This morning, over thirty people who sit in semi-dark cubes for 8-10 hours per day came together. Jokes were told, pictures of kids were shared, and bacon was eaten. It was breakfast potluck day in our little corner of the IT world.

I’ve said it before; this is a fantastic job. There are good people here with amazing talents and fantastic personalities. But the nature of our beast is not social. It’s functional. We stare at computers. We speak in odd languages. We make things work. But this morning was different. This morning, we were like real, human people. There was barely a trace of the dazed, code-spitting monsters we often turn into come midweek. It was like a little breakfast miracle.

We laughed. We cried. We ate our weight in breakfast burritos.

It’s late March; flowers want to bloom, birds want to sing, the sun wants to shine. But you’re in Colorado, so get your rear out there and clear the snow. The infamous “Last Big One” is upon us.

While out, I got some good thinkin’ in:

1. I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to walk into the office in the morning and say “Sup, beeeyotches?” without looking like a disrespectful moron. Since I don’t normally use this phrase any other time, this is especially challenging.

2. I need to break my current addiction to peanut butter cookies. Though they are the most protein-packed cookie, they are also manufactured by the devil, packaged in lard hell and brought to me in bulk by cute little girls in green who tilt their head and smile and say, “It’s only tree dollars.” Yes, tree, not three- it’s more manipulative that way.
On second thought, the green girls may be the devil, too.

3. I need new running shoes but I don’t want to go back to my favorite running store because the new guy there always looks at me like he’s my stalker and he doesn’t want to reveal himself just yet.

4. My neighbor’s dog came over and peed all over the sidewalk today. Now the snow on the edge of the sidewalk leading to my door is all bright yellow. I was going to be mad but I’ve now decided that it might look like a landing strip and maybe the Mother Ship will show up tonight. No, I really don’t believe in “Mother Ships.” Pirate ships though, I definitely believe in those!

5. Yesterday, a guy wearing shoes like this asked me where the closest Eddie Bauer store was. I haven’t been to Eddie Bauer in a while but I’m pretty sure they haven’t started stocking those sneaks!

Explain this to me:

There’s this girl and she’s usually pretty bright. She’s got a respectable education. She owns her own home. She has hobbies and spectacular friends she doesn’t deserve. She has a cute dog that won’t hump your leg. She hasn’t worried about this guy in weeks. She reads (and often understands) classic literature. She is capable of giving complicated presentations and, oddly, she enjoys it. She has a nice family. She runs races up mountains. She’s even been known to carry on coherent and intelligent conversations. Imagine that.

So why, when this girl is talking to an adorable man that wants to participate in her charity event this summer does she turn into a complete and utter bumbling idiot?

Answer me that.

*This is the way he’ll start the story when he tells jokes about it later.

I woke up this morning and checked a few blogs. I learned that the husband of a fellow blogger passed away on Friday night. He [and really, they] had been fighting the battle against Acute lymphocytic leukemia for quite some time. He’d recently come into remission and they were anticipating a life without cancer. Then, it returned. That was about a week ago. Now, he’s gone.

I don’t want to link to their site, it’s not the right time for a parade, small as it may be.

Rather, I want to say how angry I am. How many people does this have to kill? How many people have to lose their child, their fathers, the love of their lives to something that our President wants to cut spending on? How many?

I have no words of consolation. I have no way of expressing how I feel. I have no right, either.

This is why I don’t rest in this fight. There’s just too much to ignore.

Maybe you’d consider getting involved in the fight against cancer in your own community:

Relay for Life

Making Strides Against Breast Cancer

Talk to Your Legislators

Join the Team In Training

Tell Congress NO to cutting cancer research dollars

Maybe even donate here or here.

I understand people don’t always see this disease this way. Maybe you haven’t been affected by it. Maybe you have but you don’t want to hear about it. This post is not about that. It’s not about yellow bracelets or flashy fund-raisers. It’s not about the t-shirt I got at the race or the picture with the celebrity spokes-people.

It’s about staggering mortality rates. It’s about research. It’s about a cure.

The people fighting cancer don’t get a break. They don’t get vacations or happy hours or lazy Sunday afternoons. Cancer doesn’t rest. I can’t either.

Yesterday, the crazy was all around. So much so that it followed me right into today.

This morning I was washing my hands in the restroom and the lady who cleans the office was in there. She had just finished cleaning the counters so when I was finished, I used a paper towel to wipe the counter where I’d washed my hands. I didn’t want to un-do all the cleaning she had accomplished.

“No! Do not wipe the counter, please,” she shouted.

“Okay. Um, I was just cleaning up the water.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t you know that if you cleaned up everything you messed up around here that I wouldn’t have a job?”

“Uh, I guess I didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry.”

“Well, you should be. I need this job, you know! I have to buy things.”

“I understand. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. ‘Cause I have to buy things and the most important thing is cheese!”

I couldn’t resist. “Really? Cheese, huh?”

“Yes, cheese. And cheese is darn expensive!”

“Yes. I guess so.”

“Four dollars.”

“Wow, ” I said. And then I high-tailed it out of crazy land for the fourth time in less than 24 hours.

And a Happy St. Pat’s to all! I need beer.

Freakish things are coming out of the woodwork left and right. Heck, it’s not even the woodwork; that would imply they’re trying to be subtle. Nothin’ subtle about this day. This is real in-your-face freakish.

At noon I walked two blocks to pick up lunch. In those two blocks I was accosted (the approached-and-spoken-to-loudly kind of accosted and the asked-for-sex kind of accosted) twice. In Spanish.

Because I am semi-bilingual, I will semi-translate for you.

The first was an older woman who, apparently, thought I was called Lucy.

“Lucy! I told you to be here at 11:30! Ayyii.”

I avoided eye contact and said nothing.

She followed me for about half a block, shouting all the way, “Lucy, you idiot! Do you ever listen?”

It’s no wonder the real Lucy ditched her.

The second accosting was at a crosswalk. I was halfway through when a short man in dark glasses bent down in front of me to pick up something off the street. I tried to side step him and right as I thought I’d avoided tripping over his trench coat, he turned to me and raised his eyebrows and looked me up and down.

“What’s up, chica? You want to come downtown with me?”

We were already downtown. I don’t want to know what “downtown” he meant. I felt the need to shower about seventeen times and consider telecommuting.

I returned from my reinitiation to the city to an email from someone calling himself “Terrence Wilson, Blog Finder.” I know I’m new to this game, but I’ve never heard of Terrence Wilson. I read the email anyway.

Apparently, Terrence and his “associates” want to pay me for my blogging or my writing or something. Heh. Sure.

The following is my response back to Terrence:

Mr. Wilson and Associates,

I have no idea who you are. I’m skeptical that your name is even real. I’m hesitant to even reply to this message. Nonetheless, I will acknowledge your offer politely.

I am not interested. If you’ve read anything here, you’d know that one, I am very new to blogging, two, I have a career in which I’m quite pleased and three, the only new position I’m even remotely interested in being offered right now is that of Beach Bum.

Unless by “compensate” you meant millions of dollars and by “professional weblog” you meant drinking margaritas in Cabo, allow me to save you any further time and ask you to not proposition me again. I’ve had enough of that for today.

Cordially,
JustRun

P.S. Just as a tip from one professional to another: You might consider using the name of your company and that of your “associates” when offering out contracts.

This back to reality thing is going swell.

Back from the Caribbean and hating every minute of it.

Nothing like 22 degrees F (that’s 5 degrees C) to welcome you back from 80 degree days and 70 degree nights.

I have so much to share about my trip. I hope to do that as soon as my mind gets used to the reality that I’m no longer laying on the beach, which may take a while. For now though, I’m just trying to accept the fact that there’s no sun today, I can’t wear flip flops, and whatever it is I’m drinking doesn’t have rum in it.