embankment

7:50 a.m.: Pulling out of the driveway, there was a LOT of snow on the driveway [first Polar Vortex of 2014]. It was beautiful, but I was driving slowly.

I was probably pushing it at 18 miles per hour.

8:00 a.m.: I was approaching a stoplight at a very busy street. I was on a pretty busy route. Even more so at rush hour. I started slowing down well ahead of when I normally would. There was a fancypants car stopped at the light ahead of me. I needed to get into one of those left-turn lanes that sort of breaks off toward the left. This is usually full of cars and there's a very low corrugated divider thing that outlines where the angle to getting in this lane is. Many a morning people drive right over this and into the lane so they can get to the front for the left-turn arrow.

Pretty quickly, I realized that my car was not going to stop before kissing the the back end of this fancypants car. So I guided my car to the left, hoping the low, corrugated divider would slow me to a stop right where I needed to be. The whole area was covered in a foot or more of snow, but I relied on memory to pull it off.

It was a genius move, if I do say so myself. My car smoothly slid past the fancypants car and into the left turn lane. Unfortunately, I forgot that the low, corrugated divider turns into an actual median closer to the light--this is a busy intersection, after all. Instead of coming off the divider and into the lane, my car kept sliding all the way up onto that median. Which is just high enough that my wheels couldn't get any traction.

I couldn't move.

I was a sitting duck there, with less than 2 feet on either side of me to running traffic. I didn't dare get out of my car to investigate.

8:15 a.m.: I called my coworkers, who graciously offered to come over and give me a push, but I declined. The last thing I wanted was them to get stuck trying to rescue me.

8:20 a.m.: The police arrived. I sat there on hold with Allstate Insurance Company. For an hour. Apparently the system for getting a tow is that you get put into a "hold pool" of sorts. Contracted towing companies pick up, ask where you are and then say "oh, I'm in xxxville, that's too far," and throw you back on hold. I was sitting there, watching people pass by me, laughing, and being thrown back into the hold pool over and again.


This was right after using the windshield wipers. There was not a lot of visibility. Which is why the officer parked there--so no one would slide into me after the turn.


10:00 a.m.: After NINETY MINUTES, the police officer had enough and told me that I was a hazard. He was going to call their tow truck to winch me out. I felt like the world's biggest idiot. In 20 minutes the tow arrived, and the officer asked me to sit in his squad. This is the second time I've been in the back of a police vehicle--the first being in a paddywagon outside the Robert Taylor Home projects, no less).

The seats in those things are so deep and SO SLIPPERY.

The police officer suggested pulling my car out sideways. Because "that's how they pulled out the last one this morning." The tow truck guy disagreed. I believe his words were "This is 20th car I've pulled out this morning." And the cop was making ME feel like an idiot! This was happening to EVERYBODY that day!

10:30 a.m.: After the tow truck guy pulled my car out and into the gas station parking lot about 200 feet away, he gave me the bill: $150. "It would have only been $100 if you had called. This is the 'police rate.' " Pro Tip: Don't let the police call the tow; you'd think they'd get a discount, but really it's the opposite.

11:00 a.m.: I crawled my car the 0.1 mile home and worked from there.

And when we tried to get that money reimbursed by Allstate? All they would give us was a $100 reimbursement, even though it was their stupid system that forced the police to call his own towing people.

STRIKE TWO, Allstate. (Strike one was not covering the plumbing backup because we "declined" a coverage that they failed to even offer to us.)

the problem with parking: reprise!

So in seven years of NaBloPoMo, I don't recall missing a day. Until yesterday. This post will be post-dated till 11:59 just so my OCD self will not go nuts looking at the list later, but we all know the truth: I dropped the ball. It happens.

So here is my collection of parking woes from back when I had to drive downtown, park for two hours, sneak out of the big 5p.m. meeting, wait in line for 40 min to get into the lot, not get an official lunch break but eat whenever and stay in the dungeon till all hours. If you can believe it, I truly was thankful for that job.

2005: a review
In which I complain about parking. Here is a taste:

the problem with parking -- vol 3 (july 9, 2005)

the problem with parking is that, when you're in a hurry and you've been trolling for a spot for 10 minutes and finally find one that's dangerously close to an intersection and you accidentally move up too far, another driver can *claim* to think that you were signaling to turn, not park, and then pull a fried-green-tomatoes move on your ass.

then he'll just shrug his shoulders as you contemplate giving him the finger, wasting the entire appropriate finger-giving window, and you end up having to park down the street six blocks. that spot had been right in front.

you just come away wondering where the hell Tawanda is when you need her.

anger. pride. fear. relief. gratitude. guilt.

They say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. They also say that when you're involved in very serious situation, you may find yourself thinking of something random instead of something important.

I don't know much about the first one, but during the car accident Friday night while I was hanging upside-down by my seatbelt and calling for my brother, I kept thinking to myself, "Wow, those people who made the movie Crash got that one scene pretty damn true to life!"

***

Let me start at the beginning. 

I had Friday off because I was working Saturday. Jon always has Fridays off because he works long shifts Monday through Thursday. He was doing his thing and I was doing my thing, and suddenly we were snippety at each other, over something so trivial I can't remember what it is. I was getting all worked up on the inside about how he has yet to help with the thank-you cards and if he had just admitted to me that he didn't really want to, I'd be annoyed but they'd have all been done months ago and I wouldn't still feel guilty and is he going to pull this with changing diapers and giving time outs and homework--omg am I going to be the bad cop for life!?! On top of that, I thought he was taking too long getting ready. He said maybe I should go without him and I stormed out the door without so much as a look backward.

I had never done that before. I tell the guy I love him at the end of every phone call even if it's a 2.5-second conversation to say that he's arrived to pick me up. I ALWAYS kiss him goodbye like I saw my parents do all those years. We've even stuck to the whole "don't go to bed angry" thing. But I had let the simmer turn into a boil and was so angry. It was inane. And I knew it even before the door was closed behind me, but was too proud to turn around.

***

I went over to my parents' house--I had wanted to set up the Christmas tree before my mom got home because she always complains that no one helps her anymore. I've put this thing together like six times; a 10-year-old could do it. She got home, shook her head and pointed out that the middle part was never going to fit in the stand no matter what I tried. I then assembled the entire thing in 45 seconds. I had been struggling with it by myself a whole hour--checking the phone every five minutes to see if Jon had messaged me.

I was upset about being angry and I just wanted to hear Jon's voice. My mom called me out on it as soon as she walked in the door, and later my dad said I didn't seem myself. He warned me that it was a full moon that night and to be careful (he says that a lot). I left to go pick up my brother from the airport. Apparently they assumed I went to get Jon first and wasn't going alone.

***

It was 20 degrees out. There had been a dusting of snow in the morning, more like a layer of fake cobweb that people put out during Halloween all over the grass and the trees. The streets seemed fine. I knew I was off because of the argument, plus dad's moon thing, so I was driving extra carefully at the speed limit. Plus this horrible thought kept creeping into my head, "Just watch, self, you acted like a fool and didn't say goodbye to him, what if you got into an accident? He'd have to live with that." I know that sounds like something people say after something happens, and I admit that I have these morbid thoughts ALL the time and nothing happens, but it really was going through my head the whole day. Stupid spotted tongue.

***

My brother drives a fancy car that beeps at him if he doesn't have his seatbelt on. Oh, how I loathe that sound, and I had to hear it every time he'd call me on speaker when he was driving in Alabama. HATE. I always lectured and yelled, but he would never put it on--something about how it chafes. Seriously, it's a really annoying sound, I don't know how he could stand it. I got out of my car when I got to the airport, hugged him hello and slipped my phone into my coat pocket as he was putting his bags in the trunk. On the drive home, we were discussing dinner, the new-but-really-from-Madelyn's-wrecked-car stereo Jon had put into my car last week and other random stuff. I remember noticing that my brother put his seatbelt on as we were pulling away from the terminal and being thankful I didn't have to nag him. 

Everything was normal. I was still driving at the speed limit. I was in the left lane, there was a semi tractor-trailer next to my right and the shoulder to my left. The truck seemed like it was coming closer, my car drifted toward the shoulder--was there ice there?--I pulled it back to center. I heard my brother yell my name as it swerved back and forth a couple of times before I wasn't able to regain control. We swung around and hit the solid concrete median head-on, and my little black Altima flipped over onto its roof and slid, parallel to the median. The scraping of top of the car was such a distinct and disgusting sound. It all happened in less than five seconds.

Everything was foggy. There was this rancid, chalky smoke in the air. I had glass in my mouth. The airbag had knocked my glasses into my eyeballs so hard the lenses were smeared from the inside and they were hanging down at a weird angle. I kept asking if my brother was ok over and over, until he yelled at me to snap out of it. He was surprisingly calm, asking if I was hurt handing me my purse. I couldn't get the seatbelt off, but he was able and fell into the crushed glass on the inside of the roof. Something like eight people stopped to help us, one of whom yanked the door open, and--I'll never forget this--said, "It's pretty smoky, we didn't want you to choke. Plus this car could catch on fire any second. You guys better get out NOW."

I couldn't get my seatbelt off. People kept yelling for me to turn off the engine, but I couldn't get the key to move. The steering wheel and dashboard seemed a million miles away, as if I were fully reclining in my seat with my hair sticking straight up. I had no concept of the space where my legs were. I pushed against the roof to hold myself up so someone could unbuckle me, I don't know who. I was staggering around and couldn't stop checking to see if my brother was ok. He crawled back into the car to root around for his phone while I was panicking that the car would catch on fire with him inside. A very nice man named Pete who was on his way home to Indiana from his job in Wisconsin let us sit in his car until the police came.

***

As I was sitting there, all I could think of was what kind of horrible person could let this happen with someone else in the car, especially someone I love more than my own life? My God, the things this boy has had to face, how hard he's had to fight for his life, and it could have all been gone in a second? My brother had a pretty bad laceration to the temple, his left eyelid was purple and swollen to ten times its size, there was a burst vessel in his eye that made him look like it was bleeding, his shoulder, neck and leg were hurting. My face was bruised from the airbag, I was sore here and there, and I had glass in my mouth. Neither of us wanted to go to the hospital, but I knew that I couldn't force him to go if I didn't too.

I called Jon. He's not stubborn in a fight like me, he answered. He didn't have a chance to say hello before I apologized. The poor guy didn't have a car, or I'm sure he'd be on the road before I got past the word accident. I asked him to call and tell my parents gently and ask them to get him and come to the hospital.

I don't dare imagine the agony my mom was in, trapped at home, knowing both her babies were headed to the hospital in an ambulance.

The firefighter who looked like a caucasian version of my dad when he still had a mustache was so kind. He got me some water to rinse and spit out the glass, he took me where my brother wouldn't see so I could cry a little, then he reminded me that we both walked away from what looked like terrible, horrible wreckage. 

I refused to go in a separate ambulance, so my brother was strapped to the stretcher and I was strapped to a board on the bench. My brother knows his very complicated medical history, but so do I--they were asking me all the same questions but I kept waving my guy off and interjecting in my brother's interrogation: "Don't use tape on him, only paper tape, he's allergic! And advil! He has a pacemaker! Be careful with that leg, he had surgery there!" I was incredibly annoying. My brother gave me a look and I focused on my own questions, which were done pretty fast. Then the tears started rolling. 

"If I see one more tear, I swear to God I'm going to punch you and give you a real reason to go to the Emergency Room," he said, and then asked if they could please get his suitcase and laptop out of the trunk--that's his work stuff.

Before we took off, the kind caucasian dad firefighter said Jon and my actual dad had arrived. But we'd have to see them at the hospital. I sniffled the whole way over there.

***

Again, as we were rolling into the emergency room of this foreign hospital, it seemed like a scene from a movie--for as much as they get wrong, they manage to get this stuff eerily correct. I didn't know where my brother was, and I was as antsy as you can be when you're immobilized on a hard plastic board with a C-collar around your neck. And then Jon came in the door. Later, my dad.

I was fine, essentially just knocked around and shaken up pretty badly. My brother has a few pretty big bumps--they did lab work and X-Rays because of his medical history, and we were there a long long time before they'd clear him to leave. It's always hard to explain what his deal is to new doctors, but I was so impressed by the how in command he is about everything. As much time as I spent worrying, he spent joking with the staff.

Essentially, we are both OK. It very well could have gone VERY differently.

***

Here is what I know:

• I am alive, typing this instead of lying in a hospital bed or a surgical table or the slab of a morgue.
• My brother is alive, and insisted on going to Wrigley Field today to upgrade his season-ticket seats, but his friend kept an eye on him. 
• It was one car vs. a median wall; no other cars were hit or hit us.
• The exact same accident happened down the way about 30 minutes before our crash.
• A lot of people in my life care about me--50+ Facebook comments.
• The car is completely totaled, but it protected me to the very bitter end.

My brother posted this on the FB:

"Wear your seat belts!! They save lives including mine. Last night."

I don't think I would have been able to go on living if the seatbelt hadn't saved my brother last night.

rockstar--rocking that Prius

So I went to a newer branch of my bank the other day, and to my surprise, next to the spaces allotted for the disabled, there were a few other very close specifically designated spots:

 See? We're talking about right up next to the door.

It says, "Reserved for Low Emitting/Fuel Efficient Vehicles."

Am I the only one who hasn't seen this before? 

P.S. If you're traveling for the holiday, please be careful.

Vrrrrrrrrrrrroooooooooooooooom!

Way back in 2005, I professed on a list of hundred things about myself that I have always wanted to drive a race car at regulation speed. Jon must have been paying attention, because for this past Valentine's Day, I got a certificate to Chicago Indoor Racing, good for lessons and two spins around the track. We redeemed them this weekend with a work friend of mine who purchased the same gift for her fiance's birthday.

Technically, they're very fancy go-karts, but they're low to the ground and go up to 30 mph so it was still totally awesome. Plus it felt much more official wearing jumpsuits and helmets.

This is the starting line. The action shots I got just showed blurs.

I didn't finish nearly as well as I felt I had--something like 9th in the first race on Track 1 and 7th in the second on Track 2 (Jon placed 6th and 4th). Not to make excuses, but general consensus was that the rule-flouting people in our race who had no problem cutting us off and actually hitting people have probably done this before.

I feel like I look like a groupie in this picture. That was not my intention. Maybe next time J will be MY groupie.

Next time we take a spin, I'd like to be in a bigger group of people that we all know. Do I smell bachelor/bachelorette party?

milestone: year 3

This weekend I went to dinner with ri and kaiya to catch up. It's been quite a while since we've had quality time together, and ri said something to the effect of You know, I feel like I find out more about you from reading your blog than from sitting across from you at dinner like this. I wasn't sure if I should be sad or glad about that. Granted, it's easy to wander off on a tangent while discussing marriageable characteristics portrayed on The Bachelor. But more importantly our time together is so limited that we often spend it all just getting everyone up to speed on what's happening in our respective lives.

I feel like I need to have a catching up of sorts here, what with all the crazy crap going on that I haven't had time to explain. Let me start with how I missed the third anniversary of this blog last Friday. Which is surprising even to me.

Normally, I post snippets of what people might have missed. I'm too exhausted for that. And here's why: 

Back in 2004 I started working in the dungeon. I was living with my parents and sleeping in same bed I had grown up sleeping in. And while the 36-mile commute wasn't the best—what with the parking and all—I felt a lot better pulling into their quiet cul-de-sac at 4 a.m. than I would have parking on a Chicago city street and walking alone to my own apartment. Plus, I had the whole house to myself because when I was awake, they were asleep or at work. And eventually, the steep discount on rent allowed for more frequent trips to see H.

The dungeon thing was a two-year gig with an option to stay on. Certain factors indicated that I had a pretty good shot, so I purchased a tiny piece of high-rise property that would turn my commute into a seven-minute walk or a $4 cab ride. But because long-term dungeon was not a done deal, I allowed the person who had been renting it to stay there until I found out, even though the rent did not cover all of the mortgage and assessments.

Then the economy started to turn. The dungeon didn't work out after all and I was done by New Year's Day 2007. I didn't find a full-time right away, so I was freelancing and wrangling with tenants. (Apparently, sympathy and being considerate are traits that successful landladies do not have.) And even though I technically had no holes in my resume, I wasn't eligible for unemployment compensation and started freaking out about covering the bills. I was told employers would be scrambling to snatch me up when they saw I had a big-name dungeon on my resume, but the industry on the whole was hit very hard and there were few takers and a lot of talent to compete with.

So I visited Miami. Then Detroit. I courted people in New York and Los Angeles. And then I snagged a full-time gig in Chicago. I was relieved that I wouldn't have to sell my place and could still be local to deal with tenant drama. And live with my mom. And still be able to afford plane tickets to LAX.

Then I got laid off on my birthday. Our last day wasn't until November, so there was a cushion to figure out what to do next. 

Looking for a job and not knowing when or how much the next paycheck would be during most of 2007 was not fun. The stress brought on some health issues, too. So I decided to make the leap and join a startup business. Unfortunately, while the tiny high-rise condo is not far from the startup, the place and all of its high-end niceties is a bit out of my current price range. Especially now that the current tenants have broken their lease and I have no rent to count on.

So this is the plan: 

• The current tenants are moving out next week 
• H is moving here the week after that
• We will stay at the place, renovate it ("Um, stainless-steel appliances and hardwood floors are STANDARD now, Cadiz") and put it on the market—Hopefully this will be my absolute last stint as landlady. Ever.
  
• Instead of paying 5K for three months to have professionals "stage" the place with rented furniture and accessories, I'm trying to buy stuff that will make the current digs look nice and can also work with wherever we end up moving after (when?) it sells. 
• Hopefully H will have an easier time landing a full-time gig than I did.
  
  

All of the above has pretty much overtaken my thoughts (and kept me up at night) for the last few weeks. I'm extremely excited to be in the same zip code with H. It's pretty much the only thing that's keeping me sane. But it's a big step for us; this weekend he's selling most of his stuff. I think I might be more sad that he's parting with it than he is.

Tonight our startup company is having a launch party to celebrate little guys everywhere (but mostly just us). Things are going pretty smoothly and hopefully in time we can build a bigger and even stronger business. The newspaper gave us a small mention, so that's a good start. I'll be toasting to new beginnings.

But that's not all there is to celebrate. Three years of blogging! I'd just like to thank every one who reads what I write here, especially those whom I don't get to see or talk with often. It means a lot to me that you take time out of your day to stop by and comment, and you always give great advice. You guys are the best.

Much love, 

Cadiz

suddenly, $22 a day for parking seems attractive

So the State of Illinois can't/won't pay for mass transit. They're supposed to vote about it today, but the systems (buses and trains in Chicago as well as the suburbs) have already announced what the hatchet of cutbacks will come down if they don't get the aid.

As is, I stand outside in my neighborhood at to catch a 7 am bus to take me to the Metra train station in suburbia, which takes me to Union Station, where I wait for another bus (when it's cold) that gets me nearer to the office. When it's not terrible, I'll make the 25-minute walk. 

After the cuts, the bus from my subdivision to the station as well as Union Station to my office area will be gone. That means I either have to wake up (and make others get out of bed) at the crack of dawn to get a ride and walk the rest. I'll have to leave later, too, so someone will be able to pick me up when I finally get home. So my door-to-door time will go from 10 hours to something closer to 13. 

This is the kind of stuff that kills the buzz I had over being a non-car commuter.

no question is left behind

Today I will be answering Becky's contribution to my request for NaBloPoMo ideas back in October:

1. what's your favorite color, and why?

Right now, my favorite color is green. Mostly of the shades-of-grass variety. But I have been known to change it up from time to time.

2. do you miss the dungeon? even just a little?

Yes and no. I absolutely do not miss sitting around till sometimes 3 am in a tiny windowless cinderblock room. However, that gave me a lot of time with my thoughts and a great excuse to write lengthy emails to this guy who lived all the way across the continental United States and realize that he got me so much more thoroughly than anyone I'd met who lives in this county. I don't know if I would have given the idea of him and I a chance if I weren't trapped in that room so often or if I wasn't on such a late schedule that I could devote so much time to getting to know him because of the time difference.

Also, during that time in the dungeon was when I started this blog. I had been going through a very crappy situation that normally would make being alone with my thoughts an absolute nightmare, but because I had the downtime to troll around and find you guys, and the fact that some people seemed to want to read what I was writing, that time was actually therapeutic. The kindness-without-obligation and support helped me fix my broken heart (not to say the love I got from my real-life peeps wasn't totally and completely appreciated, too). I really miss the time I had to myself back then. These days, I rarely have a minute to just sit around and post or watch a movie with no interruptions. But it's not worth not having a life at all. And don't even get me STARTED about the parking.

3. what was the last thing you purchased at the grocery store?

String cheese. Frankly, I think I have a problem.

4. if you could go anywhere in the world, to visit or live, money not being an issue, where would you want to go, and why?

Everywhere! I got on a plane for the first time when I was two and I've pretty much never stopped thinking about where I might go next. I'm obsessed with culture, food and traditions, so I think I'd want to hang out with all kinds of people and learn about how they live and maybe write about it or take lots of pictures to share with people for whom money is an issue. A lot of the problems in the world today are because people are so trapped in their own little bubbles and don't take the time to see things from some other point of view. Some places on my going-there-when-I-have-the-money list are Iceland, Japan, Brazil, Ireland, Kenya, southern India, Mexico and South Dakota.

i can get back to inhaling now

Ri once described my appetite for books not in terms of reading, but "inhaling." It's always been that way, ever since I sounded out the adventures of The Poky Little Puppy for myself. Recently she asked me for a recommendation and I consulted my notebook (I list ones I've heard about and then when I've read them, I give each a two-line review and a grade. Shut up.), only to realize I hadn't read anything new since last October. That's a really long time for me, especially if you consider how many precious commuting hours I've saved by working from home this year. Unfortunately, I've spent most of that extra time on the world's worst hobby: worrying.

Approaching the end of year two on the dungeon contract, it became very clear that I didn't really want to work erratic night hours much longer. What with the fact that I interacted with my boyfriend more than I would have if he lived in my own time zone and my mother breathing down my neck to procreate, it seemed the grandchildren of her dreams just might stay there if I didn't join the land of the living. But I didn't know what I wanted: another great opportunity with night hours or a less interesting gig with a schedule that allowed me to see the sun?

For months I freelanced, working from home and paying out-of-pocket health insurance. I transitioned back to being awake during the day, talked to people in other states and different industries and tried to figure out where I belonged. And all that time I worried. So much that I didn't sleep well, wasn't productive, didn't follow through as thoroughly as I should have. And I rarely did anything fun because I couldn't allow myself to relax.

I went to Miami. Then Detroit. I courted people in New York. I e-mailed companies all over the place and called people who knew people. And suddenly some big-time decisions had to be made. I obsessed. I asked for more time. I obsessed some more. I ran it by my friends and family. Repeatedly. Some told me I'd be stupid if I did one thing. Some said I'd be nuts to go with another. I was paralyzed with indecision.

Right around then, Rolling Stone published its 40th anniversary issue. It was shiny and red and I read it cover to cover. I don't know if the discussion of the turbulent Sixties resonated with my turbulent state of mind, but I couldn't put that thing down. And then, on page 132, I got my answer. In an interview with Rolling Stone's Keith Richards, Kurt Loder asks, Any life lessons you'd like to pass on to that younger generation?

"First off, don't do anything if there's not joy in it, a sense of exhilaration. A day is a day, and each one is going bye-bye, and you've only got so many more in front of you. Friendship is probably one of the most important things in life. Apart from your immediate family, it's about friends -- the ability to make friends, the ability to forgive friends. And their ability to forgive you. It's just the ability to enjoy other people's company, really. Then you've got it all, man. The rest of it's gravy."

Right then I knew I'd have to turn down a wonderful job opportunity because if I had to work odd hours in a strange city where I didn't know anyone, at this point in my life it wouldn't matter how great the gig was. I decided to take my chances in limbo a little longer rather than be stuck and unhappy far away. And it worked out for me: A few days later I got an offer from one of the places I've been freelancing. They created a permanent position for me. Working during the day! Not on weekends! Not on HOLIDAYS, either! And I can take the train, which means no more parking!

I don't have to be able to see cc to know she's reading this and rolling her eyes that I got inspiration from a man who allegedly snorted his father's ashes, but someone who's been rocking as hard and as long as he has must know a thing or two about a thing or two.

Even though it's not a book, I decided that because of its heft, the front-to-back way I tackled it and what it did for me, Rolling Stone's The Fortieth Anniversary deserves an entry in my notebook right under the scathing review of Atonement:

5/07

The Fortieth Anniversary
Rolling Stone

Interview issue; what the greats went through in the Sixties is still relevant. Eye opening.

A

pushing my buttons

Why is it that people feel the need to push buttons that are already lit? Was my pressing the "up" arrow obviously not good enough to actually summon the elevator? If I'm already going to floor 17, will it not actually stop there unless you ALSO hit the button? Do you arrive at or in the elevator anticipating the joy of touching that button, but find that since I've already hit it your day has no meaning, so you go ahead and redundantly press it again?

WHY IS MY BUTTON-PUSHING NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU?!?

parking is the least of my worries

H flew out and will be hanging out with me downtown at the condo for nine days. we have a very packed itinerary, but seeing king tut at the field museum will not be on it as we were too slow to book the tickets and the king's moving on to philly in 2007. however, H will be holding my hand as i come to grips with not having a car for so many days and we'll attempt to get around via public transportation. it'll be the longest we've ever been in the same zip code.

time will tell.

testing out the waters

some of you may recall the problem with parking series i did last year. yes, parking in the city is a bitch. and though i've gotten adept at it, trolling around to find a spot is still not my favorite way to spend forty-five minutes worth of automobile fuel.

so i'm going to do something absolutely ridiculous and out of character. i'm moving to the city. okay, okay, for like a week. or so. maybe.

i'm going to be apartment-sitting in highrise downtown. this is big for me because a) i've never lived alone b) i've never lived in a city and c) i love my car, and i can't bring it with me. that last one is going to be rough if you consider the fact that i spend almost three hours in my car every weekday and sometimes on the weekends, too. the place is pretty close to my job, so i'll have an added two-to-three hours a day to myself, but my biggest fear is boredom because there's only a tiny, non-cable tv. it's going to be a cold-turkey cutoff from the dvr.

i'm not sure how long this is going to last, or if i'll even be able to cut it using mass transportation and remembering to feed myself. granted, i could just go in and check the mail/water the plants, etc and go back home to my cozy bed and chatty roommates, but i'm going to really try and give it a go.

don't fret; i'll keep you posted.

SIX!

when i pulled into a parking spot at work tonight, my little black car with a spoiler fit perfectly in a formation to make two lines of three little black cars (all different makes) with spoilers, all facing each other and divided by yellow lines.

pretty as a picture. just like those sesame street animated shorts that line up the little blocks in a pretty formation for every number to help you learn how to count.

2005: a review

well folks, i was all ready to write a play-by-play of all the wonderful and exciting things that happened to me this past year, but frankly, there isn't much to say except that i went into it sad but managed to come out pretty content. which is odd because i worked practically all the time. okay, that's not exactly true. i was actually trapped in a dungeon for most of it. and there's no cell reception in there.

nah, this was just a low-key year. i didn't have nearly enough time for the people i love, but i got a good glimpse of just who it is that loves me. you guys are the best and i don't know what i'd do without you.

but i do know one thing: this year i learned a whole hell of a lot about parking.

i'll be out for the next several days, so if you're bored, take a spin.
hope you have a safe new year's eve, and a happy and healthy 2006.

love, cadiz

vol. 1
vol. 2
vol. 3
vol. 4
vol. 5
vol. 6
vol. 7
vol. 8
vol. 9
vol. 10
vol. 11

the problem with parking -- vol. 11

the problem with parking is that when your working hours are jacked and don't include any type of rhyme-or-reason around the holidays, you take for granted that the rest of the free world is off the day after christmas, don't expect seventy BAZILLION people to be downtown stepping into oncoming traffic aimlessly because they're done with family stuff and don't know well enough to STAY THE HELL HOME, and make yourself 20 minutes late finding and feeding a meter. then you get up into your ghost town of an office only to be called a moron because you could have parked in the lot because duh, today is a company holiday.

the problem with parking -- vol. 10

the problem with parking is when you tell your friend you'll be at her house in 45 minutes -- and you were -- however, it takes you another 40 minutes to find a spot near her building that isn't 2-feet deep in snow or taken up by plastic lawn furniture. sigh.

the problem with parking vol. 9 -- DELUXE

the best part about working on Thanksgiving was being able to park in the company lot, as no bigwigs decided to clock in. so today -- the day after Turkey Day, also known as the biggest shopping day of the year -- i was thinking the same would apply, i mean, what person with any kind of corporate power was going to show up?

the usual policy is this: the suits get to park in the lot, and then after five the underlings can move our cars in from meters on the street in a single-file, around-the-block line, taking spots as they become available and hoping to still make it back for the late meeting.

i had hoped, while running late as usual, that they'd let us park in the lot again today. and when i got there, it looked good; at most the lot was about a sixth full (the emptiest i'd seen in ages). i rolled up and put my keycard to the sensor. a voice crackled over the speaker:


'you can't park here.'

'what? why?'

'you can't park till three.'

'are you serious? but the lot is EMPTY!'

(a man with three little kids walks up to a car in the lot, carrying a bunch of shopping bags. and unless we've changed the hiring policy, i'm pretty sure they weren't there to work). they drive off as my pleading continues.)

'so wait, you're telling me you're not letting me in?'

'nope.'

'REALLY? even though it's EMPTY?! please?... c'mon, man. it's two TEN.'

'i know, i have a clock right here. come. back. AT. THREE.'

'you have GOT to be kidding me.'


i backed the car out of the entrance ramp, cussing like a sailor. somehow i managed to find a spot on a street a few blocks away, especially surprising because our office is very close to an extremely busy retail thoroughfare and everyone was out and about. maybe all the mad shoppers who had been up for 5 a.m. sales got pooped and went home.

i crossed through the deserted parking lot to get to the office, fuming at the vast array of potential spots that i had been denied. i stomped up the stairs and into the office. it's freaking bad enough to have to play the parking game every other day, but today? an unofficial holiday? WHEN THE F-ING LOT IS EMPTY?? oh, the injustice.

a few coworkers agreed. one even told me with bitterness in his voice that as he was rejected from the lot, he saw a whole family get out of a car with their ice skates. here we are, WORKING, and these people are out for a wintery jaunt. and just in case they felt like using their reserved spot, we're forced to look into a perfectly good parking area we can't have, like a piece of cheesecake in a locked revolving case.

but worst by far, was what happened to a key figure in our operation. this guy was pretty much in charge of the show today, and he came in at 2:40, only to be rejected by the same joker on a power trip in the security booth. he was forced into street parking as well. For god's sake, THE LOT WAS STILL EMPTY!

so all of us, grumbling, resigned ourselves to the fact that they weren't letting us in. thinking about it further, i can see why they have to be so strict; if not, every tom dick and harry from the company would come, park and enjoy the city, locking all of us out all day and night. but there's no need to be such a freaking SMARTASS about it, mr. i-have-a-clock-right-here. jackass.

security is getting an e-mail about this.

what's worse is that later, when i went to move my car from the meter to the lot at 3:30, i SAW that little skating family. and they were DAMN ANNOYING. the really did have their freaking skates slung over their shoulders. and on top of that, all four of them had matching annoying little oldschoolpajamatype sleeping hats -- you know, the ones that have the long tail that ends in a poufy pom pom? -- WITH STRIPES. it was like a freaking Gap commercial right there in the parking lot! I'll bet they had a gd thermos full of spiked eggnog in the front seat console of their stupidass LandRover and were going over the river and through the woods to their damn grandmother's house for dinner. and what was i going to be doing? chomping on gum for the next few hours because i forgot to bring my lunch and didn't want to go BACK OUT again in the cold. grrr.

and there isn't one damn thing i can do about it.

THAT, my friends, is the problem with parking.

bye, ben

the stars aligned and i was able to go out with my coworkers after work. we had beers, snacks and conversation, a good chunk of which revolved around horror stories involving parking and towing in the city.

the girls made a few good arguments for moving downtown and ditching my car, but nothing was more convincing than getting back to my car to be welcomed by my second parking ticket in four days.

sigh. i'm going to miss what i could have done with you, mr. franklin.

the problem with parking -- vol. 8

the problem with parking is that the city uses only the finest of glue to affix tickets to your windshield. not only do you have two furry lines from the ticket you just got, but they are perfectly aligned with the two lines of goo still stuck there from the ticket you got back in April. it's so obtrusive that when you go back home, your father feels compelled to warn you multiple times about the perils of parking in the city, not once forgetting to mention that the big yellow thing they're sure to clamp onto your car is called a 'Denver Boot,' as if you had blocked out the previous 10,000,000 times he's ignored the fact that you pay your fines to lecture you about it.

the problem with parking -- vol. 7

the problem with parking is when you change up the routine and aren't used to moving your car in the middle of your shift but then do that again after a long time, it's possible to simultaneously give yourself a stroke and a broken ankle when you get off work in the middle of the night and realize you left the car at a meter paid up only till 5 p.m., and there's no one around to even take you to the ATM and the pound to get it out if it's been towed. And then when you miraculously find the car still on the street, you realize that had you been one spot farther back, the ticket you got would have been 20$ cheaper.