“We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties..."

You would think, with our recent spate of good fortune (new jobs, more work, leaving Bako, et al.) we would be in a celebratory mood. Instead, I've found myself looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because, for the last four years, that's how it's been... every triumph, however small, overshadowed and overwhelmed by a subsuming disaster.

And it finally came last night.

My computer died a grisly death.

PC people have the "Blue Screen Of Death", we Mac people have the "Grey Shade of Death." It doesn't happen very often - Macs are inherently stable and I've only ever seen it once in the 20 years I've used them, and that computer had been doused by a broken pipe. But the computer seizes up and you restart it and suddenly a grey screen descends like a night shade and a dialog box pops up telling you in six languages to manually re-start the computer. It really doesn't matter what language you speak, it means... R.I.P. It's less a night shade and more a final curtain.

"So how is he writing this?" people may ask. On my rinky dink laptop, which has spent the better part of the day trying to function as a back-up drive, with limited success.

The bottom line is, it may be a minor issue (a graphics card gone bad) which should be rectified by Tuesday. Or... the computer is toast. In which case, I'll be applying for a checker job at the market, because I don't have the five grand to replace the set-up I need to function as I have.

I'll know more tomorrow when the sole, solitary Mac "guy" in Bako swings by to examine the situation. And don't think that's cheap.

So if this space goes dark for a couple of days, just know that's why.

And if it goes dark for more than a week, say "hi" when you check-out at Vons. Because, without a computer, I'm dead in the water and essentially out of work.

The good things in life are always too good to be true. Or they will be crushed, along with your hopes.

Consider me crushed.

Two Lumps, Please

Let me preface this by saying it's never my intention to be Debbie Downer when I sit down to write these posts, really it's not. I'm just trying to chronicle the unplanned detour of our lives, the ups and the downs, and lately the "ups" have been few and far between.

For today, Christmas Eve, I had actually composed a heartfelt and touching message in the spirit of the season. But after yesterday, fuck it.

Although the boyfriend and I aren't giving gifts to each other this year, that doesn't mean life can't drop a couple of lumps of coal on top of your unassuming Friday morning.

Lump #1 came in the form of a 20 foot length of pipe. That's what had to be replaced yesterday morning when yet ANOTHER pipe burst in our family room ceiling. I walked into the kitchen to refresh my coffee and heard the sickening sound of running water. When I looked into the family room I saw a steady stream of water pouring down in front of the Christmas tree. It wasn't coming from the ceiling; we don't have one. It was coming from the heavy gauge plastic that's blocked off the exposed attic from the rest of the house since the last leak took out the ceiling. The plastic was sagging under the weight of about 5 gallons of pooled water which was slowly draining from a tiny hole. I quickly grabbed some trash cans and widened the hole to try and drain the water before the whole thing came crashing down.

As you can probably imagine, finding a plumber on the Friday before Christmas isn't an easy undertaking.

Or cheap.

The plumber who had done the original repair, the one who had been foisted on us by the insurance company, couldn't be bothered. He offered to come out next week. I called just about every plumber in Bako and only one returned my frantic call. Luckily, it turns out he's considered one of the better (and honest) plumbers in town and he and his crew were out within the hour. They made quick work of the repair, and he helpfully pointed out what he believed would be the next two pipe failures. It looks like we'll be doing quite a bit of business in the coming months. An hour (and $550.00) later, it was fixed. For now.

Now, the whole ordeal isn't without it's bright sides. Had we actually been able to re-drywall the ceiling, install new insulation and paint the repair after the last leak, we'd be spending this weekend tearing it all out again. And this leak narrowly missed the new TV and stereo which were replacements for the TV and stereo that were destroyed the last time.

Speaking of the new TV and stereo...

Lump #2: Walmart found me.

To be honest, I'm actually relieved. Contrary to what you may have gleaned about me from the blog, I do in fact have a conscience. Although it wasn't my fault I'd fallen through the cracks, it was getting increasingly difficult to justify my Walmart windfall, and really, any way you slice it, it's nothing more than theft. So I actually welcome the chance to make it all right. Besides, I did in fact fill out an application and sooner or later it was bound to turn up. Maybe in a month, maybe a year, maybe sometime in a distant future where our lives our back on track, there would always be the specter of the Walmart SWAT team bursting down the door and hauling my ass off to the Walmart gulag somewhere deep in Arkansas. So at least I'll be able to sleep somewhat sounder.

So between those two events, what little Christmas cheer I'd been able to muster this year vanished. But I'm not without hope. I saved the nice post I planned for today and with a little luck, I'll be able to run it next year. So with that in mind, here's to wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas.

A Hole New World

What a difference a day makes!

This was our problem yesterday...



And this is our problem today!



The photo doesn't really do it justice. I couldn't capture the whole mise-en-scène because of all the mammoth dehumidifying equipment and industrial fans, not to mention the heavy gauge plastic that's now cordoning off this half of the house.

Let me just say the benefits of home ownership are vastly overstated.

When All Else Fails...

Yesterday, I finally reached it... THE BREAKING POINT.

Half the house had been quarantined, the ceiling gone. Strangers were tromping all over the house, screaming at each other in Spanish, installing industrial strength blowers and dryers and humidifiers, which all drained into the kitchen sink, rendering the kitchen unusable. We'd lost our cable connection to the world, the dogs were going insane, as were my clients.

I'd had it. Seriously, had it. Lost the will to live.

I would have stuck my head in the oven, but it's electric. I can't catch a fucking break.

So, faced with such adversity, I did the only sensible thing.

I raided our emergency Vicodin stash.

We have one, really we do. It isn't like it's behind glass with a little hammer or anything, which is a good thing because we'd be constantly sweeping up broken glass.

About a year ago, the boyfriend threw out his back, and rather than subject himself to Doctors Without Borders here in Bako, he made a call to our doctor in LA, who promptly phoned in a prescription for Vicodin... 50 pills... with 5 refills.

Well, that should cure just about everything that ails you, and it does. I think I may just be able to get through the day.

Now, in any other town, 250 Vicodins should pretty much be enough for a lifetime, but when I raided the stash yesterday I saw we were nearly out. Call it the "Bako Effect."

I'll give him a call tomorrow and have it refilled. I'm sure he will.

He knows where we live and he's nothing if not compassionate.

Quarantined

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to kill myself.

The leak in the ceiling proved to be the classic case of "good news/bad news".

The "good news"?

A plumber came out and quickly replaced the problem pipe. Not only that, but he surveyed the rest of our plumbing and said it looked to be in pretty good shape.

And then the "recovery team" showed up from our home warranty company.

This would be the "bad news".

We were under the assumption that the problem area was the section of ceiling that collapsed. We were wrong.

They wielded a cattle prod like device that detects moisture. And as they probed the ceiling in frightening larger circles, it was determined that most of the ceiling on that side of the house has been soaked. The leak may have been small, but it had evidently been going on for a long while.

The ceiling has to come down.

They've now cordoned off that side of the house like we're in quarantine. See above. They've started removing the ceiling which has filled the house with the lovely odor of 40 year old wet drywall and insulation and opossum poop. It needs to dry, I've been told, before they can begin re-construction... in a week.

And it's all happening just above the only cable outlet in the entire house.

We will have no TV... for at least a week.

Where was that bookmark for the Hemlock Society...

The Dim, Dim Lights Of Broadway

Early this morning I opened my email, and there in the in-box was a Golden Ticket.

It was an email from a fancy schmancy New York ad agency. I had been referred to them by one of my occasional LA clients, a client that thinks very highly of me, although not quite highly enough to give me any work. The New York agency specializes in Broadway. They were looking for someone to design the logo and graphics for a new, multimillion dollar Broadway production. The LA agency gave them my name. They said I was perfect.

The job was mine. Did I want it?

Hmmm... let think about that. Million dollar Broadway production... tons of exposure.... gold in my book.

Fuck Yeah!

I dashed off a response. It was 7am, 10am in NY. I hit "send".

And then I heard the soul crushing "DONK" you get when the email isn't connected to the internet.

Sure enough, I pulled up the browser and got the dreaded "YOU ARE NOT CONNECTED TO THE INTERNET AT THIS TIME".

What to do, what to do? I wasn't panicking, not just yet.

I unplugged the modem and the router and gave them a breather. That usually worked.

Nothing.

I re-booted the entire system. Again, nothing.

Then, I realized what the problem was. SOMEONE forgot to pay the cable bill. AGAIN.

I quickly dialed up the cable company. The phone still worked. When you don't pay your bill, they sever your internet knowing that will cripple you, but they leave the phone on so you can call and beg mercy and pay your bill.

I went through the phone tree and was put on hold. Forever. After 20 minutes on hold, I got the bright idea to send NY an email through my phone. I quickly tapped out an email, but I'm not very good at texting and I noticed the message kept auto-correcting. To what I couldn't tell you; I was shaking in rage at that point.

I hit "send" and.... nothing.

I had the hold music blaring at me through the speakerphone and was staring at the little "send" icon blythely spinning around.

Finally it stopped and said something about not being connect to a "stmp path" or... I don't know. I have an art degree, I'm not Steve Jobs.

Then it occurred to me... I also have a Gmail account! I'll use that!

I typed, if that's the word, another email. Couldn't tell you what it said. I was blinded with rage at that point. I hit send again and... nothing.

And it's only then I noticed the highlighted Bluetooth icon on my phone. It turns out both accounts were trying to access the home modem. Which, in case you haven't been following along, was no longer connected to the internet.

Just then, someone answered the phone!

And HUNG UP!

I called back again and got "ALL CIRCUITS ARE BUSY AT THIS TIME..."

Maybe it wasn't a billing thing.... maybe it was an outage?

I call back a third time and actually get a human. It turns out the account is fully paid (thanks, Honey) and there are no outages. I get transferred to Tech Support where we quickly discover the problem is with the modem. After a couple of minutes, the problem is resolved and I'm back online. I immediately hear my initial email reply "zoom" out. And then a second later, I hear my frantic follow up emails "swoosh" out of my phone.

That was seven hours ago. Never heard a word back. It's nearly 7pm in NY.

I'm fairly certain I didn't get the job.

I'm hoping it's because I just didn't reply in time. Time was of the essence and it was given to someone else.

But who are we kidding. The poor guy got slammed with three emails from me, two of which were probably so incomprehensible they looked like they were written in Klingon. I came off looking desperate and a little, whats the word... INSANE.

These are the days I just want to stick my head in the oven.

But it's fucking electric.

Triskaidekaphobia

Today is Friday the 13th.

Many people consider it an unlucky day. Personally, any day you wake up in Bakersfield is an unlucky day in my book, so today is just another day at the office for me.

Luck is something that's been in exceedingly short supply these last few years. There have a lot of sleepless nights. Sleepless weeks of sleepless nights. When I lost my job. When the boyfriend lost his. When we lost the house. And when we ultimately moved here. That was a month of sleepless nights all by itself.

But recently it seemed my luck had changed. Ever since I returned from my unplanned family leave back in February, I've had more work that I could possibly imagine just a few short months ago. A few of the projects have been out of LA, but the bulk of the work, and several new steady clients, are from right here in Bako. I was able to enjoy my newfound good fortune for a couple of days, but then the sleepless nights returned with a new fear...

We might not be able to leave now.

Even after we bought the house, we still imagined we'd be headed back to LA, if not tomorrow, then in the near future. Once the economy revived and things returned to something resembling normal, the opportunities in the city would blossom and we'd throw the house up for rent and hightail it back over the mountains. But that doesn't appear to be how things are going to shake out.

The economy is limping along in the most anemic of "recoveries". And the advertising business I once knew is gone, wiped out in a tsunami of new media. I still get daily job updates for greater LA and the pickins are less than slim. Full-time jobs are a thing of the past, especially for someone my age. And more and more of the contract work is being run through bid sites where you have to compete against the whole wide world, playing "how-low-can-you-go" with Sanjay in Bangalore. I recently saw one interesting project that seemed right up my alley, but then noticed the current bid on the job was from someone in Moldova for $1.26 an hour.

But no worries. I had more than enough local work here.

And that's the problem.

I can't imagine turning my back on this now. It's taken me almost two years to get steady work here and the thought of trying to do it all over again somewhere else is frightening. Especially in someplace like LA which is swimming in out of work ad people. As hard as it may be to accept, I'm beginning to think we may be stuck here.

That's what I think about, wide awake at night.

In bed.

Flicking the cockroaches off me.


PS. Friday the 13th appears to have already hit Blogger. It was down all morning and now I see yesterday's post vanished. C'est la vie.

Good Run of Bad Luck

The boyfriend called me yesterday morning sounding a little frantic.

"You didn't happen to buy Lotto tickets last night, did you? he asked.

Sadly, no, because Tuesday night someone in Bako hit the Mega Millions jackpot. Fifty one million, 32 million after taxes.

Well, so much for our retirement plan. Good luck is in such short supply in this town I doubt anyone else in Bakersfield will hit a jackpot in my lifetime.

Yesterday the winners were revealed, an elderly couple. Making the story that much more heartbreaking, they bought their winning ticket at a gas station where the boyfriend often bought his. He's inconsolable.

Had we won, we'd be picking up the check on the way out of town. We'd pay someone to pack up the house and ship it to our wonderful new home back in civilization.

Scratch that.

We'd be on the road five minutes after they announced the numbers. They could wire us the money. We'd just mail the house keys to a charity and say "Adios Bako" as we watched it drop out of sight in the rearview mirror.

A girl can dream. Or at least she could until Tuesday night.

Beware The Ides Of March

It's two steps forward, one step back. Or is that one step forward, two steps back? Hard to tell.

Things had been going so amazingly well with my new Bakersfield client that obviously it was time for a setback.

The woman I work for, Melissa, is president of the company and we had hit it off immediately. She's smart and funny and utterly out of place here, like me. I had already completed four projects for her and her marketing team and they were thrilled with the work. Better yet, they'd already paid me for them! They were so happy with the work that the floodgates opened and I found myself with over a dozen upcoming projects. We decided we should meet and hash out a schedule, so yesterday I dropped by the office. The meeting went well and we got all our ducks in a row and right at the end, almost as an afterthought, Melissa dropped a little bomb.

"By the way, we have all our employees take a personality test..."

Wha.......?

"You can do it online, I'll send you the link. They'll send me the results and I'll forward them to you."

What to think about that? Honestly, I didn't really see the point. We obviously had a good thing going. Why ruin it by getting to know me? As pleasant as she was about it, it was clear it wasn't a choice. I was taking the test.

And sure enough, when I got home and checked my e-mail, there was the link.

The test was deceptively simple, only 24 questions. Mostly about how you'd describe yourself and your attitudes. I grew a little concerned that several dealt with the concept of "optimism"...

"Are you an optimistic person?"

No.

"Do people say you have a 'sunny disposition'?"

Fuck no.

There were also a couple of questions dealing with faith, which made me wonder if this was some sort of evangelical litmus test.

I tried to throw it and put myself in the best light, but the questions were so random it was hard to tell what the expected answer would be. I decided I'd just tell the truth and hope that my candor would make up for obvious misanthropic qualities. It took about 10 minutes and then I hit "submit" and forgot about it.

About two hours later, I heard my e-mail chime, and there was a message from Melissa. The subject line said simply...

"WOW"

I opened it, but there was nothing else, just the attached test results.

And they weren't good.

Apparently I am an egotistical sociopath.

An incredibly creative egotistical sociopath. Not that that really softens it all that much.

The test results ran 48 pages. There were only 24 questions. That's two pages of "analysis" for each response! Obviously I'd just been reduced to some sort of algorithm, plugged into some software and it spit out page after page of boilerplate personality traits.

The report started off...

"This report was designed to increase the understanding of an individual's talents. The report provides insight to two distinct areas: behaviors and motivators. Understanding strengths and weaknesses in both of these areas will lead to personal and professional development and a higher level of satisfaction."

Yeah, right.

At the bottom of the cover page, they helpfully added this...

"This report analyzes behavioral style; that is, a person's manner of doing things. Is the report 100% true? Yes, no and maybe. We are only measuring behavior. We only report statements from areas of behavior in which tendencies are shown. To improve accuracy, feel free to make notes or edit the report regarding any statement from the report that may or may not apply, but only after checking with friends or colleagues to see if they agree."

WTF?

Why not just say "This report is an amusing novelty, like a fortune cookie."

I couldn't believe anyone would take this thing seriously, but evidently the company I worked for swore by it. I was fucked.

"Eric is goal-oriented and driven by results. He is the team member who will try to keep the others on task. He wants to be seen as a winner and has an inherent dislike for losing or failing. He tends to work hard and long to be successful. He is extremely results-oriented, with a sense of urgency to complete projects quickly. He is often considered daring, bold and gutsy. He is a risk taker who likes to be seen as an individualist. Eric establishes many standards for himself and others. His high ego strength demands that his standards will be met. He may be so self-confident that others see him as arrogant. This confidence may be something others wish they had. He is forward-looking, aggressive and competitive. His vision for results is one of his positive strengths. He may lose interest in a project once the challenge ceases. He may then be ready for another challenging project. Eric likes people, but can be seen occasionally as cold and blunt. He may have his mind on project results, and sometimes may not take the time to be empathetic toward others. He prefers being a team player, and wants each player to contribute along with him."

Eh, maybe it's not so bad after all...

"Eric may display a lack of empathy for others who cannot achieve his standards. He challenges people who volunteer their opinions. When communicating with others, Eric must carefully avoid being excessively critical or pushy. He tries to get on with the subject, while others may be trying to work through the details. He is not influenced by people who are overly enthusiastic. They rarely get his attention."

Then again, maybe it is...

"Eric usually sees himself as being:
Pioneering
Assertive
Competitive
Confident
Positive
Winner

OTHERS' PERCEPTION
Under moderate pressure, tension, stress or fatigue, others may see him as being:
Demanding
Nervy
Egotistical
Aggressive

And, under extreme pressure, stress or fatigue, others may see him as being:
Abrasive
Controlling
Arbitrary
Opinionated"

OK, I'm fucked.

And those were the GOOD points.

The boyfriend came home while I was reading through the report and saw I was upset. He stood behind me and read over my shoulder.

"This isn't me" I protested. "Please tell me this isn't me..."

I looked at him and he said nothing, just arched a single eyebrow.

"I'd better go get dinner on" he said as he left the room.

So today should prove to interesting. I have to drop back by the office later and I half expect to see the entire staff cowering under their desks. Maybe they'll just lock me out.

It's a shame. I really liked them

A Question Without An Answer

There are days I wake up thinking "What the fuck happened?"

"How the hell did I end up in Bakersfield?"

Today is one such day.

A Very Bad Day

Yesterday I just about reached my breaking point. Around midday I thought I might actually snap. I had a job go horribly, horribly awry.

It was Tevye. There's a shocker.

The boyfriend is always accusing me of being unable to read people, but I can read them just fine and I knew Tevye was bad news the minute I saw his office. But I didn't have the luxury of turning down work and I had to hope for the best. You'd think I'd know better by now.

It was a project for his ceiling tile client, my debut in Architectural Record. Tevye was the middleman between me and the client. Essentially he was nothing more than a waitress, delivering piping hot ad pages in a timely manner. And yet he managed to fuck that up. Over the weekend the nasty e-mails started to fly and when push came to shove, he shoved me right under the bus. Gave her my home e-mail address and washed his hands of it, leaving me to try and make sense of it all and clean up the mess.

I managed to push through it all and get the job done. This will be the very first time I actually lose money on a job, spending more on gas, time, supplies and messenger fees that I can hope to recoup. How much I lose depends on whether Tevye bothers to even pay the agreed amount. I'm sure he will; they always do. He wouldn't be the first to try and stiff me. In the end, they always pay up. That has nothing to do with the goodness in people's hearts and everything to do with my Mad PhotoShop Skilz and the ability to fabricate threatening letters from fake lawyers.

The whole experience made me question what the fuck I was actually doing anymore. I had chosen this career path, and I had chosen poorly. It's proving to be sad, bleak dead end. What other path could I have chosen? Where would I be if I had? Where did it all go wrong?

I thought back to my high school guidance counselor. Back then being a high school counselor wasn't the highly skilled and respected profession it is today. Back then it was for people who couldn't even teach P.E. I don't remember her name, only that she had really bad hair. I was still in my architecture phase and pretty much set on the path I was planning on taking. But still, I wanted to get her informed opinion, her astute evaluation, her wise advice.

She looked through my file, my straight A record, my interest in art and design, my involvement with band and drama club. She took it all in and gave it careful consideration. And after all was said and done, she came to a measured decision on what career was best suited for my strengths and skills...

Petroleum Engineering.

Seriously. How she figured I would go from a bit part in "The Sound of Music" to oil rig jockey wasn't explained. I told her that didn't interest me in the least, but she kept pushing it hard. So hard in fact I began to wonder if she had some ulterior motive. Was she getting a bounty from Exxon for each unsuspecting student she duped into a career in the oil industry? Sure seemed like it.

So on days like yesterday, when I start playing "shoulda/woulda/coulda" with the choices I've made in life, I think back on what would've happened had I taken her advice. Years of engineering school and a life spend as a corporate drone for Big Oil. I'd probably be a global warming denier too, if I knew what was good for me. Not to mention I'd probably be living in some backwater hellhole like Oklahoma or Louisiana or... Bakersfield.

Shit.

The Good Lord Giveth and the Good Lord Taketh Away

I can't say I didn't see it coming. There have been lots of little clues for weeks. But still, it looked like we had finally somewhat stabilized our lives and I chose to whistle past the graveyard and not think about it. When I got into work yesterday morning and was told there was a three o'clock marketing meeting with no set agenda my heart sank.

And sure enough... laid off. Again.

I can't take it personally. They let the entire marketing department go. I'm getting remarkably blasé about it, but then again I've heard some variation of the "tough times/drastic measures" speech six times in the past two years. You'd think by now it would get easier to take, but it doesn't.

So, once more into the breach.

It not all bad news. The new Target opened this week. Later today I'll check to see if they're still hiring.

Aztec Gods Work In Mysterious Ways

Yesterday I wrote somewhat derisively (OK, a lot derisively) about the boyfriend's belief in the mystical voodoo power of a certain plaster Aztec princess that had been bestowed on us. That we had somehow angered her by stowing her under the couch and we had been forever cursed to live in Bakersfield because of it. And only after restoring her to a place of honor would the spell be lifted.

I thought he was on crack.

And then two hours after posting it, he received a job offer.

I'm not sure what to make of it but one thing is clear - Hiawatha, or rather the Princess Iztaccihuatl (so sorry Your Highness) now officially scares the hell out of me.

The details of the job are yet to be worked out and it will directly impact the fate of this blog, so stayed tuned for further details.

I must say the display of raw Aztec power is humbling to see. If I remember correctly, there's a roadside stand down in Mettler that is chock full of this plaster crap. We may just have to stock up. If a lowly Aztec princess can rock your world, can you imagine what a plaster Huitzilopochtli could do?

The possibilities are endless.

Cursed

I returned home last night to discover Hiawatha was back. At least that's what we call her. That's her above. We won her as a white elephant gift at a party a couple of years ago. She's made out of plaster and painted in metallic tones. There's glitter too. She's lovely.

After doing a little Googling I discovered it's actually the warrior Popocatépetl and the princess Iztaccihuatl from Aztec mythology...



I can't even pronounce that, so I'm gonna stick with Hiawatha.

At any rate, we initially hung her up just for shits and giggles, but after a few months the joke wore thin and it didn't really go with anything. Obviously. So down she came, to be replaced with something more tasteful.

But she's back. The boyfriend, with entirely too much free time on his hands, came to the conclusion that she's cursed. According to his logic, everything bad that's happened to us in the past couple of years happened after we took her down and slid her under the couch. She was mad and vengeful and took out her wrath on us by banishing us to Bakersfield and ruining us financially. He feels that by hanging her back up it will appease her and perhaps the curse will be lifted.

I think he's gone mad, but what the hell. I'll try anything at this point.