Whatcha Doin'?

"Whatcha doin?"
"Nothing much."
"Any plans?"
"Not really. Just gonna hang around, see how things go, take it easy. You know, Saturday."

It was a Saturday, like any other Saturday. Or so we thought. We didn't have any plans scheduled for the day; it was just going to be an run-errands/let's-just-see-how-things-go-before-we-make-any-plans kind of day. The only plan we had for sure was to take Linda's and Cim's cars down to the Ford dealership to get a recall taken care of. We did that, then went back to get the cars, then did a little shopping, then....

Ah, yes. "Then." Cim and I were in my living room chatting about getting something to eat and what we were going to make for dinner, waiting for Linda to come home, when we heard it. A bumper-to-bumper collision. We live about 10 feet from a major freeway onramp/offramp, so noises like that are not uncommon. Generally, you can ignore it because seriously. You can't expect us to go running across 8 lanes of traffic everytime there's an accident or a police chase or news helicopters flying overhead.

This time though, I could actually see the car that had just gotten hit right outside our window. It looked pretty bad -- a crumpled car sitting in the middle of a two-lane offramp. Cim and I looked at each other and decided to go see if there was anything we could do to help. Cim grabbed the phone and started calling 911, I grabbed my cell phone, and off we went.

We made our way over there, which comprised of negotiating our way through the ditch and plumbers in our front yard. Oh, and the plumbers' wives and children. (Don't ask. That's a story for another day.) Crossed through one crosswalk (onramp side of the street), then I started jogging up the offramp. I know. Not a good idea on an ordinary day, but freeway traffic is lighter on a Saturday, plus the crushed car was impeding any traffic actually getting off the exit, so I figured it was pretty safe.

At first it just looked like a hit and run. It obviously wasn't a one-car accident because the car was too damaged, especially the back end, to have just gotten that way by itself. But it wasn't immediately obvious how it had gotten that way. The driver was holding a rag up to his arm that was already bleeding through. He asked me to put pressure on the wound in his other arm. I rummaged through his car and found another rag for his other arm. Started putting pressure on that, and that's about when Cim caught up (she was barefoot so jogging up the freeway wasn't really an option for her).

We started looking around to see if the other car was around or if it was a hit and run. We saw an SUV up the incline parked on the shoulder. Its front bumper was mooshed a little, and two Hispanic young men were wandering around talking on cell phones. They looked okay; certainly not in as bad as shape as the offramp guy.

A Cal-Trans worker came up to let us know that they had just radioed CHP, which was nice since it had taken forever for Cim to get through the 911 way. I asked offramp guy (Fine. His name was Ernie. I'll stop calling him "offramp guy.") if there was anyone he wanted me to call for him. He gave me his wife's phone number; I couldn't get through and left a message. Cim suggested we get him off the street, thinking he was probably going into shock.

Oh, except it was just about then that the two Hispanic SUV guys decided to come check things out. They strolled down and asked Ernie if he was okay. He said, "Yes. Well, no, not really. (pause) What were you guys doing? Look at this! You really slammed into me!"

The SUV Guys, seeing that he was okay (mostly), started puffing out their chests and invading personal space a little bit. Not just Ernie's, either, but mine too, since I was still holding the rag on the guy's arm. "Dude! Whaddya mean US! You! were the one that swerved into our lane! You cut across like three lanes of traffic!"

The boys all started moving closer to each other talking at the same time, over each other, blaming each other. It was getting a little heated. I moved between them and put my non-compress holding hand up and said, "Guys. Guys! Calm down! Everyone's a little shook up right now. Just calm down. The cops will be here soon, and we get everything straightened out then." They stopped, and I thought, "Wow. Check me out. Master negotiator, that's me." Cim told me later though that she had started to walk away then turned around and saw the boys all swaggering towards each other and me putting my hand up and calming everyone down. She ran back up and inserted herself between the two sides, and that's when they backed down. After all, who's going to hit a little person? She has the ability to look so very young and innocent. No one's going to hit her.

We got Ernie over to the guard rail. I kept trying to get ahold of his wife, then I called his brother who lives closer and told him that was going on. Ernie asked me if he could talk to his brother, and I said, "Um, no. Sorry, but I don't want your blood on my phone." Because seriously. This guy had blood on his face, his hands -- I didn't want to try to figure out how to disinfect my phone. So he asked me to tell Carlos, the brother, to keep trying to get ahold of his wife, and to please come get his tools out of his car.

Linda showed up about then and started picking up debris out of the road, some of which was part of Ernie's very expensive tool collection.

Oh, the car. This would be a good time to describe what it looked like. I'm only sorry I didn't have my camera with me. Maroon Saturn, rear bumper was hanging on by one car-thread, but mostly just hanging on the ground. The rear window was missing, apparently from when the trunk had flown open and completely shattered it. The driver's seat was completely reclined. Ernie said it collapsed when he got hit and he almost rolled out the back window. There was blood on the passenger's side seat and doorframe, probably from him rummaging around to get a rag for his one arm wound, and blood drops, splatters, really, all the way from the car up to where we currently were standing with him. Overall, it was not a pretty sight.

Okay, so Linda's there, then a guy in a brown shirt (I never got his name, so I'll just call him Brownie, since that's what I called him when the CHP guys asked me who everyone was) showed up because he had witnessed the whole thing, gotten off the next exit and circled back to give his eyewitness account about what had happened. Good thing he did too, because just based off the physical evidence, it would be very easy to believe that it was all SUV Guys' fault. Turned out though, that Ernie was actually in the 2nd lane, realized he needed to get off that exit and swerved over the two lanes, headed into the exit lane, and the SUV Guys didn't have time to react; it was that sudden. Brownie said it looked as though Ernie made a 90* right turn.

The cops and paramedics showed up at about the same time. Ernie started getting the attention he needed. They started with the arm that he had been putting pressure on first, so I continued putting pressure on the other one while the dressed and bandaged that one. It was nasty looking. It was like a Discovery Channel health or surgery special on what all the layers of muscle look like. It was terribly gross, but I managed to remain fairly clinical and calm about it. Mostly because I was curious about how he had gotten it, because to be blunt, a huge chunk of his arm was missing, and I couldn't figure out how it had gotten that way. The upside was that being that close to the action allowed me a perfect vantage point to observe (read: stare at) all the (very beautiful) Burbank fire department paramedics. They are not ugly. What is it about yellow pants, blue shirts and red suspenders? Primary-school colors should not logically be able to combine in a way to make men look that good.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Ernie. He asked me to wait for his brother to come to get the tools and make sure everything got out of the car okay. The EMTs finally got around to dressing the other wound, so that gave the three of us a chance to step back and see what else was going on. We leaned against the guard rail and relaxed for a minute. Cim was standing on my left side (the same hand that had been putting pressure on Ernie's wound). She said to me, "Ooh. I'm feeling a little woozy. Do you mind if I just hang onto your arm for a minute?" I said, "Probably better not with that hand -- that's the same one that's been touching Ernie." Linda overheard the conversation and said, "You can hang onto my arm." I turned away for one second, and Linda started going, "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Hey! Hey! Hey!" I turned back around and saw that she was trying to support Cim, who had apparently picked just that moment to pass out. I tried to catch her, but when someone's fainting, it's like trying to hold a wet noodle upright. Nearly impossible. I was mostly concerned about her right leg that was getting bent underneath her, so I was trying to get that straigtened out while making sure she didn't hit the ground very hard.

The good news is, is that if you're going to pick a time to pass out, it might as well be on a freeway offramp where an accident has just occurred and the EMTs are already on site. About five of them came immediately over (abandoning Ernie. Cool!) and surrounded Cim. She opened her eyes and said, "What? Why is everyone looking at me?" Linda said, "Um, 'cause you just fainted." "I did?"

One of the hottie EMTs started taking her blood pressure while another one started taking her medical history to see if this had ever happened before, etc. He started by asking what her name was, to get an idea of if she was fully conscious yet or not. She said, "Cinnamon." He thought for sure she wasn't all there yet. He had a look on his face like, Yeah, right. He said again, "What's your name?" "Cinnamon," she said again, this time more firmly and emphatic. He looked up at us like, really? Yes, we nodded. Really. She got checked out while I contemplated stopping breathing so I could get some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. They told her it would probably be a good idea to go home and get something to eat and drink and lie down.

(For Cinnamon's version of the day's events, go here.)

Long story a bit longer, they drove the car down the offramp to get it out of the way and wait for the tow truck. I went down there with it because I was still waiting for Carlos, the brother, to come get the tools. I chatted with Linda and one of the CHP guys for awhile, then the tow truck guy showed up, but still no Carlos. Then it turned out the tow truck wasn't the right kind, so they had to call for another one. Actually, the tow truck guy confessed that he had the right part, but he was on light duty because of "this," he said, pointing to his arm. Embroidered across his much-tattooed arm was about 30 stitches in a lovely zig-zag pattern that looked like it had been put there by his pirate captain friend who had nothing but a hook needle and sail thread and used his teeth to cut the thread. It was fairly gruesome in its own right. "Dude," I said, "How'd you get that?" "Motorcyle accident," he replied. More proudly than he should have, if you ask me.

Carlos finally showed up, sporting the longest mullett I've seen in quite a long time and a tai chi outfit complete with neon-green boxers. I left him to do what he needed to do and went back to my house to wash up and check on Cim. Washing up was another adventure because I had to use the outside hose due to the aforementioned plumbing issue, but all is right with the world.

The moral of this story boys and girls, is to please, please be very very careful. Wear your seatbelts, don't drink or do drugs (ever, but especially during or just before driving), and don't be stupid, because it's not just your life; I'm out there too and I don't want a chunk of my arm taken out or my bumper laying in the fast lane just because you had to get off the freeway NOW!

"Be wise, oh what can I say more?"

100 Things About Me

Or however many I get to before I run out. I don't even know if I'll be able to come up with 100 things about me. We'll see.

1. My middle name is the same as my Grandma's middle name. I'm the only girl in my immediate family to have a middle name. I think it makes the others jealous.

2. One of my nieces also has the same middle name as me. I call her "my little namesake," even though our first names are different.

3. One of my other nieces really IS named after my grandma. I'm kind of jealous. It's a cute name. But I wouldn't have liked it when I was growing up.

4. I got my first name because my sister's best friend in first grade was named that and she liked it. I don't think my parents were terribly discerning about what they named us girls. One of my sisters got her name because my parents were expecting (wanted) a boy but got her instead and didn't know what to name her and they were listening to the radio in the hospital and a song came on that they liked so they named her after that.

5. But that's not as bad as some people I know who are crazy baby namers. One of their kids is named Trixie Petunia Pineapple and their latest one is called Ruby Buttercup. No, I'm not making that up. But it's not really about me either, so I'll move on now.

6. I have four sisters and one brother.

7. I am the youngest.

8. There is a 20 year difference between me and my oldest sibling.

9. I have 27 nieces and nephews.

10. My nieces and nephews are now getting married and having kids of their own. I have 15 grand-nieces/nephews. I think. There may be some I can't think of because there are so many. That number is likely to change soon.

11. I have short fingernails. I always have.

12. Luckily for me I can use my piano playing as an excuse for having really flimsy nails. And teeny nail beds. I could never be a hand model.

13. My hair is really fine. Baby fine, really. This means it's difficult to have it long. When I was a little girl, everyone wanted Dorothy Hamil's hair style. Including me. Then I just looked like a boy, which made me mad when people would ask my mom how old her little boy was.

14. I was a tomboy growing up. Was it from the short hair and always being mistaken for one? I don't know. I'm still kind of a tomboy, actually, but more girly. That doesn't make any sense.

15. I have worked for the same company for almost 10 years. At my 10 year anniversary, I will get a fancy dinner with my boss and a plaque with my picture on it and a pen. I will not get any extra vacation or a bonus. I don't like that idea very much.

16. I lived in Chile for 16 months.

17. I am fluent in Spanish--reading, writing and speaking. In fact, I can write it better than most native Spanish speakers.

18. My college degree is in Spanish. It was a no-brainer after living in Chile for 16 months. I tested out of the first 3 years of college Spanish in one afternoon.

19. But then it took me an additional 8 years to get my degree because I hate math. I had one math class I needed to take to get my bachelor's degree, and I put it off for 8 years.

20. Generally I am not a procrastinator. Just when it comes to doing something I don't want to. Usually I am pretty good at finding a back door for accomplishing things I don't want to. I was unable to that time.

21. I ended up getting an A in that stupid math class I put off taking for 8 years.

22. I got kicked out of BYU. No, not for that reason. It's because I didn't want to go to any of the GE classes. I was an A student for my major classes, and a D student in the others.

23. I thought my parents were going to be really mad when I had to make that call home. They weren't. They're very cool when they need to be.

24. My AA degree is in Broadcasting.

25. I ran the student AM station in junior college.

26. Come to think of it, school has always been an issue with me. I had to start kindergarten later than my parents wanted me to because my birthday was 2 days after the deadline.

27. My family used that year that I should have been in school but wasn't to teach me to read and write.

28. By the time I got into kindergarten the next year, I was a smarty-pants who was bored with the idea of playing in the sandbox and wanted to just read.

29. After testing me to make sure I wasn't crazy, the school let me combine kindergarten with first grade so the next year I just went directly into second grade.

30. I have never fully recovered from that. I went from being the oldest in my class to the youngest, so I always felt like there was something I just wasn't getting.

31. Then, to top it off, halfway through my second-grade year, I had to switch schools because of a change in the bus routes, believe it or not. I got put in the "dumb class" which meant my teachers stopped expecting great things out of me.

32. I used to work in a shoe repair shop. I liked it a lot -- I could read, and inbetween, got to polish shoes. Easy job.

33. I like reading. A lot. No, really. A lot a lot.

34. My favorite genre is mysteries.

35. I also like children's literature too, though, 'cause you don't have to put up with all the smut and stuff that comes pretty standard nowadays with adult novels.

36. I have two fat hairy cats. They shed a lot and have fishy breath, but they love me. And I them, come to think of it. They are not allowed to die, ever.

37. Those are the only pets I have had since I was a kid and we had a dog that we were taking care of for a family friend. I thought Pandora was mine and wasn't thrilled with the idea when her "real" owner came to get her after a few years. That sucked.

38. That's how old I am right now, until December 6.

39. December 6 is also Saint Nicholas' day.

40. I am not Catholic.

41. So why should I care about Saint Nicholas' day? Because that's Santa Claus and I love Santa Claus.

42. I prefer rainy days to hot days.

43. I live in southern California.

44. That poses a bit of conflict between the weather and my comfort during the summer months.

45. I like air conditioning.

46. My hands are generally cold.

47. I am an enigma wrapped in a puzzle. Okay, not really. I am just full of contradictions.

48. I taught early-morning seminary for 7 years. That's a church class for high school-aged students that takes place prior to school. At

5:50
. A.M. In the morning. That's early.

49. I am often tired.

50. I like naps.

51. I used to be athletic. "Used to be" only because I sit on my rear-end all day long now at a desk job. I still like sports; I'm just not so great at playing them due to gravity.

52. In high school I played softball, volleyball and basketball.

53. I only played basketball for one season though because it was stupid. I made the varsity team right off the bat, but didn't know that meant the coach was only using me for practice and pre-season games. As soon as the season started he moved me to JV where the coach was stupid and never let me play. So I didn't dress for the last game and gave the coach a piece of my mind and walked off the court just before game started. That was like three things right there for the price of one, so I'm skipping to number....

56. My junior year in high school, our softball team won our league championship. We did it with 11 girls on our team. Our team motto that year was "Put a cast on it and play." My thumb has still never really recovered from playing catcher for a professional fast-pitch pitcher during practices.

57. Neither have my knees.

58. I liked volleyball. It was fun. But I am short and not terribly good, so I don't really have anything to brag about.

59. I started golfing about four years ago after a lifetime of mocking it. I really like it a lot.

60. I now have bursitis in my hip from golf.

61. First thing in the morning getting out of bed, I resemble a 90-year old woman what with all the gimping, limping and moaning.

62. I have no tattoos.

63. My ears are double-pierced, but I only wear one pair of earrings.

64. When I get hungry I get very cranky. Sometimes there is no warning between the time I get hungry and the crankiness. Sorry about that.

65. I am snack-impaired. Because I get so hungry all of a sudden, if I start eating a snack I don't know how to stop until I am full. Then it's time for dinner or lunch or whatever, and even if I'm not hungry, it doesn't really matter because I was hungry like 20 minutes ago.

66. I could stand to lose some weight. I'm working on that right now.

67. I have fairly terrible handwriting. It's legible, but not pretty.

68. My fine-art abilities are about the same as a third grader. Maybe worse. Stick figures are a stretch for me.

69. I don't like going to the beach. I know. I can hardly believe that either.

70. I love being in the mountains.

71. I don't think I could ever live for a long amount of time in a land-locked state. I don't know why. It's not like I'm claustrophobic or anything. I can't even see the ocean from here most days. But when I picture a map of the United States and think about living somewhere in the middle of it, I get a little uneasy.

72. My idea of a great night out is dinner then a musical. A play or movie is good too, but unless I've had a nap before hand, I will almost always sleep during some of the play.

73. My favorite food is Mexican. Or Tex-Mex or Baja or whatever it is that we mostly have in California.

74. I also really like New Orleans style food. Mmmm, jambalaya.

75. I love mint-chocolate chip ice cream.

76. If there is only strawberry or vanilla ice cream in our freezer, I generally don't eat it.

77. I hate butter-brickle ice cream. What is that, anyway? It was (probably still is) my mom's favorite ice cream so it was always in the freezer. She was lucky I didn't like it or else she never would have gotten any.

78. My favorite hangout when I was a kid was either the library or the acacia tree in our front yard.

79. My favorite hangout now is the library. It would be a tree if there was one suitable for climbing where I live.

80. People always think I look like someone they know. I'm not and you don't, though. Nope, not even your sister's best friend from grammar school. Not her.

81. I frequently will sing silly songs and make up my own words. I enjoy doing that. Sometimes I come up with some really clever ones.

82. My friends often give me weird looks and I don't always know why.

83. What? What are you looking at?

84. Sometimes I am only funny to myself. Good thing I like myself.

85. I often think my two best friends are talking about me behind my back in front of me. They tease me about that, but seriously. Why are they whispering?

86. I was the first kid in my high school with a computer. Everyone else was still turning in hand-written essays while mine were all fancy-schmancy from the word processor. It was a Commodore 64.

87. I used to be able to type 90 words per minute.

88 - 92. Countries I have been to include: Canada (Victoria); Mexico (Rosarito, Ensenada and Nogales); France; England; and the Bahamas.

93. I am going to Guatemala this summer on an archaelogical dig.

94. In October, I am also going on a cruise to the Grand Cayman Islands and Jamaica.

95. I know. Cool, huh?

96. I have a great life. And not just because of the vacations.

97. I'm hungry, and it's lunch time and that's pretty darn close to 100.

Reasons I Stay at My Job, Even Though It's...You Know, Work.

10.The paycheck. It's not huge, but it's enough to pay rent and bills and go to a movie or play just about whenever I want. In my definition, the benefits also include paid vacation, health/dental benefits, 401k plan, etc.

9. Muffins and bagels on Fridays. Need I say more?

8. High speed internet access. In reality, I have this at home too, but this way I get paid for surfing the web and emailing my friends and updating my blog!

7. When people use ironic phrases unironically, it makes me laugh.

I was meeting with a salemsan from a prospective vendor the other day, who said, "We're called the 'Switzerland' of this type of software since our product interacts so well with other similar products. Well, we don't call ourselves 'Switzerland,' but our clients do."

But...didn't you just...call yourself .... Switzerland?

6. Access to the dumbest-person-in-the-world's calendar I've referred to this before here, but some of the most recent entries include: wondering why she has to meet two times a week with the vice president of her division for an hour each. TWO TIMES A WEEK. Did I mention that? And apparently they always use the full hour. We have fun speculating about what they could be talking about, and how did she really get her job....? Hmmmm.

She also put on her calendar a meet-and-greet with the new CFO of our company. Following is an email exchange between Kathy and me about who that was and why she had it on her calendar. It was wedged between all her other meet-n-greet appointments, so it looked like it might have just been another run of the mill meeting.

Kathy: Can you give me a plausible explanation as to why Karen would be meeting with this guy later this week?!?

Laura: They've scheduled a meet/greet on Thursday -- my guess it's more of an open house where you stroll by and meet the guy. Sadly (heh) I'm in an Access class that day.

Leave it to The Brainiac to make it look all important like she's actually meeting WITH him, as opposed to getting a gander AT him.

Kathy: Ohhhhhhh, THAT guy. Stupid stupid me. I didn't even recognize his name. Dang, I was going to go at that time too. Well, maybe I'll still go and openly snub her. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Remember those stupid "Date with Diane" breakfast things we had to go to at our last job? I remember when Karen was scheduled to go to one, and she called some user and said she couldn't make their meeting because she had a meeting with a vice president scheduled for the same time.

She really annoys me!

Laura: Only "annoys" you? I pretty much hate her, I think.

Kathy: She annoys me and I hate her. Sorry I didn't make that clearer!

Laura: (wickedly includes a picture of the annoying and hateful Karen) I rezent beeing called "annoyng". Cause I am fun and I rilly do know vice presdents and stuff.

Kathy: Lord have mercy I jumped when that image popped up. I'm still feeling a tad queasy.

Her resume is so full of b.s. that I'm surprised she hasn't listed VP as one of her past jobs!

Laura: Cathy,

I wood list VP as one of my pass jobs if I new how to spel it.

Kathy: karn,

shut up.

5. Having met wonderful people who challenge me and make me laugh (in a good way) as illustrated with Kathy, above. Speaking of which, she and I really had a fun time analysing Karen's resume when it just happened to fall into our hands. Good times. I'm still chuckling about the pack of lies contained in that gem.

4. Other stupid people. Or people who may otherwise be good at what they do but make mistakes that make me laugh. For example: I've been harassing our different IT people for close to a year to do something about their outdated NT servers since there is no longer any standard vendor maintenance available for them and the cost to be have vendor maintenance on an unsupported server is extremely high and getting higher.

So, I've been harassing these people to upgrade or move off their servers....NOW! One of them tried pushing back to say he didn't think it was reasonable for us to get charged that much, to which I replied, reasonableness (is that a made up word?) doesn't really play into this right now. It is what it is, and if you want to be connected to the network, you have to pay the price.

I just received an email from him:

[My assistant] is putting together a project plan to move those applications to a different server by mid-June. Resources are being lined up. We will make it happen. We can get off of these servers by June 31st.

Oh, my goodness! I've been laughing and giggling ever since! I can't tell if he really means June 30, or if this is just his way of saying no way are they going to do this! I just sent him a note: "Not to be nitpicky or anything, but I hope you mean June 30th."

3. Since I'm still laughing about that other one, I can't really think of something for this slot.

2. Dang! And now I have to get back to work....

1. Reserved for something really great.

If Reality TV Were Real, I'd Want My (Stupid) Former Boss To Go On The Apprentice

Scene: The Boardroom. Seated at the table are DONALD (The Hair); GEORGE and CAROLYN, DONALD'S advisors; a group of employees who are loyal to the company (LAURA, RENEE, CHRISTINA, KAREN & KATHY) but are at their wits' end due to having to put up with the insufferable, annoying, smelly, self-righteous and very stupid JACKIE; and JACKIE.

Fade up from black

DONALD: Jackie, I cannot see one redeemable quality about you. You are the worst manager I've ever seen. How you ever managed to rise from lowly dock receiving clerk to over-paid, over-rated Director is astounding to me. You don't know how to lead a team, you have absolutely no business accumen, you are socially retarded with the most disgusting breath in the world! Your employees can't stand you. You prevent others from doing work, even after demanding that they do your work for you. Among those methods used to slow down employees, you consistently block network printers because you don't check the queues when your worthless color presentations are hogging all the memory. You think colored charts are the only way to run a business, but you have no understanding or concept of the systems you're asked to manage! Jackie, you leave me with no choice. You're fired.

*end fantasy dream sequence.

*extended footage sequence*

The Hair: [looks to CAROLYN and GEORGE for confirmation] Well, that was a tough decision.

GEORGE: [lifts a bushy eyebrow] Not really. It's been a long time coming.

CAROLYN: What took you so long? She should have been gone years ago before even being promoted to senior business systems analyst, let alone director! I can't believe she had the nerve to call herself a manager! What a worthless excuse for a project leader. She makes me ashamed to be categorized as a business woman with her. She's a disgrace to my gender. No, scratch that. She's a disgrace to the American white-collar work force. That wasn't a hard decision at all! Way to go, Mr. Trump.

*end extended footage*

*New extra scene*
Location: outside Boardroom by elevators. JACKIE is waiting for the down elevator. The "up" elevator arrives. CHRISTINA, KATHY, RENEE, KAREN and LAURA ignore it. They wait with JACKIE for the down elevator.

The down elevator finally arrives.

WIth an unspoken communication borne of years enduring persecution together, CHRISTINA, KATHY, RENEE, KAREN and LAURA shove JACKIE as one into the elevator. They throw their own suitcases at and on her, spit, and poke her eyes. Someone starts to throw a punch, but is pulled back by the others as the elevator doors begin to close.

They wave cheerily. As the elevator descends, faint strains of "Ding Dong, the Witch is FIRED" carry down the shaft, accompanying JACKIE on her lonely ride.

A taxi cab sporting a large add for this season's sponsor, "Hot Jobs" arrives. JACKIE is helped in by the doorman, seemingly in a trance.

In the cab, JACKIE blearily blinks.

Why, it looks like she's...been, sleeping? Is that possible? She was ASLEEP during the most important meeting of her life!

JACKIE: Wha? What happened?
*fade to black*

Third Base Coaches, Listening and Perspective

I had some time to kill on Saturday while waiting for a friend of mine, so I found a local community park where a Little League practice game was in session. The boys looked to be between 8 and 11 years old. The fathers/coaches, were of course, more competitive and demanding than the children themselves were; nevertheless, it was a friendly game. It was clear to see that many of the boys knew each other from school or other activities.

All of the sounds were just as familiar to me as if I was one of the players on the field. In fact, if I closed my eyes and listened, it could have just has easily been me on the field ready for the next ball, praying I didn't miss it when it was hit to me, or settling myself into my stance in the batter's box hoping to at least connect with the next pitch. The banter of the coaches to the boys, parents cheering and teammates encouraging each other -- all these sounds brought me back to my own days of playing softball in high school.

The most confusing part of the game for the boys seemed to be running the bases. As a bystander, it was easy to chuckle at some of their rookie mistakes and know that with time and practice, that part would come easier to them. I listened to what the coaches were telling the boys, and I wondered if it really made any sense to them. They are, after all, only young boys. Can they see through the inanities of things such as, "Focus!" "Don't hesitate!" "Listen to me!" "Watch the ball!" "Way to be there, Johnny!" to understand what the coaches were really trying to tell them? I guessed not.

About the time I had the thought, though, that the boys just needed more practice instead of useless phrases hollered at them, I remembered again what it was like to be a base runner. It can be confusing, which as a spectator, you wouldn't think it should be, but it is. It's easy to hesitate, not because you're dumb and don't see what's going on, but because you don't want to make any mistakes. You want to be sure that the ball has gone bast the outfielder before making a clean break for third base. You want the ball to go past the catcher before taking the full leap towards stealing second.

Nothing can make you doubt yourself more in baseball than being a base runner. Sure, running towards first after hitting is easy, plus you've got a coach right there telling you to "Run it out!" That part becomes instinctual in no time at all. And even running towards second is pretty easy. After all, you've still got the first base coach there to tell you when to tag up, when to hold up, and when to make a break for it.

But somewhere between first and second you hit no-man's land. "Should I slide? Where's the ball? Head first or feet first? Did the catcher throw it?" These and a thousand other thoughts go through your mind as your legs pump and you think about the timing to slide under the tag. Sure, the coaches are probably hollering either "Stay up!" or "SLIDE!!!!!" but you may not be able to hear them because you're farther away from them than you were before and there's a lot of other noises, both of the other team shouting and your own internal monologue.

So now you're on second base, adrenaline pumping, smiling a little because you were safe, and the stress starts all over again. Even though you've got coaches at either end 60 feet away, they're far enough away to really not be easily heard. Now is when you really feel like you're on your own. Now is when the self-doubt really settles in. I watched it happen with the boys on Saturday. Before they took off for third, either on an in-play ball or to steal third, there was always a hesitation about whether or not it was totally safe to go. And that hesitation would be just enough to make it not safe to go. The coaches would be yelling, "GO! GO!" and it didn't make any difference. By the time the boys decided to run, it was too late and the coach had to quickly say, "Go back!"

The boy would look a little abashed that he hadn't gone, always with a determined, "I'll do it next time" expression, while the coach invariably yelled, "Johnny! Don't hesitate! You've got to just GO!" And the boy would nod obediently, but just underneath the determined look was also a little bit of fear.

As I was remembering those feelings of being a base runner and feeling all alone and not knowing what to do next, I started thinking about how much like life that is. It's easy to make it to a certain half-way destination with a little bit of encouragement. But once you get there, it's just as easy to wonder how you got there and what should you do next. It seems like you're on your own with no one to offer encouragement and only the derisive voices of the other team hoping that you fail -- that they can get you out next time.

It's at that time of feeling hesitant and doubtful that you need to listen to your third base coach. He doesn't have the same stresses you do of needing to concentrate all your energy on getting the perfect jump and running as fast as you can with excellent timing. He can just survey the playing field, where the ball is being played, and the opposing team all at the same time and is in a perfect position to tell you what to do next and when to do it.

You have two jobs at this point. The first one is to know how to tune out the other voices and concentrate just on that one. That means you need to have been at practice to know what the coach sounds like.

Your second responsibility is to trust what the coach tells you to say, even if you don't believe you're capable of what he's telling you to do right then. If he tells you to run, you run like the dickens. And if he tells you to slide, you hit the ground as low as you can go. And if he tells you to keep going, you round the corner with as much speed and as little space as possible, put your head down, pump your arms, and run for home.

Isn't that just like life? You have to know which voice is the right one to listen to and you have to trust it even if you don't trust yourself. The right voice will never tell you to do something you shouldn't.

Got your cleats on? Get ready to run, then, 'cause the third base coach wants you to get home safely.

Love Is In the Air....Or Something Like That

Happy Valentine's Day! My friendly radio voice-over gal for our local grocery store Pavillion's informs us that back in the days of Roman emperor Claudius I (I think -- don't quote me on that), he refused to let young men get married believing that it would create better soldiers. A young priest, Valentine, began secretly to marry young lovers. Of course, once the nasty Roman emperor dude found out what was going on, he had Father Valentine thrown in prison in readiness to be executed. In the last letter to his own loved one, the good father signed it, "From your Valentine." Thus, St. Valentine's Day was born.

Now go and buy a nice bottle of wine, encourages voice-over Pavillion's lady.

Some people are bitter that such a "holiday" exists. If we were better Catholics, I imagine that we'd acknowledge every day as being some saint's day. Today just happens to be Valentine's saint day. I don't begrudge him the day. I also don't begrudge people in love the opportunity to reaffirm their love to each other, although I am of the very firm opinion that they'd better not just be doing it once a year. I don't really see a lot of people kicking up a lot of fuss about St. Patrick's day. I guess because that gives them a good excuse to go drink themselves into oblivion after breaking up with someone after Valentine's Day. Or something like that.

I am Irish but not Catholic; nevertheless, neither day really holds any particular significance to me as I don't drink either.

I can only remember one Valentine's day that I had a boyfriend. And that's using the term rather loosely. That year, Valentine's Day happened to fall on a Sunday. I wasn't quite sure what, if anything, to get him, as he had been rather weird about the whole gift-exchanging thing at Christmas time. A musical he was in had just opened the weekend before, and I had gotten him an opening-night gift, a rather expensive one at that, and figured I was off the hook for Valentine's Day.

He invited me to his house after church that day. He often did that, so that wasn't anything special. I could usually only hang out for an hour or so before having to leave to go to work anyway, so it really wasn't anything special, nor was I really expecting anything. I was, perhaps, hoping for something special, but I certainly wasn't getting my hopes up.

He put me in the family room and I watched TV while he took "care of some things." I could hear him upstairs going from room to room, opening and closing drawers, whistling and singing. He came back about 10 minutes later with a lovely little gift bag full of Valentine's candy. I thought at the time, that it was quite thoughtful of him. As I mentioned earlier, he really was quite weird about gift giving, so I waited until I got him to open the whole thing in detail to see what I got.

As expected, it was the usual range of generic heart-shaped chocolates. There was, however, one box of conversation sweethearts. You know the ones -- nasty chalky candy with little stalker-ish sayings writting on them. "Be mine." "First kiss." Mad 4 You." There's a place on the outside of the box to personalize it -- "To" and "From." This particular little gem said, "To our friends at Pac Bell. From your favorite vendor."

I got a good chuckle out of that one. Thoughtful of the doofus to remember it was Valentine's Day and he was supposed to acknowledge my presence as his then-girlfriend in some way. Not so smart of him to figure out that the stuff he'd gotten at work on Friday might somehow be marked.

So Valentine's Day has never really held any special place in my heart. In fact, any memories of grade-school Valentine's Days I have are all slightly terror-filled, as I knew it was just a competition for the cute future cheerleaders to brag about how many Valentines they received from Scott or Todd or Philip -- the cute boys in the class, and to rub it in that while you may have gotten one from them, it was the generic Fred Flintstone "yabba-dabba-doo"ing a dorky Valentine's greeting at you, and not the large, glittery, red construction paper heart messily glued on a doiley. So there.

Good times.

But I really have no malice for it one way or another. To me, it's just Monday. Next year, it will be Tuesday. One of my friends calls it "Forced Affection Day." Her email said, "Just wanted to wish you all a wonderful day of forced affection!

"With forced love and admiration,
"Your friend, "

Nice to get an email from a friend telling me to have a happy day, but I'm honestly not thrilled with the fact that she feels she has to do it out of some Hallmark-induced sense of obligation.

Some of my other friends are calling it "Singles' Awareness Day." I don't really need that either, as a day doesn't go by that I'm not (sometimes painfully) aware of how very single I am.

To you I merely wish a Happy Valentine's Day. Go celebrate it however you want, just be safe and happy, and maybe no matter how we view today -- be it as an incentive to purchase wine (thanks, voice-over lady!), or buy a Gold Crown Hallmark card, or be reminded that you are (still) single -- we can all remember that it really is about love and friendship. Go tell someone you love that you love him! (I mean that pronoun in the generic gender sense. Obviously, if you love a girl, go tell HER you love her. Sheesh! Leave me alone, wouldja?)

Oh, and to my friend Carmel: Happy Birthday!

What Saint Nick and I Have In Common

I love Santa Claus. Especially ones who are realistic. I encountered one the other day at the Burbank Media Center who was truly the best -- twinkly blue eyes, real beard, soft British accent, and didn't care that I'm a 38-year old woman who wanted to get her picture taken with him.

He invited me to sit on his lap, but being more than a bit cognizant of the fact that I'm not a small child, I was perching in an attempt to not put all of my (considerable) weight on his knee. He, however, assured me that Mrs. Claus weighs 350 pounds and sits on his lap all the time, so it really shouldn't be an issue. I didn't want to test that theory though, so that's why the actual snapshot is of me kneeling by his side -- I didn't want to break his knees. After all, he's got a busy night coming up! I thought that would be it -- take the photo with Santa and then go on my merry way, but he wouldn't let me go -- he wanted to know what I wanted for Christmas, and I got to have a lovely little chat with him. No, I'm not telling you what I told him, but we did talk about his busy upcoming night, and I learned some fun facts about how he gets around the world. He doesn't use reindeer in Australia, for instance; he uses white kangaroos.

Here are some other interesting things I've learned about Santa Claus.

The basis for the Christian Era Santa Claus is Bishop Nicholas. The Orthodox Church raised St. Nicholas to a position of great esteem. The Roman Catholic Church honoured Nicholas as one who helped children and the poor. St. Nicholas' feast day is December 6 (my birthday! another fun fact I learned from my mall Santa) and was commemorated with an annual feast which eventually marked the beginning of the Medieval Christmas.

St. Nicholas was legendary for his kindness and generosity and was a champion of children and the needy. Through his benevolence we find the two basic principles of the holiday spirit - giving to others and helping the less fortunate - as well as the tradition of hanging stockings by the chimney. According to one legend, there were three Italian maidens whose father had lost his fortune. The three maidens were to wed, but their father couls not afford the dowries that were necessary. When St, Nicholas heard of this, he went to their home late one night and tossed three bags of gold down the chimney. The bags miracously landed in each of the sisters stockings, that were hung by the fire to dry. A variation of this story, is that as each girl was to wed, he anonymously tossed a bag into an open window. This may have been used as a way of explaining how Santa Claus delivers gifts to homes that have no chimney.

After the Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century, the veneration of Catholic saints was banned. But people did not want to give up their annual visits from the gift-giving saint, and they did not want to forget the purpose of the holiday. In some countries the festivities of St. Nicholas Day were merged with Christmas celebrations. St. Nicholas underwent a transformation into a new, non-religious form, but he retained his generous spirit.

In parts of Europe such as Germany, Nicholas the gift-giver had been superseded by a representation of the infant Jesus (the Christ child, or "Christkindlein"). The Christkindlein accompanied Nicholas-like figures with other names (such as "Père Nöel" in France, or he travelled with a dwarf-like helper (known in some places as "Pelznickel," or Nicholas with furs). Belsnickle (as Pelznickel was known in the German-American dialect of Pennsylvania was represented by adults who dressed in furry disguises (including false whiskers), visited while children were still awake, and put on a scary performance. Gifts found by children the next morning were credited to Christkindlein, who had come while everyone was asleep. Over time, the non-visible Christkindlein (whose name mutated into "Kriss Kringle") was overshadowed by the visible Belsnickle, and both of them became confused with St. Nicholas and the emerging figure of Santa Claus.

The Dutch-American Santa Claus achieved full Americanization in 1823 in a poem 'A Visit from St. Nick' (The Night Before Christmas) by Clement C. Moore. His poem gave an Arctic flavor to Santa Claus's image. He substituted eight tiny reindeer and a sleigh for the horse and wagon. He included such details as Santa's wink, nod, laugh and the myth by which the 'jolly old elf' returns up the chimney. It is Moore's description that we think of today: "He had a broad face, and a little round belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly."

There's a lot of talk about the commercialization of Christmas. I for one noticed that Christmas decorations competed with Halloween goodies in the stores this year. It does seem that retailers want more from us earlier each year. This causes some disgruntlement for some people, which I can understand.

As a Christian, I wholeheartedly support the idea that Christmas should remain a celebration of the Christ Child's earthly birth. There are many ways that I personally try to retain that in my mind even while shopping amidst the hustle and bustle of stores and malls. But there is something about this image of Santa Claus that I love and that strikes a very tender chord in my heart. I love the idea that in this era of money-grubbing, getting-ahead-at-all-costs, think-about-yourself-first-others-later attitude that seems so prevalent in our current society, there is a figure of a gift-giving, selfless individual who has an entire army of helpers at his disposal to help bring joy and happines to children and the child-like one day a year.

You may call him commercial, but I call him a visible reminder of what I need to be not just at Christmas time, but all year round -- happy, selfless, a good listener, able to discern between right and wrong, and actively engaged in good causes always.

I hope your Christmas wishes come true.
May you enjoy a peaceful and joyous holiday.

Merry Christmas, everyone!