floorpie

First and foremost. Thank you, everyone (and you know who you are) for your kind words, e-mails, IM’s, calls, etc. You’ve given me new faith in mankind and humanity (well, that’s not true. You’ve given me new faith in you, Humanity is still a bitch). I wholeheartedly appreciate the ideas, help, support, and most of all, unadulterated pity. Oh how I bathe in your pity!

Anyway, it’s official: I have signed-up for California Unemployment Insurance with the Employee Development Department. A little quick math (I am an engineer, after all) tells me that the Inbox is quite a bit less than the Outbox when it comes to things as frivolous as say, rent and food.

Speaking of which, though this isn’t so great for the psyche, I’m going to totally be ready for swimsuit season.

Another one bites the dust

And so it goes. I have just fallen victim to the Silicon Valley Screw and got laid-off. Instead of describing the excurciating details to you (now), you should just read Ernie’s account, as it was nearly the exact same thing.

PS You can’t imagine my depression in searching for Ernie’s post (keep in mind he just got a job [yeah!]). “Hmmm, one month ago? Err, two? Three?! FOUR?! FIVE months ago?! Am I going to be unemployed that long?”

UPDATE

.:bouNCE::: OK, so I’m getting more used to the fact that:

a) I don’t have to get up early tomorrow

b) I am NOT taking you to dinner

So, the quick and dirty version is this:

I had a scheduled 1-on-1 with my boss at 10 this morning. This in and of itself is not rare by any means, so there was no cause for alarm. 10 rolls around and he’s not ready, could he have a few minutes? “sure, no problem” 10:30 comes and goes, then 11. At 11:30 I walk out to my car to go to lunch and he stops me as I turn on the ignition, “Hey, can we meet before you go?”

So, 20 minutes of talking about the projects I’m working on currently, what’s the status, is the client happy (“Yes, very”), do you think we can do this and that to provide a unique value add (“Sure, of course”). OK, well let’s go into this room, this is Ms. SternFace from Corporate HR.

Hmmmm.

As you know, we’ve been having trouble meeting our financial estimates, lately, etc etc.

I deal well with adverse situations (I should put that on my resume), though, and I took it all in stride the best I could. When HR completed their humiliation of me, I joked with Ms.SternFace and took the high road, “Well, I’m not going to say thank you,” I said, “but it was very nice to meet you, I’m sure this was difficult for you, too. (bitch)”

Then came the little talk with the boss, which was really just him guarding me lest I chose to go ballistic. To his credit, though, he was genuinely very upset, and in fact seemed close to crying on a few occasions. We’ve been through a lot together, and I am assured that this had nothing to do with performance. (This, of course, does not keep me in Top Ramen, but take solace wherever it comes, right?). Turned in my computer, my keys, my badge, looked my boss in the face and said, “Don’t worry Jim, I still like you,” and slapped him on the shoulder.

And that was that. Either by design or circumstance, this little saga fell directly on the noon hour, and no one was in the office to say goodbye to. At our last parting, Jim confided to me that two other people would also be getting laid-off today, but I knew not who. So when I saw dear Susie while on the way to my car, all I could say was “You’ll see, talk to you later,” when she asked me why I was going home.

Thrilling Ankle Update

I took a shower, this morning, for the first time since last Sunday.

OK that’s a little misleading. To be more clear, today is literally the first time in over a week that I have washed myself.

Just kidding…up until today, I’ve been sheepishly taking baths, unable to stand on my ankle enough to support myself for any length of time. It’s been a sorry site: me hopping or crutching into the bathroom, laying a towel over the track for the glass door on my bath/shower, gingerly kneeling on said towel as I swing my “good” leg into the tub for support, slowly lowering myself into too hot or too cold water while simultaneously keeping the ankle elevated, wash rinse reverse.

Don’t get me wrong, baths are fine. Go in there with a book and some spare time and it’s like a hot tub sans bubbles. Trying to clean yourself, however, is a different story. Maybe it’s just me, or maybe I’m not as clean as I once was, back when I used to take baths regularly…back when I was still trying to master things like speech, walking, and feeding myself without a bib. In either case, soaking myself in soon-to-be dirty water just doesn’t appeal to me anymore. So, imagine my disproportionate glee at being able to haltingly take a shower.

Granted, if I’d known then what I know now, I probably wouldn’t have risked it. The ankle started to throb somewhere during hair conditioning, and I was forced to pull it up how the heroine getting kissed by the hero in old movies used to do. This made things a little squirrely in there, especially when I had to close my eyes, putting Balance on temporary hiatus. I made it through, though; so I have that to congratulate myself on.

And, if you read this boring little shower saga all the way to the end…well I guess that’s a small victory, too.

As part of my sitting around and watching the swelling in my ankle go down (as the blue-ening goes up), among other things I’ve been trying to teach myself the piano. I’ve played many an instrument in my day, but never the ivory, and someone needs to be That Guy at parties. At any rate, as I muddled through Red River Valley and Chopsticks, I noticed that the written instructions before the music were presented in a half a dozen languages, while the music itself was, of course, just in one.

So, uh, there you go…

You like me! You really like me!

Well that’s odd. I was inexplicably named Best of the Cool at CoolSTOP. I am humbled.

OK, so sure they choose a site every day… and maybe I’ve never heard of them… and fine, any site that doesn’t list little yellow different clearly has questionable industry status. Nevertheless, though less prestigious, everyone knows that the VMA’s are cooler than the Grammy’s…maybe this is like that, too.

bleh. I’ve posted this before which is really only testament to my blatant un-originality.

Abstract of archived post for your convenience:

The garbage truck comes every Friday morning and wakes me up. There is much sadness.

Today, I was jolted awake at 6:45; which, I think, is a little ridiculous. It was still dark out fer fooks sake! While literally stewing in my own bitterness, listening to the beep beep beep, whiiir CRASH CRASH repeat, and unable to actually get up and ineffectually stare at them from my window, I found myself laughing hysterically when the incessant noise and vibration set off a car alarm as well.

“Well, that’s just the fuckin’ best.” I thought to myself, and pulled myself out of bed to crawl to the bathroom.

Been having these long conversations with Ariel, lately. This means nothing other than it resulted in her sleeping backwards in bed.

In other news, I can now sporadically put weight on the foot, although it’s still an inflated zeppelin tethered to my leg. Here’s a pic to get you ready for lunch.

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Riiiiight: *riiiiip* ->recycle bin

Prior to this weekend’s fun-filled ankle twisting, was a trip to San Francisco’s preeminent junk yard, Building Resources. The pictures were worth the trip alone (or whatever, just trying to seque to the pics)

I’m down!

“OK, I’m going to tell you right now, you’re breathing way too fast. Slooow, deep breathes. Inhale real deep, now push it out slowly. Good, good, now keep doing that. Slooow, deep breathes. Slooow, deep breathes… OK, you’re breathing too deeply, not so deep! You’re going to make yourself pass out…”

Sitting in the waiting room with a severly sprained (I hope that’s all) ankle. Swollen, black & blue, having to hop on one foot to get here. The stairs from my apartment prior to this were no picnic, either.

The overweight asthmatic with the breathing quandry, who went through the wide wheelchair door representing salvation, is now out of eye and ear-shot. Some family waits for her behind me, rudely talking on a cell phone in another language, despite the sign clearly prohibiting the device’s use. There’s a kid with a doting mother and a black eye, some coughing and wheezing young professionals, another limper like me, and some miscellaneous patients with non-obvious injuries.

***

b.p. 134/92, pulse rate 107. To my credit, I had to hop in here, and I’m starting to get a little out of breath. I’m now waiting for x-rays, and listening to a lady with a foot injury get hers. I suspect it’s a recurring problem as she seems upbeat and relaxed, even though she hobbled in with the assist of a cane. From my examining table I get a clear view of la Machina de X-Ray: patients go in through a door on the right, and the x-rays come out from a door on the left. From here, I can clearly see where the doctors and nurses are evaluating the new films. Looks like Asthma Lady is faking, but Madame Foot Injury may have a problem. There are dark lines criss-crossing her ankle, but these mean nothing to an untrained eye like mine.

***

They give me a lead flap to cover my groin, but nothing else, which makes me laugh. It attaches around my waist and makes me look like an ancient Egyptian with a penchant for flashing. 3 poses and 3 minutes later, I’m back in the examining room waiting for the doctor.

***

Good news: sprained! I let out a disappointed groan that had the doctor and attending nurse laughing. I explained that I already had my war-story prepared if it had been broken, and the doctor offered to oblige. I decline. After an ace bandage, and air splint, and a wheelchair ride to my car, I’m on my way to the pharmacy for crutches. They shall be useful in garnering the kind of sympathy I so desperately crave…

PS it was from playing basketball

You don’t always meet him, but when you’re lucky you do. More frequently, you just get stuck behind the usual stragglers talking on their cell phones, or digging for toll money through their bags. Even when you docome across each other, you don’t initially know it. At first you simply take him for one of the seething masses, and set your sights on defeating him. Slowly, though, you begin to realize his true nature by the way he drives. You feel that he wants to move as fast as you do, that the reason for his slowness is those before him, not he himself. As he presses on them, cars in front of him part like they would for you, had you been in the lead. When he merges into the right lane to execute pass around a stubborn obstacle, you smoothly follow him, beginning to trust his instinct and resolve.

And that’s when it begins to dawn on you: You and he are a team.

Now there is an understanding. If he should go for the pass, but get caught by someone from the far right oblivious of the scene, he knows you will let him back in. When you trade off leads, leap-frogging from wolf-pack to wolf-pack, it is as comrades, not duelers. You are sharing a brain now, really, and only the impending exit signs can seperate you. And when they do, you signal to your partner with a salute, bothe elated at your mutual success and melancholy at your parting. Farewell, old friend…

PS There are 3 iPod billboards on the 101 between Santa Clara and San Francisco…