A few days ago, I received a call from a woman at a local performing arts center asking if I’d like to subscribe to their upcoming season. She called while I was working, so I asked if she could call back the following day after 6pm.

She did.

After reintroducing herself as the senior account manager four times, she explained that she was happy to talk to me last week and would be glad to sign me up for next season’s performances.

In turn, I explained that we’d spoken just the day prior, and that I didn’t indicate any interest since I was in the middle of my workday and didn’t have time to hear her pitch. I reminded her I wanted to know more about the upcoming season, their prices and the show dates, so that I could decide.

She seemed flustered, but returned to her spiel and then asked me if I’d gotten her email.

“About what? When?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know, but it has all of our play information in it,” she said.

“Oh, no I didn’t. What email address was it sent to?” I asked her. She said she didn’t know.

Excellent, moving on.

“Well anyway, you came up in our system as a preferred customer, so we wanted to thank you for being, you know…um, well, preferred,” she said.

I thanked her awkwardly. She giggled nervously.

She circled back to her “preferred” comment, continuing by saying, “What we’re trying to say is that you’re special, and we want to thank you for that. So, thank you for being special.”

…?

[Sidebar: Earlier this week, a number of us at work had our pictures taken by a photographer; they’re going to be on our company website. Midway through my session, the photographer stopped and asked me if I had a lazy eye. I was stunned (because, really, if I did, why ya gotta call me out on it?), but said that I didn’t. She continued, saying, “No, I really think you do.” I said, “No, I’m pretty sure that I don’t.” So I found it interesting and comical that after my lazy eye day, a completely different woman was telling me that I was “special.” Rad.]

I did my best to keep the conversation moving, since by this point the bizarre discussion was exhausting me.

She said that there were nine shows coming up, with five on one stage and four on another.

She rambled off nine show descriptions and, frankly, they sounded pretty cool.

She said all this information that she was running through would be in the email that she would send to me.

She quoted me a price, and it didn’t seem too bad (although it was clearly a single ticket, and I’d need to buy two).

I said, “Wow, that’s a great price for nine shows.”

She snapped back, “No, you’re wrong — that’s for four. Four shows. Only four. And as your senior account manager, you can only get them through me. Just those four shows.”

I was starting to wonder why she was senior. Age? Ability to ramble? That whole “tenure” thing? I also wondered where exactly her managerial skills were hiding.

“Oh, I see,” I said.

“So where do you want to sit?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Your seats,” she said. “In what section can I book your seat for you?”

“Umm…” I began.

“Well, do you like to sit in the middle? Off to the left? The right?” she asked.

“I guess I would normally prefer the middle,” I said.

“Look, I’m not trying to hard-sell you here,” she interjected.

…?!

For a moment I wondered if it was someone playing a joke on me.

She kept on. “So aside from the middle, what day do you prefer?”

“As in day of the week for a performance? I guess a Saturday,” I said.

“What time of day?” she asked.

“Evening, preferably,” I told her.

“Well we don’t have that time available,” she replied. She then offered me Tuesday.

(What performing arts center doesn’t have Saturday night play tickets available…? Hm.)

I explained to her that I appreciated her time, but that I’d need to probably decline her offer. Then I told her that I’d just review the email when I received it to see if I’d changed my mind.

“No, you can’t do that,” she said.

“I can’t?” I said. I was beyond confused now.

“No, because you can only get these tickets through me, as your senior account manager,” she sputtered.

“I see,” I said. “Well, then I’m probably going to permanently pass, but thank you so much for your time.”

I could barely get my last word out before she hung up.

Odd.

Sooooooooooooooo. Tonight I am thankful for surviving my quirky week relatively unscathed. It was plagued by lazy eye accusations, a hard-selling senior account manager, and a missing Office Depot order that turned up stashed in my neighbor’s garage (although my neighbor isn’t Marcos, and his house number isn’t 621, so I’m still not sure who really signed for it even those the Office Depot lady told me that’s the house Marcos lives in). Some things are just a bit too wacky to make proper sense out of, but at the very least, they’re always fodder for writing.

Good times.

So I’m making a desk for my office here at the casa. Two hollow-core doors (it’s a delightfully massive desk) supported by short bookshelves at either end. I have two doors for the desk, therefore I need four bookshelves.

The other day, my mom passed along a brochure for bookcases that Office Depot sells. Interestingly, they’re very similar to cabinets that I saw at Lowe’s, complete with a dark cherry stain and the same height — but for less than half the price. Score.

Two nights ago, I excitedly ordered them online, and was even more excited that I saw shipping was free.

(Bonus points for me because I found an additional discount code online for more cashola off the total price. Woo!)

I have some gorgeous uber-plush carpeting in the office, so in preparation for the proper office chair I’ll also be buying soon, I decided to add a chair mat to my order.

Recap: four short bookshelves, and one large chair mat. Four + one = five items. Whee.

Beyond being excited for the shipping, I was nothing short of elated to see that the expected delivery date was today. Awesome! A weekend project (bookshelf assembly).

I rolled in the driveway tonight, and passed the front walk without even giving a glance to the front porch. So I came inside, opened up the front door expecting to see the goods, and…

…nothing.

I hopped online to track my order, and it said that all five of my pieces were loaded onto the delivery truck at 2-something this morning (yawn). OK, groovy.

At 7:45am, it said the truck was out for delivery with those same five pieces.

Then at 10:42am, some dude named Marcos apparently signed for my loot, but only for four pieces.

Seriously?

My luck.

I called the assistance number and was connected to a soft-spoken woman named Glen. I explained that not only do I not know anybody named Marcos, I didn’t have any roommates who would be masquerading as him, nor was there anyone on my street by that name. She kept apologizing for the inconvenience, and I kept telling her that it wasn’t her fault unless she was driving the truck or passing herself off as a dude. I also asked her what happened to the fifth item which was clearly in some sort of funky office-supply-warehouse limbo, and she was stumped. Rumor has it they outsource their deliveries to a third-party company called Dynamex (clearly lacking any sort of dynamic element).

She explained that Office Depot would conduct an investigation (my second of the year, the first one being a background check for my current gig) to see where the stuff really ended up, and that someone would call me within the first four business hours tomorrow morning with an update.

(Such a precise deadline for a delivery company which lacked said precision.)

End of the day, not a big deal. Not life-threatening, and the lack of loot isn’t going to break my week. But…sheesh. Bummer.

The moral of the story is that nothing in life is truly ever free. In this case, the price I paid was some minor frustration and about 10 minutes spent talking to Glen. It was a small price to pay, but it was a price all the same.

That said, tonight I am thankful for patient Glen who kindly took my information, and who explained what to expect over the course of tomorrow and next week. While an investigation into my purchase which was nabbed by the greedy hands of Marcos isn’t necessarily what I was hoping for this weekend, I’m thankful for people who kindly take on such tasks as their job, and for those whose investigative powers will hopefully result in the goods finding their way to my casa before too long.

Fingers crossed.

Yesterday I wrote about my first 90 days at the new gig, and about how terrific they’ve been.

But there’s one thing I neglected to mention: my time here has been so great – and, frankly, has simply “been” – because people took a chance on me.

I came into my current role knowing very little about the subject matter I’d soon be diving head-first into each day. It was daunting, but exciting.

Had it not been for the people who saw strengths in other areas and decided that everything else could be taught, I wouldn’t be here.

In fact, many of us wouldn’t be where we are if someone hadn’t taken a chance on us.

My mom used to tell my brother how fortunate he was for all the opportunities he was given during his days following flight school. People would give him odd jobs, both in the flying and non-flying arenas, but he was constantly learning 24/7. She would say to him, “Remember to give the person that one day comes tugging on your coattails the same opportunities that all those people gave you.”

She is so right. It’s a very pay-it-forward mentality.

Before my benefits meeting started yesterday, I was thumbing through a fun little book in our HR manager’s office. The book was called The Book of Answers, and it’s a delightful gem of comedy, wit and encouragement.

One of the silly little questions I asked it was, “Will I ever become a writer?”

“Take a Chance,” was printed on the page that I turned to.

Interesting. And so true.

Unless we try anything, we’ll never know. Unless we take a chance and break outside of the comfort zone which is often times filled with self-doubt and the fear of failure, we don’t know what we’re capable of.

Today I am thankful for my two instances of “take a chance,” and for the impact they had on an otherwise routine and relatively quiet day. I don’t quite believe that we’re all here by chance, as I think that we’re all part of a greater plan. But I do believe that in our lifetime, “chance” is one of the most beautiful forces and opportunities we all have.

At all times.

90 days ago was the start of something new and exciting.

Since then, it’s turned into something far more than that: rewarding, challenging (in that awesome my-brain-hurts-because-it’s-being-used-with-regularity sorta way), balancing, centering and fulfilling are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to describing it.

It’s full of data, measurement tools, analyses and reporting. It’s full of new words, not to mention a new language that I try to speak more fluently with each passing day. Its people are some of the brightest I’ve ever met, not to mention kind, helpful, chill, inquisitive, respectful and fun.

It’s made me feel re-energized, re-engaged and rejuvenated. When I reflect on where I felt I was and where I feel I am now, yes — I rejoice, because I feel more relaxed than ever.

“It” is the job I began back in March, and it has provided me with a new lease on life. Tonight I am thankful for it, for the new chapter I began and had hoped would be as good as I thought it would be, and for the spirit-renewing aspect that has come with it.

When I first started, I was told that I would pinch myself every day and wonder if the place was for real. 

I’m thrilled to report that it is.

I’m always down to tackle a project, and since last week, I’ve been on a kick to re-do my office.

It’s been interesting so far. I know I don’t want to buy a desk, in large part because the size I want would probably break the bank. There’s also the, “What if I move?” question, and I’d like something less pricey so that I don’t have spendy-guilt if moving day ever comes.

I’ve decided to make my own, and I’ve settled on using hollow-core doors for my desktop…but now the problem is the support. The “legs,” if you will.

To go with a typical leg, or not? If leg, to buy a pre-made one, or make my own? If pre-made, would I paint it, or stain it?

I’ve looked at lumber that’s 4″x4″x12′ and decided I could get four pretty good legs outta that, but I need 8 total because of how big the desk will be. No worries, I’ll buy more wood. But get this: rumor has it Lowe’s can’t cut it because they don’t have the tools. Sheesh. Seriously? Who would’ve thought?

For non-leg support options, I’ve thought about filing cabinets (yawn), sawhorses (ew), short bookshelves, open-cube storage thingies, and I even walked through Ikea tonight on my way home.

I have no idea why I bothered. I despise Ikea. I felt like a rat in a maze, and just when I thought I was reaching the exit, I was led into a massive self-serve warehouse, but only after passing the stench of meatballs and hot dogs. I think I’ve been to Ikea fewer than five times in my life, and I’m not sure which was more aggravating: the first time because I was a newbie, or tonight because I’d willingly gone back inside. Once I got back to my car, there was a Hyundai SUV parked nose-to-nose with the Lex, and it was harboring a swarm of bees. They were all over the edge of the hood, and another mass was having a convention just inside the grill. Getting into my car, since they were all over the place, was terrifying but necessary.

Anywho.

Last week in my speed-Googling, I came across an amazing site that had wonderfully-priced short bookshelves that I decided would be great to support the doors. And today, try as I might to locate that same site again (I could’ve sworn I bookmarked it), I couldn’t.

Then tonight it hit me: this is a small problem. I don’t have the desk that I want yet, but I’ll get there. It’ll just take some time and a little more searching for the right pieces to my puzzle. People in this country, other countries, everywhere around the world — even kids in apartments and houses a block away, a mile away, a state away — don’t have proper places to study, to draw, to create. Some desks are rickety, some are small. Some are nonexistent, some have chipped paint or rusty metal. So my tales of being leg-less and good-desk-less are pretty silly.

Tonight I am thankful for the opportunity to be crafty with my furniture, to be creative with my constructing and for the plethora of resources we have available at what seems like all hours of the day. If there isn’t a store open, there’s a how-to video you can find online. And once you’ve exhausted the videos and before those stores open up again, we have our good friend, the Internet, which supports our online browsing and shopping habits. What a time we live in and how blessed we all. Here’s to being crafty.

I don’t know how else to say it, but I love it when the universe clumps.

Alright, so perhaps “clumps” isn’t the right word. It sorta brings to mind images of kitty litter and milk that’s gone bad.

But do you ever look around and take stock of all those little nudges that come your way?

No? You should try it.

If you have, you know what I mean. For me, it goes back to the writing thing. Sometimes I’ll have a rough day where a topic is hard to come by when I sit down at the keyboard, and I’ll write what I call a throw-away post which, inevitably, is a post that prompts someone to email me or text and say how much they liked it.

Or I’ll wonder who really reads this thing and, a few hours later, someone will reach out and say that they’ve been reading it, and then they’ll pass along the official rules for a short story contest that they think I should enter.

Then there are the conversations that stir the creativity inside of me — conversations that happen at a time when I need them most, but which I didn’t realize at the time.

Or maybe it’s when I walk into a store, and I see a book that grabs my attention and inspires me to purchase it.

It all ladders back up to one thing that I genuinely believe: if you really want to do something, you’ll be guided toward it if you just look around and see the people, the resources, the words of encouragement and the work of others who have also followed that dream. Noticing those things is one part of the equation, though. Harnessing the energy so that you’re moved to action is another thing entirely.

Tonight I am thankful for the clumps of inspiration and the nudges of encouragement that always seem to find me when my tank is running low.

Here’s to action.

Creme brulee is one of those desserts that has a number of life lessons hidden among its silky smooth custard base.

When you order it in a restaurant, it’s often accompanied by a fruit garnish, and always adorned with a hard caramel top. The delicately burned sugar cracks easily, and needs to be created with care so that it’s not completely scorched. It’s usually served chilled or sometimes at room temperature, and can often be flavored by a liqueur, savory elements or a spice. It’s never a massive serving, a la those seven-layer cakes that are horribly satisfying every once in a blue moon, but it always leaves you feeling content — not to mention all cozy inside.

If creme brulee were to give us a list of commandments, here’s what I think they’d be:

1) Everything in moderation.

2) Remember to eat at least a little bit of fruit each day.

3) Be sure to treat yourself every now and again.

4) When getting a tan, don’t overdo it.

5) Presentation matters.

6) Engage multiple senses to increase enjoyment exponentially.

7) Always save room for dessert.

8) Take your time and hone your skills. The end result will be that much more beautiful.

9) Mix it up sometimes and make your ordinary extraordinary. A pinch of cinnamon or the seeds of a vanilla bean can do wonders.

10) Savor.

Tonight I am thankful for the delicious lessons that a luxurious treat such as creme brulee can teach us. Its richness reminds us that a steady diet of everything we want probably wouldn’t be the healthiest existence, but as long as we have cute ramekins or other small containers in which to sample and savor our most decadent treats, balance is maintained and all will be well with the world.

The thing about a band is that regardless of how many people you don’t
know that are staring back at you while you play, the people playing
with you are there to lean on for an on-stage laugh and a familiar
smile.

No matter how nervous you might be and worried you may forget the
lyrics, one of them will be there to mouth them back to you.

No matter how confused you might be in terms of remembering how many
times the chorus will repeat, you can always count on someone to give
you a knowing glance that gets you back on track.

Tonight I am thankful not only for the individuals and wonderfully
talented musicians who make up our band, but I’m thankful for the bond
that’s developed which makes playing together nothing short of awesome
each time.

Working out new songs or jamming on the ones we’ve got down, I’m
thankful for their spirit, their energy and their passion.

After practice tonight I stood by my car for a while, chatting away and oblivious to any blood-sucking insects that might’ve been in the vicinity. My driver’s side door was open, and I was leaning on it — seemingly inviting things to come home with me.

Apparently a ravenous mosquito decided to take me up on my offer; it hitched a ride and tagged along back to Anaheim with me. Most of the drive home I was swatting at it. Made for an interesting and fairly annoying journey.

The first time I noticed it, it flew into my forehead. I thought it might’ve been a tiny gnat or something else, so I made sure I patted my hair, clothing and person down in a fairly vigorous manner, hoping I’d kill whatever was still lurking about.

About 5 minutes later, I realized I had a terrible itch on my left forearm. I began scratching, and kept on.

And on, and on.

And I then noticed I was scratching a bug bite that had become the size of a nickel in the 20 mintues I’d been in my car.

Seriously? Where else would I find a bite before the night was over?

The swatting continued for miles, as the thing evaded me time and time again.

I exited the freeway, and was pleasantly surprised to find that there was nobody on the streets, despite it only being 10:45.

As I turned into my neighborhood, one cat darted in front of my car, followed by another close behind. Nothing like a cat chase to disrupt a calm night. Despite always hearing that I shouldn’t because it’ll mess their “timing” up, I slammed on my brakes and screeched to a halt to avoid hitting them. As I turned the corner and mustered the nerve to get back up to speed, a mouse ran across my path.

(Seriously. A mouse? We have those in plain view in the neighboorhood? News to me.)

I made my way through the remaining streets, eager to put the mosquito’s shenanigans, two cats and rodent behind me. Upon turning off the car and opening my door, the dome light came on and I saw the mosquito lazily exit the vehicle and fly off into the darkness.

Good riddance.

Upon sitting down to write (and realizing that I have another bug bite on, of all places, my ear), I fully realize that a tale of suburban wildlife isn’t the most captivating topic, but it’s one that makes me thankful for a warm June evening when everything is clearly out enjoying the temperate climate. For now, however, they can have the night. I will opt for my bed.

The other day in my car, I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw a girl — probably 17 or 18 — driving a small compact and having a good time listening to the music she was blaring.

I was immediately transported back to being that same age.

“If only she knew,” I thought. “If only she knew how quickly the time will pass.”

It seems like just yesterday I was driving to and from high school, staying late for practice, feeling perfectly fine about leaving the house with wet hair and no makeup just so I could maximize my sleeping time each morning. I remember going to Del Taco for every meal that I ate outside of my house, and I remember somehow fitting homework, music, writing and friends in.

I remember my first boyfriend, the innocence of those years, working at Disneyland during the summers, my high school graduation party with friends, family and neighbors and the excitement of leaving home to go to college in Michigan.

If only she knew how quickly five years will pass.

I glanced in the rearview mirror again and wondered if she regrets anything about her life up until this point, or if she will in the years to come. I wondered what it’s like to have no regrets at all. I wondered if she’d go to college and do things that she wished she hadn’t, or if she wouldn’t go and simply wished that she had.

If only she knew how quickly ten years will pass.

I remember living on my own in Redondo Beach and living paycheck to paycheck — such are the early years in advertising. I remember walking on the Esplanade night after night to pass the time when I was running short on money. I remember reckless years dating anyone who wanted to go out, even though I knew they weren’t right for me; I remember my “time-fillers,” as I called them. I remember moving across the country to Connecticut. I wondered if she was from the area, and if she was — if she’ll leave. If she leaves, I wonder if she’ll miss home the way I did.

If only she knew how quickly twenty years will pass.

I look at my life now, and I love it. It took a while to realize I needed to put myself first, and — more importantly — to take care of myself. It took a while to realize that if I was tired at 8pm, I could very well go to bed at 8pm. And that if I didn’t feel like having a cocktail or glass of wine on a Friday or Saturday, that’s OK, too. It took a while to find my voice, to be OK with the voice I found, and to sometimes be OK with not making a sound at all — although I think that part of me has always sort of been there.

I wondered if she would look back in 15 or 20 years — like I was doing — and realize how quickly the time passes. “In the blink of an eye,” they say.

And, indeed, it’s true.

If time went any slower, we’d probably be more impatient than we as a people already are. And if time went any faster, we’d wish for it to slow down more often than we do.

Somehow, time is exactly as it should be: right on the money.

Right on time.

We’ll look in the rearview mirrors of our lives and wonder where it all went. We’ll look at those younger than us and hope that they can find the contentment in their years that we may have lacked. And we’ll look at them and hope they’re good to themselves to the point where they won’t want to fast-forward through a rough period only to get to the next ocean of smooth-sailing. Because it all passes so quickly that it’s a shame to make it pass any faster.

Tonight I am thankful for the quick rewind and spin down memory lane, and the awareness that life passes by in the blink of an eye, it seems. What to do? Perhaps start a journal? Perhaps something else? Time is time. It is the only way we know it — steady, sure and moving past us second by second. And what they say couldn’t be more true: Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift — that’s why they call it the present.

Here’s to us all unwrapping our presents as slowly as possible, cherishing the wrapping paper and not letting even those seemingly insignificant seconds pass us by.