Caution: this sounds a little like complaining...

I work in a male-dominated environment. As in, we went to a BBQ/Raffle thing yesterday and there were maybe ten women and over a hundred men, male-dominated. For the most part, I enjoy the entertaining man-drama, the bluntness, the lack of pettyness, the way I am appreciated. But seriously? Golf tournaments? At least once a quarter? Why can't we have shopping tournaments? Just because I am female means that I am unable to have that extra, every once-in-a-while perk of leaving work for the day at ten am.

Whew.

O.K. now I'm excited. And exhausted. But mostly excited.

Sequel

You know when you're reading a VERY good book, and the author ends it in a way that kind of doesn't make sense? When even though you have the sequel and can find out all about it in the next book, you're thinking the whole time, yeah if I were writing this it would just NOT end this way. The story would most definitely not be headed this direction.


I've been feeling that way lately about my life. Change is coming. I'm moving out of the place with the folks and into an apartment closer to the things I do with the short 24 hours in each day. It's about time, I know, and yes, I am excited about the new place. Which is why I was confused for a couple of hours today when I seemed to... sink into myself. My life is changing, which is good. I like change. The sinking came with the realization that I always expected to be somewhere else right now. I definitely don't wish my life away, but I want change with a caps-c, not slight change.


See, if this was my story...I'd be headed to San Francisco right now. Right now when my job is boring and un-challenging. Right now when I have few friends. Right now when I'm looking at another winter full of dull gray skies and no rain. I'd be headed to a tiny apartment in an old building in the fading light, walking up steep hills to work and play, eating whatever kind of ethnic food I want and making friends with people that care about the things I care about.


BUT. This is not my story to write. It is mine to tell, but it belongs to Jesus to write it. I won't go into the details of the why or the how I know I'm not supposed to leave. The, Jesus, I said I'd live anywhere and be anything you wanted me to be, but here, in this fake in-between? It feels like purgatory. I'll just say that Bakersfield is where he wants me right now, and faith (which I'm not very good at in the first place) is the only reason I'm not going crazy. That and the morbid fascination with what could possibly happen in purgatory in the next couple of years. Hopefully I'll get excited again about the small things. The change with the small-c. And until then?

Here's to His sequel being better than anything I could ever write.

In Hate

10 Things I Hate About You - obviously one of my favorite movies. Playing in my head, lately, is the list that she runs down; the actual 10 Things I Hate About You poem:


I hate the way you talk to me,
and the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car,
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots
and the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick,
it even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you're always right,
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh,
even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it when you're not around,
and the fact that you didn't call.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you-
not even close-
not even a little bit-
not even at all.

I'm a careful person when it comes to this kind of thing. I take the "guard your heart" advice fairly seriously. I don't give my heart away or spend tons of time thinking about someone who I know doesn't care for me back. Same for guys that may be a little interested in me, but I know won't work for me in the end. They may be charming and funny, but could I live the rest of my life with them? NO. It's all kind of pointless in my book, then, to lose my heart over something that has no good end. I like to see the big picture. This doesn't mean that I won't give some guys a fair chance. I will, but I'm able to see fairly quickly what it looks like on the other side. However, the few times I have seen possibility in a guy with whom I already have some semblance of a relationship (usually friendship), I tend to end up reciting the above poem. Except, because it's my life and not the movie version, I'm never sure, as Kat was, of the love (or guitars) on the other side. It's the reason for the hate. I hate it when I feel things for a guy with whom there's no guarantees; with whom I've let down a little of my guard to become friends, and ended up with the not-hating in the above referenced poem.

This happened a while back and now I'm peering around the corner, trying to see down the same road. The problem? I don't regret the last time. It's not enough to make me wall up my heart and my self and never be able to feel again. When will I learn my lesson? And what should that lesson even be? Should I just not be friends with guys? It doesn't happen with every guy I'm friends with. Should I feel the not-hate and know the gamble is worth it for the possibility? Or should I just roll through it quickly and not let it bother me as much so I can get over it faster? I'm not so sure where to go from here, and I'm not so sure why I'm like this. You'd think I'd be a little better at these things by now. huh.

Love Story

Darn you, Taylor Swift. I shake my fist at you. Just when I think I've got the me myself and I all under control, you write a song like this. It's like a trick, because at first you just roll your eyes so you let yourself listen, and by the end you're singin' along at the top of your lungs all hopeful like. Darn you again, just for good measure.

______ the Explorer

People fascinate me in all their complexity. Have for a long time.

I was talking about exploring the world earlier with a friend, and I think I've always wanted to be an explorer. As a kid, I never wanted to play house or teacher. I wanted to play swiss family robinson, or jungle adventure, or pirates on a ship. I would have been, depending on the century, a pirate or a pioneer or a conquistador or in Marco Polo's entourage. But what part of the world is left to discover? Not much is unknown. The sea, maybe, which is why I thought about being an oceanographer in third grade. Or space, which I thought about in the later part of elementary school. When people try to help me figure out what to do with my life, this is usually how the conversation goes:

What kind of things do you like to do?

I like a whole lot of different things.

What kind of things are you good at?

I'm good at a lot of things.

Well, what did you want to be when you were a little kid?

An Explorer.

Huh.

Yep.

But by the time I got to high school I pretty much decided to study other cultures or people for the rest of my life. This was my reasoning: people are the last frontier. That's how I picked my major. And people fascinate me still. The old man that power walks in swim trunks by my house. The homeless, pregnant young woman standing on the corner. The jerk in the power suit in Borders. My closest friends. The so depressed musician in the non-Starbucks coffee shop. Baby Kadence. I want to ask them all a million questions. Find out what makes them tick. Or if they have any tics. It's a curiousity that never ends. And I love it.

THIS

has been staring at me through my floor-ceiling office window for several weeks now. We think it was brought here by the stray dog we fed for a while, and someone thought it would freak me out. I actually was freaked out that they were video-monitering my work progress until I realized no one cared. Or at least is dedicated enough to stuff a tiny camera into a nasty dirty stuffed animal.

I got the joy - JOY

Down in my heart. I do. It began as unrest, and pressure from the holy spirit like an anvil on my chest, to pray and pray hard. So I did. I prayed for everyone I could think of, not knowing if this anvil was for a specific person or for something to come, or for the church as a whole. I realized a while into pondering, though, that it doesn't matter. God will reveal it to me as he sees fit*, and I just need to get over the wonderin' and on with the prayin'.

This is one of those times where I'm not even sure why God asked me to pray. Who am I that I should have the privilege of interceding on behalf of others? Especially recently I seem bogged down by my own sins and shortcomings. But this persistance of the Spirit was so clear that it seemed to bring one fact to light for me: no matter where I am, as a follower of Christ, he will use me as he sees fit, when he sees fit. My sins are gone to him, scattered. I should pay them no heed except as to confess and not fall in again. So I began to pray.

AND THEN CAME THE JOY. This morning. Overwhelming. I feel clean, free, joyful, desiring and thirsting for the things of God like I haven't in a long, long time. I feel like I should be spinning in an open field, arms wide, and falling on my face before God. This whole experience is entirely other than myself, and it's beautiful to have God working deep down in my heart. I still feel burndened, but my Jesus, the joy, thank you. I want to drink the deep water.

*PS if you were going through a hard time during this time, it's probably you I'sa been a-praying for and if you want to tell me about it I want to hear it.

shame on

Rick's latest (serious) suggestion on how to get our overdue, big-name, lots-of-money-owing customer to pay:

Get one of those giant banner-signs that say "SHAME ON ____________" and have the office staff all take turns holding it out on the corner of the big highway. Chanting and yelling would be included. He even knows a place that will make a banner in less than 24 hours.

thought #1: this is not in my job description

thought #2: I'm going to enjoy this immensly.

I also suggested (not so seriously) that we just walk in their office and use that sign language for "shame on you" that worked so totally well in first grade. Maybe we'd even get a big "oooooooo" from their office staff.

Pam's got nothing on me. Oh, well, except maybe for the Jim thing. Yeah, that may be the only thing outweighing the awesomeness of this office.

Rah-Rah, Sar-RAH.

Rick is currently walking around the office chanting, "Sar-RAH, Sar-RAH, Sar-RAH, Sar-RAH," as loudly as possible. Has been all day, actually. It's sad that my brain didn't even take the time to register the name or why he would be chanting it until the end of the day. I think at first I thought he was trying to be encouraging to our new intern but had her name wrong. But it looks like there's at least one solid Palin supporter in this office.

Desert Rats

I love the desert. It's strange, I know. But there's just all that... emptiness. It's a lonely place, beautiful in all it's strangeness, and largely unchanged in the last thousand years. It has cool rock formations. And long straight highways where you can go really, really fast.

The desert attracts odd creatures. Odd human creatures. Societal outcasts, ranchers, serial killers, you name it. And the desert lets them be themselves, and live however they want. There's such an autonomy out there. It's like an unspoken code that if they can stand to live in that remote corner of the world, they can pretty much do whatever they want. No one cares in that dry, empty landscape.

In one of the several odd jobs I had before landing in my current position, I spent all day monitering a waste-bin site (read: dumpster lot) in the middle of the Mojave. Very hot. Very few people. But the ones that did stop by, man, were they worth the wait.

A man and his woman, he in rolled-up overalls sans shirt and she in a bikini, rolled up the lot. About four trash cans, ready to be unloaded, were stuffed in the windowless backseat of their little hatchback. Small talk ensued:

"So you like living out here?"

"Yeah, usually we like to take off all our clothes and chase each other naked through the desert."

L.A.

Tourists always talk about going to LA. How cool it sounds. But anyone even remotely local knows that you don't go to LA. You go to Pasadena, or Laguna Beach, or Malibu, or Santa Monica, or any number of other places. Usually I'm of the opinion that the only thing touristy places are good for are people watching, but this last weekend...

We went to LA.

We went to Hollywood.

We went to Venice Beach.

And let me tell you, it was pretty amazing.

A giant fancy hotel with a cityscape view? Ice cream from room service at one am? Ethiopian food in the middle of little Ethiopia? Amoeba Records? Crazy (crazy expensive more like it) thrift store? Church the way it should be? Check check check check check check. Don't get me wrong, the people watching at Venice was amazing, as was the people watching in Hollywood. There was just more to it than that. Atmosphere. Vibe. Henna tatoos? Oh yes. Check it out. My leg, Holly's hand. The best part was the guy at the henna place with skeezy tatooed across his neck.

The weather was gorgeous too. I think I've found a few new favorite places, made all the better by some of my favorite people. And a word about Church? This church is active, the people are real, they care about social issues, and have great worship. Check it out. Thanks Naph, for the invite.