Preventing Sexual Harassment Class

California Law mandates employers to educate their employees on Sexual Harassment. As I feel that sexual harassment is very common, I completely support this. However, if the examples in the training are so over the top and obvious hyperboles of realistic scenarious, what is the freaking point?

Taken directly from my Sexual Harassment Class:

Shawn: Oh wowww, who is that?
Jason: That's Monique, she just started a few weeks ago.

Shawn: Damnnnnn, Monique is one fiiiinnnnne lady!


"Although Monique did not hear Shawn or see him biting his knuckles while leering at her, these actions contribute to a hostile work environment and may offend others nearby."

Thank you Employer. Thank you for informing me that it is never okay to bite knuckles at a cute boy.

Matt 'n Meg in Monterey

An exerpt from Cannery Row by John Steinbeck

"Cannery Row (below) in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone , a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses. Its inhabitants are, as the man once said, "whores, pimps, gamblers , and sons of bitches, " by which he meant Everybody. Had the man looked through another peephole he might have said, "Saints and angels and martyrs and holy men," and he would have meant the same thing."

Matt and I share a love for literature. We each spend a fair bit of time reading and talking about what we have read. Our discussions are thought-provoking and imaginative and often times lead to lots of giggles, or long strung out stories and scenarios.

This weekend we decided to take a trip to Monterey, California to see the old stomping grounds of one of my favorite authors, John Steinbeck. We jumped in the car and cruised down the beautiful California coastline feeling just like John and Charley (his black poodle) when they hit the road for the book Travels with Charley.

We didn't listen to the radio or CDs, but rather to each other and to the wind and to the ocean. I read Matt my favorite excerpts from Steinbeck books and he listened intently, occasionally asking me to repeat a sentence or phrase that struck his ear. When I tired of reading we drove in a pleasant quiet, broken when Matt pointed out an interesting tree or made up stories about us getting a farm along the coastline.

When we arrived in Monterey we headed straight to Cannery Row, an area of Monterey that was transformed from the stink and filth of fish cannery to become an upscale tourist destination. Steinbeck's novel Cannery Row features "Doc" a marine biologist based on Ed Ricketts, a Monterey Local who had a close friendship with Steinbeck. As I read passages about Doc and glanced over at Matt I was surprised at how similar Matt is to the character of Doc. "Doc would listen to any kind of nonsense and change it for you to a kind of wisdom. His mind had no horizon -- and his sympathy had no warp. He could talk to children, telling them very profound things so that they understood. He lived in a world of wonders. Everyone who knew him was indebted to him. And everyone who thought of him thought next, "I really must do something nice for Doc." In Cannery Row, Steinbeck wrote of Doc, "He wears a beard and his face is half Christ and half satyr and his face tells the truth." I told Matt that I thought that described him well also and he chuckled at the Jesus reference.

The Children of Famine: (a.k.a. most F'd up fairy tale ever)

My boyfriend and I have been reading the Complete Fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. So far they have provided us with hours of entertainment including deep discussions about life and death, morality and also plenty of giggles.

We have developed a rating system and rate each story after reading it. The rating is alphanumeric, consisting of two letters and a number. The letters come from a listing of adjectives that Matt and I developed and the number is the age at which it is okay to read the story. So far, after reading close to 40 stories, this is the only story that I rated an F, H, 17. (F'd Up, Horrifying, Age 17)

If this story isn't a clear illustration of a Mother's addiction to Meth, I don't know what is. I'm thinking of submitting it to the Montana Meth Project for a commercial script.

The Children of Famine

Once upon a time there was a woman with two daughters, and they had become so poor that they no longer had even a piece of bread to put in their mouths. Their hunger became so great that their mother became unhinged and desperate. Indeed, she said to her children, "I've got to kill you so I can have something to eat!"

"Oh, dear Mother," said one daughter, "spare me, and I'll go out and see if I can get something without begging."


She went out and came back carrying a little piece of bread, which they shared with one another. But it was not enough to still their hunger. Therefore, the mother spoke to the other daughter, "Now it's your turn to die!"

"Oh, dear Mother," she answered, "spare me and I'll go get something to eat from somewhere else without anyone noticing me."

She went away and came back carrying two little pieces of bread. They shared it with one another but it was not enough to still their hunger. Therefore, when a few hours had gone by, their mother said to them once more, "You've got to die or else we'll waste away."

To which they responded, "Dear Mother, we'll lie down and sleep, and we wont get up again until the Judgement Day arrives."

So they lay down and fell into a deep sleep, and no one could wake them from it. Meanwhile, their mother departed, and nobody knows where she went.

The End
--------------------------------------------------------------------

Please see my version of the story that I will submit to the Montana Meth Project.

The Children of Meth

Once upon a time there was a woman (dirty trampy hag) with two daughters, and they had become so poor (due to their mother's addiction to meth) that they no longer had even a piece of bread to put in their mouths (or any drugs for their mother to consume). Their hunger (and their mother's jone-sing) became so great that their mother became unhinged and desperate. Indeed, she said to her children, "I've got to kill you (and/or pimp you out) so I can have something to eat (snort, shoot up, smoke...not sure how that works really)!"
"Oh, dear Mother," said one daughter, "spare me, and I'll go out and see if I can get something without begging."

She went out and came back carrying a little piece of bread (bag of drugs), which they shared with one another (gave to their mother). But it was not enough to still their (her) hunger. Therefore, the mother spoke to the other daughter, "Now it's your turn to die (and or be pimped out)!"

"Oh, dear Mother," she answered, "spare me and I'll go get something to eat (some drugs for you) from somewhere else without anyone noticing me (stealing)."

She went away and came back carrying two Little pieces of bread (bags of drugs). They shared it with one another (gave it to their mother) but it was not enough to still their (her) hunger. Therefore, when a few hours had gone by, their mother said to them once more, "You've got to die or else we'll (I'll) waste away (go through withdrawals)."

To which they responded, "Dear Mother, we'll lie down and sleep, and we wont get up again until the Judgement Day (Child Welfare) arrives."

So they lay down and fell into a deep sleep, and no one could wake them from it. Meanwhile, their mother departed, and nobody knows where she went (but one can assume she's probably dead in a gutter somewhere).

The End
----------------------------------------------------------
Primary Morale of that story: Don't do it. Not even once.

Secondary Morale of that story: Not all Fairy tales are kid friendly

Mount Tam

After spending the morning packing food, clothing and shelter for our journey to Mount Tamalpais, Matt and I headed over the Golden Gate Bridge and started up the winding road to our base camp at Pantoll Campground. As we drove through Mill Valley, a small town in Marin County we passed the 7-11 store. As I had been primarily responsible for the preparation of our camping trip due to my reputation as a rugged Montana outdoors man, Matt jokingly said, "My job will be to remember where the local 7-11 is." Turns out he wasn't kidding. The road was windy and treacherous. We drove up and up, round and round, up and round, and round an up until the saliva in my mouth started to become thick and metallic tasting and my eyes began darting around the outback to see if I had anything to barf into. If the decision wouldn't have led to driving down and down and round and round and round and down and down and round, I would have stopped at that 7-11 for some freaking Dramamine for my car sickness.

As we unpacked the car, I sheepishly told Matt that I had purchased a box of firewood from Safeway. I prefaced this confession with a threat not to tell any of my friends that a Montanan had actually PURCHASED firewood. Humiliating. But as the rules clearing state, collecting firewood in the Mount Tamalpais Wilderness is strictly prohibited. As the night wore on our pile of Safeway wood rapidly declined. Luckily for us Matt had remembered where the 7-11 was, and we were forced to drive down and down, round and round, down and round and round and down the mountain to pick up another two ridiculously priced bushells, some smokes, and some Malt Liquor.

We ended up have a great time together out in the California Woods.

Tetanus Shot for Tearing Ass?

I'm sitting in the waiting room of the local urgent care. Those in front of me in line are here for a bad cough or a sprained ankle - Me? I was inflicted yesterday with a serious case of tearing ass. How do I explain to the receptionist that I stumble through my days with the grace of a wobbly-legged new born fawn? That I snuck into a beach-side junk yard to go dumpster-diving for outdated, smelly textbooks? That I tripped over my own feet and sliced by butt (cheek, not hole) on the side of an old rusty trash bin?



The injury itself isn't all that bad: a two inch, even slice. The edges are smooth and it will probably heal up nicely. The location, however, is not so ideal. Imagine the difficulty you would have trying to thoroughly clean an injury that you cannot see and can barely reach. Thankfully, my boyfriend was a real sport about it and assisted me like a real professional, causing me minimal further humiliation. `



Now, however, I am overwhelmed with anxiety regarding the next step in my treatment plan. Tetanus Shot. Last time I attempted to give blood I fainted. Last time I was immunized I pushed the nurse. I can only hope that they use one of those child sized needles and reward me with a Snoopy band-aids (Small circular one for the vaccine, Extra-Large for the ass wound) and a sucker. At least I will have a funny story to tell my friends this week that will start with, "Jeez, I had to get a Tetanus shot for tearing ass...."

post script: I did see a biker fall down on my way back to work, so that cheered me up significantly. :-)

Karoke Champion!

Pics for the 'rents

My SanDisk team and me. They got me a beautiful and delicious chocolate cake for my quarter life crisis.


Grizzlies playing at the zoo during my first date with Matt.



Tess and Me on our way to see the Broadway show Wicked.

Laundry Monster

A candid shot of the elusive laundry monster caught by Tess.

This creature is typically very cantankerous, as it spends its time in damp, ghetto laundry rooms shared by a plethora of people who don't clean the lint trap. Although you may usually recognize the beast by the smell of lilac and linen, it may occasionally trick you by disguising the scent with a ghetto-fab Newport hanging out of its mouth.

Beautiful Day, Beautiful Music, Beautiful Man

Above: My hero Michael Franti at the SF Oyster Fest. Using the word "trembling" usually activates my gag reflex, but that is the only way I can describe myself after good ol' Mikey gave me a hug after the show. :)

F our Ls

Tess and I took a road trip to Montana. About 5 miles into our trip, as we cruised up Hwy 1, we heard a little crackle in the radio. The crackle continued for a few miles until it crackled into a disappointing silence.

We now were faced with the feat of travelling 1,200 miles sans la radio.

To pass the 18 hours a head of us we listened to our iPod...two heads, 1 iPod, and listed medical maladies in alphabetical order.

I love Dick!

My baby bro just graduated from college. And no, he did not major in Wicca, as the eery red sash with gold star may lead some to believe.

Thoughts on a Bus

Riding the bus is an insightful experience, and one that I rarely get to enjoy. Arriving at JFK in NYC I am overwhelmed with anxiety surrounding a particular situation at work and my upcoming unplanned journey to Jersey. I fear that I am transparent, that those around me can see my feelings on my face, but when I look around the bus I see that everyone else is transparent too.

I can see worry in the eyes of the old woman next to me. At first glance she looked strong and powerful, but when she felt my gaze and returned it, her eyes lacked the sparkle that I had expected and darted nervously from me to the driver to the destination sign. I can hear excitement in the voices of the French couple behind me. Although I have lost almost all of my ability to comprehend French, the inflection of their voices and the ease of their laughter draws them as a happy pair in love, which is much the opposite of the couple beside me. The woman, a pretty brunette stares blankly out the window. Her partner's body language suggests irritation or anger. He sits cockeyed in his seat facing away from the woman. His face shows no expression, but his left hand grips the headrest in front of him and his right hand taps his knee erratically and at an increasing rate. The ban in the back of the bus is the most difficult to read. His eyes are black, so dark that I can't see his pupils. For some reason this makes me uneasy. It's not only his eyes that give me an unsettled feeling; it's his raspy voice, the tired smell of sweat, cigarettes, and the street, and his outrageous green hat, that, coupled with his large front teeth, makes him resemble the Mad Hatter.

These thoughts are merely my perceptions, my unfiltered insight on the strangers sharing this crowded loud ride with me. I may be completely off base with my assumptions. But, in any case, this exercise has brought me comfort and eased my anxieties as I remind myself not to compare my reality with other people's masks.

Rain (err...unfavorable weather conditions) on my Parade

I've been living a charmed life the past couple weeks.

I feel like I've had a vial of Felix Felicius (yay for Harry Potter dorks).
In regards to work, let me just say that I'm currently living the auditor's dream. My client is located a short 10 miles away from my lovely "beach house," which means an extra hour + of sleep every morning. The client is located right on the Bay so I have beautiful views of the water, landscape, and wildlife (including, but not limited to: dogs, birds, and old people from the local retirement home).

The client is pharmaceutical company that is still in the development stages....meaning....they have not yet had time to breed their hate for auditors. Coming to work is like going to Gramma's house. People are bringing me cookies, teaching me to use the stove-free teapot, and giving me cold medicine when they hear my pitiful sniffles. For those of you outside of the Public Accounting Realm, this is very atypical. My clients usually behave like Pavlov's counsin Ernie's dog, who was once starved, beaten, and emotionally damaged by a public accountant and now snarls when he hears, "Hi, I am an auditor."

Additionally, my senior is a dream, Praise LDS! I've always had warm fuzzy feelings for those of the Mormon faith. Heck, the object of my first case of puppy love is now a full fledged Joseph Smith Jr. lovin', Book of Mormon thumpin' Latter Day Saint. But this guy….this guy is the poster boy Mormon. While most boys are made of snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, this guy is made of truth and honesty and down home modesty. When most seniors would huff and puff or sigh and stress, this senior keeps on his Mr. Rogers cardigan and smiles through it.

Of course this kind of life can't last forever....so of course, yesterday God shit a big ol' snowstorm all over my parade and caused my lil' bro to get stuck in Denver on his way to SF.

Swivel Hips

Saturday night I went on a date to see Brett Dennen at the Fillmore. Let me just say, that ginger-balls can put on one hell of a show.

If you haven't heard of Brett Dennen I would strongly recommend checking him out at

http://brettdennen.net/

Watching Brett Dennen dance is like watching a Special Olympics team imitate Elvis Pressley's classic pelvic rhythms. You can't help but stare as he lifts up his arms, hands usually flexed awkwardly, and starts the thrusting and swiveling. At times during the night, it almost looked as though he was trying to do the funky chicken.

However awkward his moves are, his good energy makes up for it. His voice is beautiful and he naturally radiates good vibes. I hope he had a whole line of ladies waiting outside of his bus to take advantage of those swivel hips. :)

Date with a Doppelganger?

I think I may have a date with a doppelganger* tonight.

I met a guy on Saturday night. My roommate and I went to see a show with a few friends from work. As we were struggling to reach the bar for a few refreshments, an older gentleman and his two handsome sons saw us struggling and ordered our drinks for us. We had a pleasant evening with the mid-western family and Monday morning I was contacted by the cute son for a subsequent date.

Now, let me delve deeper into the adjective cute as used above. This guy was definitely cute....tall, styley, dimples.... the strange thing was that he bore a striking resemblence to Cameron Chambers. (See above. This is a picture that I creepily downloaded off of my friend Hallie's Facebook page. Cameron and Hallie went on a fishing trip to Argentina this past winter. This photo was taken on Thanksgiving.) Cameron is a guy that I went to High School with and have had random encounters with ever since. Now, for the record I have nothing against Cameron Chambers... BUT, the last thing I want is to look over on a first date and see the eerie image of Cameron Chambers looking back at me!

From what I know of the doppelganger, he shares a lot more than just dimples and full lips with Cameron: a love of nature, concern for the planet, a small-town upbringing.

Afer doing a little bit of research on Doppelgangers and their meanings I became rather interested. Doppelganger is a German word deriving from Doppel (double) and Ganger (goer). Doppelgangers historically have been harbingers of bad luck and have oftentimes been used as Evil Twins in literary history. After reading this, I began thinking....Which one is the Doppelganger? Cameron or the New Guy?

After careful consideration and meticulous research (kidding....) I have determined which man is the Doppelganger/Evil twin. Throughout literary and media history, evil twins have become more and more common. So common, in fact, that common themes and patterns have been identified. The most common dissimilarity between the protagonist and his evil twin is the goatee. This was famously illustrated in the Star Trek episode Mirror Universe. In the episode, the goatee was an easy way for the viewing audience to tell "good" Spock from "evil" Spock. Based on this infallible method of judging the character of a man and his Doppelganger, I have determined that based on the photo above, Cameron Chambers is indeed the evil twin. I will take that as a green light to proceed with my date.

[Disclaimer: Cameron - if you ever, by some weird chance, view this Blog... I apologize for casting you into the evil twin stereotype based on your choices in facial hair and also for using Facebook in a very creepy way.]

* For those of you in the dark....

doppelganger
1: a ghostly counterpart of a living person

2 a: double

2 b: alter ego

I feel as though he's documenting my life...

The next time someone asks me what I do for a living, rather than give them the big speech that "..I provide reasonable assurance that the Company's financial statements are free of material misstatement...," I am going to had them this Dilbert cartoon. I will smile sweetly and say, "I try to validate Dilbert's fake numbers."

A perfect example of this happened this morning. Currently I am working on a small pharmaceutical company, and I approached the VP of Finance about how he calculated the Accrued Bonus Liability. I watched as he awkwardly maneuvered through spreadsheet after spreadsheet, desperately searching for the magic number that I was looking for, and tragically finding anything but. I felt a little uncomfortable making a grown man, a VP for Christ's sake, get so nervous, so rather than stare intently at his screen and wait, I let my eyes casually wander around the room. They spotted the things that I expect from a VP of Finance's office... huge window, industry-related magazines, motivational posters, various schwag collected from conferences... My eyes then spotted something familiar...Dilbert's strangely phallic striped tie. I strained my eyes to read the cartoon. It said, " I didn't have any accurate numbers, so I just made this one up." I looked back at the VP, sweating and scrolling, knowing damned well that he was not going to find any support for the $142,000 in accrued bonuses that he had booked....and I thought, "You dipshit....if you're going to make up numbers, at least keep your Dilbert Cartoon tucked away from the Auditors!"

words of wisdom from Michael Franti

Wise folks count their blessings, fools count their problems.

The first blog is the deepest...

Wow, I had no idea that the first sentence in a blog would be so paralyzing. Watching the cursor blink before my eyes is reminding me of all the things I am not going to be blogging about.

*blink* You can't gush over your new child like those Sappy New Mother Blogs. *blink*

*blink* You can't gush about your pet that feels like a child to you like in those Nauseating - My Pet is my World - Wanna-be New Mother Blogs. *blink*

*blink* You can't write about your travels around the world, because unlike those lucky bastards, you have a job...and not just a job...a job that leaves you chained to your laptop 14 hours a day. While those bloggers are writing I'm Prancing around the World Spending Daddy's Money Blogs, you're stuck in a stuffy conference room with no windows developing carpal tunnel. *blink*

*blink* You can't write about your wedding and how amazing it is to be a newlywed in one of those Holy Shit! I spent so much money on my wedding photographer, that I better make a Wedding Blog to get my money's worth before I end up hating my spouse and creating a God it's great to a single independent woman again blog. *blink*

So I guess now that I have established a relatively long list of what I will not be blogging about, I'm going to have to spend some time brainstorming what I will be blogging about....

[Disclaimer: I have nothing against babies, puppies, traveling, or weddings....in fact, honestly, I probably would be writing about these things if any were relevant to my life.]