How to Dump Your Boss

The step-by-step guide from a low-tech girl –

1. Call your girlfriend the night before and run through your break-up speech while simultaneously venting about your situation even though you’ve already talked her ear off over the last three (or 10) months about the subject.
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2. Grab lunch with your other girlfriend right before the big moment to pump you up and make sure you don’t give in and change your mind halfway through the break-up speech.
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3. Take a walk with your boss instead of meeting in a conference room since the weather is nice and being outdoors provides you with more opportunities to run if it doesn’t go well.
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4. Attempt to open with the break-up speech but then chicken out and ask about your boss’s recent vacation.
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5. Drop the bomb halfway through the conversation as ineloquently as possible since you’ve already ditched the script, you might as well rip the band-aid right off.
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6. Drop a few more bombs about the imminent sh*t storms you were supposed to prevent from happening while said boss was away on vacation.
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7. Watch the level of confusion and disappointment rise with each bomb dropped especially since boss thought things were going so well.
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8. Attempt to recover by using the classic “It’s not you, it’s me” speech while awkwardly trying to phrase it so the focus is more on the fact that you have big (and maybe crazy) dreams of working in Entertainment and less on the fact that you need out.*
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   • *And here you thought I was talking about how to break up with a boss you’ve dated. Lbr, the only steady relationship I’ve ever had is with me, myself and this plate of spaghetti I’ve seemed to be making every day this week.
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9. Walk back to your cubicles and exhale. You did it. You officially dumped your boss. You did what’s best for you and not what’s best for your boss, your team, or your conservative parents that always say a full-time job with steady pay is the most important thing in the world.

Now all you have to do is get through the rest of your temp contract without burning any bridges and make sure you have some sort of game plan if your contract ends before Tinsel Town calls you with a job offer. Because going to that Good-bye office party without a game plan is just an awkward moment waiting to happen.

Reason 1395 and 1396 why we should love corn.

Forget reasons 1 (popcorn), 2 (corn tortillas for taco Tuesdays) and 3 (tortilla chips for movie nights and gossip sessions), you’ve gotta love corn because what else would you use to build a corn maze?

or fill a sand cornbox?

Certainly not brussel sprouts, that’s for sure.

No cable, no problem.

What? Your television doesn’t go above channel 20? No problem, you needed to brush up on your Spanish skills anyway.

Thank you, Telemundo, for playing Wall-E on my #faturday night in.

Challenge: completed.

Pretty sure any type of movement tomorrow is going to be completely out of the question but it was totally worth it, let me tell you.

Forget the bragging rights and the tuxedo-clad SF fireman that hands you a Tiffany’s necklace as you cross the finish line and some may say there’s no reason to pay $150 to wake up at 5:30AM and run 13.1 miles across San Francisco. But they’re wrong. At least, to me, they’re wrong.

About a year and a half ago, I sat in a chair and couldn’t get up. I watched my legs turn to jello as the wheelchair I sat in became an extension of my body. I learned how to roll up hills, how to maneuver myself through tight corners and how to rely in the kindness of strangers. But in those four months, and the three months of crutches and physical therapy that followed, I also learned that I had taken my mobility for granted. Sure, I played tennis in high school and went to the gym every once in a while but on a scale from sluggish couch potato to olympic athlete, it’s safe to say I identified with the sluggish couch-potato on more days than not.

So, when my doctor gave me the green-light to walk again, I signed up for a half-marathon both to celebrate my freedom from the chair and to commemorate the start of a new, healthier chapter.*

So, as I sit here rocking a blister the size of a shiny quarter and soreness in places I never knew existed, I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say that the half-marathon kicked my ass but…

It was totally worth it.

*Disclaimer to keep me honest – lbr, I’m still going to eat hot cheetos

Motivation, where’d you go?

Went to the gym with the full intention of working up a ridiculous sweat that would make even the most intense of gym rats jealous…

Instead, I hopped on and off a few machines, went next door to Safeway and bought big girl groceries (read: junk food to eat late at night), and proceeded back to the apartment to eat a bowl of cereal, a scrambled egg, a pickle, a spoonful of cookies-and-cream ice cream and one (or three) double chocolate chip cookies. All while wishing they were hot cheetos.

Did I mention that the Nike Women’s Half Marathon is in less than 4 days?

Motivation, where’d you go?

Catch the fiever

Bieber fever, anyone?

When someone offers you free tickets to catch the Biebs in concert, you don’t say no. #yolo?

You say flight delay…

I say time to get my life on track.

55 Candles & Pretty in (anything but) Pink

When did we start associating our mothers with all things frilly, pink and cursive?

I mean, I know we associate women with femininity and Hallmark decided long before I was born that pink = feminine but does everything in the Birthday Card Aisle for Moms have to be pink?

Pink

What if my mom just doesn’t like pink? What then?

Does this mean that I can only choose between hot pink, baby pink, pastel pink or pink rose-colored birthday cards for a woman who doesn’t own a single item of pink clothing and most likely isn’t isn’t a life-long member of the ‘I love pink’ fan club?

Does this mean that me and every other girl who lives on the edge and waits until the very last possible moment to get her mom a birthday card will actually have to start planning ahead to avoid the pink?

More pink

That’s crazy talk.

Dinner at the boss’s

Ever wonder what your boss’s digs look like? I do. Not all the time though, that’d be a little weird and a whole lot of creepy.

But seriously, haven’t you ever wondered if your boss lives in a pimped-out mansion or a one-bedroom apartment with 18 kids and a pet rat named Christopher? More importantly, haven’t you ever wondered what your life would be like if you continued down the same road and became an exec like your boss, what your paycheck would be like (read: haven’t you ever wondered if you’re going to end up living in a cardboard box behind a dive bar in a cold, cold city where no one knows your name since salary is such a taboo topic and you’ll never really know if you’ve made it until… well, you make it?)?

I have and let me just say… this man does not live in a cardboard box. 

Over the weekend: At a Falafel Drive-in

I don’t know about you but I absolutely love the Food Network. It’s my go-to network when I’m looking for a new recipe to try, it’s my go-to network when I just want to watch something on TV and can’t decide what, it’s my go-to network when I’m doing work but need a bit of background noise/entertainment, it’s my go-to network for… well, everything.

(my go-to network used to be the Disney Channel but it’s getting harder and harder for me to relate to pre-teen troubles doused in glitter and neon zebra print pants. But that’s me veering off topic. Let’s focus on the Food Network and the Falafel Drive-in.)

So when my cousin came in to town and suggested we try a Falafel Drive-in, my thoughts immediately went to Guy Fieri’s show Diners, Drive-ins and Dives and I was in.  

We drove over to San Jose and the whole time I kept thinking, “How cool would it be if this were a, to use one of Guy’s favorite words, ‘joint’ seen on the show?

Obviously I didn’t do my research because his face? Was everywhere.

Guy on the side

Guy in the back

& Guy next to the window when you order (not pictured. Totally forgot to take a picture of this one but I promise you, it’s there.)