They're creepy and they're cooky, quite churlish and so spooky

I've taken to grading guys as I see them. Some degree of discretion is given, maybe they're a C or C- depending on how inebriated I am. In defense of my scale, it rarely gets a B+ or more.

In college, I had a professor of Baldwin who had an acid flashback in the middle of class one day. It was unusual because she was otherwise rather strict and rigid. I mean, she insisted that our final papers be delivered to her office by a specific time, left under her door. And I recall racing across campus that morning to deliver it to an empty office, under that door.

Since having shed the fat after my massive, life-threatening infection last fall, it's so nice to be able to wear t-shirts again.

Abercrombie and Bitch

The progress on my health has been infinitesimally slow and steady. On the plus side (and there are actually several plus sides, all things considered), I stop by Subway to get something to eat after the infusion. So, there's a treat for myself if ever there was one.

I had a feared teacher in middle school who, whenever anyone would sneeze, would continue teaching, but bring a tissue to the person. We always thought this was hysterical, though in retrospect, it was just polite.

Sometimes when I walk by certain people on the street, I like to imagine their internal monologue or a soundbite from their life. Granted, it's not usually very nice.

No hard stops

Since my life has become 60% Prime and Netflilx now, I've realized from many shows that it's easier on the ears when they transition from a song playing in the foreground to one of the characters listening to it on earphones or in their room, so I now try to mirror this in my own life when I come home by turning the music down first before turning it off.

Have you ever walked by someone who smells like a combination of fabric softener and a fart?

When people use air quotes, even appropriately, it gives me a headache.

We was all at the Met Ball havin' a good time

Sunday's visit to church with Zela, for all the anxiety I produced over it, was fairly uneventful. She seemed tolerant of the event, took pics of some of the pastor's quotes shown on the screen, and declined to meet him and the family pastor afterwards. We did lunchies afterwards and caught up, then parted ways. No biggie, and I don't get the sense that she'll be joining me again.

I spent the night at my best friend Ralph's house in fifth grade, and the next morning, we were having breakfast with his dad. Ralph said something untoward, and his dad blew up at him, saying, "Christopher, you have a wild hair up your ass this morning, and I suggest you pull it out!" I'd never heard that phrase before, so started laughing uncontrollably while trying to gulp down my cereal. But it got so bad, I had to race to the bathroom to get my guffaws out in private before I could return to the table.

I greatly look forward to the day when we have solar-powered cell phones.

The more, the scarier

I invited Zela to church with me this week as part of my church's Bring a Friend thing, and she's coming. We're doing lunchies afterwards. I kind of got an inkling that it was meant to be when I ran into her the other day walking down the street. I had started off on my side of the street, and crossed over to the other, which I don't normally do. And lo and behold, there she was on her way to some kickboxing or Bikram class. I asked her by text last week, and had felt mildly anxious about it, but it may actually be nice to be there with a friend. For once.

My first quarter in college, I had a professor named Professor Kallet-Marx whose class was seventy five full fucking minutes long. Hence, I referred to her as PKM 75 for the rest of the quarter.

It was only the other day when I noticed some well-dressed dude riding a scooter up a hill that that's once again a thing, lest we forget the Razor craze of the early 2000s.

And mama used to say Beyoncé

I was on the bus the other day, and some old man at the front got into it with the driver. I didn't hear what they were saying, but I turned down my music just long enough to hear the old man yell back at him, "Nonsense!" I died.

I'm on Target's do not rehire list. I worked there for a hot minute in the nineties just so I could afford enough to buy a new pair of contacts while being reprimanded left and right by the old biddy lifers, and didn't give the required two-week notice. I'm hoping this doesn't become an issue later on in life.

I wish someone would put together a supercut of Bad Janet from "The Good Place."

Perspicacity sounds like a black girl name, huh?

I had a forty-something co-worker when I was a teen who bought me and my friends alcohol one or two times. It was awesome at the time, but I can't say I'd return the favor today.

Sometimes things are going so well for me that I like to imagine a hellish world where demons are always at me knocking down drinks, tripping me on the sidewalk, forcing the wrong button on the keyboard.

I like Anna Kendrick and all, but find her to be a touch insufferable in those Hilton commercials.

The grit, the smell, and the moderate sense of satisfaction: my first time volunteering

So I says to myself, I says, You're a Christian, ya gotta serve. That's the term they use in shorthand to mean serving in God's name. At least I think it does. So I reached out to City Impact asking about volunteering, and specifying that I work(ed) in HR and had familiarity with computer programs. Homegirl said she would get back to me, and a week later, I sent her a follow up, offering even to be a part of their Adopt a Building program. She apologized, saying the person who coordinates admin tasks was out of town, but invited me to show up at their next Adopt a Building event.

I was on the fence about it since A) I'm always hesitant to try new things and be around new people and B) it was on a Sunday from 2:00 to 5:00, which is prime nap time for me. But I rallied, and made my way down to the Tenderloin around 1:30 today.

At first, I couldn't find the place since they've got an adjunct building with the same name of the actual address, but a different number. So I called the coordinator, left a message, and was headed back home when I found the place.

I was greeted with the fresh smell of pee (which was fairly omnipresent the whole time) as I walked to the door, headed inside, and was greeted by a smiling older woman who gave me a name tag and ushered me into a small auditorium.

There was no more than 50 people present, and the head dude was giving some sort of intro as I walked in. He wrapped up, and handed the floor over to a millennial who kept saying "the crazy thing is," which quite irked me. I was also under the impression that this was a non-denominational type of gig, which was swiftly corrected by virtue of the large cross on stage. Further, after the millennial wrapped up, the first older dude returned to the stage and started telling this tale of a homophobic guy who, "through God's great humor," had been coupled with a group of trannies to assist, and as the trannies kept coming back to church, slowly but steadily, they shed their finery for fucking sweatpants. And then they all went out to the mountains for a hike, so "they were able to leave that lifestyle."

Seriously, that's the story the dude told. And "lifestyle" is almost always code for "gay lifestyle" and therefore bad bad bad, but I just kind of rolled my eyes internally, and waited for the next steps.

I was grouped with another newbie named Chad who was washed out and freckly, and had the personality of a pumice stone; and two other more tenured folks, Conchita and Chuck. Conchita seemed intent on telling stories of God's providence throughout the day both to us and to our wards for the day, most all of whom were surprisingly pleasant (I guess you would be if you're getting free food). I couldn't follow all of her ramblings, and did tire from standing a time or two while also avoiding the persistent fruit flies who must have fucking followed me from home.

I have to say here, too, that church people are notoriously humorless. I've encountered this in the two small groups in which I've been at Epic, and this lot was no exception. Like, Conchita's name tag read "Empress," which I thought was a cheeky nickname she'd given herself to suggest a haughty demeanor, but it was, in fact, the name of the building we were serving. So I didn't even bother trying to make a joke out of it because she would have just stared at me blankly, I'm sure.

Before we left, Conchita had endeared one of the tenants to come to the church, so he joined as as we headed back. One block in, he asked just how far it was because he had COPD, so as we stood there, boxes in hand, decently dressed people in the Tenderloin, of course Pumice Stone and I are approached by a transient who asks us for money and then tells us of some apartment building his dad left to him that he's trying to get back. I don't give him any money since I didn't know what City Impact's policy is on that, but did stay and help interest in his story. Pumice Stone noticed our peeps heading back to the hotel, and said something like, "Sorry, sir, we have to go," and walks away. I tell the guy sorry and God bless, and he says something about Pumice Stone being evil.

In any event, we regroup back at City Impact and give our final thoughts. I say it felt satisfying and easier than expected, and ask for some of their fliers, with plans to hand them out along with dollar bills to people who ask. We say our final prayers, and I trek up the mighty hill of Jones St. back home.

The reason I did this was to challenge myself, and I succeeded on that front. Not sure I will go again next week. Hopefully they'll come up with some admin work I can do sitting in a nice, comfy office, but we're gonna be a good little Christian and leave it up to God.

Malfunction. Stop. Restart.

Ah, non-existent online friends!

When last I left you, I had been feeling quite under the weather, and had gone to the doctor's. Looking back at my last entry, I had forgotten all about this step I'd taken because not but a few weeks after that adventure, my friends, Roze and Lea, having not heard from me or seen any evidence of me online, had mounted a search and rescue campaign that involved the police knocking down my door and taking me, blissfully unconscious and near death, to the hospital. I was first taken to St Mary's because it's near my house, and then transported to UC.

They identified a major infection that had attacked my heart and brain, so a valve replacement and two cranial surgeries later, I was deposited into my own hospital bed, and the recovery began. It took awhile for my brain to come back online, and I remember trying to explain something about work to Lea and Mia when they came to visit me in the hospital, and it was quite off course.

A call had been made to my poor mom in the middle of the night, and with the help of her cousin, she booked the next flight to SF. In my state of ignorant euphoria, I'd just decided that all answers would come later, and I would enjoy the ride for now.

Another two back to back surgeries were done, and then I was shipped off to ghetto rehab in Vallejo. The tragedy of this whole experience was that I had no contact lenses in the whole time, so I was seeing some weird, but interesting stuff while in the hospital, and creating some pretty vivid and frightening tales in my mind about what was going on.

Back at rehab, I did not know the rules or hadn't paid attention when they were explained to me, but I got in trouble several times for getting up out of my bed on my own. It was also a mildly useless endeavor as I couldn't see properly, so the speech therapy was mostly for nought, even when I pressed my nose as close to the piece of paper with the little drawings and words on it. I was desperate to escape, but my stay coincided with Thanksgiving, so that stretched it out to a full week, even though I asked to be released earlier.

When the time came and I was picked up by my mom and Aunt Sandra, we drove back to SF, and I wasn't home for even a week before the pain started up in my leg. It was then back to the hospital for another surgery to correct the blood flow in my leg. Followed two months later by eye surgery to remove lesions behind my eye. Followed then by a trip to the ER to fast-track connecting with Neurology to address the nerve death sensation in my extremities. I've also been back to UC for two IVMF infusion treatments to relax the milon in the nerves so feeling will return, and am due to return next week.

It has been a very slow, but steady recovery process, but I lost a ton of weight while ill, so it's like I got free liposuction. And I'm coasting on disability, and will be pursuing permanent disability through my employer, so will most likely not have to work ever again. I've reached out to City Impact to offer to volunteer, and am just waiting to hear back from them. And I'm due to get some retro Social Security payment in several months.

I got baptized shortly before this all went down, and can't help but think that, yes, Jesus had a role in bringing me down low and then lifting me to these current heights. I've been rebooted, and am so grateful.

Death becomes him

The unpleasant illness I've been experiencing since I got back from Alaska has grown worse. I worked from home all last week, and went to the doctor Thursday, praying I wouldn't just get a dismissive diagnosis. After the standard schpeel querying if it might possibly be HIV, my doctor hooked something on my finger, led me around his office, and determined it was something bronchial.

Fine.

So I went up to the main hospital to have a cat scan done by an irremediably beautiful Latino guy (thank God I got to keep my shirt on). It was not a chest infection, which would have resulted in me being checked into the ER right then and there, but he did prescribe some antibiotics and a respiratory spray.

I picked them both up on Friday, which I had off, and also had my blood tests done. My Ferritin is through the roof, so a phlebotomy is in my near future. My doctor had asked, after he'd gone through all the routine questions, "What do you think it is?" and I explained how my liver had been jutting out Ferritin through my skull cap for years, and I could feel it, like little sesame seeds being pushed through my veins and arteries. I suspected that might be the cause of the headaches.

Anyways, I made my way to TJ's, picked up some provisions, and then--having proudly taken the bus to all of these locations--I took the quick Uber ride home because it was uphill, and I wasn't about to push it.

The medication seemed to have worked the first day or two, although it doesn't seem like there's anything coming out of the respirator. I've got six more days worth of antibiotics, and my doctor said he was going to try something else if that didn't solve things.

I hate this off-kilter feeling like my life has gone awry. It's like forty hit me, and it hit me fucking hard by reminding me no amount of super-powered multi-vitamins or super green smoothies can truly make me impervious. Part of me really just wants to take a month leave after the merit is paid (which I'm the lead on this year) so I can rest up, but if my health isn't actually improving, I don't quite see the point. And being comatose in bed watching TV through fever dream eyes is pretty fucking abysmal.

I'm not eating because I have not appetite. And I'm definitely not working out, so there goes all of my gym progress and the beloved swarm of weekend endorphins. So yes, I'm hoping this shit passes STAT.

In far more lovely news, I finally got baptized last Sunday! I was teetering and not feeling my best, but it was a lovely experience. Lea showed, and was great. We went to the Palace for lunch afterwards. I'm so glad I finally did this.

The laaaaat mothafuckin' ass frontier

My trip to Alaska was lovely.

I got up at the ungodly hour of 4:00 am, prepared myself, and trekked to the BART for a nice and easy trip to SFO. Now that Virgin has gone under and been bought out by Alaska, I wasn't exactly sure what I was in for. But it was a connecting flight, so the first leg was in one of the old Virgin jets with the nice violet lighting and the great stretch out seats. I ended up sitting next to a neat freak who legit took out a set of Lysol wipes and cleaned down every surface of his area. I guess that's better than the dude who took out his laptop and straight up started looking at gay porn.

Then from Seattle to Anchorage, I was on one of Alaska's Boeing jets--and in the vicinity of just the kind of people you would expect to be going to Alaska. A guy coming up the escalator in front of me had a duffel bag with "NRA" on it. Saw lots of dudes in shirts with American flags, and the regulation baseball cap with sunglasses resting on the brim. I took my seat in first class while southern accents twanged all around me, and the stewardess, sporting an '80s-styled short curly 'do and embodying the spitting image of a greasy spoon waitress, came and took everyone's drink orders. When I said I didn't want anything, she said, "Nothing? Are ya sure? Oh, you're just bein' difficult," and lightly swatted me on the back of the head with the menu.

Annoying.

Speaking of the menu, it was here on this connecting flight that I felt the difference between my cosmopolitan Virgin airlines and the homey world of Alaska Airlines as the two entree items offered were of the beef and chicken varieties. I hadn't eaten beforehand as the thought of food at 5:00 or 6:00 am is purely vomit-inducing. I also hate screaming my order over someone else, and prefer the more civilized online menu where you place an order without having to say a word, and the stewardess brings it to you.

So, I sat there and starved.

As we flew into Anchorage, I almost wanted to burst out laughing. All below me was white--pure, unadulterated white. Like, I expected it to be wintery, but knew it wouldn't be the arctic proper. We landed, I headed to baggage claim, found the only place that served something I could eat (a low-quality slice of pizza, chips, and Sprite), and waited for Nell and Pam to pick me up.

They arrived, I gave Nell a hug, and it was off to the hotel. From her pictures, and knowing Nell's preferences for butcher women, I had expected Pam to be a kind of gruff, "woman of few words" type.

Not so.

She works as a tour guide, and was a fountain of information about Alaska. This was cool for the first hour or two. Then it was clear she was a compulsive talker, and given the long stretches of road we were on during the day and a half, it got wearing. Nell caught on by the second day, and I think had given Pam the directive to zip it after we were back on the highway after the ceremony, but that didn't do much good. I made the best of it, lightly chided Pam, and just flat out ignored her rambling at some points.

Joining the festivities was Pam's adorable eighty-year-old gay father, Charles, who was a hoot. He co-officiated the little ceremony with me at Talkeetna. Between him, Nell, Pam, and myself, we were all teared up at the end. You could tell when they were reading the vows that they weren't just repeating words after us, but feeling all of the emotions and experiences that had led them to there. So, her talkiness aside, I was exponentially glad that Pam and Nell had rediscovered one another.

The last day arrived, and I returned back to my beautiful Frisco Disco.

I used yesterday to take Shazaam to the vet where I learned he may have a stone and was overweight. They suggested I add canned food to his diet as the moisture will help with the digestion. I wish I had known this earlier on.

I took the day to also look at my current debt. I now have almost exactly the same debt as a I had a year and a half ago when I took out that mega loan to pay all of my credit cards. I was crestfallen to find out, but prompted to do so upon discovering I was nearing my max on many of my cards. I really didn't learn my lesson. Or it's that I've become so accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Even yesterday, between the cat's vet visit ($400), a hair cut ($52), moisturizer ($250), grocery shopping ($120), and alcohol and mixers ($75)--and yes, I even took the Muni to the stylist to save on cash--I couldn't believe how much I actually spend in a day's time.

So I applied for another mega loan from another company. It's approved, and I just got a call from them. I had been diverting a specific amount to paying off two cards and my mattress (which is now paid off), so I think I can manage the payments, and it's only for five years. And then I have to turn into Mr. Frugality, because I just don't think I'll get another shot.

I'd also had my heart set on taking my mom to England for her sixtieth birthday next year. I can put that on a card, then transfer the balance to a 0% interest plan for about a year, so that should be manageable.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we practice to be as bougie as can be.

Off to the (not so sunshine-y) state!

I leave at the absolute butt crack of dawn tomorrow for Alaska for my old boss's wedding. She promoted me into my position in a new division in the department, and provided two additional nice increases during the nearly nine years she managed me. We had some fun times, and I'm very happy that she's found her soulmate and been able to retire early.

As for it being in Alaska, I reckon it'll be something like "Northern Exposure" meets "Sex in the City." I did a Google maps view of the hotel, and there's, like, nothing around it. We're doing some sight-seeing tomorrow, so should be fun. Then the wedding's on Wednesday (very cazh), and I fly back Thursday at noon. I guess it may not be all that wacky and wild a time since it's in the boondocks, and there's no one I know besides my boss and her fiance in the wedding, but hey, we'll make the best of it. If anything, it hits the reset button, and I get out in nature for a wee bit.

I kind of wish I'd taken the Monday after I get back off, as I'll just have three days off (one of which is earmarked for Shazaam's vet visit and a much needed haircut), but we're gearing up for things at work, so it was not advisable.

I'm hoping to get baptized later this month. I've put it off long enough. I'm just worried that when I meet with the pastor (different from the head pastor who I'd already given the gay schpeel to a few months ago), that he'll hint at sexual sins, and I'll have to get into it. But this is something I've wanted to do, or maybe felt compelled to do. I don't know anymore. I keep wishing for some revelation that will push me over the line to feel that I *need* to do this.

Retirement age ain't nothin' but a numba

I worked from home today, and it was lovely. It involved sleeping in 'til about eleven, answering a few emails, and then largely completing a few personal tasks like washing the dishes, working out, dropping off pants to be sewn, cancelling my phone service, and scheduling a dentist appointment. I went to Trader Joe's, too, and it was beautiful out, and the store was virtually empty.

This is what I imagine retirement to be like. I suppose this kind of quaint simplicity may get wearing after awhile, but it's one of the things I think I'll relish when time comes.

And if that time comes in twelve years versus sixteen, I can only just imagine the joy, the exquisite joy!

I'm doubtful that I'll get any more windfall pay increases in the remainder of my career unless my serpentine VP eventually relents and promotes me to manager when my current manager retires, which I suspect will be sometime within the next ten years. And the early retirement may not mean I'll have enough to move to San Diego, but we'll see. Just thinking about it and knowing how quickly time flies now makes me happy.

Future forecast

I have today off because it's Independence Day (not that I'm feeling even remotely patriotic), but it's sort of idiotic because it's a Wednesday. As a result, I've decided to take off tomorrow and Friday, and pull in a five-dayer. I had planned for this about a month or so ago, and had hoped to fast for three days. But alas, that plan fell through, as I somewhat suspected it would, and will be replaced by cocktailing and YouTubing. I'm a little disappointed at this unsurprising turn of events, but am hoping God'll give me a pass on this one.

If nothing else, it certainly won't do wonders for my figure, which has ballooned up this year due to several of these little extended weekends. It might be best if I just powered through the remaining weeks of July without any more three-day weekends until Corrine's wedding in August. I've added more weights to my workout regime, but it's getting to the gym more than two days a week that's a challenge when my overall morale has been quite watered down.

I started thinking today about retirement, something never too far from my mind even though it's still sort of far away. What made me think about it was Justin Timberlake. I was watching a YT video (natch) of this dude and his mom at a club, and a remix of "Can't Stop the Music" was playing, and I thought to myself, Didn't that just come out last year? I looked it up, and lo, it came out two years ago this past May. I can specifically remember hearing it for the first time on the radio in an Uber on the way to work, and immediately looking it up on my phone.

That seems like it was just six or so months ago. My point, as I've always said before, is that the passage of time feels expedited when you're older.

Adding to this, I've always insisted I will stay in SF until the end of my days, loving the City as I do, and relishing in the benefit of living in a rent-controlled apartment. But today, I started toying with the idea of moving back to San Diego after retirement. I could take my pension, earned on SF market dollars, to a cheaper area of the state, and it might go further. Indeed, I may even be able to retire earlier. Heck, that was what Corrine did when she hightailed it to Alaska at fifty three. Plus, I would be near my sister and nephew, and my mom during her golden years. My high school chum Aaron plans to move back there after retirement as well, and Roula and Raina are there, too.

Then I actually started looking up apartments--of course in the more enviable areas like Kensington and downtown--and saw they were more than I was paying now. Even ones further inland were more.

Truly the housing crisis has even extended to the city I fled from like a bat outta hell.

Corrine joked with me more than once that once I got older, my affection for the City would likely diminish. As I see article after article about used needles on the street, and bags and suitcases of feces left on sidewalks, I can only wonder what my beloved City by the Bay will be like sixteen years from now.

Hey, two or three years ago, I wouldn't have imagined I'd call myself a Christian. Contemplating myself as a citizen of San Diego in the distant future doesn't seem too far off considering.

Morose Mondays: June 25, 2018 edition

With the forced change of my title at work, joined by the fact that I only got a satisfactory rating on my performance evaluation and the new girl was hired at a salary almost the same as my own, I've had a few realizations:

1) Since I'm not the boss anymore, that means I'm not ultimately accountable for my whole unit. In a sense, I make out alright since I'm still at the same pay, with less overall responsibility. Granted, I've been assigned more clients with this change, but if the shiz hits the fan in any way, I just escalate away to my manager.

2) If I look purely at experience in the role, I technically only have three years more experience than New Girl. I don't think that should only account for a differential of 54 cents or whatever it is, but there will be a merit this year, and I'm hoping that will edge me up a bit more so it's not so offensive. Plus, I must remember, I'm thrilled with what I make. I never would have thought I would make this much money, so looking at it purely from that perspective, I can't complain.

So although there's this haze of depression that's sort of hovering over me, I take these facts into account.

Trying to rebound back into a slimmer figure has proven more of a challenge. I was getting dressed for church Sunday, and just couldn't stomach any of my shirts due to my protruding stomach, so I settled on brown pants and a black shirt. Easily the most inconspicuous and colorless I've dressed in ages.

So out I go, when I notice colorfully dressed gays, and then a girl with a rainbow flat in her backpack, and lo and behold, it was Pride. And there I was dressed like a fucking Quaker on my way to church. I had honestly thought it was next week, and had talked with Leia about possibly going as her work was going to have a float.

My sister posted a picture of a get together at her house with her quasi-estranged father's side of the family. I was surprised to see them all together. These were people who were a part of my life when my mom and stepdad were together. They even ran the local community theatre, and I had some lovely times working the lights and even starring in a few productions. I commented my joy at seeing them all together again, and even added them on Facebook, which they all accepted. Lovely thing.

Morose Mondays, June 12, 2018 edition

I was looking through some old pictures on Facebook when, of course, I stumbled upon some from when Collette lived with me. It was a fun time, and we would have her friends over, who later became mine. And her brother visited us a few times as well, once for his birthday. There we are, doing shots in her room, and I look at the date it was taken: July 12, 2008.

I couldn't believe it. How in the hell was that ten years ago next month.

It gave me some degree of comfort to see that I hadn't aged much, potentially looked even better (though a bit chubbier now in the face due to over-partaking of cocktails recently). Gotta look at the friggin' bright side when I can here.

Saturday night, Raina and I went to see "The Empire Strips Back," a "Star Wars" burlesque parody. It was plenty entertaining, though I wish there had been more dudes and that I'd been a bit more soused to enjoy it. That qualifies as my one cultural event for the month, so good for me.

And now I need to find another one. I'd really like to get in that one a month event so that another ten years doesn't pass by, and I wonder where the hell it all went.

Oh, what a whirl, what a whirl

My stature at work seems to continue to diminish as my new boss, who is lovely in many ways, has decided to laterally reclassify my position from a supervisor to a lead. No change in pay, but it's a more accurate reflection of what I do since my power as a people manager has been usurped out from under me. In addition, I'm getting more client departments, which I had shed upon taking the supervisor role so I could focus on the strategic/advisory part of my job.

To add to this, she also hired a new analyst who's a friend of hers and fourteen years my junior with just four years of experience, and is paying her almost exactly what I make, and more than the other two more seasoned analysts. This only slightly makes sense when you look at market for our positions and the fact that we have a merit program forthcoming, but I also got myself just a satisfactory performance rating instead of a more than satisfactory rating, so I'm not looking at anything generous in terms of a raise.

I try to just remain grateful for the fact that I'm still well paid, and at the halfway point of my professional career. My VP just doesn't see me as a people manager, so even when my boss retires, my chances are slim to none of being promoted. So we'll just coast along at the current pace. At the risk of being snarky, I guess I'm just there for a paycheck!

I need to get back in the game with working out. And this includes stopping the sauce intake on weekdays, which I had been so good about for so long, but after a handful of events that lent themselves to it, I partook on a Monday or Thursday--at it shows. I miss that period in my early thirties where I maintained the diet I always had and just ground myself to the bone with cardio, and lost weight. Now that just ends up grounding me into the ground with exhaustion, so I have to follow the eighty/twenty rule of what accounts for your weight is eighty percent what you eat, not your exercise routine.

If there's something that would lend itself to slimming down, it's my old boss's wedding in Alaska two and a half months from now. It's apparently going to be relatively small. Seems like a lot of people are unable or unwilling to make the trek, which makes me kind of sad for her. But she's thrilled I'm coming, and I wouldn't miss the chance to see the happily ever after for someone who was so good to me.

Tifferbee and I are seeing "The Empire Strips Back," a "Star Wars" burlesque parody in two weeks. Should be fun, and it'll be the first time I've been to the Warfield. I told myself some time back that I would try to do at least one adventurous/cultural thing a month, so gotta get back on track with that, too.

For now, I'm having one last hurrah for May with a four-day Memorial Day weekend, starting off with a viewing of "The Avengers: Infinity War" followed by a deep dive into a cocktail glass as per my wont.

Relax, do do it

The past couple of weeks have been incredibly--almost dangerously--chill. Although we were amping up for a major initiative at work, my part of it was in check, and my regular workload was completely manageable.

"So why haven't you been offering to help out your co-workers, you lazy bastard?!?" I did, and have basically been covering for one of my analysts for the past week and a half.

With the relaxed work environment, I've been working from home about a day a week the last three weeks. Unfortunately, the day at home turns into cocktail time, which is supposed to be forbidden during the week. But Rachelle and her husband were in town mid-April, so I had to take them to Osha and Top of the Mark, and then it was like, "Well, if I already drank on Monday..."

The aforementioned major initiative resulted in us having to work twelve, sixteen, nearly twenty four hour days in some cases. The weekend before it, I had already skipped church because I desperately needed to sleep in, and then skipped it again this past weekend, so I haven't had that feeling of being spiritually refreshed in awhile. I watched a video from Nathan Wheeler, the guy who's near death experience convinced me to become a Christian, and he talked again about the importance of reading the Bible, and said we should do so everyday. So I'm trying to get back on track with that as well.

I also did not work out at all last week due to that initiative. I had intended to go today, but after taking a nap after work, I just didn't have it in me. I did work out at home, but I can feel the flab gathering in places unmentionable, so I have to snap back into shape with that shit, too. I had also been intending to increase my weights by another five pounds, but since I have to reignite my efforts after slacking off for a week, that probably won't be for awhile. Argh!

The thing is, I deserve some chill time. Granted, it'd be better spent not just drinking and playing video games, but I am not inclined to grind myself to the bone. It's been a year now since my former boss retired, and I know I wouldn't have this relaxed of a work environment if she was still here, love her though I do. And since I didn't get promoted into the manager role, I'm just rollin' with it as time goes on.

Sigh times

I entered into the holy Easter weekend with the best of intentions: traveled up to Noe Valley for a scenic power walk, went to church, vacuumed the apartment, and meal prepped for the week. Then Colette came over Sunday and muffed everything up. Luckily, I'm recovered--remarkably well so, in fact. Those Perricone super greens powder drinks and multi-vitamins really are amazing. But it's not exaaaactly how I'd intended to spend my first actual Easter as a practicing Christian.

If there was something good that could have come out of this, it was that I had to call in sick Tuesday, and I used that whole day to sleep. And sleep. And sleep. It must be a combination of heavy cardio at the gym and age, but I must truly have been underslept because I really felt so much more rested and refreshed when I went back to work.

A week or so ago, my old boss texted me to say she and her partner are getting married. Hooray! It means a trip up to Alaska for the wedding. I'd been desperately trying to travel somewhere for some sort of vaycay that wasn't just Christmas, so I guess this'll be it. It's in August. I'm still keeping Santorini in my back pocket and planning for Reno at some point, but I do need to keep finances sane in prep for the trip to England next year.

I also got a FB message from half-sister Laura informing me she was pregnant. She had also told me this several years back, but nothing ever seemed to have came of it. I assume she may have lost it. I'm always a bit worried about her. Her husband has been abusive, and she has the look of someone who if functionally anorexic. She had always told me that if she ever did have a child, she would ask me to be the godfather. It's quite a commitment, but I'd be up to it since I do love her, and the rest of her family seems to have abandoned her. It would also entail a trip to visit her and the new baby sooner as opposed to later.

Morose Mondays, March 5 Edition

I'm titling these little blogs I make on Mondays thusly because they're the first day back from work after what is usually a delightfully inebriated whirl of a weekend, and by the time night falls, my mindset has gone from one of crickety malaise to maudlin melancholy.

Do you realize we are nearly through the 2010s? There was a lifetime packed into my '90s. All of high school and college, every year of which--every semester of which--felt like a novel in a series. And my 2000s were packed with plenty of intrigue as well.

I was almost going to add, "At least until about 2008," which was when I got my first big promotion, and started (sort of) living on Easy Street, but even then, I had my little dalliance with Gideon in 2009, now nearly ten years ago.

Yes, I've changed, but in that almost imperceptible way that only I might notice, or someone who hadn't seem me in over a decade might notice. Certainly the Christian thing is new, and still surprising to some people when I happen to mention going to church. It still surprises me at times.

It's just amazing to think that another decade will have passed by after the end of next year. And I'm not entirely sure how to characterize my 2010s.

A lady in my church group mentioned a quote that was something to the effect of, "Life is lived forward, but understood backwards." That for sure as shiz is true. Morose Mondays, March 5 Edition