My teeth feel funny.

Today I went to the dentist for the first time in about six years. I had so much plaque buildup that my front three teeth were pretty much conjoined into one wall of tooth. I didn't even remember that you're supposed to have some space at the base of these teeth between them. I wonder what it looked like to see that block of ickiness come right off ... it probably was in one big chunky mass or something. I could feel it coming off. Really. Plink, pluck, pop. Eww.

So now I have cleaner teeth than I've had since I was a teenager, and to top it all off I don't even have to go back for another six months. Nary a cavity to be found. Yay, dentistry.

In other news, I have large, heavy boxes on my floor. I succumbed to corporate influences (even though I said I never would! just see what working for a corporation has made me!) and went on Tuesday to Ikea with Eric, my supervisor. I heart Ikea (I'm so ashamed to say that! How un-antimainstream of me!). I heart cheap furniture that is simple and that I can put together myself and that will make it so I no longer have to keep my CDs hidden in cardboard boxes or have my clothes unneatly folded on the floor of my carpet.

One problem.

One of the pieces is broken. I have to go back to get it replaced. So, no chest of drawers for me yet. I do have my CD shelves built and waiting for filling. I should be doing that now. Or at least opening the box with my bookshelves to make sure they are in good order, too.

But I am tired. Discovering a snag in my great plans of furniture building for the evening made me lazy and I should be working on my at-home knitting project, anyway. One of them. I need to start finishing the things I ... start (lame! word used twice in the same sentence!), mebbe. Blargh.

Tomorrow my car goes to the doctor for a checkup and possibly to discover what is wrong with her. (Baby has been stalling out at red lights that last more than 10 seconds ... unless I'm running the a/c, strangely enough.) It may be the beginning of the end, or it may be something that an oil change and a new spark plug (showing off my total ignorance of the workings of a car, here) will cure.

Why do cars have to die? Wah.

August 27, 2005

This week's top reason to be happy I haven't changed my cell phone number to a local one yet: it led to my being able to visit the Googleplex. And there was much rocking, indeed. There is a story for this, yes. Be patient, there's a bit of background, and it might not be the funniest of tales ... but if you would like to read, it is as follows:

Sometime back in July, around the time of the Family Reunion Week of Joyousity, I got a phone call from one of my friends from NYU — not actually someone in the journalism program, but a girl that my friend Nathan had met in line at the bookstore and had enough of a viable conversation with to exchange numbers and eventually call to hang out with from time to time. In the funny way that life and social circles work, I eventually ended up hanging out with Laura (her name) a lot more than Nathan did, especially after he started dating our other friend, Erin (there is actually a good story about how I met/knew Erin, which I described in my old blog, and which I may bring back for amusement's sake ... it's one of those "damn, it's a small world" stories). The last time I had seen her was Memorial Day weekend, 2004, for her birthday, and I may have heard from her since then via an email or two ... but really, I haven't expected to really hear from my New York friends ever again. If I do, of course, yay, but if I don't ... well, it's okay.

Laura was, and still is, in the law school at NYU (yes, she is very smart ...), and the summer that took place after I had last seen her she stayed at the house of this eccentric, rich lady who was a philanthropist of sorts, and involved (maybe the founder?) of a project called "Adventures of the Mind," which is aimed at inspiring high school seniors and recent graduates to great callings in the fields of science and art by providing a mentorship program. This year, this was hosted on Stanford University's campus; kids from across the country got chosen, presumably through test scores and some sort of application process, and shipped out for free for this program/event. At any rate, Laura was asked to volunteer, which she agreed to do, so when she called, she was doing so to inform me of her impending arrival in California (she knew I had moved back ... so we must have emailed each other since last seeing each other), and wondered if Palo Alto was anywhere near where I was living now. Fuck yeah! My old stomping grounds and everything. We made tentative plans — basically, she was to call me when she arrived so we could do dinner or some such — and left it at that.

I didn't hear from her for a few weeks, and all but forgot about it until Wednesday evening, when I was out to dinner with my friend John and got a phone call from Laura, wondering if I could do dinner that evening. As John and I had already ordered our (bland) Indian food, that would be a "no" — plus, I had work that evening in about 3 hours — but we made tentative plans for Thursday, though she said with her schedule she didn't know what time she'd be free until it was happening, and I had a few second thoughts considering my own work schedule and the drive down to Palo Alto and everything. Sleeping on it, I called her back the next day and suggested that we switch to Friday, when I definitely didn't have work to worry about, and could just hang around until she was available.

Laura: "Actually, that really would work out better. We're going to be busy tomorrow, and I could let you know ... or you could just come and hang with us while we do our stuff. I think it'd be cool, I could probably get the lady in charge of name tags to make you up one."

Sure, why not? Me: "What will you guys be doing tomorrow?" Probably boring stuff. But it would be nice to see my friend again, and stuff.

Laura: "Umm ... lots of going around. I don't know when you'd be up; in the morning we're going around the Linear Acceleration Center. If you got here by about 12:30 to 1:30 you could have lunch, and then we're going to the Computer History Museum and then to the Google campus."

Say WHAT? Me: "What?!"

Laura: "Yeah, we're going to take a tour of Google's building. I think it'll be pretty awesome. I think I definitely could get you a name tag, and it'd be cool. I'll have to call you back tomorrow, though."

Me: "Laura, if you could do that for me, I'd love you and marry you forever."

Well, I didn't really say this last, and the entire conversation is paraphrase anyway, but the gist of it is true — I promised that for Google, I definitely could be up and down there by 1 or 1:30 in the afternoon at the latest, and would definitely be up for hanging out and seeing Google.

And so, after an evening of work (which was very slow, by the way ... dammit, companies, send out a few press releases now and then, or they'll think of firing some of us, and guess who's the last hired on our shift, eh?) spent glowing about how I'd get to visit Google, and three and a half broken hours of sleep, I drove my tired, excited, raggy ass down to the warmth that is Santa Clara County (it's a constant 60-something here in San Francisco ... I baked this weekend with the high-80s weather) and presented myself to someone I hadn't seen in a good 15 months. And found out that I had been more or less right in my choice of friends, at least, this one. Laura is just as funky to hang out with now as she was back then.

It was a fairly light day for her, what with the kids being shipped around so much (anyone who's been a camp counselor or something of the sort has an idea of what's involved with her volunteer duties, though she didn't have any lanyards to start). We went first to the Computer History Museum, and sat down to listen to "inspiring" speeches given by several of the official "sponsors" — computer scientists and a sculptural artist who were some of the "mentors" to the kids through the program — before being set free to wander the museum. I have to admit, the speakers were interesting in and of themselves — Charles Simonyi, for instance, who came up with the WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get) concept for computers and displaying, and Ginny Ruffner, a sculptural artist who, despite having been in a serious car accident that caused a lot of nerve damage, was the most interesting and best speaker of the three we heard there. Even I was inspired almost to create again ... must keep writing, I must.

The museum itself was actually a bit of a disappointment. I had gone back in, what, 2000? with my "old man" ex, who was, of course, an ubergeek. This was when the museum was still on the Moffett Airforce Base, and when you had to make an appointment to see it because of the security issues with getting on-base and all. We had a very private, intimate tour, and got a lot of information about the history of computers, and descriptions of a lot of the computers that were in there. This time, there wasn't really time for a full-on tour, and it felt a little less personal to walk around and just read the placards in front of the various machines. I guess I am just a lucky geek.

But I digress. Apparently, we were headed to Google late because there would be fewer people to disturb while we were touring, and because Google's owners would be having a luau onsite to entertain and feed us afterwards.

Can we say cool? Can we say that Google is a place I would totally love to work at? The co-founders, Sergey and Larry, gave a speech to us when we arrived (and answered a lot of questions from the audience); it's a little surprising to see that they are still so young (not even 30, perhaps?), still seemingly single (no wedding rings!), and still so amazingly laid back despite having gone pretty much corporate. They described their campus as being very much like a college or university campus in style, and this is very true; you are never more that 100 feet from food, usually a kitchenette stocked with free food and beverages (this has been measured ... and where there was a distance greater than 100 feet, this was corrected with the addition of another kitchenette). Rooms are divided creatively, with large tentlike yurts serving as meeting rooms, or suboffices, or whatever a setoff space is needed for. Employees are encouraged to take breaks (because, of course, most of them are hard, dedicated workers in the Silicon Valley way of Geekdom). Hours are lax — you could work graveyard only, if you liked, or work 36 hours in two days and have the rest of the week off (a story told by our tour guide, of one guy who worked only two 18-hour days a week ...). Employees are offered full benefits, as well as the choice to use 20% of their company time working on their own, separate projects (so long as they are Google-related ... apparently, this is where quite a few of the recent Google-offerings have come from, like gmail and Google Voice).

And then, they fed us. I ate so much I must have gained 5 pounds just in that evening. Damn, life is good. I love anyone who feeds me things I like. I swear. I love you, Sergey and Larry. But I will not stalk you, I promise. I am too psychologically stable to do that (though how stable? only the people I've killed in their sleep can tell you!! Err ... I mean ... umm ... hi! I am totally normal, really).

It almost seems too good to be true. It almost seems too good to last; how can they afford to give so much? But they do. Google is, of course, incredibly successful. And the co-founders, both former Stanford grad students, are incredibly smart. Let's just hope they don't get too greedy. Places of business like theirs, where everyone is smiling, and seems happy to come to work, and happy to be working hard for the greater good of the corporation, are rare indeed.

Not that I can complain. Sure, I don't get free food (except the occasional free end-of-earnings lunch), and yes, there's no sand volleyball court handy, nor do we have yurts. But there are good people there. I will have to console myself with that.

Though the threat of leaving BW for Google is a tempting one to make, indeed. I shall have to tease people when I go into work tomorrow.

August 19, 2005

Have I not promised fiction? This isn't from my little leather-bound book; this is from being bored at work last night, inspired by a coworker's (good) attempt at fiction.

�Raspberry�

The ass of my jeans was tight; it was time, perhaps, to stop my morning ritual of a jelly donut and latte for breakfast. But I needed something regular and enticing in my life � something to make me want to get out of bed every morning � and the Happy Donuts was right there, just a block down from the battered office building that I commuted to every day. The high point of my day was that donut, goddammit, and I wasn�t quitting that for nothing. It was time, then, to buy a new pair of jeans. Preferably the stretchy kind.

The fog had rolled in from the coast, wrapping everything in grayness and stillness. It had been difficult to climb out of my warm bed, emerging into the chill of my bedroom, to shower, throw on my confining clothes, and walk out into the cold wet air of the day. Even the thought of the donut had almost not been enough � but then I imagined the slightly crispy glaze, the sweet raspberry jam just dribbling out of the hole on one end � and the sheets were off, and the day was started.

My footsteps echoed back to me in the mist as I walked down the block from where I parked my car; there were no other sounds other than the occasional car driving by, its headlights a brightness suddenly appearing just a moment before being heard. I could almost pretend the world, small as it seemed, was all mine, alone. I was alone. I mean, I always was alone anyway, I had been for eight months and 15 days, now, but this was the kind of alone that physically chilled instead of emotionally froze.

And despite this, this alone, this emotional frostbite, some heat must still exist, for I still dreamed of him. I dreamed he forgave, I dreamed that he rejected, I dreamed that none of it had ever happened. That night his arms had been wrapped around me and his lips were at my ear and he still loved me � he had always loved me, and always would, like he had promised, like I had promised, and the world had promised. But the world lies, just as I do, and when the alarm went off, just as I was about to tell him how much Darren had been a mistake, there were tears in my eyes and my arms were wrapped around my pillow. I cried over the lies, until my eyes ached, and then remembered the donut.

Here I was, almost crying again in the fog in front of the donut shop. Silly girl. Life is so much better with the donuts and an actual job and please, don�t you think it�s time you moved on already? Say yes already to that guy at work, that nice guy who is good looking and funny and with whom you have those long conversations. At least, give him your number. But I was, and am still, stubborn, and not ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe after the donut and my coffee.

It was early yet, so there was only one other customer, who I ignored, brushing by as I headed straight to the glass case lined with pastry delights. The glistening custard of the danishes, the matte appeal of the muffins, and the donuts, calling to me. I wiped the last of my tears from my eyes quickly, as the cashier came over, pulling a piece of parchment paper out to serve me with.

�Raspberry jelly,� I said. �And a medium latte.� I rubbed my hands together; it was cold in the store, since the heat hadn�t kicked in yet. Perhaps it was almost time to buy some gloves, I thought. Winter is coming.

�No more.�

I looked up at her, dumbfounded. �Huh?� I blinked. �How can you be out of coffee?�

�No. No more raz�berry donuts,� she said. I just stared at her, silent for a few moments. �Ya wan� chok�lit �nstead?� she prompted.

�Uh � no, um � just the latte.� No more raspberry jelly donuts? What the hell?

I turned to go to the register, confused as my day had fallen apart right at the onset. No jelly donut. What the hell did I get out of bed for?

The other customer was still there, and he was staring at me. I looked up at him, into his eyes, and it was him. My sweetness. My Tad. No, wait, not mine anymore. A million things rushed through my head � as, perhaps, were going through his � but I couldn�t say any of them. My tongue tripped over itself, my fingers fumbled, my heart stopped beating. He spoke first:

�Hi.�

I looked away from his face, feeling the tears coming back, stinging my eyes, and fought to hold them in, trying to focus on something. Anything. My eyes found his hand, fixating, then bulging. His hand � it was holding � the last raspberry jelly donut, with one bite taken out of it.

�Let go,� I whispered, my eyes wide.

�What?� he asked.

Let go, my mind said, to him and to me. Let go let go let GO! But I shook my head, dislodging the thought. I couldn�t.

And I can�t.

August 14, 2005

As promised (finally), pics of my cable top are up on my Knitting page. I'm so proud of myself for that top, considering that I pretty much designed the whole thing on my own from the hem up. It looks so nice and everything, even though there are mistakes everywhere that I notice if I look too closely .. too bad I can't really wear it until the temperature inside the office becomes more temperate. Though I suppose I can wear it on the weekends around town. Woot! Thank heavens for chilly San Francisco summers!

August 13, 2005

It's very nice, sometimes, to be reminded that you are an intelligent, pretty person. Even if nothing comes of it, it's still nice to think so. Especially when you wore your most casual clothes, your least flattering jeans, and barely brushed your already-wind-tousled hair. Damn, I must be just that good.

No phone number, though. Ah, well.

August 10, 2005

Today's Important Lesson:

Reheated salmon + overexertion + too much chlorinated water = BAD

It was all I could do to make the drive home from the gym without puking. Once I got home, though ... well, at least I don't have to worry anymore about the extra carbs I ate last night. Puked enough out that I was safe. Yay.

Plus side was I went to sleep real fast and real deep. I dreamt about work, and eating an entire box of See's chocolate by myself. It felt wonderful. I should really do that more often. Dream about eating a box, that is. Eating an entire box would probably make me ill. Again. Bad.

On the positive, Sarah-is-fucking-awesome side, the Cabled Top is done! Well, almost. I need to weave in the ends, graft the underarms together (no one needs to see my prickly pits, really), wash it once or twice to get rid of food bits that have fallen on it and to even out some funky stitches ... but for the most part it is beautiful and complete. And it actually fits my body perfectly. Not too big, not too tight (though, really, too tight was never an issue for me with my knitting, it seems). I love it. Too bad it's too warm in the office to wear it. And it's summer, everywhere except San Francisco. I guess I'll have to wait a couple months before I can wear it everywhere and show it off in all its glory. You can't help, in looking at this work of art, but think that whoever designed it was the most awesome, intelligent, artistic, cool person in the world, and then you realize that it was me, and that indeed I must be awesome and cool and smrt and intelligent and all of that, despite appearances and experiences to the contrary.

Not that I'm conceited about this. Nope. Not at all. Really.

One-third of the stash-busting tops done (well, I really should up it to five tops instead of three, since I bought yarn for two more tops since I made that resolution ... but who's counting, really?). Huzzah! It makes up for the negative one-third progress I've made on my weight-loss and weekly swimming goals. Humph.

August 9, 2005

I am this close to finishing the blue Cotton-Ease cabled self-designed sweater top that I've been working on for the past two or three months. I'm working on the neckline/collar thingy (yay!), have about an inch to go, maybe less. And I think it actually fits, which will be a first for me, considering that every other top I've knit for myself (save for my ribbon yarn tank top ... and even on that, the straps are too long; need to undo a few rows of them, fortunately they're just crochet) has been far too big for me, including the Jiffy tube top in a Jiff that I finished Sunday in front of the television and unravelled yesterday in front of my computer. I think tonight's work shift, unless our release load is exceptionally large, will be the night to finish it. Pictures when the ends are woven in. If it's a perfect fit, that is.

It has been a year since I returned from New York; I knew that August was significant somehow. The longer I am away from there, the less I think it was worth it. Not sure if that means that I'm putting that year more into perspective, or if the memories of what made it worth it are fading from my mind with each passing day. I miss New York, yes (perhaps I should plan a week-long trip back to remind myself), but was everything I ended up losing worth that year? The debt, the time working on my career, the love? The debt is nothing, I suppose, since I can pay it off comfortably now, and the year certainly didn't keep me from actually finding a job that I enjoy (though, granted, that took 7 months after I returned to do). But I'm still lonely, even though my life right now is probably better than it's been since ... high school? I'm more on track, I'm less stressed, less overloaded, less lazy than I've been since then. And I have more independence, more money, and more self-confidence than I had in high school. I should be happy, shouldn't I?

On Friday I realized I had been single 8 months. I suppose it might be time to start looking again. I mean, seriously looking, not just going out once or twice a month and being depressed because no one talks to me. I just don't know how to put myself back on the market, if you know what I mean. Brian suggests one of those online dating sites ... but after back-to-back internet boyfriends (true, they both started as friendships and grew into relationships), I'm not sure if I want to go through that again. It would be nice to actually just meet someone, face-to-face, and feel comfortable with them and hang out with them and fall in love that way. You know, the way people used to before the internet.

Actually, I know what I really want, but that's impossible.

And I know what I'd settle for, but that's not going to happen, either.

Maybe I should be trying to just move on and be happy with what I have. I just need to stop listening to most of my CD collection. That'll work, yeah. (Not.)

Ah, well. Back to knitting and I probably should cook dinner, too. What a depressing first post of the month.

P.S. Is it a sign when you buy a pack of cigarettes and then learn an hour later that Peter Jennings died of lung cancer? Oh, crap.