadership mission statement that is understandable to a 12 year old and can be recited at gun point?" Frankly, I doubt that any militant 12 year olds will be interested in knowing my personal leadership mission statement.

My roommate has two bunnies. She likes to let them out of their cages to run around the front "yard", and they like it, too. I think that one of the reasons they like to run around is that they get the opportunity to dig holes under the fence and so race off to bunny freedom. I've tried to avoid any interaction with the neighbors on the issue of these rabbits. For one because, as you know, any hole under a fence has two sides. But also because I hesitate to know what the neighbors think about my roommate's attempts to recapture the bunnies. When your only observation of a person is when they are running around, wielding a broom and alternating threats and coaxing words to a rabbit... Well, you can imagine. But regardless of the numerous times we've had occassion to try to herd a lightening-greased rabbit, we still have two bunnies. And that is because of bunny love. Pepper is a boy bunny and Jackie is a girl bunny. And because my roommate doesn't want Pepper a

You know, it is really hard to complain at work. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that 90% of the people I work with either deal with constant pain or disability or a near and dear relative does. So... um... yeah. I'm covering the reception desk next Friday.

On our webpage we have a section that says "Submit a Question/Comment." The idea is that the enquirer will write out his question or comment and then fill out his name and contact information so that we can reply and answer his question or comment. Perhaps you think that an obvious statement. But aparently not everyone understands this. One man carefully included every detail of his contact information and then wrote "For now no question and no comment." I feel like writing him and saying "For now no answer and no response."

Someone once told me that the way to appease the people was to give them a fountain. Meet the giant brown fountain in the courtyard at work. Because their longtime renters are planning to move out soon, the owners have been working to beautify the grounds. That explains the fountain. But it doesn't explain the carefully planted flowers in the bottom tier of the fountain (we aren't talking water lilies), or the fact that they spent so much time installing a sprinkler system to water these flowers when the plants have been under three inches of water since day two. Somehow the sound of falling water isn't nearly as soothing when it promotes the slow demise of petunias, pansies, and begonias.

Lake Tahoe Originally uploaded by biukalee . I uploaded another six photos from Lake Tahoe, if anyone is interested.

From my very first interview, everyone has told me great and marvelous things about the new building. There will be two kitchens, a book store, break rooms with gorgeous views, libraries where you can sit and read, balconies, and, this was the best part.... every workspace would have natural light. In a big office building, getting natural light to the inner offices is a big deal. This past week we all got a video tour of the construction site. The slow tour showed the staircase that would have two sources of natural light, the reception hall and break rooms that would all be flooded with light and then progressed to the board room on the second floor. The docent very excitedly explained that with the glass along the one side of the board room that you could look down into the large open area on the first floor or even across the way to the Correspondence work stations on the opposite side. And even more thrilled, he went on to say that someone standing in Correspondence could look acr

You know those days where you spend most of the day waiting for permission to go home and then on the way home you decide that you really do deserve an endulgement and so you go out of your way to hunt down that special treat only to be told that they no longer make it (Hello? You don't make chilly cheese fries any more?!?)? So yeah, it was one of those days. But don't feel too sorry for me... I'm done with reception desk duty!

There are some mornings when you wake up and you know the answer to some previously unsolved riddle. Braille on drive-thru ATMs? It is so people who are blind can bank from the passenger seat. Park on driveways and drive on parkways? Parkways are roads with parks... it doesn't have anything to do with parking and driveways were the long way that someone had to drive between the main street and the estate. Both of these riddles solved, and it wasn't even eight in the morning! But, try as I might, I wasn't able to solve the biggest conundrum facing our modern nation... Why isn't every day Receptionist Appreciation Day?

As some of you may be aware, Receptionist = Coffee Girl. And Monday Morning = LOTS of coffee. I made more coffee in two hours this morning than I have in my entire life, last week's reception desk duty included. As the president said while peering over my shoulder at the progress of the coffee making "I have learned to be content in plenty and in want, but in plenty I am contenter." As for me, I'm still singing the song I was taught in fifth grade music class: C O F F E E Coffee is not for me It's a drink some people wake up with That it makes you nervous is no myth Slaves to a coffee cup, They can't give coffee up. Which, of course, is not a good song to be singing when the president is peering over your shoulder.

Many times in life I have been exceedingly glad that I am not famous. For as much as I have considered this truth throughout my life, I have had even more time to be glad of this fact since starting my current job. And filling in at the reception desk has cemented this even further. In letters you may get a boy from Ghana announcing that he has taken the Founder as his mother, and as such, he would like to exchange cards, bank numbers, and greetings. In that order. At the reception desk you get a caller that insists on speaking to her NOW. And thus begins a treacherous dance of words. How to keep the caller from feeling slighted without fudging the truth? I suddenly understand the disciples trying to keep the children away from Jesus' feet. And a boat to cross the Sea sounds really nice right now.

I decided that for my time at the Reception Desk I needed something to brighten the landscape. That, of course, means flowers. So I took myself off to the grocery store and wavered for about 30 seconds whether I was going to get my first favorite flower or my second favorite flower and then agonized for another five minutes about which color I was going to get. Only on my way out did I notice the two stickers on the plastic sleeve. The first marked the flowers as product of Colombia. The second named the color: Sunny Rebeca Peach

Today I went clothing shopping to beef up my wardrobe. My great question of the day is this: What died and was left to rot in the world of fashion? The styles stink!

Today someone told me that I was poor. Quite frankly, I was shocked. Me? Poor? Why in the world did this woman assume I was poor? Was it in how I dressed? How I acted? Should I have hidden my shock better when someone offered their daughter's discounted salon price to me so that it would only cost $50 to get my hair cut? Am I being stingy... is that why she assumes I'm poor? But no, no. It is just that she doesn't know that out of all my sibs, I'm making the most money. So to all of my beloved siblings out there.... thank you for making me rich!

Yesterday the me from the first department wrote a lovely letter to the boss of the me in the second department. He called the first me back and said it was a wonderful idea and would the second me write a letter for him to address this issue? The second me is going to get upset at the first me for making her more work. That is bad enough, but today a third me showed up! She was sitting at the reception desk and a man called from Ecuador. He wasn't interested in using his Spanish, he wanted to talk in English and he wanted to speak to the Founder. So she put him through to the Founder's assistant. And then she could hear through the wall "...let me put you through to someone who can speak Spanish..." Now, all of you gentle readers are very intelligent, and of course you know what this means. I left the reception desk in the capable control of the woman training me and raced around the corner to my desk, just in time to answer "Hello, thank you for calling, how ma

Everyone in my department has a cubicle. That means that even the manager lacks an office with a door. As anyone can tell you, there are some things in a company that not everyone needs to know. Thus the hunt for a room to borrow begins. The main portion of my office building is shaped like an "L". On either end there is a room that can sometimes be borrowed. But as you walk down the hallway to see if the room is available, 3/4 of the company knows that you are searching for some room for "a talk". Of course it doesn't help that the room has filing cabinets that need to be accessed. And the employee refrigerator and microwave. And the thermastat that goes crazy as soon as you shut the door. Yep. Nothing like some public privacy. The good news is that I passed my 90 days of probationary employment and they still want me to work here.

Several months ago I was in a group of women who were all 7 to 60 years older than me. They were discussing how the last thing to mature in a child's brain is the part that helps them to reason. It doesn't mature until 25, so that is why children do such stupid things. I wasn't sure whether I should be offended that they were having this discussion in front of me or flattered that they momentarily forgot that I was not yet 25. The other day my roommate was telling me about something dumb she did and ended the story by saying "You know how we did stupid things when we were young." No matter that she was probably 7 years older than I am now when this particular story took place. It's hard to live up to such astounding expectations, but at least I now know how to explain away anything less than brilliance.

Dear Ms. *****, We were sorry to hear of the difficult circumstances you find yourself in. However, our real cause for sympathy is your name. We can't believe that an entire family has been subjected to that name for generations without any effort to lose it. As a matter of fact, I can't believe that the village it takes to raise a child hasn't strongly pressured your family to change it's name so that children would not face mouth washings when they spoke of you. Please take this in the nicest way possible. Sincerely, [the me with only one name] P.S. Even though I only use one name for entirely different reasons, you might consider the benefits of that practice.

Serious Music Originally uploaded by biukalee . This is one of my favorite pictures that I took at the reunion. If you are interested, there are more on my flikr space, but I ran out of room to post all of them so you will have to wait until next month for the others.

This morning I got another email from the man who sent me the way snazzy super cool bedspread. He hopes that I will come visit soon. And that I will send him a picture of me. My boss let me know that I can just ignore that... and that he has experience in arranging marriages... and that he thinks I would look good in a burkha.

My, what big teeth you have! Originally uploaded by biukalee . The last week of life as a full-time babysitter (do you remember those ancient days?), I took a disposable camera with me to take photos of my kids. I made sure to take a disposable one so that my kids could take pictures of me, too. After looking at these photos, is it any wonder that kids get scared of adults?

The Babysitter Giant and the Dinosaur Eggs Originally uploaded by biukalee .

Fee Fi Fo Fum Originally uploaded by biukalee .

There is a period of time that seems to last forever and yet never lasts long enough. It is that period of time between realizing that the door you just opened had an alarm and the alarm going off. And sad, but true, none of the me's that I work with knows how to turn off the alarm. But I do have one positive thing to report. Alarms like that are designed to confuse the trespasser. And I can confidently assert that it works. I'm still confused as to why the alarm was set before people left for the day.

So this week my roommates are gone. That means I finally get to do something that I've been wanting to do almost since the very first week that I moved in. I get to buy a watermelon. Now perhaps you think that there was no need to wait until my roommates left for me to do this, but I tell you it's true. When your refrigerator space consists of a short shelf, a narrow drawer, and some door space, buying a watermelon just isn't practical. Especially when you are the only one that will be eating it. Now granted, I could have bought myself a "personal sized watermelon" but I think it violates all moral principles to pay $3.99 a pound for a watermelon. Or, I could go with the other option of eating an entire watermelon by myself without the aid of refrigeration. I tried that once. Without plastic wrap. In the heat and flies of China. I wouldn't recommend it to those who only have a passing fondness for watermelon. Because truth be told, by the time you get to the e

Today "Life in the Slow Lane" celebrates two years of life. If you happen to see it, wish it a happy birthday and many returns of the day.

Today I got a way snazzy cool bedspread and matching pillow cases in the mail. And this wasn't one of those instances where I'm opening someone else's mail. This package was addressed directly to me. (In case you were wondering, it was the me that doesn't have a last name.) I'm not exactly sure what I am going to do with it, though. Since I never corrected the giver's assumption that I was married, it is larger than my entire cubicle and bed combined (Not that the combination ever happens.). But I don't regret not correcting the giver's assumption, because a queen size bedspread and matching pillow cases from Pakistan is a thousand times better than a proposal from Pakistan.

For several years, in the valley where I lived in my former life, there were large billboards along the freeway with a man smiling a cheesy smile as he draped his arms around the giant telephone number 222-2222. Aparently, if you were in an accident, he was going to be your buddy and fix all of your problems. What more could you want than a friendly accident lawyer who knew how to drape his arms around giant numbers? Fortunately, I never had cause to call him. But now I am curious, because on the same billboards, with the same giant red numbers 222-2222, there is a cozy little smiling family. They are smiling because they called the number to buy a house. They may also be smiling because they get to drape their arms around each other, but I'm not sure. I've thought a great deal about why a family would buy a house from an accident lawyer, and about an equal length of time wondering why an accident lawyer would change his career to realty without changing his advertising strateg

I want to know why they don't make T-shirts that say "I survived the _____ Consulate". Because really, what is climbing Mt. Everest in comparison to enduring a trip to the consulate? After my many and varied experiences with the Brazilian consulate, I was actually brought to laughter when I stopped by the Chinese consulate earlier this week. Theoretically, when you go to pick up a visa, you wait in line for a couple of minutes and then quickly walk out, mission accomplished. But I arrived to find two lines of at least 50 people... the "Please take a number" was out of numbers, and there was only one woman beind the counter, and she was helping the line that was for "Drop Off Only". As I stood there for a couple of minutes, wondering whether it was likely that the line would dissolve itself before a week's worth of my lunch breaks passed by, I heard the typical stories... the guy who had stormed out a bit ago complaining about standing in line for 2

I received this today: "I hope to see you in Heaven, or maybe a convention or seminar." This sentence was made doubly worse as the writer was talking about how many people believe they are going to Heaven when they are not.

Due to the demands for a poem I deleted, threw away, and otherwise got rid of, I have attempted to remember it for the sake of my devoted fans. The Legend of Peter D. As told by [me] Let me tell a story 'Bout a man named Pete He was salt of the earth And walked on two feet No ordinary man was this Peter D. He knew gadgets and gizmos Printers and PCs None dared stand against him he was witty and quick Brought order to chaos And health to the sick When screens went black and keyboards drank tea No need to panic, Just call Peter D. Mighty machines Tried their best But Peter D. - Fastest troubleshooter in the West. Some might say this story can't be But they just don't know Our Peter D. Now you guys can see how horribly this poem wobbles. Sorry to inflict pain on all of you who weren't curious about it.

When outside temperatures edge towards 115 degrees and inside temperatures don't lag very far behind, you begin to wonder about integral parts. For instance, is this scarf an integral part of this dress? Is make-up an important part of formal dress? Is this slip a critical part of being modest? But as you progressively decide that there are fewer and fewer real necessities for dressing up, keep in mind that yes, the bridesmaid dress IS an integral part of being a bridesmaid.

They say that when someone is talking about you, your ears burn. Either I've got too much wax build up (I'm sorry, I know that's gross.), or I need to get replacement smoke detectors. Besides not realizing that my time for Reception Desk Duty had finally landed, aparently a poem I wrote is making the rounds of the office, discreetly, of course. On of my co-workers (our techie) is moving on after working here for 20 years. Naturally, everyone decided that we should do something about it. So one person volunteered to make a scrapbook if everyone contributed something. Now in my two months of work, this man has only wrestled with my computer equipment twice, only knocking his head 6 times. Naturally, I don't have nearly as much to offer to the scrapbook as people who have his phone numbers memorized. But we were each supposed to fill a page. So I wrote a poem. And now I get phone calls like "Oh my goodness! I just read your poem! I had NO idea you were so talented! Ok

My desk is located where the work room meets the water cooler. I can hear most of what is said at the Reception Desk. I can hear when they add more snacks to the snack area. I know how many people are standing in line at the women's bathroom. I can even give a report on the traffic on the 101. While it can be kind of embarassing to be on the phone when someone comes to fill up their water bottle (what do they think the noise is?), and rather distracting when the color printer jams and I think we are experiencing a small earthquake, it is an excellent place to pick up tips on restaurants, and news on last week's bowling scores, TV appearances, and what color looks fabulous on another co-worker. All from my little cubicle. But the amazing thing in all of this, I am near all of the prime spots to hear what is going on, and I still miss when there are developments directly involving me.

I decided that I needed to do something so that my papers (that needed to be looked over and returned to me) would not get lost on my boss' desk. So I found the brightest, most electric orange folder possible. Then I wandered into his office and found three others just like it on his desk.

What is it that prompts someone to pay international postage to send a picture of his piano? No explanation. No other request. No greeting. Just a picture of a piano.

I just noticed that I was getting a good deal of visitors from A Gracious Home and when I went to check it out... I saw that I had been nominated for some of the awards over there. Thank you!

Several years ago I had the opportunity to sit in on a lecture given by some guy at Disney who was in charge of character consistency. Besides other things, his job was to make sure that the voice of Nemo in Spanish sounded like the same Nemo in English movies, the same in German, etc., etc. At the time I thought that was a nice touch of quality control. But now I consider it a sanity saving job. I just listened to a Spanish translation of a talk the founder of my NPO gave. I stopped the tape several times just to shake my head at hearing the very characteristic words of Ms. Founder coming out of someone's mouth in Spanish. To make it even more mind-twisting, it was a man who was translating.

Here at work we have been expecting our new offices for some time. Sometime in 2004 they decided that as soon as the offices opened, they would have our new international department. So every request they got for partnership, they sent a letter saying to contact them again in the middle of 2005, when they thought the office would be open. Along came the middle of 2005 and there was no office. So they sent a letter saying to contact again in the middle of 2006. As one helpful writer expressed, "This is now right exactly time." Along about March of this year they realized that the offices were still a long way off, but that they were going to hire a new International Correspondence Specialist soon, so they would just save everything for the new hire. So I have approximately two years of partnership requests to go through. As you can imagine, I am having a lot of practice saying "no" as many people equate partnership with getting money. Surprisingly, our NPO, like many

I know that hundreds of you, gentle readers, are fans of McDonalds... not just of their world famous restrooms, but also of their gourmet meals. It is with this thought in mind that I alert you to a most marvelous feature on the McDonalds website. They have a trip planner! That means that you can plan a trip cross-country and know where you can stop to have three meals a day at McDonalds! No need to thank me, just trying to be helpful.

In my 7 weeks of work, I have received six direct calls from an outside line to my extension. One of them was a co-worker checking in to see if I was enjoying her day off. The other 5 have been calls from people who do not speak English. Or Spanish. Or French. Or German. They have all been wrong numbers. Doesn't the statistical analysis on that make you wonder? And then there is another matter, having to do with a book that has been published somewhere, that claims to list all sorts of companies that are just itching to give away free money if you only take the time to write them your sad story and why you need help. And perhaps you have guessed that my NPO is listed. Aparently we give away free computers. And so, we get many polite requests for a free computer from people who are very poor, and as sad as their stories are, it is sadder still to have to tell them that they've been lied to. And I wonder who it is that is gleefully putting a down payment on their island because t

In dealing with international correspondence, the question is "What isn't in a name?" I wish for the sake of clarity that I could give you examples of the names (or not names, as the case may be) I deal with, but we will just have to do with close approximations. Sincerely, Pastor PIPA POKA Jean Nuthmug O. Now, if you were going to address a letter to this ficticious person which of the following would you choose? Dear Sir Dear Madam Dear Pastor Jean Dear Pastor Nuthmug Dear Pastor O. Dear Jean Nuthmug Dear Pastor PIPA POKA Jean Nuthmug O. Or some other variation? Now what would happen if the next letter you got from this person was signed Brother P.P. Nuthmug Jean? I would feel like perhaps I was a hopeless ignoramous, except that many of those writing to us have similar problems. It is rather entertaining to see what they perceive our names to be. I thought that perhaps by using only one name, I would make things easier, but alas, it is not to be. Today I may be Brothe

How come in all of the "How Tos" of smart shopping, they suggest making a list, clipping coupons, calculating whether buying bulk saves, etc., etc. but they never suggest bringing a measuring tape so that you can make sure that your purchases will fit in the space you have? Because, in case you didn't know, perishables have a tendency to perish if they don't fit into the fridge.

My cubicle measures, approximately, five feet by five and a half feet. When my boss first introduced me to what was to become my domain, she apologized for the size, saying that she had wanted to put in a larger one, but unfortunately, her boss said it would violate fire code. I've put my trashcan underneath my desk, but I think I may need to find another place for it, or else I need to get smaller feet. My one cabinet houses the tower to my computer. The cord connecting the tower to the rest of my computer hardware is just short enough that I can't move my mouse or key board onto my desk, they must stay tucked under. Today I had to reject a file because it wouldn't fit in my file drawer. One of the guys came around distributing boxes of kleenex to all of us, and I couldn't accept one because there would have been no place to put it on my desk. But this is all good news. Because my desk is full of useless nooks and crannies, that means that I have lots of room to put kn

At work I have one job title while working for two unrelated departments, five signatures for emails I send out (and counting), two ways of writing "e-mail", and even two names. At any one point during the day I may need to be prepared to enter data, rewrite outdated policy, answer a caller who only speaks Spanish, talk a caller through an anxiety attack, keep track of the hours I give to each department, meet with one of my bosses to discuss the next level of training, figure out how best to answer a letter that brings up several unrelated topics, or figure out how to side step someone's question about what they can bring me and my husband when they show up and expect us to host them. Yesterday, in training, the me in one department was told to forward letters of interest to the me in the other department. Is it any wonder that after dumbly following a co-worker around the corner only to realize she had not asked me to accompany her that my only response was "Oh, I&

Today was my first experience in returning someone's call to my office line. It would have helped if I had considered the possibility that I would reach her voicemail. It would also have helped if, in reaching for the list of proper phone numbers for her to call back, I had not knocked down two books and a binder. I'm sure the crash sounded very lovely over the phone.

Sometimes I think that I hear my name behind corners and on the other side of cubicle walls. And other times, I know for sure that people are talking about me, but I don't know why... you know, the phone call that comes for my boss asking how to contact me and then never getting contacted. Or, while I'm meeting in the HR office, they get a call asking for some information on me and they agree to talk with me about it later, and then I never hear from them. Or while in a meeting with someone else, they casually refer to notes they took in a meeting earlier that day that has my name scrawled along them. Is it any wonder I've started peering around my cubicle wall to see who just said my name and what kind of look they had when they said it? Seriously, talk about build up. Well, today someone thought that perhaps they should check with me. It seems that just about everyone has decided that I am going to translate the bulk of our training manuals and brochures and other miscell

If ever there were someone that I would be tempted to hunt down, it would be this sweet woman that I shall call here Millie. Millie is a woman of undisclosed age, living in an undisclosed location, who writes to our organization frequently. In my month of work (celebrated today!) I have personally processed five or six notes from her. In them she occassionally mentions the fact that she was in pain and so wasn't able to write earlier, but always, always, always, sends her love. A year or two ago one of the people in my department tried to figure out her address so we could write her. No success. But week after week, year after year, dear sweet Millie sends us her love. I imagine that with a bit of sleuthing we could find her address, but I imagine that if we did find it, some of the simple sweet charm would be gone. So for now, we smile when we hear from Millie, file her letter away, and dread the time when we realize something horrible has happened because we have not heard from h

It is a very surreal feeling when you happily walk out the door at work and hear frenzied flapping above your head, making you duck and hurry away only to turn around and find a LARGE blackbird fluttering on the ground.

The good thing about wearing a full skirt is that when your shoe catches on a snag in the carpet and you suddenly find yourself falling, you can rest assured that your full skirt will act as a parachute and momentarily hide your blushing face.

Today I lost brain power. I completely confused my scheduling and forgot some rather obvious procedures. But I would like to lay the full blame for this on fatigued muscles.(The muscle being my brain.) After all, I did translate a letter from Dutch and another from French. Yes, I did use your friend and mine Freetranslation.com , but that can only help you so far... especially when, for some reason, people who use computers think that it excuses them from punctuation, spelling corrections, grammar check, and spacing and those people who do not use a computer have hard to read hand-writing. I feel buff.