Day 186-- Life as a Poptart

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Cherry poptart

Yes to hump day. Wednesdays are turning into my favorite day of the week, as I've had the past two of them off from work.  I slept in till 10:45, which was glorious, and spent the rest of the late morning listening to Bob Marley (love "Redemption Song"), facebooking friends, and eating the only eatable thing in my house--a deliciously awful cherry poptart that tasted a little like irresponsibility and sweet laziness.

Any day spent mostly in low-rider ASU sweats and an old San Diego t-shit is a good day.

I finally roused myself into real clothes and got out of the house by 2, and walked down to the main strip of town where the venders were setting up for our weekly farmers market and continued on to the beach.  It was low tide and fairly empty aside from the family taking pictures, and the solitary man in plaid with his kite.  It was simply nice to walk along to shore, just me and calm crisp ocean.  I ended up at my boyfriend's house where his roommates were psyched to head down to the market while he did some errands.

Samboas

Farmers markets are better with friends. Each vendor has his or her wares that range from shea butter, to leather bracelets, vegetables, earrings, jams, jellies, pestos, and bags.  The Dietitian, The Canadian, and I scouted out the local bread stands and dipped into the clothing shops where dogs are allowed to roam free and the workers can be in heels to combat boots.  We tried on the pretty and the downright ugly (pink animal print, anyone?), making each other laugh by the extra ridiculous.

Now, I've tried the crepes, the tacos, the panini, and the sweet breads, but one of my all-time favorite food at the market are the East African sambosas, which are like wantons filled with meats or other foods.  We all bought a few different varieties and shared with each other the chicken, cream cheese and coconut, spiced beef, and potato sambosas as walked home past our town's Christmas tree, which happens to be the most ghetto Christmas tree you've seen in your life with its 130 degree lean and the lights hung up vertically instead of horizontal like normal trees.

Spaghetti and meatballs

We got home and my boyfriend starting making us spaghetti and meatballs with broccoli--our dish.  We cuddled on the couch and watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas (cartoon).  He came back to my place once it ended and we had the most open conversation we've ever had about our state of debt/poverty and job opportunities we have and what we want.  In being in a distance relationship for so long we're very accustomed to handling our problems separately and being supportive for each other is something still new.  We're not very good at asking each other for help, and it was good for us to vent to each other and remind each other that we're allies in life. 

He left for home since I had to be up by 6am for work the next day, but after I got out of my shower I missed him not being there.  I called him.  He came back. :) He slipped in with a smile with the lights off aside from my little lit Christmas tree, and with one of the roommates cranking the heat up to 80 degrees + the happily flushed body heat, I almost thought I was back in Arizona. 

Sweetened lemonade

It's been awhile since I've written about work at the hotel and in a few words: it's better.  There are 2 really nice new girls who come free of drama and have been a huge help.  Oh, remember that new girl from several posts back?  She was fired in her second week for sleeping with a guest and making out near the elevator at 6:45am before she had work at 7am. 

The hotel I work at makes sweetened lemonade every day and as I drank my cup with my new coworkers we talked about the night staff throwing out the crazy lady in room 1-- who's been staying there for about 2 months and every few weeks goes off her meds and starts yelling things like racist shit to other guests from her balcony.  I thought it was a prank call a few weeks back when a guy called me saying, "Some lady was screaming that she wanted to suck a dick." "I'm sorry sir, would you like to make a formal complaint?" "Well, I want to get my dick sucked and I wanted to know what room she was in." "...I can't give out room numbers.  It's against company policy." "But I want to get my dick sucked." "Sir, this is an inappropriate conversation, and regardless, I can't give out room numbers." "...well, can I go in the room if she's screaming for it?" "...no."

Pita bread and chocolate cookies

I came home and showered before my (former) publishing house's Christmas party.  I was a little hesitant to go.  It's been about 6 weeks since I interned there and I have no progress to show up with.  Not to mention that the next time I saw them I wanted to bring them a copy of the picture of all of us and thank you notes.  But alas, I put on my brown Uggs and a nice white sweater and headed out to the familiar 30 minute commute through the mountains.

The party was bigger than I thought, as it took place in their warehouse with the majority of the books missing and Christmas lights, plentiful food, and authors and friends taking their place.  I missed this more than I thought.  I hugged each of them as I saw them.  I was flattered when both of the owners separately told me that if the economy was better they wanted to hire me, and that they talk about me more than I would think. The book designer told me she could help me get a job at another publisher if it was something I truly wanted and I gladly accepted.  I'm fixing up my resume this weekend and will contact her again early Monday morning.  I hadn't felt that hopeful in months.

I ate their offering of pita bread and chocolate cookies as I perused the book stands for Christmas presents for others and myself.

Being a book party there were presentations by some of the authors, including the former mayor of San Diego whose autobiography was published by my company, plus the sci-fi teen series which has sold thousands copies through the years, plus the owner of the company who wrote a biography of the Accidental Artist in the California desert.  I had all of my former co-workers sign my copy of her book we all worked on via design, sales, and promotion.  I had a good laugh when they excitedly told me that this edition had the title letters raised from the paper (bubble style for the touch).  God, I miss working with book nerds like me.

And as I was speeding down the mountain back to San Diego with "Rush of Blood to the Head" by Coldplay on, I felt more awake than I have in weeks.

Tap water and strawberry trail mix

I spent a few hours at the boyfriends house talking about the party, my prospects, and work.  We fell asleep for a few hours and I was more than pissed that I had to leave because I couldn't find non-Friday parking (street sweeping), and I wasn't waking up at 6:45am just to find a new parking spot.  I should have stolen more poptarts from his house since the only food I currently have in my house are spaghetti, coconut flakes, flour, and some strawberry trail mix. 

I came back to my place and was preparing to jog upstairs when the boyfriend of one of my roommates told me I could hang out, and I didn't have to feel shy around everyone.  Truth be told, this house is largely fucking quiet and empty but lately the girls have been lingering longer and I've either been running off to work or hanging out with the bf.  I appreciated the invitation, and the roommate, her boyfriend, and I finally got introduced.  

They're both really young and just got out of the airforce.  She's going to school downtown and he's debating using the GI bill for music production.  I told them my story of being from the Bay Area, going to school at ASU, leaving the desert to be with my bf of 5 years in San Diego, and am trying to make it in publishing while working at a skitzo hotel to pay rent.

I had them laughing with stories about the prostitutes, the affairs, and the drug traffickers who are always middle age-old lady duos who buy a bunch of shit then get all anxious to mail things IMMEDIATELY. They went out to smoke and I headed up stairs weary but happy. 

The flavor of the Thursday: part Christmas lights, part sweetened cranberries, part new books, part friendships, a dash of Coldplay, and a heavy splash of hope.