The Coffee Shop Blues

Earlier today I got together with a friend and by the end of the meeting there I was. Crying in a coffee shop.

She put a lot of things into perspective for me, relating my current nervous breakdown about my career to that of a butterfly coming out of the cocoon. Only she wasn't talking about my career, she was talking about me. Jenn, the person. And she was so right.

Since I got home I've been going over all of it - all the stuff I posted here a few days ago, the business she & I had started molding, our conversation - and I realized the problem is that I'm personally so invested into what I do for a living because who I am and what I do are essentially one in the same. And as soon as that hit me the tears stopped.

I am a writer. As in, its not what I do but who I am. I can't not write. There's something inside me that needs to put everything down on the page. From the voices that tell me what to say about their fictional lives to this kind of journaling bullshit. I never stopped stringing words together once I started.

But somewhere in my head I got it into my head that this was all supposed to be some way or another. I convinced myself that working hard would produce x result at y time.

Well I should've known better. I sucked at algebra when I was younger so trying to find an answer in variables now isn't my best course of action.

My career choice is one of lots of solitude but within the mindset of having lots of people respond to the product that comes from that solitude. The writing.

When I work and work and finally publish it for the world, damn it, I want the world to read it! I want all this time alone, hours spent, keys clicked, to mean something. To the world I mean, because it already means the world to me. I just feel like it's time for it to live in worlds outside of my computer and my family's bookshelves.

AKA: The comfortable little cocoon I'm still living in right now.

So my friend & I put our project on hold so I could work my way out of this chrysalis. I've been kicking at the sides for what feels like forever but apparently I still needed time to germinate. Even if I didn't realize it until I had 6 snotty tissues sitting next to me on the pleather booth at a busy coffee shop, tears cresting my eyelids in front of the world.

Maybe that was exactly what I needed. Because if I really want the world to see, maybe it's time to let them. Flaws & all.

I Stopped Blogging Because I Started Blogging

Here’s the thing, I love writing over here. This space was my first internet presence that was truly me. No filter, no holding back.

But that was back when I was a different kind of writer. Now I blog for a living. Or write blogs for other people for a living, more specifically. So to me it feels weird to blog in my spare time.

Instead, that time has been filled with lots of family and friend time, sports…okay, specifically hockey both live & NHL playoffs on TV, and just living life in general. Which, in the past, I always came over here to blog about.

Crazy, now I write more words a week than I ever did when I was writing fiction (NaNoWriMo excluded) but can’t find time to write about the stuff I want to write about. You know, Me. Just kidding. No I’m not…

Sometimes it makes me sad that I gave up on writing for fun (or to rant or whatever) because that kind of writing is always so cathartic. But now I freelance for income so, like I said, writing more is sometimes a stretch.

Can I confess something? This is the fifth post I’ve started writing to go up over here in the past two or three weeks. I get to about 400 words and can’t keep going. Not because the thought is complete or the story is done  but because I can’t figure out how to complete the thought. Five half written posts are getting moldy in a folder on my computer somewhere.

And I really have no idea if I’ll be able to finish this one either but something tells me I will.

Because today I’m supposed to be writing pitches to a bunch of Green companies offering my blogging services.

Then again, if I want to keep that paycheck showing up every week maybe I should continue working. Guess that's what got me into this situation of not writing over here in the first place, huh?

And it all comes full circle.

This one isn’t even going to come close to 400 words. But somehow it feels finished anyway.

Why Is It No Longer Okay to Say I Want to Make Money?

Does everyone remember the 1980’s? When movies like Wall Street gave us heroes like Gordon Gekko and songs like “Material Girl” were topping the charts; infiltrating the consciousness of every consumer who held a card regardless if it was gold, platinum, or basic plastic. The word of the day was “excess” back then. The more you could get your hands on the better. And if that ‘more’ was associated with money, well, there was literally no shame present in anyone who had it. They loved it.

Or as Gekko would say “The point is, ladies and gentleman, that greed, for lack of a better word, is good.”

So when did it become okay to remember the 1980’s as a time when we used AquaNet to kill the ozone (and how great it is that we all care so much now that we’ll never do that again), but not the money we made to buy those superfluous neon pink shoe laces?

When did it become chic to start saying “Money? Oh I hate money.” Because, quite honestly, I will be the first to admit that I don’t.

Okay, I should maybe back up here before all the people with homemade solar powered torches come and hunt me down to (slowly) burn me in effigy. Because it’s not that I want to run out and get a bad perm then don one of the 14 different acid washed jean jackets in my closet while I roll around in a pile of money screaming “ITS ALL MINE MWAH HAHAHA!”

All I’m looking for is to make a living from what I do.

Why is that suddenly a taboo subject? Why is it okay to talk ad infinitum about what we do, but when the topic of how much we make comes up, we all just smile and say “do what you love and the money will come.” Because no matter what the crunchy-crunchy movies and suddenly-rich motivational speakers try to feed you, they all got rich before they were asked to be in that movie.

Hello? Am I the only one picking up on this? Am I the only one who realizes that it’s the rich people telling us not to be bothered with money? That we should just keep piddling away doing things that don’t make us any but for $24.95 you too can have their hardcover book telling you how to live a simple life.

I’ll tell you right now for free.  Sell out.  Sell out and then start selling your book to thousands of people for $24.95 and that’s how you too can live a simple life free of greed. Fucking hypocrites.

Well I’m not a hypocrite. I’ve finally admitted what every single entrepreneur in the world is too shy to admit – that I actually enjoy working for a living it’s just that there’s way too much working and not enough making a living right now, if you catch my drift.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure you do.

Can’t there be a balance? I mean I’m not trying to say I want to make millions of dollars that I intend to throw away on useless crap like hundreds of bracelets made out of rubber. But I’d love to be able to afford that organic hoo-ha. You know, the one that helps out another entrepreneurial type person. Sadly, if we’re not allowed to say we want to sell our products to make money well we’ll never get our hands on that hoo-ha; they don’t come cheap.

But if the local type person can sell an organic hoo-ha to me, proudly and without shame, at their Farmer’s Market booth for about three times the cost of picking it up at some big box conglomerate (READ: 1980’s throw back shop, shop, shop!) then why am I not allowed to start running around saying that I’d like to sell hundreds (millions!) of my hoobie-doos?

Thing is that old sly bitch known as the Catch-22 rears its ugly head. Unless you buy mine I can’t afford to buy yours. The real trick is that the Organic hoo-ha purveyor is saying the same thing as me. So neither of us can afford to buy each other’s thing and we both suffer.

Well I’m here today to say I’m tired of all the polite smiles and hopeful glances. I want to sell my hoobie-doos and I plan to share that with every single person I meet.

People talk about Artists selling out like it’s a bad thing – oh the horror! – but selling out means nothing more than actually selling whatever it is you’ve got to a much wider audience. And who freaking cares? I sure wouldn’t care. I’m more than willing to “sell out” if it means more people are enjoying my hoobie-doos and that I’m able to afford the basic necessities of life like Organic hoo-has and a roof over my head.

Because every cliché in the world can sell you on the concept that money doesn’t buy happiness but what no one ever says is that there’s a strong possibility you’ll be very un-happy if you don’t have enough to maintain even the simplest of lifestyles.

And I’m really quite tired of being the happiest broke-as-a-joke person on the planet.

Samantha Baker, Eat Your Heart Out

Last night I went to my first ever book reading and signing.  The evening was made possible by Jen Lancaster, Author of many memoirs.  Hilarious, snarky and bitterly honest memoirs.  Now her first fiction novel called “If You Were Here” is out and I’ve wanted to buy it since the day it dropped.  Not only because I love her work as a general rule but also, see the linked tab up above on my blog - “Vacation In the Ghetto”?  Yeah, well her book is apparently the fiction equivalent of my real life experience.  It has to be read.

Since arriving in Arizona last year I’ve run around doing all kinds of stuff I’d never done before.  It started to occur to me that life is just way too short not to enjoy myself.  And why would I ever want to limit the possibilities of things I might enjoy because maybe somewhere in my mind I convinced myself it wouldn’t be fun?  I wouldn’t.  That’s why I decided to go to this book reading and signing last night.

And insert complete dork here.

Why did I consider myself such a dork?  Well, it occurred to me while I was standing in line, waiting for my turn at the table, that this woman is probably in my top five Authors of all time.  And there she was.  Right in front of me in real life, not just a photo on the back of her book.  Sitting at the Barnes & Noble at Desert Ridge in all her hilarious, tan and fabulous, snarky and brutally honest beauty, with a black Sharpie marker and a head full of the same movie references that I’ve been spewing for over twenty-five years.

But here’s the trick, I only know one other person who devours her work like I do and that friend lives in California.  I was on my own for this experience.

If there is a Chick-Lit equivalent in memoir writing Jen Lancaster has cornered the market.  Her work is witty, sharp, self-depreciating, honest, self-educational and bitter.  These are the kinds of events a girl is supposed to go to with her girlfriends so they can grab a glass of wine afterwards and rehash all the hilarious bits of the night.  Instead, I had Matt drop me off and he went to get us a Kinect while I giggled and nodded alone for an hour.

As I inched slowly toward the front of the line I realized that, not only had I just listened to one of the funniest passages from a memoir I’d ever heard in my entire life (because oh goodness how it resonates), but that I was literally about ten people away from meeting my I-aspire-to-be-you inspiration Author.  My palms literally started sweating.

I don’t run in any kind of celebrity circle or anything but I’m pretty sure celebrity types would all say that unless you made the most lasting impression ever – threw up on them, squealed uncontrollably, got arrested for trying to kidnap them – they are never going to remember you specifically.  Your face, clothes, inane stories about how your friend spells your name JenN so she doesn’t forget the second N, and pout when your favorite Author calls that second N “superfluous”, will all just blend into a vast sea of other idiot dorks who think their stories are somehow going to be the thing that makes her want to get your cell phone number and ask you to hang out after the event to grab a drink.

Because they do that, right?

Okay, in all fairness to myself here I wasn’t quite that deluded, I’m not a total moron, but I did at least want to make a good first impression on this woman.  I’m a Writer.  A Writer of snarky, witty, punchy, Tomboy-Lit.  The chances we will find ourselves in the same room at the same conference or event in the future is more than very possible.

So I didn’t want to be a complete fan-girl dork.  But I was.  At least in my head I was.

After my verbal equivalent of throwing up on the very person I aspire to mimic (career wise) was over, I came around the back of the table and headed for the door where Matt had stowed the escape vehicle that would hopefully get me out of my own head. 

As soon as I got in the car I texted my sister (who knew I was going to this because I believe I somehow managed to evoke jumping up and down, clapping and squealing in a text when I was on the way there).  I professed my utter dork-hood.  I lamented that I’m just freakishly awkward and that meeting people I admire forces the dork-o-meter up about a billion times higher. 

She said “Bet you only felt awkward you were great I’m sure.”

And somewhere in my head I heard “I don’t think you’re a dork.  I don’t think Mom thinks you’re a dork.”  “Mike thinks I’m a dork.”  “Mike is a dork.”

Astral Projectiles

Sometimes I wish there was a time machine, like in Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure where George Carlin’s ghost walks up to me and says “Don’t worry about your astronomical cable and internet bill, just hop in this here phone booth and we’ll take you back to 1986 when the price of cable, as compared to your income, was actually way worse.”

Today I spent four hours and 13 minutes communicating in some way, shape or form with my local cable company, Comcast, in order to rectify three issues. Two of which, of course, involved the aforementioned exorbitant bill.

The bill is not even really that high when you consider it is for two services I utilize on a daily basis. Unfortunately the time I spent dealing with the situation is absolutely no exaggeration.

Back in March I received a paper bill from Comcast which brought up the first issue and, unbeknownst to me, became the catalyst for issues 2 & 3 today. You see I had signed up to receive only electronic bills as of last fall, you know, since I’m all tree hugger and stuff, so when the bill came in it had to be dealt with.

Funny thing was our promo rate had expired in January and the rate went to double what it had been. Matt ended up making a call when the dead tree arrived in March and there was an aura of awesomeness on the back indicating we were receiving a $32 credit for bundled service for six months! Outstanding!

Then a few days ago I got another piece of pressed wood pulp in the mail only this time there was no little happy minus sign. In fact there was a big indication that I owed money and that my bill was even higher than it had been after the promo expired.

Say what?

I tried to make sense of it all, I pulled up the bills I had paid and added it all up. I shouldn’t have owed anything and what happened to my favorite symbol; the minus sign? I got online with their chat support team at 9:09 this morning.

The first gal chatted my fingers off for roughly an hour and a half while she tried to figure out what had happened by “reviewing my bills”. Although I had made several attempts to actually tell her what had happened I can only assume she was busy testing out some kind of new hallucinogen as a monkey could have reviewed my bills faster.

In the end I was told she was the Internet chat support person and she would have to transfer me to the Cable chat support person if I had a problem with what the cable portion of my bill was alleging I owed.

Really Karen? You didn’t figure that out when I told you 57 minutes ago that I had a problem with my promo rate for the “Digital Starter” service being revoked? Well okay then I guess I’ll speak with Ann.

Ann, in online chat, looked suspiciously just like Karen. Both of their names were lit up in blue as if they were right there next to each other. Hey, I saw My Best Friend’s Girl, I’m quite sure they probably were.

Regardless, Ann was very helpful and over the next 45 minutes I think she did her laundry, washed her hair and took her dog for a walk between the time she posted anything to me. Most of which was to say “Sorry for the wait.” Though she never really said just what I was waiting for.

In the end Ann assured me that there was nothing she could do about getting my promo rate back for the Cable, nor could she remove the overage on my account and if I wanted to sign up for e-bill I should get online. But she sure could give me a discounted rate on my Internet service and would happily give a $20 credit for my inconvenience.

Really? Was Ann just Karen in disguise or was she truly authorized to talk about both sides of the business? Scandal!

She promptly gave me the local service center number to discuss the credit and I connected first with Richard, who took my number (so he could finish his Sega game no doubt) so he could call me back once he’d researched the issue. Then I got Lou who immediately talked over me without letting me complete a thought. When I’d had enough of his snippy attitude I made the magic request.

“Yeah I need your manager.”

Julie, a sort of good listener who’s propensity to utter m’kay at the end of every sentence reminded me of Mr. Mackey on South Park, took over the call after just five minutes on hold. I was impressed at Lou’s ability to transfer the call in such record time. He even came back on the line to tell me it would just be a minute.

I had furiously scribbled a million notes from my various conversations and even saved the chat transcript because, well frankly, I’m no dummy when it comes to this kind of stuff. I’d come that far, no way I was backing down until all was said and done.

In very patient terms Julie explained how the “new people” weren’t used to the system yet (read: they will be reamed out later for telling the client the wrong thing so the client almost gets to save an extra $34 a month) and that she was truly sorry for the mix up but that I really did owe the previous balance and what my new bill would be once the Internet credit was applied.

In the end Julie’s numbers did add up to the correct figures, even if the situation didn’t, but rather than continue to argue, fight it, or whine about it, I figured it was far better to pick my battles, let this one go and know that the $42.96 they shouldn’t be, but are, getting out of me for the next 4 months will somehow come back to me three fold.

I’ve already got the cheap ass television and remote, wonder if I can pick up a phone booth for $515.52? Maybe I can get a bundled service for cable and internet in there. Excellent.

Sometimes I Just Suck

In the world of infinite choices it seems that I have become lost, floating out into a deep sea of too many of them and I end up disconnecting almost completely from certain things simply because I start to feel too overwhelmed. I find it’s too hard to keep up, so I just stop trying.

After adding in an hour walk on the treadmill everyday, something else had to give, considering there are, sadly, still only twenty four hours in a day. I found what I ended up completely letting go of was technological correspondence via computer. Well not all of it, Facebook remained because that is quick and takes far less effort, but everything else simply came to a screeching halt just inches from the brick wall of proverbialness.

Blogs, email, tweets, they all fell right off my virtual radar in the past week. It wasn’t that I never entered by blog, sure I did. In fact I even wrote a piece just a few days ago. But then once it was posted, I clicked back to my dashboard to check out everyone else’s work, saw the time and thought ‘gee I better get a walk in before lunch or else I won’t have time to edit’.

And so it went. Every day.

So I have sat here contemplating how I want to handle this situation and what do I do? Well of course I completely update my blog template as well as write a new post. I mean, duh? Its not like those 45 minutes would have been better spent reading other blogs, no, no. I have come to the conclusion that online correspondence will just have to happen twice a week during the work week when I’m not walking.

But then again I hate to be so rigid and formal, bleh.

So that’s something else that’s really been bugging me lately. I have completely lost my sense of humor. I have not a clue where I put it, though I know it must be on a shelf around here somewhere. This happens to me sometimes, my wit just dies, and it scares the freaking bejeezus out of me because it’s kind of part of my overall personality so I don't want to let the early onset take it away forever.

Witty, snappy, quick comebacks used to be my specialty. I think maybe I’ve been working on this book for too long, I have become my analytical female lead character. Damn it. Well at least I know what’s happened and that means sometime within the next couple months the old me will be back again.

At least she better be. I’m kind of tired of sucking at being me.

I Am Totally Wussing Out

In order to post something and fulfill the promise I made to myself to post once a day in May, I am going to just ramble on for the next twenty minutes before I have to get in the shower so I can get ready to get on with the day today. Yeah, sorry in advance for the inevitable randomness here but my blog is not named what it is for no reason right?

First off I have been doing a whole bunch of thinking lately about changing up my blog template again. It really sucks having ADD sometimes because I can never just settle on something and enjoy it. At any rate this background has been kicking around a little over six months now and it feels like the right time for a change. The thing is I really like the basic nature of it -- a monotone color palate, not a lot of muss or fuss and a very simple, very me picture of a heart and the ocean in the banner. So I am on the hunt for something similar. Who knows it could be six more months before I find something I am comfortable changing it too (or maybe I’m just lazy and don’t want to deal with the html formatting associated with adding widgets & all that crap back in).

This morning Matt went down to our friend’s house to assist with the completion of their total house re-wiring project. No matter how much construction I did in our investment property years ago though there are two areas which I never took any interest in -- electrical and plumbing. Everything they are doing & all associated terminology is simply over my head, but suffice to say there will be a whole lot of hammering above their heads. Not to mention if he looks anything like yesterday I am making him take out off white bath mat out of the bathroom before he showers. Better yet I will remove it that way it won’t be black.

Once he gets back we are off to run a bunch of errands today. Blah, blah boring stuff like toiletries or household cleaning products for the most part but I am really attempting to hold myself back because all I can think about is purchasing Rock Band. We had borrowed our friend’s instruments while my sister and her boyfriend were in town but shortly after they left our friends asked us to bring everything back so the four of us could play together. Since that was during our cat sitting weeks (and they live right upstairs from where we were staying over) we played a few times and just never brought any of it back home. I have been jonesing to play for the past week now. With all of this exercise on my lower half I feel like I am not getting the proper upper body workout; I miss my drums.

Last night we went to see Star Trek and although I had slight familiarity with the original and loved The Next Generation, I in no way would consider myself a “Trekkie”. And it simply didn’t matter. The movie was wonderfully put together, the special effects were insane and there was even a part where when I jumped in my seat in surprise I actually felt fear pass over my skin for a split second. Awesome. This is the first summer in a long time when I have been really excited to see a whole slew of movies, starting with Wolverine last week and continuing with Angels and Demons next weekend.

Tonight is going to be completely fun as Bridgete is singing in her spring Choral concert and Matt and I are going to see her. It is going to be great to finally have a chance to hear her sing! I was a little bummed to learn though that she had a solo in their concert back in March but would not have one tonight, so I will just do my best to pick her voice out of the crowd.

So other than my current mantra of “rain, rain go away” there is not much else going on here and I am officially out of time to type anyway so that worked out just perfect. Wow, kind of cool to know that, unedited I can ramble on for 752 words in under twenty minutes. Huh, guess I type 37.6 words a minute. Maybe I should market that as a skill.