I thought it would be cool to write my post on it so whatever I wrote would be grand and important as well, but apparently someone didn’t get the sharing memo.   This means I’m relegated to the mediocre laptop with the run of the mill processing speed, lackluster memory, and adequate screen size.  Now my writing will be steeped in mediocrity which I will blame entirely on my husband and his seagull like “mine” syndrome.

Those of you who know my husband are aware of his outward, some might say gruff, demeanor.  A scowling man, not to be bothered with girly ideas and frivolities.  A man who prides himself on not knowing the latest pop songs, chick-lit authors, or fashion trends. 

That said, and in light of his only-child, take my ball and go home attitude, I give to you…

The REAL Zachary Forrest: Exhibit A.

Friday night:  Huge sighs of relief because Zach didn’t get laid off…woo hoo!  Nor did our friend Ryan, another woo hoo.  Zach went to play poker with some work friends, but I opted out.  I’m not much for poker, it takes too long.  I mean one hand or a few hands are fine but people keep playing over and over again and I just get bored. 

I tried to play with my family once, including my poker Nazi of a sister, and I just got myself in trouble.  I kept yelling out in my best white trash voice Turn it and Burn it BABY and then I channeled Emeril and would throw my chips in the pile and yell out BAM!

So no, I didn’t think it would be good idea for me to play with people who aren’t contractually obligated to love me. 

I watched some mind numbing TV and tried to stay awake until he came home.  Well, here’s where it gets ugly.  There’s a strange vortex you can slip into when watching TV at midnight on a Friday, and I’m not afraid to tell you, I slipped…slipped but good my friends.

My husband came home to a red-eyed, dazed wife mumbling Look babe, these comfortable jeans come in blue and black and are in four easy payments, and I better not wait because they are selling out fast.  And look, coming up is the blazer that completes the outfit.

Yes friends, I was watching QVC.  In my defense, there was really nothing else on and it said Denim and Co with Clinton Kelly, and hello, I love Clinton Kelly.  So I didn’t see the harm in just taking a peek, a gander if you will, at what my good ole’ friend Clinton had going on. 

Well, jeans led to skirts, and skirts led to a leather jacket, and what’s a jacket without the perfect t-shirt in two colors and 6 sizes (did you know they go up to 3X at QVC but don’t usually have smalls) and then there was a blazer, and then there were dress pants. 

And as I’m debating the merits of a blazer in peacock blue with sides that cinch for a tapered look no matter what my waist size, Zach comes home and says, why are you still up?  How come your eyes are bloodshot?  What are you…DEAR GOD ,IS THAT QVC?

The look of horror and shame on his face, it makes me shudder just to remember it. And then I realize what I’m doing and how some Texan would have said, “Well, bless her heart, she was so excited to wear her Clinton Kelly jeans from the QVC.”  What was I thinking?  How could I have fallen so far, so quickly.  And as I’m  about to be stuck in my own shame spiral, my husband gives me a reason to smile.

The initial shock has worn off and he’s starting to wonder if I’ve permanently become “that girl,” the girl who has to have the debit card taken away because of the last time she bought the 12 step skin care set on automatic delivery so you’ll never run out, or if maybe this is a blip and if he doesn’t leave me alone on Friday nights and he puts a parental block on the QVC channel, if maybe I’ll come through this all right.

So I can see him processing this, as he takes deliberate steps into the living room and removes the remote control from my hands.  He lowers himself to sit next to me on the couch and as he looks more closely he says, 

Is that Clinton?  Where’s Stacy?

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

1.  In the past six months I have (briefly and superficially) learned to knit, make felted animals/vegetables, made hand stamped thingies, and started a stained glass project.

2.  I have a ginormous collection of Marvin the Martian things.

3.  Since I’ve gotten married, I feel really guilty when I’ve had too much to drink.

4.  My husband has a soothing voice, so sometimes I ask him to read to me at night so I can fall asleep.

5.  When I’m running there are two songs that keep me going even when I’m dead tired, one is by Hillsong and the other is by Kanye West.

6.  I really like meetings and love to be invited to them.

7.  I like things to be even so if I knock my left hand on the side of the table, I’ll try to knock my right hand somewhere.

8.  If I didn’t have to shower, I wouldn’t.  I hate how long it takes.

9.  Before I turned 20, I went out with a doctor, my professor (Geography TA really), and a go-go dancer/stripper.

10.   My last names have been, Gonzlaez, Hirschy, Hirschy y Salazar, and now Forrest y Salazar.

11.  If I were a color, I’d be magenta-y, mulberry, pink-ish.

12.  Every time I refer to my grandmother, I say, “My DEAD grandma,”  i.e., my DEAD grandma made that couch, or my DEAD grandma liked Pepsi.

13.  Zach and I make up new words to songs. Sung to the tune of Katy Perry’s I Kissed A Girl:

  Why don’t you the laundry -y, 

I have no jeans to we-a-ar,

It’s so your turn you lazy-y,

I’ll fold if you will wash and dry.

14.  Nothing makes me feel more lucky than when I see my mom and sister interact with Zach and I can see how much they love him and how well he gets along with them.

15.  I keep all of my shoes in clear rubbermaid-esque boxes and it makes me happy.  Many of you have moved them, multiple, multiple times.

16.  When I was a kid I wished I had freckles, I still think they are cute.

18.  In highschool I honestly thought  I was missing a part of my brain or was lacking some chemical that helped you remember, because I couldn’t remember anything and was always getting trouble for it.  I still kind of wonder about that.

19.  I like to argue, just for argument’s sake.  Not angry argument, but devil’s advocate for the fun of the debate.  I frequently do this without thinking.

20.  I’m sometimes unclear where the line is between observation and judgment.

21.  My husband is more compassionate than I am, but I’m ok with that.

 22.  There have been multiple times when guys have picked me up (literally) and set me on top of tall things I couldn’t get down from.  I think this is a hazard of being small and partying.

23.  I love letters (let’s  not forget ampersands) and it’s no coincidence that the person I married has a cool letter for his first name.  Zs have a nice flourish in many different fonts.

24.  I’m perplexed by people that hug all the time.  I’m unconvinced that the hug should be used as a hello or goodbye.

25.  People who are happy and smiley all the time and who try overtly to be  my friend make me wary and uncomfortable.  Not to mention irritated and skeptical of their motives and seriously doubt our ability to ever really get along.

25.   At heart, I’ll always be a city girl but if you promise not to tell anyone else….I’m kind of digging this small town thing where I see people I know on the weekend at Costco.

I mean, I have PLENTY of things to say, just nothing worth writing.

I was thinking about writing about all the fun things that have happened in the past few days or all the things that have made me smile or things I’m thankful for.

Nah. Let’s write about the recent things that have caused me to faux poke out my eye.

Faux eye poker #1. When people say, “Oh, I don’t have time to watch TV.”

At SBCC, we require all international students to have insurance.  Said insurance company took us all out to lunch today and someone asked if anyone had seen any good movies.  Everyone chimed in with their ideas and made their comments no matter how inane.

I then ask, has anyone seen any good TV shows to which one person replies in their haugthy, holier than thou voice, I don’t have t-i-m-e to watch TV.

Really?   REALLY?

It  makes me want to roll my eyes, gag, and slightly convulse.  How can you tell me you don’t have time for TV when you just rattled off a bunch of movies you’ve just seen?  One movie is like 2-4 tv shows and if you mentioned three movies, well, you do the math.  And have you not heard of a DVR?  It’s a wonderful device that allows you to watch things at your leisure, and not be glued to a TV.

Why do people think admitting to watching a TV show somehow ruins your credibility as someone who can appreciate anything “good.”  Why do people feel like it makes them better than other people to not watch TV.

The best part though, is when I ignored the snarky , I’m better than you, I don’t have time for TV comment, and said, Oh my husband and I are really into Dexter. She says, oh I love Dexter.

AH HA!

Faux eye poker #2: Coke is Coke.

It is not Pepsi, it is not Diet.  If I wanted Pepsi, I’d say Pepsi, if i wanted diet coke, I’d say diet coke.

Horror of all horrors, the school I work at is a Pepsi school.  If I’d had known this I would have seriously reconsidered accepting employment.  But they hoodwinked me, and now I’m stuck.  So imagine how upset I was when I asked if they had a coke (after seeing only rows of stinky Pepsi) and the lady said Sure.  Imagine my elation, imagine my joy, imagine my almost nirvana like state. 

Now, image my rage when she points to the rows of Pepsi.  I say, that’s not Coke, it’s Pepsi.  And she says, Oh…  (Oh, like it’s a surprise to her).  Oh, well that’s all we have. Rage I tell you, rage.

I go to this cute little cafe and I say, do you have Coke? And she says yes.  Hurrah, oh happy blissful day.  I receive the alleged “coke” and I realize its diet.  Blech, yuck, gag, twitch.

I say, um ma’am, this is diet coke.  I asked for regular. She looks and me and I swear to you she says, oh we ran out of Coke a long time ago so we just give everyone diet and no one has ever noticed.

What?  How is this possible.  Who on God’s green earth can’t tell the difference between glorious, wonderous Coke and blech, yuck, gag, twitch, diet coke?  WHO?

Faux eye poker #3: Sleeping husbands.

My new job starts at 8:00am versus the 8:30am of my previous job.  This means instead of  Zach and I leaving together, I am out the door before he gets out of bed.

There are no two ways about this; it sucks.

It’s been cold in the fair city of Santa Barbara and this morning as I was bundling up and getting ready to walk out the door, I go to give my still slumbering husband a kiss goodbye.  With his eyes still closed he rolls over and puckers his lips.  I’m hovering over him, still poised for his kiss and I say, Its really cold this morning.  It’s like 33 degrees. Subtext, what kind of man makes his wife walk in the cold, don’t you want to spring into action and drive me?  My only response is a Mmmmm, yeah, it’s cold which he mumbles with a smirk as he snuggles down in the covers.

The only thing that ups the suckiosity barometer is when it was raining…rain-ing. I started to get ready and I say, Oh man it’s raining (hint hint).   And a little later I say, I need to find some shoes that won’t get wet as I WALK IN THE RAIN TO WORK. And as I’m about to leave I’m hunting for my rain jacket and I say in a none too friendly voice, It’s raining outside and I have to walk, walk in the rain, and get wet. And again, still under the covers my husband says, oh did you want me to take you? And I look at him all warm and snuggly and I say in the most loving tone I can muster, No shit I want you to take me to work, it’s freaking raining outside but it’s too late, and I don’t have time to wait for you, WHICH YOU KNEW, and I have to leave now and get all wet.

Will someone please excuse me while I go and poke my eye out.

All of us, we’re going out tonight we’re going to stomp all over your cars, the kooks are out in the street, oh we’re going to steal your skies,

and it’s a beautiful morning and I can see the ocean through the trees and I just want to dance.  Just a little bit, not like full on choreography or anything.

More than a head-bob to the beat, but like, maybe some shoulder action and a kick ball-change.  Maybe some dancey moves up the stairs, and then down one stair and more dancey moves up the stairs.  Or like a Flashdance fist up in the air and those hoppy little kicks she does down the hill to my building.  And maybe a fist microphone and some singing to go with my dance moves.  Because really, what good is it to burst into dance if you can’t belt out that feel good tune with it?

Sometimes in the morning I just feel really good.  Not the mornings I’m running late and I try to make up those precious minutes by going faster up the mountain of stairs and just end up winding myself and gasping for air at the top but there are people around so I try to to breathe normally but I can’t get enough air so I end up with these weird gasps and short bursts of holding my breath as I try to slow my breathing by sheer mind power…not those mornings.

But the mornings when I’m on time and my shuffle bestows upon me an awesome song and I’m excited to go to a job where my boss isn’t a crazier control freak than me, and I see this insane view of the ocean and I feel so lucky and I just want to break out in a jaunty dance-walk to match my mood and the music.

But I also don’t want to be the crazy girl on campus.  Every city has that one lady who wears her purple leotard and straps on her walkman and does her morning jazzercise down main street.  That’s not the image I’m going for, but I am starting to see where she’s coming from.

There’s been three or four mornings when I’ve had to stop myself from dancing down to my office, seriously.  I tried to rationalize it, like maybe I could dance a little and it would be ok, people wouldn’t think I was too weird.  But that was a lie, they would think I’m weird.

So then I thought, screw them.  I feel like dancing, so I’ll dance and if they think I’m weird then too bad for them, I don’t care what they think.  But really, it’s one thing to not care if your co-workers don’t think your pink and orange ensemble really matches, it’s another for them to suspect you have no concept of social norms.

And if you feel the need to leave some comment, like, you should do it anyway, who cares about them…I challenge you to dance down your work hallway…dance while people are walking in and out…people you don’t really know but have to work with…and then and only then can you say anything.

I’m happy to go to work and ecstatic to have this new job and that joy is literally bursting out of me but as I get to my building I switch into a different mode.  It’s like I only let a little bit of my personality eek out in rationed doses.

I think I’m also frustrated because I’m the new girl again.  And if you know me, you know I take some time to warm up to people.  And now I have to wait it out until the people at my new work realize how awesome I am.  And believe you me, that can take some people quite awhile to figure out.

Clearly it’s not a self-esteem thing, I think the world of me, it’s just this balance of how much of yourself you show to people and when.  And for those of you who say, just let people see all of you at once, then I again challenge you to look at your closest friends verses your acquaintances and see if you feel more able to be “yourself” with one group of people over the other.

It’s a time thing, and I’m sure the people at my new job will warm up to me but in the mean time, I’m feeling a little put out about the whole thing.  I’m feeling left out that they don’t invite me to lunch with them, and I’m feeling misunderstood because I can’t figure out how to let my personality show, and I’m feeling pouty because I know I have friends and if they were here we’d go to lunch together but they’re not here, and I want to dance and the new people won’t let me, and I’m feeling irritated with myself for having these high school feelings.

Yes, I’m being overly emotional.

I said it, so there.

And I wrote it.

And I wrote it for everyone to read and for me to get it off my chest, so double there.

Well, I’m glad you asked, let me explain…

So we’ve found a church, sort of.  It doesn’t meet all of our criteria but it does hit some of the big ones, so we’re here for now.  And by here, I mean Hope Community Church (I’ll save my description for a later date).  Since the new year, our pastor has been doing this series which has me thinking a lot lately.

Me…thinking…shocking, I know.

Pastor Jim has been talking about vision.  God’s vision for us, our vision for our lives, and I’ve been feeling a little blind.  He’s talking about how it’s not enough for Christians to sit back and enjoy the ride.  Not enough to talk about how blessed we are with our jobs, finances, family, friends.  God has a vision for our lives, to be fishers of men and each of us needs to live up to that vision.  We need to see people the way God see’s them, see what is and what could be and fill the gap.

Nothing like a rousing sermon to remind you what a slacker you are and make you feel like a loser.

I blame my friends really.  I have a bunch of spiritual over achiever friends and they’re killing the curve.  Let’s see, one friend planted and is the pastor of a church in Austin, other set of friends are planting and growing a church in Austin (what’s with all these gardening references?), one couple leads the children’s ministry in a church.  Don’t forget the one who works for a Christian non-profit (he and his wife used to work for the church), all the ones who volunteer at the church, the one who single-handedly saved a village in Zimbabwe…no?  Ok the last one I made up, but seriously this is what I’m contending with.

And no, I’m not trying to compete with everyone but I am around a lot of people who have a pretty clear vision of what they should be doing, and I don’t.

Hello…I have no vision. Is that not alarming to anyone?  Because it sure worries the crap out of me.  Seriously, what am I doing?  Floating around hoping I’ll stumble onto my purpose in life?  This does not seem like the best and most efficient use of life.

Floating bad, purpose, goal, vision, good.  And how to I go about figuring out what those are though?  Pastor Jim says we should pray, not for vision, but to “see people the way God sees them.”  It’s not about us, it’s about God’s vision for us.

Fine, fine.  I’m all for God’s vision.  He will have a far better idea on what I should be doing than I do, I totally agree with that.  But here’s where I get stuck.

I can easily list some things I’m good at, but there’s a line you pass when you figure out what it is you should be doing with yourself.  It’s more than just being “good” at something.

So I’ve been stuck with these thoughts running around in my head, and the worst part is, I don’t think it’s something I can figure out on my own.  It’s not like a puzzle or something I can figure out if I spend enough time thinking and trying.

I talked to my husband after another uplifting Sunday sermon, and his helpful advice was to pray and wait.  Awesome, I’ll hurry up and get on that waiting.

I asked him what he thought his “vision” was and he didn’t really know either.  I wondered if it has to do with writing in some form, because duh, he’s really good at it.  And I think he has an interesting perspective.  Not that I always agree with what he’s saying, but still.  He wants to write a novel, a series of novels, which I think would be amazing, but I also think there’s something really special about when he blogs.

So I say, maybe you should focus on writing more.  And he says, I’m too busy.  And I say, no you’re not, we just watch too much TV.  Commit to writing three posts a week for a month and let’s see what happens.  I’ll help you stay focused.  I’ll do it with you.

So here I am…committed to writing three posts a week so I can encourage my husband and his gift, calling, vision, plan, whatever you’d like to call it.  I think he has a good mix of being good at writing and that something else that can morph your talents into vision and purpose.

Yep…that’s it.  That’s the entire reason for my post.

Did I disappoint you?  Did you think I was writing because maybe that was my purpose in life?  Too bad.

I’ll be over here praying and waiting about the vision thing all the while I post three times a week.

I’ll also secretly hope my talent for writing and blogging has been dormant and this “selfless” exercise for my husband will awaken a latent talent and I’ll be rocketed into internet super stardom with lots of fans and tons of money…more than tons of money, and I’ll live happily ever after with fancy shoes, massages, and generous donations to various charities.  Of course this is always my hope it has nothing to do with blogging, it could be knitting for all I care if my first scarf hadn’t turned out like a giant triangle.

In case blogging super stardom doesn’t happen by Thursday, check back and keep me company over here at MissVida and pop in on Zachie at ZacharyForrest.com.

Sunday, June 08, 2008 marked the end of an era. A life lived to fullest, ended all too soon in a tragic accident. Vida Forrest was the first to discover the mangled body at her Uncles beautiful home. Lifeless and limp, in a wilted heap on the hickory planks of the cabinesque kitchen, her beloved friend no longer responded to her beseeching cries. Shock and horror quickly followed as everyone in the kitchen fell into a hush as Vida cradled the devoured loved one in her arms.

Zachary, the jackass husband, laughed at first but even his calloused, pea sized, shell of a heart went out to his grieving wife in her obvious pain. Sympathy soon poured out of her Uncle and his wife as they realized the gravity of the situation. They too felt the deep love and profound loss this senseless tragedy left in its wake.

Even as Vida held her tried and true friend’s deflated body she recalled the good times. All the fun they had together. How she was always instantly cheered up just by the presence of this selfless friend. In between tears she said, “No matter what, whenever we were together I always smiled.” They had been together in New Mexico, Texas, and for a brief time in California. “My husband actually hated my friend, he threaten to separate us many many times, “ she recalled ruefully, “but I wouldn’t stand for it, we were a package deal.”

Introduced by her late grandmother, Vida and her friend had many years together, more than her and her husband and some of her closest friends. “We’d often lose touch over the summer but every fall and winter we’d get back together” she reminisced. “This summer was different and we actually spent most days together here in Santa Barbara.” “What will I do now?” she lamented aloud.

Vida searched her friend for any salvageable sign of life, but from every angle it was clear it’s life had been brutally and eternally truncated.

While technically murder, investigations are pending as to whether it will be declared involuntary manslaughter or if there was a more sinister conspiracy to commit murder. As the only person with a motive to commit murder, Zachary will be detained and questioned. It remains to be seen if Ruby, the killer, unknowingly took an innocent life, or if she was an accomplice in Zachary’s grand scheme. Ruby is a minor but regardless of her part, her parents (Vida’s Uncle and his wife) will not be held criminally responsible. Vida said just the knowledge that they raised a murderous monster will be punishment enough.

Please join me as we mourn the passing of both close friends. At first it was just the one unexpected, heinous loss of life, but as all pure souls do, this one had a mate. Its mate couldn’t go on after losing one half of its pair in life. In the final chapter of this catastrophically fatal story, both friends were laid to rest. Side by side as they were throughout life, joined together not only by love, but also by their heads, almost folded together.

As their only living relative Vida had this to say,

“I loved them both equally and they made me very very happy. Though I may find a physical replacement, nothing…NOTHING will ever emotionally replace my favorite Duck Socks. Rest in piece guys…or should I say pieces. I won’t let the chewed, dog saliva, missing bill image be what I remember you by. I will always love you.”

*In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made to the Buy Vida New Thick Wintery Duck Socks With Rubber Footie Balls fund.

Baby seal: Seen on the beach, sunning itself. I ran right by, startled it and it waddled around and then I was worried it might eat me, so I yelped and ran off. Don’t laugh, do you know if seals have teeth or not?

Momma Seal: Seen two feet from the shore, wading around the water, fatter than you’d think. Too fat to run after me so I wasn’t worried.

Blue Jays: Seen at my Uncle’s house in the mountains, they came to steal the peanuts we sent out…bold little buggers.

Rattle Snake: Seen while hiking in said mountains…scary, mad, and rattling away….I hate nature.

Things I’ve eaten my weight in:

Gouda Cheese: Tasty after the wine festival but let’s just say it wreaked havoc on my insides.

Organic Blue Corn Chips: Tastes great, needs salt.

Kettle Corn: What am I six? Why does it seem like there’s nicotine in those sweet yet salty little kernels?

Festivals I’ve been to:

I Madonnari: Italian street painting festival….freaking awesome chalk drawings at the S.B. mission.

Strawberry Festival: Festival of, you guessed it, strawberries. Fun and tasty.

Wine in the Pines: Wine tasting festival in B.F.E. or should I say B.F.E.M.* Seriously good wines, a few too many tipsy people.

Things I’m missing back in Austin:

New babies: So many preggo moms to be, congrats to you all.

New houses: Gorgeous new homes being bought, congrats again.

New ventures: People working towards their dream…how cool is that?

Things I’m not missing back in Austin:

Killer tomatoes: I don’t have to worry about Lachanophobia

Sweltering heat: Still a balmy 71 here, read it and weep, while 30% of your body weight seeps out your pores, runs in salty rivets down your back and pools under your body.

Traffic: While you sit in the parking lot that is I 35, I’ll cruise down the 101, with my ocean view and my 15 minute commute.

*B.F. Egyptian Mountains

I decided to apply with a temp agency to see if they can help me get a permanent job. I called this place and this was our previous conversation

Me: Hi, I just moved to Santa Barbara and I’d like to set up a time to apply with your company.

S.E.G.*: Ummm, yeah are you looking for temp or permanent work?

Me: Either one.

S.E.G.: Ummm, yeah, have you been to our website?

Me: Yes, I have.

S.E.G.: Ok, fill out the application ad let’s meet on Wednesday at 2:00pm.

Me: Ok, that sounds good.

S.E.G.: Ummm, yeah are you looking for temp or permanent work?

Me: Either one (didn’t I just answer this?).

S.E.G. Ok see you then, bye. (click)

So Wednesday, I Google directions, because the oh so helpful lady gave me none and I set out for my appointment. I drive there and I can’t find it. I drive in circles forever and I with each loop I’m more and more frustrated and pissed. Isn’t it good customer service to give directions or ask if I know how to get there? I said I just moved here…HELLO. I finally cave and I call Zach to Google the directions. He does and they are the exact same as I wrote down. Now I’m even more pissed and I’m about to be late. Zach gives me the number for the office and I call the girl and I ask for directions. She asks if I’m in the area. I respond that I am and she says, “Well, we’re a big glass building with windows and I have pink flowers on my desk and I’m staring out the front window.”

I take a deep breathe so I don’t say something snotty and I ask for the cross streets and building number. She gives it to me and AHA, it’s not the same address that was on the website. Now I feel less stupid but just as mad because any good employee would have given the address if it was different from what’s on the website.

I get there and again I’m mad because the so called “big glass building” is a two story gray stucco building with big windows…big difference honey.

Act I

Setting: Temp office. Big room with windows on one side. Two desks face the window separated by a thin piece of wood about 4 ft tall. Two empty desks face the opposite way separated by another thin piece of wood. Two feet from those empty desks are two small rooms. One with three ancient computers and one with a big filing cabinet, supplies, and a printer. Three small offices line the opposite end of the room, all with open doors.

Me: (Enter the office and notice dishearteningly that the girl about to help me is slouched so far down in her seat that her chin is level with her mouse) Good morning! I have an appointment with Sarah.

S.E.G.: Uh, yeah, that’s me.

Me: (Smile while I clench my teeth and will myself not to make allusions to her job performance based on her posture, lack of directions, and obviously inadequate knowledge of what constitutes a “big glass building”)

S.E.G. So, what kind of job are you looking for?

Me: Intelligent response showing I’m open to a variety of possibilities all the while underlining my skills and abilities.

S.E.G.: Ummm, yeah are you looking for temp or permanent work?

Me: Either one (how many times do i have to answer this…is she listening at all?).

S.E.G.: Ok and do you have a resume.

Me: Yes I do, (hand her my resume) and I also filled out the online application.

S.E.G.: Ok, let me have you answer some questions and then watch a video.

Me: (The two phone calls you answered were about your address and directions because people can’t FIND IT and I really hope that ESP will help you to find me a job in addition to those three in depth, probing questions you just asked me)

Act II

I’m led to the room with the ancient computers and I start to answer the questions. How would I characterize my use of meth, how would I characterize my use of marijuana, how often does my recreational use of drugs make me late for work, if I was low on money how likely is it I wold fake a work related injury to get worker’s comp. These are actual questions, I’m not making them up. I’m hopeful I aced the test but some of my companions may not have.

As she starts up the video for me I say:

Me: Your website gives a different location for the office, have you recently moved (tilt head and look innocent)?

S.E.G.: Umm, yeah we moved like three months ago.

Me: Oh, that’s why when I looked up directions it gave me your old place (smile and blink sweetly).

S.E.G.: Yeah, someone should tell them we’ve moved.

Me: (Ya’ think?)

Act III

I sit at one of the empty desks to complete paperwork and I overhear this conversation:

S.E.G. 2: Is t-h-r-u a word? I can’t ever remember if it is or isn’t.

Me: (Please tell me she’s kidding)

S.E.G. 3: Um, I don’t know.

S.E.G. 2: Yeah me neither because I use it all the time, but I’m not sure.

S.E.G. 3: I know, me too.

Me: (Really? Are they really not kidding?)

S.E.G. 2: Well, I don’t know if it’s thru or threw, but it just seems weird, you know?

S.E.G. 3: Yeah. What’s the sentence?

S.E.G. 2: I need to send the paperwork thru/threw your office.

Me: (Is velocity or gravity involved in this transaction? Did you toss the paperwork? Is anything flying through the air? )

S.E.G. 3: Hmmm, yeah I don’t know.

S.E.G. 2: Me neither.

Four minutes pass

S.E.G. 2: Ok, well I just used through and it’s probably all wrong and I’m sure I’ll look like a total idiot, I mean who uses through, but whatever.

Me: (Please tell me how your job is to find me a job when you can’t handle elementary school grammar? How are you employed and I’m not? )

* S.E.G. stand for Stupid Employed Girl…and yes, I’m just slightly bitter.

Ok, let’s get right to it. Church 2 meets at a junior high school auditorium, which you’d think would be pretty lame, but let’s remember I live in S.B. home of everything pretty, so naturally it’s gorgeous. And can we have a little side bar here so I can tell you that I use the word gorgeous a lot now. I seem to use it every time I describe something about S.B. and it’s just so apropos. Another side bar to my side bar, yes I just used apropos and it might be in my list of top 10 words. ANYWAY, this auditorium is gorgeous, it has fancy painted, inlaid ceilings with gilded curly things all over and more stuff I can’t describe. Let’s just say that I’m sure it’s a historic landmark because it’s that ornate and beautiful.

We get out of the car and this time we’re ready, we’ve got our game faces on. And yes, my game face includes my game sunglasses and game stilettos. I’m looking around and checking people out. The dress is what we’ll call snotty casual or uppity dress down or rich people trying to look like they don’t care….or should I say, rich people trying to look like they don’t care while showing off their designer labels. Now let’s first understand that I have nothing against labels…I don’t have anything designer of course, but if I did you can bet I’d show it off. It’s like big boobs, it seems a bit much when you see some people with too much cleavage on display, but you can bet your ass if I had big boobs, I’d show cleavage at every opportunity and even make up opportunities where none existed.

But I digress.

My point is that people here were youngish and they all had their blonde highlights in place, toes done up in the latest summer colors, long janlgy necklaces, skinny jeans with designer flats, oversized handbags, and flowy colorful layered tops. To be honest, that’s what a lot of people look like, but it was a bit different here. More of show. They guys all looked trendy in their distressed jeans, flips flops, and vintage shirts ( or sports coats with a funky tee underneath). What, what’s that you say….that’s what my husband looks like? Yes, it is his uniform but he didn’t pay $400 for the look and he’s been that way since before it was cool and sadly he’ll be that way until after it’s cool too.

Ok, so we walk up and off to one side there’s an area where you can get a family portrait taken after service since it’s Mother’s Day (mental note, avoid getting roped into that as we leave). An overly friendly guy with a Bible says “Good morning!!!” Please note the exclamation points are not added for emphasis, he actually spoke in exclamation points. We smile, nod and keep walking. Someone on our left calls out in a sing songy voice, “Goooooood Morning!” Nod, tight smile, keep walking. On the right, “Hello, welcome!” On the left, “HI!!!” Head down, plow through, plow through. On the right, “HI! We have name tags here for you if you’d like!”

My husband picks up his head and gives this poor smiling, little man a look that says, you are a vacuous dolt and have made the most inane request I’ve ever heard, do you think Jesus made the disciples wear name tags? I assume I’m going to hear a big sigh as we scribble our names on the tag, but no, in addition to the withering look, Zach says, “Ummmm, no.” And we walk off without name tags.

We make it into our seats and we had to pass (I am not exaggerating) at least six sets of smiling Stepford greeters. I felt like a football player. And yes, hold on to your hats, I’m going to attempt a sports analogy. You know how they lower their chests, put a shoulder out, and barrel their way through the line, that’s how we felt trying to get to our seats. After Zach rudely told the man we didn’t want his name tags, I just put my head down and looked at my shoes until we got to our seats.

It seems wrong to fault people for being too cheerful, too friendly, and too smiley but let’s face it, that’s just the kind of girl I am.

So we sit there and then worship starts and people drift to the stage….and they keep drifting, and drifting and drifting until there are 21…count them 21 people on the stage. We’ve got a drummer, two guitar guys, a bass guy, a keyboard girl, a female lead singer, the male (left handed Zach noticed) acoustic guitar playing worship leader, maybe another instrument or two and a big fat choir in the middle.

Yeah, this is not looking good.

“ALL RIGHT, WOOOOO! How is everyone out there FEELING this morning??? Let’s get up and PRAISE THE LORD!!!!” Enter loud slap bass…yes you heard me, slap bass. This is clearly the same man who initially greeted us and he is again talking loudly in exclamations. We hear the slap bass and I know instantly it’s over.

Cheerful, friendly, smiling people we could overlook, but contemporary worship?

No, no my friend, that we cannot abide.

My husband is a pretty easy going guy, but he draws the line somewhere and Jesus himself could not make Zach cross the slap bass, contemporary worship, put your hands in the air line. He just looks at me in this are you freaking kidding me way and I smile like a little kid who says oopsie.

My line in the sand is somewhat less rigid than his and I’m quite content to be entertained, because that is what it was, a production. I know the songs and I sing along because I don’t mind the music, although I do hear the voice of my friend James who once told me, “I used to play slap bass because I thought I was cool, but then I realized it wasn’t.” You kind of have to see his deadpan face to get the humor and severity all at once. So I sing, Zach glowers and neither one of us clap. I hate when people tell you to “PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER AND PRAISE THE LORD!!!!!” Honestly, I don’t like to be told what to do and clapping seems idiotic, so no, I won’t clap.

I could talk about the sermon, but what’s the point, the worship killed it. Zach almost poked his eye out right then and there. I seriously felt like I was in a worship cd with all the music and clapping and twenty some people on stage. The pastor got up and he was wearing jeans, a sports coat and a t-shirt underneath it. We look at each other and just roll our eyes, the guy was like 50. He talked about somethings that could have been really important. His series was 100 Days to Live and this Sunday was Loving Deeply. The stuff he said was ok some stories about himself when he was younger (his Mom was visiting) and then the main points of his sermon but it seemed like everyone was trying too hard.

Our previous pastor was young and our church was, well I don’t know the correct church word, modern, progressive, emergent…I’m not sure. People didn’t have to dress up for church, jeans and flip flops was the norm and not the fully accessorized jeans and tank top outfit, just the I threw this on this morning because nobody cares what I wear to church. And I guess that’s the point. I’m not trying to harp on the clothes thing because I’m all consumed with clothes but there is a point where church can become a pageant, where it can be about being seen and it’s very important that we don’t go to church like that.

The pastor was desperately trying to be young and hip and while he was very close to it, small things showed how hard he was trying and that bothered us. We talked later about it and we both agreed that our old pastor didn’t try to be anyone but who he was. Who he was evolved and changed as time went on because people grow but it never felt like he was trying to be someone else. We may not have always agreed with what he did or liked it but it’s important to stay true to what you believe is right.  I’m not saying he was perfect but he was genuine and that counts for a lot.  If we’re going to go to church we’ll be there, we’ll be involved, but you get all of us, all of who we are in our weird messed up ways.  And if you can’t even be yourself, how can you expect me to believe that I can come as I am and truly be myself?

Over a year ago Zach and I visited this mega-church in Missouri.  It was actually awe inspiring.  The kind of place that makes your mouth drop open because it’s just too much.  Stadium seating, multiple jumbo trons, choirs coming up out of the floor, dramatic videos, and thousands of people on the edges of their seats.  It was amazing and seriously creepy at all once.  It never occurred to me that Jesus was big business, but whoa nellies, he sure is.  This church that we just visited was a mega-church in training.  It was a steadily growing church that is poised to erupt.   You could just see sermon series, packaged and on sale for other pastors to buy from the website.  You could just see the head shot of the pastor on the brochure to attend his lecture series in 12 major cities.  You could just see the t-shirt you got for free when signing up for the weekend conference lead by the head pastor.  You could just see the cds on sale from the worship band’s live performance ( and if you listen closely you can hear me singing along).

Ok, they’re not there yet but you can tell they are headed there.  The pastor talked about this conference he spoke at but it felt more like name dropping than a valid point to his sermon.  I don’t want to feel like I’m hearing a sermon because the pastor needs to work out the kinks before he sells it online.  I don’t want to feel like I’m in a service where I’m a body to fill a seat for the video they’re making.  I want to be there to feel inspired, to help get me back on track, to learn something, to be a better person, to connect.

It wasn’t all that bad, I’m making it sound more insidious than it was.  But there are things that kept me away from church and “those Christians” for a long time and that’s what I felt like at that church.  I’m sure a lot of people there did feel inspired and did feel connected but it sure wasn’t us.  Zach grabbed my hand and we made a bee line for the car and crossed this one off our list.

I wouldn’t be surprised if this church ends up being a huge church in S.B. or if the pastor goes on to do big fancy things or if the church ends up being a super well funded organization with fancy pants members.  I know a church like that can do a lot of great things and reach a lot of people but I won’t feel bad for second that we decided it wasn’t for us.

Oh well, there is always next Sunday.

Good week.

Monday to Monday was pretty good, better than ok, more than just not sucking, it was actually good.

Monday: Per my husband’s not so subtle admonishings to do stuff on my own, I set out for the beach with a backpack, my iPod, a book and a notebook. I walked for 30/40 minutes, watched the waves, and then read my book. Pros: Did it by myself, had a really nice, relaxing time, finally pulled on my big girl panties. Cons: only backpack is from high school, bright blue, with Marvin the Martian patches.

Tuesday: Left Marvin at home and walked to the beach and then…wait for it…ran along the beach. Yes, I ran along the beach. How cool is that? It was really nice and I felt like I was in a movie with the waves licking at my heels. Pros: Felt fancy and got in some exercise. Cons: Am unfit, slow, iron lunged, fatty. Can only run for super short time, thus fancy feeling only lasts for super short time.

Wednesday: Went for orientation at Food Bank, because if I can’t earn money, then I should at least do something helpful. Found a new grocery store and explored a new piece of S.B.

Thursday: Hung out with a girl. Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves, I actually initiated contact with someone I don’t really know. We hung out and had a really nice time. Another day I wore my B.G.P.

Friday: Can’t remeber anything special..sorry, except running on the beach…more exercise.

Saturday/Sunday: Went and saw Prince Caspian, tried a new restaurant, did some crafty stuff, went for another walk on the beach.

All in all, an awesome week.
I talked to a bunch of my super close friends, made dinner a bunch of nights, kept the house clean, finished my second book from the library, got mail that wasn’t bills….basically I freaking rocked. It just felt good. I’ve been in a funky mood since we moved, just dealing with being by myself in a new place, with no job or friends, and this week really marked a change.

I did a bunch of stuff on my own and really enjoyed myself which, not coincidentally, makes things less stressful for Zach and I and freed him up to be awesome and very thoughtful. I am, dare I say it, proud of myself .

So, yeah, this week has been the best week evah’, or at least the best week so far in S.B.