We moved into our new offices for Season Two on Monday morning. It’s been five days now, and I still keep getting lost. So much so that Correne made the kind gesture to make this sign just for me, so I can find my essentials.

Monday and Tuesday I gave myself excuses. I figured I kept getting turned around because I was distracted, or used to the old offices. In fact, both mornings I walked to our old offices until I remembered. But I’m not the only one who walks into a hallway, only to turn a full circle and stare, wondering which direction is which.

At least five times this week I walked into the kitchen when I meant to walk into the bathroom. And speaking of the bathroom — where the towels should be is a tampon dispenser. I can’t even tell you how many times this week I went to dry my hands only to have to turn in a circle. The towels are by the stalls. The tampons are by the sink. I know I have a lousy sense of direction, but this place makes no sense.

My new office is the opposite of the old one. I’m now tucked away in a corner, so easily hidden that two days ago during lunch I overheard my coworkers discussing me until it got suddenly silent, as one must have started wildly gesturing towards my door.

So, I keep spinning in the hallway, trying to figure out which direction I meant to be headed. I’ll get it eventually, but with virtually no break between season one and season two, and yet everything changing in the meantime, it’ll take a few days to get adjusted. I really like my new office, and will just have to get used to the fact that I have to be aware when lunch is over and we’re back to work, instead of hearing everyone chatting around the table.

Like… oh, I think right now. Gotta go.

At least I know where to find the coffee.

keep your armies in your sleevies.

Whenever I open a new bag of cat food and pour it into the cat food container, Taylor acts like he just won a jackpot, pulling himself up to the stream of kibble, trying to catch one in his mouth mid-stream. I can’t imagine how much more delightful and tasty one-second old kibble is compared to the stuff he eats every day, but his excitement leads me to think that there’s a very big difference.

And then, this morning, I opened a new bag of coffee beans, and as I poured them into the coffee beans container, I started salivating. And if it were possible, I would have swiped a couple of those beans with my paw and jammed them right into my mouth, whole.

I get it, Taylor. I get it. Continue reading

The Ninth Annual Valentine’s Day Poems

You know what happens when you have to write something for the ninth time, which means it’s not quite the tenth, so it isn’t as exciting and spectacular, and it all kind of snuck up on you because you were taking some much-needed time away from the internet, because sometimes you’ve got a lot of shit on your plate… which is a really gross image (and sorry), but like, you just don’t know what to do? Well, what happens is, y’all get a clip show.

CLIP SHOW! YAY! Continue reading

writer’s ear + office ass = runner’s tears

Well, it’s official. Lately when I order my coffee from whichever boy is behind the counter that day, he calls me by my name and makes a joke about either my current order, or one I’ve had before. I’ve never had a coffee shop where people know me by name. This means I have logged some serious hours here, and the staff is very friendly. Continue reading

not funny ha-ha.

There’s this guy who hangs out at our local coffeeshop. He’s one of our regular crazies. I mean this as affectionately as possible, as he’s an endearing form of crazy. He’s small and heavily tattooed in tiny little self-made, prison-looking blue symbols. There’s writing on his knuckles, a tiny tattoo in the corner of his hairline, and writing up his forearms. He wears baggy white pants, a large beige windbreaker, and carries pieces of paper with him. He enters the shop, always giggling, head ducked down and bobbing occasionally, as if agreeing with himself. He’ll take a seat and write for hours at a time. He keeps laughing and nodding, scribbling and agreeing with himself. He is, for some reason, usually sweating. He’ll occasionally go outside for a cigarette, stubbing it out carefully under on the bottom of his shoe, before coming back in to sit and work on his scribblings for a while. Continue reading


Did I really just spend six and a half hours at a Starbucks? My editor is going to be so proud of me.

I don’t have an entry. I just wanted to let you know that things are going to be a little weird around here for the next day or two as AB finishes the redesign. I have no idea what kind of mojo she’s going to be doing, but there’s a chance that links will be a little wonky and stuff will be confusing… or maybe it’ll all be seamless because she’s a damn genius.

I have had about fifty cups of coffee this weekend. I’m now shaking. Bye, Berkeley.


Let’s see. Bit of a wine headache, little bit groggy, and feeling like I spoke all the words ever invented — must have hung out with Jessica last night.

She arrives at my house and it’s like Texas has come for a visit. Always in a patterned skirt/blouse combination absolutely nobody else could pull off. Thick, dark hair that falls from a ponytail in slow motion like a scene from a movie. She acts like it’s no big deal. She’s filled with compliments, but she’s the one who always looks like the woman Sandra Bullock wants to be.

“All right, Miss Pama-lama. What is going on with you?” Continue reading

Half a Tank of Gas


7:00am — So. Tired.

9:00am — 10 miles Drive to Hollywood to meet and welcome the new kid. He does not disappoint. I draw a not-to-scale and only slightly inaccurate map of all the Los Angeles he’ll need. [Hey, Eric. Last night I drove through Culver City. It is nowhere near Sherman Oaks. I promise not to smoke crack before I write another stupid map in your journal.] Continue reading


The house is so smart. See, over the past week I’ve finally had some time (read: due to the fact that I’m supposed to be finishing this manuscript, and it’s much easier to say, “I really need to hang that picture.”) to get the house pulled together a bit. The screen door, which fell off while I was on the phone with my mom, has been fixed and works perfectly now. I unpacked the last of the boxes of books. I found a place to put the vinyl records. The pictures have been hung, the curtains are up (I was going to make them, but I’ve learned that no matter how cheap you think you can do something, that damn IKEA has already done it and they’re offering it to you even cheaper). The couch still hasn’t arrived, but I’ve been on the phone with Macy’s, and they know I’m mad. That’s all I can do with Macy’s: tell them I’m really, really mad. Continue reading