November 28, 2007 | Filed under: Because They Pay Me

I managed to be on two conference calls yesterday AT THE SAME TIME.

Yes, I am that talented. I put my desk phone on speaker for one call and stuck my cell phone earpiece in one ear for the other. Oh, and I ate lunch while I listened, because it was 2 PM and I hadn’t gotten around to that yet.

I’m just going to celebrate the fact that I managed to get through the day without kissing the sidewalk.

November 20, 2007 | Filed under: I'm a Dork

I bit it today.

On second thought, that’s not really accurate.

Despite it being a crazy busy day, I dashed to Chipotle for lunch, because the proceeds from today’s sales go to the Sacramento Food Bank. I support anti-hunger causes — I’m running in the food bank’s race on Thursday — and besides, does anyone really need an excuse to go to Chipotle? I didn’t think so.

So I hop out of the car and somewhere along the fifteen feet between my car door and the restaurant door, I forget how to walk. Look, I’ve tripped and fallen a number of times in my life, and even though I try to keep such events to a minimum, I must admit that I’m almost accustomed to them. This, however, was nothing short of an all-out face-plant, reminiscent of a wide receiver laying out to catch a pass in the end zone, arms and legs extended, torso parallel to the ground. (Like so.)

I’ll give you a minute to stop laughing.

Best I can tell, the heel of one shoe got caught on the cuff of my other pant leg. Next thing I know, I’m catching a pass from Brett Favre. Only, truth be told, I dropped my car keys on impact and they went skidding another foot across the brick sidewalk in front of me. I also lost a shoe and my sunglasses in the transaction. You just can’t teach these moves.

(As a woman, I feel I am entirely within my rights to blame these things on the shoes. Deep down, though, I know it’s rarely the shoes’ fault.)

It must have looked spectacularly bad, because the two guys enjoying their burritos on the patio were REALLY concerned about my well-being. They didn’t laugh; they gasped, “Are you OK?” Oh yeah, I’m fine. “No, really, ARE YOU OK?” Must’ve been all that time I spent in football practice, fellas, because, really, I’m good.

I looked down to inspect my clothing, fully expecting my silk shirt to be ripped, probably somewhere exceedingly inopportune. Surprisingly, the shirt was intact. We can, however, add one pair of Ann Taylor glen plaid suit pants to my donation total today, along with a knee, the palm of my right hand and that last remaining shred of dignity that I just discarded there on the sidewalk. I hope everyone appreciates my sacrifice.

November 19, 2007 | Filed under: Because They Pay Me, Is She Still Talking?

Bullets. Because thinking in full paragraphs is just too taxing today.

• Sigh. Did you know it’s the holidays? Somehow it became the holidays while I was away, and I’m still playing catch-up here. November wha? Thanksgiving is this week?
• I drove my car for the first time in weeks. It was WEIRD.
• I am still digging myself out of a two-week-deep hole at work. The first day, I thought to myself, “I’m never taking another vacation again!” The second day, I realized a far better solution was to give up the work thing, in favor of always being on vacation. I’ll let you know how that works out.
• I am making progress on the picture front and the story-telling front, but my gosh, is it slow going. The overabundance of work-related work is not helping matters much, as I now spend my evenings working instead of photo editing. Someday…
• I managed to contract an exotic skin disease while traveling (my money’s on leprosy), which reached its zenith over Veteran’s Day weekend. Of course. Because what fun is it if you can actually get a doctor’s appointment within 72 hours? I spent several days complaining that “my jeans are touching me! Make them stop!” and debating how much harm I would cause by attempting an at-home skinning. A real highlight, I tell ya.
• I may have French kissed my entire shoe collection, whispering sweet nothings to each pair about how special they are and how much I missed them. Oh, the joy of not having to choose between my running shoes and my Walking Around Europe shoes!
• Even more than having access to my full wardrobe, I am really enjoying being back in California, where it is 65 degrees and doesn’t feel a bit like November. Makes it hard for me to remember that it’ll be dark out when I leave my desk, that football season is winding down, and that it really is nearly Thanksgiving, but life’s pretty good when you don’t need to grab a coat in the morning.
• Yesterday I found myself craving sausage. And by “sausage” I mean … no, seriously, I mean sausage. Sickos. Sadly, Sacramento wasn’t settled by a bunch of Germans like Milwaukee was, so I’m going to have to work to satisfy this sausage urge. Salami would probably do, but I think what I really want is bratwurst. My dad would be so proud.
• Finally, a gratuitous Europe photo to distract you from the utter lack of content. Though, knowing you guys, you’ll probably just demand more. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

Click through to see the picture in its original size.
Much more impressive than what you see here.

November 13, 2007 | Filed under: Is She Still Talking?, It's Called "Having a Life." You Should Try It.

Because it’s late and I’d be a darn fool to pass up the opportunity to do a-photo post. Because I love you so.

Some things I learned in this little exercise: (a) there’s a reason I’m not a jewelry model … something to do with having no neck whatsoever; (b) my camera really sucks at close-ups; and (c) Picasa can fix darn near anything.

As I mentioned, some of the nearly-left-on-an-airplane jewelry is intended as a gift for my mother, who, as far as I can tell, has no knowledge of this blog. I sure hope not, as I use the F-word here a bit more often than she would deem appropriate (read: maybe twice a year). Mom, if you are reading, how could you raise a kid with such a potty mouth? Jeez. Also, don’t blame me for ruining your Christmas gift. If you wanted it to be a surprise, you shouldn’t have gone looking for it.

Moving along then.

What’s hard to tell from these pictures is that the stone is garnet — a really deep red, which shows up when the light hits it at the right angle. Unfortunately, I could not capture that for you, as I would then be taking a picture one-handed and all you’d see is a blurry gold chain and maybe some perfectly-reflected-but-still-blurry red light. Try to use your imagination instead.

A traditional setting for Czech garnet is sort of a flower-shaped pendant, like this (the ones I saw had garnets for all the stones, no diamonds, but the shape was the same). That style is really not “me,” nor my mother, so I went with a bit more contemporary settings. Classic styling, maybe, but not traditional.

I won’t say which stuff is mine and which is hers, but I will tell you that she’s never had pierced ears in her entire life. Which explains, in large part, why I had to wait until spring of eighth grade to finally get mine pierced. Not that I’m bitter or anything.

And here we have an amber pendant for which I’m going to have to find a silver chain. I tried, in Prague, but the jeweler who supplied me with the gold chain in picture #2 didn’t have one of the proper length in silver. Some fun amber facts I learned: new amber is green in color, then moves through an, um, amber color to a more opaque buttery yellow color, and finally to white. Who knew? (It’s entirely possible the salesperson was totally lying to me, but I’m gonna go ahead and pass off this information as fact.)

These last two necklaces I snagged for under $40, total, and during the entire jewelry disaster/freak out session, I was absolutely sure they were safely stored in my jewelry case. (They were, I checked.) I put them there, you know, because I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to them. Like getting lost somewhere. (Apparently that sentiment only applies to the cheap stuff. Moron.)

One was the necklace you saw here and, finally, this last one for my sister, who also does not read this site. Not because I haven’t told her about it, but because she doesn’t love me. Also perhaps because she’s “in grad school” and “doesn’t have time to eat/sleep/bathe, let alone fool around on the internet all day.” Whatever. I’m just waiting until she gets a boring office job like the rest of you. She’ll come around.

*Actually, based on my credit card statement, probably more like $700. And change. Let’s not tell Customs about that little math error, mkay?

November 12, 2007 | Filed under: I'm a Dork

But they needn’t worry; I think I’ve found her.

My last day in Prague I dubbed Souvenir Day. Knowing that I was traveling to other cities, then returning to Prague, I held off on purchasing too much stuff the first week in Prague, as I’d just have to drag it around with me for the next week. I picked up a few things in Plzen and Vienna and Bratislava, but anything I wanted from Prague was going to wait. Monday was my shopping day, and I’m sure the good folks at MasterCard were huddled around someone’s computer screen playing drinking games and chanting, “Go, go, go, go!” as they watched me rack up the purchases.

One particularly pricey stop was a jewelry store where I bargained hard for a whole collection of stuff but couldn’t get the saleslady to come all the way down to $500. (We started around $825, list price.) Eh, fine. I caved on those last $50 and called it a day. There were two other jewelry purchases, too, and by the end of the day I had one long, rectangular box and three small jewelry boxes, wrapped in shiny metallic mylar-like paper.

I debated about where to pack all this jewelry — in my checked luggage, for the airline to lose or pilfer while inspecting my suitcase for explosives, or on me? The long, thin box I stuck in my checked luggage (a) because it fit well in the space and (b) because it was just a gold chain — not terribly expensive and easy to replace if anything happened to it. The rest I kept out for my carry-on luggage, because I trust myself more than I trust the airlines.

* * * * *

My carry-on bag does not zip shut and it was a wee bit overflowing (one too many oddly shaped souvenirs) and it was raining in Prague the morning I left and I had too much stuff to carry (seriously, THREE BAGS, plus my suitcase. That? Is too much to maneuver on public transportation.) and I just felt a little bit … scattered. Which is not a feeling Ms. Control Freak Herself is particularly familiar or comfortable with.

* * * * *

I boarded my plane in Frankfurt, which was to bring me all the way across the Atlantic, back to the States. Despite having a lovely aisle seat, I was in the very last row, about which I was not that enthused, but I decided that it meant I probably wouldn’t have anyone next to me, which would make sleeping even easier. Sure enough, in the stretch of four seats, it was just me and the guy on the other aisle, with two empty seats between us. Sweet.

The overhead bins on these transatlantic flights are so much roomier than domestic flights, and in some ways easier to access. However, I am still a mere 5′ 2″ and in order to grab a Newsweek for the guy in my row to read, I stood on my seat to peer into the overhead bin and retrieve it from my bag. As I sat down, I realized what an uncouth thing that was I’d just done and chastized myself, “Katherine Anne. You are twenty-eight years old. Let’s please act like a lady. Nobody else on this plane is standing on their seat to get something from the overhead bin.”

* * * * *

We landed. It was not the greatest landing ever. The actual touchdown was fine, but the 45 minutes before that had not been fun.

“I’m surprised you slept through all that turbulence,” the guy in my row said. I didn’t correct him, but I hadn’t been sleeping. I was sitting, motionless, with my eyes closed, because having them open was making me sick to my stomach.

I grabbed my bag from the overhead bin, shoving some stuff back inside that had shifted during flight. I thought about inspecting the bin more thoroughly (and I had plenty of time, as I waited for everyone else to get off the plane) but I wasn’t going to climb up on my seat again.

* * * * *

I waited in line for Customs. I waited to pick up my luggage. I waited in a long line for a taxi. It took me twice as long to leave the airport as I’d anticipated, and now I was feeling the pinch to be ready for dinner on time. Because, yes, I am the kind of idiot who makes dinner plans for the night she gets back into town after two weeks in Europe.

I had packed accordingly, putting at the top of my suitcase the items I’d want for getting ready. From my carry-on I grabbed the Ziploc bag I had stuck miscellaneous small items in (toothbrush, various chargers, sleeping mask) and tossed that on the bathroom counter, too. Into the shower I jumped, then did the rest of the beautifying as quickly as possible.

* * * * *

I debated about what jewelry to wear. Of course it would be great to wear the new stuff, but I’d have to dig it out of my luggage. Oh, why not?

I looked in my carry-on for the shiny, mylar-wrapped packages. No jewelry. Hmmm, maybe in my backpack? I thought I decided not to put the jewelry in there, but let’s look. Nope, not there. Back to the carry-on. Still no jewelry. Magazines and papers and a box with other souvenirs in it, but no jewelry. WTF??? I checked my jewelry case, which I didn’t recall putting anything new in, but I was running out of ideas. No, not there either, just the few things I’d taken with me to Europe.

At this point, I’m panicking. They’re small packages. They could easily have fallen out of my bag somewhere. Somewhere like … the overhead bin.

OH MY FUCKING GOD, YOU LEFT $600 WORTH OF BRAND NEW JEWELRY ON THE PLANE, YOU IDIOT.

I dug through all my luggage again. In my backpack I found the long, thin box with the gold chain in it. The gold chain on which the pendant I cannot currently locate was supposed to go. I cursed and thew the box across the room. Some good that chain does me now.

“Must. Call. The. Airline,” my brain says. I agree, though I have little hope that anyone would turn in what so obviously looks like expensive goods. Lufthansa’s phone number isn’t on my boarding pass. Nor is it in the damn Yellow Pages, at which point I nearly threw the phone book through a window.

Lori locates an 800 number for me. I call it and get another number for lost-and-found at the airport. Nobody turned anything in. (Shocking.) Is there a form I can fill out? No, only for missing luggage. (Not for idiots like you who leave things on the plane.) The best advice she has is that I call the Frankfurt lost-and-found and have them check the plane when it lands there tomorrow morning. I call Frankfurt. The recording tells me the office is closed. (Really? It’s like 1 AM there, why is no one available to take my call?)

I make a mental note to call Frankfurt first thing in the morning, right after I finish publicly flogging myself for being, seriously, the world’s biggest idiot. Someone who obviously is not responsible enough and does not deserve nice jewelry anyway, and it’s not even about the money so much as the fact that (a) some of the jewelry was intended as gifts and (b) this is entirely, 100% my fault. Because I am a moron. Beyond all comprehension.

* * * * *

I get up the next morning, thinking “Must call Frankfurt,” stumble into the bathroom, continuing to curse myself for being such an ass, whereupon I see this:

All three of the shiny mylar-wrapped jewelry boxes, safely tucked into the Ziploc bag so they wouldn’t fall out somewhere, staring at me from the bathroom counter where I’d chucked the bag the night before.

FUCKING IDIOT.