Travelogue: Key West, Florida (a.k.a. The Conch Republic)

To plan our spring vacation I searched the interwebs for "best North American vacation for couples" and came up with Key West, because it offers great snorkeling, a relaxed atmosphere and might stay within budget. Chad loved the idea so much, that we booked flight and hotel within a few days of me suggesting Key West.

I did a bit of research before our trip, and learned that in 1982 U.S. border patrol roadblocks along the only road into Key West put a damper on the island's tourism. This prompted the mayor of Key West to announce secession from the United States of America to become The Conch Republic. The secession was short-lived, but successfully ended the border patrol roadblocks. Watch a video about it *here on travelchannel.com*. Happy Conch Republic Day on April 23! (Timely!)

Luckily, these days flights to Key West are abundant. The Key West airport is small compared to most tourist town airports, and the runway is short. The pilot warned us that we would feel a rapid deceleration upon landing with the implication being "don't be scared/no screaming or crying back there". Disembarking from the airplane down wobbly stairs to the tarmac, we were greeted by a retro-looking sculpture of a buoy and some families pointing at the buoy, or maybe reaching for each other's hands. Um... does anyone else find this sculpture a little creepy?

As we left the airport in a taxi bound for the hotel, I saw a big rooster sporting impressively colored plumage walking around near some picnic tables. When we arrived at our hotel another (or was it the same?!) big rooster sporting impressively colored plumage greeted us in the parking lot. There are many free roaming hens and roosters on Key West. More on that later.

Chad and I often turn to tripadvisor for help deciding where to stay, dine and play, which is how we found the Almond Tree Inn for our stay in Key West. Located near the quiet end of Duval Street on Truman Avenue, we easily walked to all the things we wanted to see on Key West. (The island is only 1.8 miles by 4 miles in area, so most things are walkable.) The rooms are thoughtfully appointed with Jonathan Adler-esque style. (Our room had cute cat ceramics on a feature shelf. It's like they knew me!) The hotel courtyard features a pool, a hot tub (no thanks, germs) and a man made waterfall with koi pond. An impressive continental style breakfast is served each morning on the lovely covered porch area. Happy Hour nibbles and drinks are served each evening.

Our first evening in Key West we walked around Duval Street a bit to get acclimated, stopping for dinner at the downtown location of Cuban Coffee Queen. I liked my black bean veggie burger from Cuban Coffee Queen served with plantain chips and a blue dumdum lollipop for dessert. Chad loves all things breakfast/egg and had Havana rice and beans with eggs. He liked it, but did not get a lollipop. I tried to convince Chad that the staff wasn't playing favorites with the unequal lollipop distribution, but I was clearly their favorite. Or possibly the lollipops only come with sandwiches.

Many of the restaurants in Key West, including the downtown location of Cuban Coffee Queen, have shaded or covered open air dining. It's hot and humid in Key West. If one holds still and there is a breeze, outdoor dining is semi-pleasant/semi-sweaty-making.

After dinner, Chad and I had a lazy swim in the hotel pool to cool ourselves before bedtime.

One of Austin's mottoes to promote local businesses "Keep Austin Weird", seems a little vanilla in comparison to bumper stickers/unofficial city mottoes I saw in Key West which read "Key West: a work free drug place" and "Key West: We do more in a week than most people do all day". Chillaxin' seems to be the name of the game down there. (Don't worry, law abiding citizens. We did not partake of any illegal drugs in Key West. We didn't even have to "just say no", because no one offered any.)

Tune in tomorrow for more Key West travel adventure tales.

Loving

Last year whilst visiting family in NC, I was my usual delightfully snarky, eye-rolling self, making fun of a "night-owl" event that lasted until *wait for it* 9:00 PM. My sister, probably tiring of my snark, asked "what do you like to do?" The truth is, I am a happy homebody and calculating observer. When I do leave the house, I like to be somewhere dark & quiet where I can fade into the lovely background. Conversely, I also like to be somewhere dark & cavy with a thumping bass where I can lose myself in trance-inducing dance music. I think I love acting, because I lose myself in portraying a character. I don't love much sun, wide open spaces or putting my true self on public display. I also don't like perusing rickety antique stores, surveying suburban shopping malls or feeling the hopeful eyes of an artist on me as I view their art: no matter if the art is good or bad. I'm far too empathetic for that kind of emotional pressure. 

People love a positive spin and easily viewed lists, so here is my love list for spring 2015.

• The Woman Who Stole My Life book • 

• LG top load washing machine • Battle Creek TV show • bee better tee •

I Quit... Again

I gave notice at that "bad decision" job. I feel a great weight lifted from my soul. I'm trying to keep my departure amicable and professional, so no thinly-veiled details. Yet.

It doesn't help that "bad decision" employer doesn't provide parking, and that my parking contract goes from $160 a month up to $263 a month effective April 1. No foolin'. I canceled that expensive mess. My commute typically takes only ten minutes to get from my centrally located, charmingly cruddy neighborhood to downtown, then twenty minutes of navigating ever-changing lane closures downtown to enter the nine story parking structure to try and find a parking spot into which my MINI can squeeze.

Also, working retail and climbing ladders aggravates my bunionette. Also, working retail and climbing ladders does not jive with my upcoming surgery to correct said foot affliction. *shudder*

Rolling up to work last Friday morning to see the sidewalk on the opposing corner covered in blood, police and police-tape hindered my overall sense of well-being. An attempted robbery of Starbucks with two marines playing superhero left a trail of mayhem. Click here for the factual-ish story.

My last day at my current job lines up with the last day of my parking contract.

I won't miss the scent of meth-tainted urine or alcohol-fueled bad decisions of downtown Austin.

I am quitting another job.

Next!

Neither Precious Nor Darling

Ever noticed how adding the suffix -ette to a word makes it cuter, more diminutive or dare I say, darling? 

Rock+ette= those lovely leggy dancers. So much more fun to watch than a rock.

Flower+ette= something already lovely made smaller, likely more abundant and presumably cuter.

Kitchen+ette= that room from whence food comes compacted to an easier to manage & easier to clean size.

Bunion+ette= a foot deformity not near the big toe like a regular bunion, but by the little toe or metatarsophalangeal joint. 

I have a bunionette on my left foot from too many years working in retail, performing as a dinner theatre actress and wearing high heels. Also, my left leg may be a tiny bit longer than my right leg, and I have flat feet with wide toes, which certainly doesn't help my pitiable foot situation. My bunionette is neither precious, nor darling. It is not dimuniutive. My bunionette is red, inflamed, angry and seems to be growing. 

It may be time for yours truly to get a desk job. 

I wonder if I can start a crowdsourced funding campaign for my future bunionette correction surgery and physical therapy?

Most importantly, where can I buy cute and stylish orthopedic shoes?

Click here for more fascinating facts about bunionettes.

Want from West Elm

picture • candle • toaster • clock • dish • breakfast stand tray • orange stripe pillow 

 grey chevron pillow • bubble knit pillow • crewel lattice pillow in lagoon blue

Laundromat Observations

Our washer broke. I know one shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but I never liked that fussy, front loading washer. Goodbye. A new top loading, still high efficiency, energy star washer will be delivered this week! Chad and I can't wait! Also one of the cats barfed on the bed, and we had a backlog of laundry, so we really couldn't wait to do laundry, and went to the laundromat today.

Our trip to the laundromat made me feel simultaneously like one of the people, proletariat, working class; and also bourgeois, snobbish, gentry class that we can afford to buy a new washer to replace our old one, and that we have a house with a laundry hookup.

The walls in the laundromat bear battle scars of rolling carts. The ceiling tiles sag with brown water stains. The smell is a combination of chemically scented detergents, disinfectant and the vague burnt odor of textiles left in the dryer too hot for too long. The fluorescent lights aren't doing anyone any favors in the beauty category. Handwritten "out of order" signs pepper the machines. Two giant TVs mounted from the ceiling are mercifully muted with subtitles and one has a grainy picture, but it's showing a cruddy movie with commercial interruptions, so who really cares.

We fold our laundry at the laundromat, not wanting wrinkles to set in. In front of the other laundromat patrons, it occurs to me that my PJs are looking rough. I need some nicer, new ones. Chad folds some of his more colorful skivvies with a hint of a sheepish grin. We team up to fold our king-size, high thread count bedding like we're royalty or something.

Later, back at home, I'm less than pleased to discover that our clean laundry does not smell like the environmentally-friendly, natural lavender and blue eucalyptus detergent and dryer sheets that I love and use loyally, but like the residue of so many strangers' Tide, Gain and Bounce.

I'm thankful that we can afford a new washer. I'm also thankful that we're not above going to the laundromat when necessity dictates it.

My Three Worst Job Interviews Countdown

#3: I answered an advertisement for a sport clothing salesperson with a major distributor (think t-shirts, shorts, polo style shirts, sneakers, flip-flops). I should have politely declined when the hiring manager asked me to meet him at a Wendy's fast food restaurant (in a pre-Starbucks-in-every-city era), but I was fresh out of college and fairly desperate for employment.

At Wendy's, I met at a small table for two with a poorly groomed, sweaty, not very confident recruiter. He opened a binder and began showing me pyramid shaped distribution charts, I immediately clued in that this was a multi-level marketing scheme; not a job, but an investment opportunity, that I did not want in the least. Within five minutes I wished the poor guy well and made a hasty exit. He called out after me that I wasted his time. I resisted the urge to reply that he should not have misled me about the "job" and thus wasted my time. He made me sad for many reasons, chiefly because he looked like the opposite of success, the antithesis of aspirational.

#2: The manager (this time at a bonafide, brick and mortar, workplace) met with me in her corner office. She did all the talking, telling me about her history with the company, and how she rose through the ranks after starting as a lowly receptionist. I hardly got a word in edgewise. I'm not sure she asked me many questions, but I guess I said enough to impress her, or at least did not spoil the delusion that I was a younger version of her. I left thinking I totally blew the interview.

I got the job, staying there for about eighteen months, one promotion, one huge raise and one annual bonus. It was a terrible fit culturally, but impressive work experience and financially lucrative. Had the interviewer/my boss bothered to let me speak more, we both might have realized how out of sync the job was for me and I was for it.

#1: Fresh from a former retail management stint, I interviewed at a very cloistered, but very well respected workplace that was founded as a family business in Texas and grew beyond the state's borders. I met first with a young man who didn't bother to explain what his role at the company was. He shook my hand, said his name, and started talking. He asked good questions. I answered them well. First indications pointed to a good job match.

Then the young man asked if I could meet with another person and essentially have my second interview right then and there. Sure! After a ten minute wait, during which I completed application paperwork, a lady appeared in the office. She was not introduced to me, but began having a conversation with the young man as if I wasn't in the room. Context clues led me to believe that this was the man's mother, also his boss, and the heiress to the family business. Later sleuthing confirmed all of this.

After a few moments of ignoring my existence, she glanced at my résumé, and said, "What's J.Crew?" Before I could answer, the son let out a micro-sigh of exasperation and said, "You know what J.Crew is. You have clothes from there." Then the mom asked why I only stayed employed at J.Crew for four months. I politely, but firmly stated that I was employed at J.Crew for two years and four months. "Oh, I misread that," she said with a dour expression and no apology. She asked if I had any children, displeased when I said no. She asked if I had pets, and completely tuned out when I started to talk about my two cats (at the time). "I don't hire cat-people," she barked dismissively. I defended my love of all companion animals by saying that I wanted a dog, but my rental agreement didn't allow it. She seemed somewhat appeased, and said that I would have to submit to a background check and drug test. No worries. I leaped through background check hoops with flying colors when I got my Securities Exchange Commission Series 6 License a few years before.

After leaving the interview, I knew the job was mine, but that Mama Bear and I would continually butt heads if I worked there. Within the hour I called Baby Bear (the son, with whom I interviewed first) and told him to please pull my application from consideration. He seemed surprised, and asked why. I couldn't tell him that his mom/boss was awful, and that I could never work with her or for her. I said I'd rather not give a reason, and thanked him for his time.

Bad Decision

I made a bad decision. I took a job that I now hate.

I was in a semi-desperate, sleep-deprived state of on-call, part-time employment, when the recruitment offer came. My former employment situation was somewhat similar to being in a cult, but without the support network or uplifting sing-alongs. I allowed myself some magical thinking when the new job offer came on a day I had worked at my previous employer from 3:00 AM to 8:00 AM. I saw the monetary benefits and the promise of more reasonable working hours at the new/current employer, and loved the idea! I also fell victim to a bit of bait and switch, thinking that I was hired as the visual coordinator (a.k.a. the make-it-pretty-boss) at my new/current employer. In reality, I spend most of my working hours assisting customers and dealing with customer service issues when other employees over-promise and under-deliver.

I'm a bit of an introvert with an outgoing personality. I put on a good show of loving people and handling interpersonal challenges efficiently, but too much time interacting with people drains my energy. I need quiet time to finish projects and think about things, versus a constant barrage of interruptions and forced interactions.

An unreasonably irate customer called the store today. Unluckily, I answered the call. He proceeded to yell at me, curse at me and then tell me to quit apologizing. One of his verbal gems, "I don't know what the hell to do, maybe jump off the roof. I want the damn jacket I ordered." I managed to finally get the man's name and phone number, told him not to jump off the roof, and that I would research the situation before getting back to him. I did research the issue and outline some good possible solutions. Then I begged another more-seasoned, male employee to call the awful customer back with some options for problem resolution. The customer apologized profusely to the older male employee for how he treated me, even offering to apologize to me directly if I wanted to call him back. No. I never want to talk to that awful customer again. Never, ever.

The majority of my working life has been spent in retail, thus reflected on my résumé. The job offers I get are for retail or sales positions. And I never want to work in retail or sales again. Never, ever.

I'm going to speak with a career counselor before I jump into another job. I never want to be the square peg forced into the round hole again. Never, ever.

Now I need to figure out how much longer I can bear to stay at my current job. I never want to utter the words, "I don't know what the hell to do, maybe jump off the roof." Never, ever.

Merry Christmas

hazy shade of winter tidings

candy cane ribbon & outdoor ornaments, oh my!

the wreath that won't fit under the security door

close-up of our needle-thin living room tree

stockings hung on the pub mirror with care

dining room runner with modern touches of gold, incense & myrrh

throw some green & red on that ottoman

ancient wise one (17!) with her holiday flair pillow

tiny floor chandelier in the bedroom with pastels aglow

snail reminds me to slow down, reflect, and enjoy Christmas

As I struggle through days as a retail manager/visuals coordinator, I wish you and yours the merriest, most peaceful Christmas. Be kind to one another. Quit shopping and snuggle in for a few days.

Made Some Pretty

I styled a bookshelf for a property management group. They wanted a neutral color palette with minimal objects, and some of the minimal objects needed to be lions. I think it's great for a modern office setting. Also, I got paid!

Then I made it snow in downtown Austin. It involved climbing ladders, lifting, peeling, sticking, stapling, stringing, scattering and unrolling. Oh, and redressing some mannequins.

After I finished the winter windows at work, the tailor from my store came and gave me a hug. For context, I should mention that English is his second language. He said, "You the best. Congratulations!" 

I replied, "Thanks. Why?"

He explained with lots of hand gestures, "Those windows. Everybody on the sidewalk stop and look at the sport coats. You the best!" 

Then my store manager who seldom doles out compliments, said the windows looked "great" and thanked me for updating them. Also, I got paid. 

I miss having free time to go to the gym, have hobbies, socialize and keep the 1952 House sparkly clean, but I like getting paid. Also, I like compliments on my work.

Working Downtown

RIGHT LANE CLOSED AHEAD
LEFT LANE CLOSED AHEAD
2 RIGHT LANES MUST TURN RIGHT
2 LEFT LANES MUST TURN LEFT
MERGE RIGHT
(The only open lane, on the far right) MUST TURN LEFT
PARKING GARAGE (for which I pay $160 a month) FULL
VALET PARKING ONLY
CAR2GO PARKING ONLY
NO EVENT PARKING
NO PARKING EVER

And that's just on the way into work. Today was a rare occasion when Chad and I carpooled into downtown together, because he had fancy meetings of minds.

Chad met me at my workplace at the end of the day. As we stood at the busy intersection across from my urine-and-vomit-scented parking garage for which I pay $160 a month, a man came walking towards us calling out, "Brian, Brian. Hold up, Brian." The walk sign lit up, and several people including Chad and I started across the street. "Brian's friend" started walking into my path, stopping when I stopped and slowing when I slowed, effectively herding me out of the crosswalk. I stopped and took a step backwards, saying, "please, after you." Brian's friend stopped too. Finally, I just made my way to my destination curb, not caring if he tried to get in my path. Brian's friend said to Chad, "give me a dollar." Chad replied, "sorry, I don't have any cash." The whole time, we walked in stutter steps as he tried to herd me off of the sidewalk, never touching me or stepping on my feet, but barely missing. I had pepper spray in my hand, trigger finger on the spray button. With my other hand, I must have touched my hair, because Brian's friend said, "That's it. Run your hand through your hair, girl." I stopped, turning to face Brian's friend fully, giving him a steely (yet terrified) gaze. He responded, "Oh, are you gonna call the cops on me?" I thought he had a novel idea, so as loudly as I could, (remember I am a trained actress who knows how to project my voice) I yelled the name of my work building's security guard, "Bruuuuuuuuce!" Brian's friend did not care for this. He stopped in his tracks. Took a few steps backwards and looked at me as if I might be mentally ill. Good. Once I got into my car in the parking garage, I gave in to a slight fight or flight meltdown after locking the car doors. Then I drove Chad and myself home in terrible traffic.

I hate downtown.

Aging, Wealthy & Rocking Out

Last Saturday Chad and I got to rub elbows with the rich & infamous at a Formula One concert event starring Duran Duran. I won the pair of tickets courtesy of a media conglomerate by retweeting a message about their sponsorship of the event. (Thanks, media conglomerate!) I would never purchase such extravagant concert tickets myself, as the face value for the pair was $1350. *gulp*

The event venue, ACL Live, (Austin City Limits' huge new-ish studio) is impressively cavernous with great sight lines from every seat giving the convincing illusion of an intimate space. I won't complain about the open bar or elegantly artful catered buffet of appetizers on the mezzanine level. Nor will I complain about our fabulous reserved seats. Duran Duran put on an amazing performance, still very talented, still very gifted musicians and showmen.

I will, however, complain about the aging, wealthy, drug-fueled fellow-concert-goers: people old enough to know better, but apparently too rich to care. Side note: I have never partaken of an illegal substance, but have heard anecdotal evidence from those who have, and certainly read many studies, essays and fictional works about recreational drug-users. If I can look at the sad, over-botoxed, over-self-starved, woman dancing by herself wearing a sequined mini-dress and know with 90% certainty that she took more than one hit of ecstasy, that is beyond sad. If I can rebuff the aggressive, 60-something year old man, wearing his khaki cords with shoes matching belt and tucked-in plaid button-down, who repeatedly pulled on my elbow telling me to stand up and dance, knowing that his frivolity is cocaine-powered, that is also sad. If I worriedly watch the 40-something lady with her 60-something hairdo, shakily climb the stairs to the exit after she danced and yell-sang along with the entire concert with multiple fresh drinks in her hand throughout the show, that is sad, and she needs to fire her hairdresser. I hope all of these drug-addled & alcohol-addled people were within stumbling-distance of their hotels.

I enjoyed seeing Duran Duran perform, loved the venue and had the handsomest date there. BUT, 85% of the people around us made me sad with their aging, overindulged states. I never want to be that person.

I want to nest in my little sanctuary of a cozy house, and maybe just listen to Duran Duran's greatest hits next time they are in town, especially if the tickets are that expensive.

Happy Halloween!

Chad's Frankenstein's monster homage is so expressive and evocative. My headless horseman woodcut style pumpkin is perhaps too meta and overwrought. Once again, Chad wins pumpkin carving.

Happy Halloween. Be safe. Have fun.

BYOP 2014

The Sweet Things Table: Kettle Corn, Pumpkin Whoopie Pies & Apple Fritters

Pumpkin Carving Tools After Washing

Let's Do This

It's about to get real. Real pumpkiny. BYOP (Bring Your Own Pumpkin) party is tonight, and preparations began about a month ago.

That blue smudge is almost certainly (not) a ghost, right? I hope it's a friendly ghost.

We totally confused the fireflies. 

Without the ghost this time.

Hector, our giant spider, made his annual appearance.

No Idea What I'm Doing & No Time To Do It

Hey. I have been quite busy with the new-ish full-time job as the Visuals Coordinator / Supervisor (yes, two job titles for one person & yes, two jobs to be done simultaneously) at a clothing retailer, a freelance stylist project for a property management group and trying to maintain a social life.

I am not in super-love with my new job, but want to do the best work I can there. When my self-imposed year is done at this job, a few bills are paid off and money is saved for school, I am wondering if I should become a certified veterinary technician with a future goal of becoming a pet physical therapist or if I should go back to "real college" (as in not a community college with a certificate program, but a four-year accredited college for another bachelor's degree) to study interior design with a future goal of becoming an interior designer who specializes in commercial spaces. (How was that for a run-on sentence?)

I find working with pets, especially shelter/rescue group pets to be so rewarding. I like to slow down and observe a dog or cat to get a sense of what they need to feel safe, healthy and loved. Purrs and tail wags more than make up for the lower salary that this career field might fetch. I also love designing spaces for form, function and aesthetic appeal. I would focus on commercial spaces for interior design, because I can't bear to work with bored rich people who have forty five names for beige and really just want you to compliment their great taste, not really to give up one iota of control to let you help them design their space. No thank you very much. I'm truly torn between these two options. Luckily, I have ten and a half months to decide.

BTW: Be sure to check out my instagram photos on the widget to the right of this blog or follow me "therealjennc" on instagram to see more of my work & whimsy.

My Previous Position

I miss many things about my previous job:

Most of my coworkers - a lively eclectic bunch of about 35 unique individuals

Music - (except for during Christmas shopping season, of course) we enjoyed a nice mix of alterna-pop & retro alterna-pop songs

The view - looking out eighteen-foot tall windows, situated on a clean corner of mostly new low-rise buildings

Parking - a clean parking garage with free parking and security guards who tolerated no foolishness

The surroundings - clean sidewalks, Whole Foods, Starbucks, other retailers aimed at clean customers.

Clean - Did I mention how clean it was where I used to work? It was really clean, and never smelled like drug-tainted urine. Not once.

Respectful workplace - I was not manhandled, squeezed, kissed on the cheek or subjected to unwanted pats on my perky posterior. Sure, there was the occasional (very funny) double entendre joke.

Half of the customers - Half of the customers were just great. Half of them were anxious messes who seemed to have magical thinking that the right toss pillow would fix everything in their life that was amiss.

If the alarm went off in the middle of the night, no one called me. No one expected me to drive down and assess the situation.

I have to remind myself why I left:

The crazy, unpredictable work hours - 3:00 AM to 8:00 AM? Never again.

The on-call employment situation - You want to call me into work with 90 minutes notice on what I thought was my day off? Then you want to fuss about it for a week when I decline? No thanks.

Half of the customers - the aforementioned anxious mess half, like the lady who asked me to gift wrap an item, then timed me, and fussed when it took six minutes, because I had to find a box for the misshapen item

The general lack of appreciation and lack of humanity of working for a publicly traded conglomerate

The lower pay

The variable quality of the goods we sold for moderate prices being hailed as upscale. It was not upscale. Everyone calm down.

The crazy swarms of customers that would descend when a yoga class let out. There were five yoga studios in a two block radius that apparently practice the type of yoga that leads to cranky consumerism.

Heaven Forbid

Sometimes I have thoughts that might be considered morbid, but are actually emergency preparedness edicts. If anything ever happens to me where I go into a coma or a vegetative state, I need one of you to access my goodreads.com (like Facebook for readers) account. Find my "to read" list. Load audio books from my "to read" books list onto a listening device and play them in my ears. I can't think of a better way to spend time in case of a non-responsive state.

Thanks in advance. I'll owe you one.

That's It. We're Moving to Abilene.

Don't freak out. We are likely never moving to Abilene. It's just the new thing Chad and I say in response to the overblown crowds, skyrocketing property taxes and ridiculous traffic of contemporary Austin.

Sometimes we long for a slower pace, lower cost of living and less crowded, more sincere way of daily living. Then we remind ourselves of all the conveniences and the energy that living in central Austin offers, and we try to calm down.

I want smallish town life with a decent smoothie bar and salad place. I want less traffic and crowds, but with cool stuff to do. I want to live in the smallest city that has a Whole Foods Market. I want to have time for hanging out with friends, and friends who have time for me, but also a decent vegetarian-friendly restaurant in town. I want a town with a 24 hour diner that is not a truck stop.

You guys let me know if you find that place. We can all move there together, and ruin it for the longtime locals.

Still Here

Working full-time downtown at a new job and keeping a house full of three cats and a big dog is difficult. I am tired. I have been reading only a few pages of magazine each night before passing out. I have just enough time to maintain an acceptable level of cleanliness in the 1952 House and get to the gym once a week.

Learning new routines, and deciphering new situations and personalities, is semi-exhausting. I am happy to be earning more money, to have more predictable work hours and to be working with two of my favorite sassy former coworkers again. My job title is Visuals Coordinator. Thus far I have been mostly selling clothes that are not exactly my style, and that are mostly tailored for men. I have done very little visuals creative work yet at the new place, and am excited to grow that part of the job. My goal is to keep this job for at least one year of fancy paychecks to pay off some loans and build up savings a bit. Then I hope to go back to school for an Associates degree in a creative field, such as graphic design with a concentration in illustration, or back to working in pet rescue with low pay, high-stress and high emotional stakes.  Warts and all, I keep drifting back to pet care and creative endeavors.

Maybe when this year of maximum earning is over, I can look back at it sheepishly as my "sell-out" year, or maybe I will learn to love my new job and stay longer. Right now, I'm trying to find enough daily joy to avoid over analyzing the situation.

San Francisco... Again

I went to San Francisco about fourteen years ago with Chad, but maybe I was there another time since then. Honestly, I do not remember. I know, I'm awful. Chad has been to San Francisco at least five times for work and fun. 

view of Ferry Building Market from our hotel hallway

My favorite things about San Francisco on a previous trip (trips?), apart from what I consider to be MUCH nicer weather than Austin, was feeding coins to various antique amusement machines at the Musée Mécanique while it was still located in the basement of the Cliff House, seeing a Magritte exhibit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, having amazing Viennese coffee at a little cafe and walking on the Golden Gate Bridge. Our friend from college, Jeffrey, served as tour guide on one of our previous trips, taking us around the Mission District and Castro neighborhoods. We also explored Haight-Ashbury which provided lots of chain stores, but little in the way of hippie nostalgia. We briefly hit Fisherman's Wharf and Pier 39, before getting the heck out of the tourist trap horde.

This trip to San Francisco was much shorter for me. With limited time of just over 48 hours, I only wanted to do and see things I had not previously experienced in the San Francisco area. After a pleasant direct flight from Austin to San Francisco aboard Virgin America, Chad and I checked in at the Hyatt Regency on Embarcadero around noon local time. We were prepared to drop our bags with the front desk, but our room was ready early. We were upgraded to the top floor of the hotel with a private balcony! Nice! No idea how we scored that perk. I loved the atrium style hotel with art deco design flourishes, and highly recommend it. 

Our first stop after the hotel was just down the block at Ferry Building Market complete with its Saturday farmer's market on the plaza. Oh the blinding sun! Oh the teeming masses! Oh the yummy snacks! We got our requisite bread, fruit, cheese and nuts, quickly squirreling it back to our hotel balcony high above the masses for a private picnic.

view from our private balcony

We also needed showers, a costume change and rest before cabbing it to the Marrakech Magic Theater for a magic show. The magician, Peter Morrison, does some close-up magic and audience fact-finding-chit-chat in the "Sultan's Lounge" waiting area before the main show while the audience trickles in and enjoys drinks and appetizers. At showtime, groups are ushered into the intimate theatre space and strategically seated. Magician Morrison puts the audience at ease with his fun attitude, uncanny memory for individual details and winking delivery. My only complaint was that I wanted the show to last a bit longer. 

Before retiring to some much-needed slumber back in our hotel room, Chad and I enjoyed that balcony and view again.

The next morning after a decadent room service breakfast, one of Chad's favorite things, we walked down Embarcadero to the Caltrain station past AT&T Park during a Giants baseball game. The vast majority of Giants fans were outfitted in full fan regalia of Giants merchandise bordering on Halloween costumes with all the orange & black and crazy accessories. 

At the train station we caught the baby bullet train with limited stops out to San Jose to tour the beautifully bizarre Winchester Mystery House. Yes, it's a cheesy tourist trap, but I really wanted to see it. Sarah Winchester, heir to the massive Winchester fortune built a 160 room house with winding stairs, secret passages, doorways to nowhere and impressive architecture in an attempt to ward off evil entities. Our informative tour guide led us through 1.1 miles of meandering rooms explaining the history of the house and pointing out details. She, and other tour guides we overheard, seemed to be coached to give factual accounts and downplay any speculation as to Sarah Winchester's sanity or any hauntings. Sadly, it left the tour feeling a bit flat. Go explore the fancy-fun website for the Winchester Mystery House with its great photos and details, so you can skip the trip to San Jose.

We ate a quick meal at the Veggie Grill (like McDonald's for vegetarians & vegans). I liked the salads, which were awesome, but hated the vegan macaroni & cheez. That mess was not food. I think it was melted plastic. We glanced at the faux-quaint, touristy  part of San Jose before catching a grumpy cab back to the train station. Seriously, cab drivers should not complain about how they are losing money to traffic congestion as passengers watch the meter progress.  Unfortunately we missed the last baby bullet train with limited stops of the evening by two minutes, and nearly doubled our return trip time with twenty stops between San Jose and San Francisco. 

Safely back in our hotel room we enjoyed the private balcony and view some more.

My last morning in San Francisco, we had yummy breakfast in the hotel restaurant before cabbing it to Presidio Park for the Walt Disney Family Museum and the Mary Blair exhibit. I particularly loved the Mary Blair exhibit about a female animator who worked with Walt Disney beginning in the 1930s on such films as Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan and my personal favorite, Ichabod Crane and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I was pleasantly surprised by the Walt Disney Family Museum, which covered not only biographical details about Walt Disney, but also technical innovations made by Disney. I have new found appreciation and respect for Walt Disney: the man, the artist and the innovator.

I would have loved more time to explore Presidio Park, especially under the impressive cloak of fog that day, but we had to catch a cab (with a nice driver this time!) back to the hotel so I could grab my suitcase. Chad walked me to the train station, loaded my BART  fare card, and said goodbye to me amid the hustle, bustle and stink of the train station. (He had to go to important meetings and say important things for work for a few more days in San Francisco.) I wanted to grab his arm, and say, "I know I'm an adult, but do I really have to take this train by myself to the airport? Come with me, or at least take me back up to the surface streets and put me in a cab." I did my very best to KIT (Keep It Together) and walked through the gates to the train platform.

I hate subterranean trains by any name: subways, the tube, the underground. I'm a high-functioning claustrophobic, and I have trouble when confined underground. Add to the hot mess that I'm hurtling through unfamiliar territory surrounded by strangers, hoping that I'm headed in the right direction, and that I will reach my destination on time. My heart races. I have to work to regulate my breathing. After hopping the wrong train in the right direction, disembarking at a transfer station, I caught the correct train and made it to the airport to check in 45 minutes before my flight without having a full-fledged panic attack.

On my flight home sans Chad, I had mucho legroom (like I need it) in the "Cabin Select" section. In my defense, "Cabin Select" was the only ticket I could still get for the flight I wanted home when I bought my tickets. For $69 more than "Main Cabin", passengers get perks including one free checked bag, free drinks, free snacks, free in-flight movies & television shows and more legroom. I enjoyed a ginger ale while the tiny young lady next to me downed two beers and two, or maybe three, wines. Thanks to the gentlemanly flight attendant who politely advised her to drink some water and eat something, she did not get sick.

I arrived safely home for my last week of work at West Elm! (More on that later.) 

To sum up: I hate subterranean trains and tourist horde. I love private balconies at high elevations. I'm so glad we went to the Walt Disney Family Museum. The magic show was fun. Don't go to San Jose unless you have to work there.

Well, Sure! If Money Were No Object...

Career coaches, life coaches, career counselors and eleventy bazillion self-help books pose the question, "If money were no object, what would you do with your time?" 

Besides my obvious answers of take more naps, travel more, have more free time to read, support more charities and generally be fabulous? I would write. More than just the blog, I would write some fiction loosely (and by that, I mean totally) based on my experiences. I would also volunteer for an animal welfare nonprofit organization. Which I've done in the past, but totally burned out my energy level, and needed a long break from middle of the night kitten/puppy feedings and cleanings. I miss the fat tummies and contented sighs of fuzzy-babies. (I'm fully aware that my maternal instincts skew only towards felines and canines. I accept this about myself. Thank you very much.) However, I really value a good night of uninterrupted sleep as I get older.

One is expected to take the answer to this question and go pursue their passions. But money does matter, in a big, fluffy way. Plus, I don't have the hustle needed to land a book deal. (I accept this about myself too.) I've been rejected more than enough for one lifetime during my time as a professional actress going on long-shot auditions.

In my recent job search shenanigans, I realized that sometimes a person just needs a job that is better than their current job to stop spinning one's proverbial wheels. We can't all just run amok pursuing passions with no regard for financial reality. In my case, I need a stable source of income, predictable working hours (which make for predictable sleeping hours and having fun hours), a less frenzied working environment and a manager with more realistic expectations of project scope. 

After working 4:00 AM to 10:00 AM a few days, which did not qualify for a lunch (or breakfast?) break, then working 3:00 AM to 8:00 AM a few days, only to turn around thirteen hours later to work 9:00 PM to 6:00 AM (which thankfully did qualify for whatever-meal-that-was break), just about any job is more stable and predictable than my current job. While I will genuinely miss many of the people I work with, I waved the white flag/cried "uncle"/gave notice on Saturday. It felt good. 

I don't want to jinx the job that is in the works. Here is a tiny hint: as soon as all the "i"s are dotted and "t"s are crossed, I'll post some photos of my first windows.

And if the afore-hinted-at-job does not materialize, I might go back to school at the local community college and pursue my passion for my (truly terrible and trite) creative writing.

Where I'll Be

Click here for complete schedule.

Prince Sonic

Prince Sonic surveys his kingdom

Our fifteen pound muscle-man cat looks so tiny in the big back yard at the 1952 House.

Yes, Please

Blue Star Cooking has the antidote for stainless steel appliance monotony. I'm loving the Ruby range from their new jewel tone collection.

Of course, the orange Bertazonni 30 inch, four burner gas range is equally lovely.

For a retro feel, the Northstar Range by Elmira Stoveworks fits just fine, but I'd want the candy apple red model 1956 P. The company also makes matching refrigerators, hoods and microwaves, I'm going to go for broke and put the whole kitchen suite on my wish-list. All in candy apple red. Please and thank you.

Model 1959 for the 1952 House

I'm off to enter every sweepstakes known to man in an attempt to afford any of the above-mentioned loveliness. Wish me luck!

Heads-Up! (Imaginary) Housekeeper

Dear Valued (Imaginary) Housekeeper,

Heads-up! Next week, my schedule will be a ridiculous pain-in-the-patoot with work start times at 4:00 AM. Yes, AM! I know. It hurts my feelings too. 

Stock the pantry and fridge now:

chocolate covered espresso beans
cucumbers for cucumber water
beans for quick protein
organic peaches, berries, grapes
Claritin
Brooklyn Roasters, Corner Donut Shop coffee K-cups
organic half and half
cheese cubes, preferably smoked gouda & mild cheddar
part skim mozzarella string cheese
kale, pepita, ginger salads
and whatever else yummy that I can't think of, but will totally crave

Also I need a new pillow, and you know how I hate shopping in person. (Shopping online is entirely different. Were shopping online an Olympic sport, I'd earn at least a silver medal.) Please get a standard size, medium support, NOT down pillow for me.

Please keep things running smoothly at the 1952 House while I make retail a prettier place to shop. Make sure the pets are fed on time and receive lots of brushing, cuddling and bootie-scratches. If you spot the feral kittens of backyard infamy, scoop them up and make them feel at home in the dressing room until I can see to them.

Please keep your mobile phone on your person at all times in case I need a breakfast taco delivery around 7:30 or 8:00 AM.

Together, we will get through this. Thanks!

Your adoring fan & taskmaster,
Jenn

The Elephant in the (Bath)Room

The floor around our one and only bathtub at the 1952 House creaks and groans during dry winter months. As moaned about previously, I would love a new bathtub due to the peeling glaze I applied seven years ago in an attempt to prolong the life of the now-62-year-old tub. The new bathtub need not be fancy. In fact, I have an affordable, not fancy, replacement picked out from Home Depot. 

The problem lies underneath the bathtub in the form of rotted subfloor. I hosted a foundation expert last week who poked around under the piers and beams for an estimate to repair the one beam that I thought was causing the creaky bathroom floor. The one beam turned out to be one beam sitting off kilter, one pier sitting off kilter and a rotten subfloor under the bathtub area. Yikes. How did our home inspector miss all that?

To install a new bathtub, we have to be ready for several contingencies: repair the one beam and one pier; rip out the old bathtub and some surrounding tiles to see how far the rotten subfloor extends; possibly remove the one and only toilet and all surrounding tile if the rotten subfloor extends to that area; possibly rip out the bathroom sink and all surrounding tile if the rotten subfloor extends to that area. Then put it all back together with the new subfloor and new tub.  

Chad and I were prepared to shower at the gym for a few days to accommodate the new tub installation. However, with this new information, we are not prepared to open the floor of the one and only bathroom at the 1952 House for goodness knows how long. We are not prepared to trek to our respective gyms every time we need to use the toilet. I also refuse to put a port-o-potty in the yard. REFUSE.

That know-it-all, Hindsight, keeps nagging me that we should have replaced the bathtub when we first bought the 1952 House and redid the bathroom. Live and learn. Our next house will have more than one toilet, and will feature a bathtub made and installed in the twenty-first century.

For the time being, I'm going to learn to love showers, ignore the peeling glaze on the tub, ignore the creaky bathroom floor, and do my very best to ignore the elephant in our one and only bathroom.

Our Big Screen Viewing of Pee Wee's Big Adventure

Chad and I (along with eleventy-hundred other Austin peeps) attended Sound & Cinema on the lawn of the Long Center for a showing of Pee Wee's Big Adventure. Dare I say it, and risk tempting higher temperatures to muscle their way to Austin, but the weather was lovely: not too hot or humid. 

Urban Achievers brass band played jazzy-pop songs before the show. (Even the tuba player manages to dance as he does solos. What a fun spectacle to behold!) A guy dressed as Pee Wee ran up for a brief introduction of the film, informing us that "today's secret word is Pee Wee". *aaahhhhhh* *waves jazz-hands in the air* Cyclists road past along the trails of Town Lake/Ladybird Lake, one cyclist giving a loud Pee Wee Herman laugh as he cruised behind the big screen.

I mention our attendance of something outside, because Chad and I increasingly find ourselves hiding at home, basking in the comfort of air-conditioning and refrigerated beverages. Thus far, this summer is nice and mild. We need to pry ourselves out of the 1952 House and enjoy Austin.

No Kittens, Also No Raccoons

My pal, Tracy, of mystery dinner theatre fame/infamy, loaned us a few humane traps for the kittens spotted in our backyard last week. (Three separate trips to the Austin Humane Society yielded no traps, as they are all out on loan for the booming kitten season.) Despite baiting the traps with delicious, mushy salmon kitten foods, there were no nibbles. We kept Sonic inside, so as not to scare the kittens, and so as not to have to free him from the traps umpteen times each night.

Yesterday morning just before I went to clean out the traps and unset them for the day, I spotted a prosperous raccoon climbing down from the backdoor neighbor's roof line. As cute as raccoons are with their little masks, thumbs and fuzzy selves, I don't want to catch one. I fully acknowledge that a wild raccoon is more likely to bite my face and give me rabies, than to bring it in for cuddles.

I admit defeat. Sonic, Chad and I scared those kittens away from ever returning to the 1952 House. I hope someone else scooped them out of harm's way and started feeding them.