Sweating on the 18

It's evening after a surprisingly hot day in the bay area, and Jack and I have just boarded a bus on our way home from a grocery run.  The bus is nearly three quarters full, and, though it is hot, the windows are open and to me it's bearable.  That opinion is not shared by the woman sitting across the two seats behind me, who is muttering to herself about the insufferably of the heat.  The bus stops in front of the Downtown Berkeley BART, and on climbs a small mob of people.  I don't hear the man ask the woman sitting behind me for the seat next to her, but I certainly hear her answer him.

"Hell, no!  Look, man, too hot in here.  You not gonna sit down.  Hell, I'm 'bout to faint."

The man was slightly older, wearing a baseball cap, and having none of this, despite the reasonable tone in his voice on reply.  

"Well, I'm about to faint too, and I wanna sit down."

The woman lets lose a string of profanities, to which the man replies with his own, and Jack, in what is probably an attempt to keep some sort of peace, stands up and offers the man his seat, leaving the man sitting directly in front of the woman and me between him and the window.  

Jack's gesture diffuses the immediate conflict, but does nothing to halt the underlying tension, with both parties muttering insults under their breaths, mixed with occasional bursts of yelling and threats of stabbings.  Apparently it really was too hot, as neither looks ready to make good on the threat.  It doesn't stop the small boy near the front from crying, and, though I'm not nearly as dismayed as he, I spend the ride leaning into the window, trying to look inconspicuous.  It's obvious that both of these people are slightly deranged, and though I'm not scared of the situation, I have no desire to be brought into the conversation.

After a few stops, the woman gets off, still ranting, and sometime later, so does the man.  After some shuffling around of other passengers, Jack again sits down next to me.  He leans in and whispers, "I have a story to tell you when we get home".

"I was sitting right here for all of that." I respond, wondering what he could mean.

"You didn't see it from my angle." 

Curious, I press for more details, only to be told to wait.  I wait only until the doors of the bus close after we disembark before making like Paul Harvey and demanding the rest of the story.

"Did you see him pull out his knife?" Jack asks.

I hadn't and am surprised to hear about this development.  "But she was the one who was threatening to stab him."

"Well, once he sat down, he pulled out a knife, unfolded the blade, and put it under his leg."

"Wow, I totally missed that."

So I sat on a bus next to a man who pulled a knife, and I had no idea.  This does not bode well for my urban survival skills.  

Idle Hands

When I lost my job, I thought it a foregone conclusion that my life was about to change drastically.  The news stories I read about people losing jobs seemed to fall into one of two categories: solid, stable middle class girl becomes unemployed, can't find work, sells all possessions, is saved from homelessness by the benevolence of friends until the friend also loses job, and ends up working part time cleaning cages in a kennel to pay off her recently incurred debt, which will compound beyond all reason and understanding, leaving her buried, suffocating under her own hopelessness, or solid, office dwelling girl becomes unemployed, and, while on a walk one day, discovers the actual secret to life, the universe and everything, an answer so complete that it makes 42 look like the silly, flippant placeholder that it is, creates a real Road Map to Peace, one that doesn't just lead the world in a big fuck-all circle, revolutionizes human interaction, and changes the course of history.  I wasn't sure which path I was on, but either way, I figured it was going to be interesting, and I was going to document it.

But, so far, unemployment is not interesting.  It's boring and frustrating.  I'm fortunate enough to have a bit of savings to live off of, so the mad spiral into poverty hasn't happened, and I'm too busy trying to find a damn job to change the world.  Mostly, I feel that I'm stuck in a holding pattern, waiting for permission to enter back into my life.  I feel removed from myself, and because of that, it's hard to keep on any particular path.  I'm working on home improvement projects a bit, volunteering occasionally, keeping up with my professional certification courses, but those all end up seeming like day trips to somewhere I used to be.  My real life now is staying up too late, napping during the day, obsessively checking job postings so I can respond the second they are up, re-writing my cover letter so many times I'm sick of hearing how professional and competent I am.  I'm restless and jittery, but weeks of waiting to hear back from recruiters and interviewers has sapped my energy, and I'm losing focus.  

But even through the apprehension and excitement, my days are quiet and dull.  I check email, end out resumes, watch TV, and don't get off of the couch as often as I should.  Without co-workers, I spend much of my time alone.  My friends and family are wonderfully supportive, and I'm trying to enjoy my unexpected time off.  Mostly, though, I'm just ready to be back at work.  

In the Family Way

I included "food" in the blog description because I figured that during my unemployment, one of two things would happen: I would be destitute and looking for creative ways to prepare small rodents, or I would use my sudden wealth of free time to bake elaborate, indulgent confections.  In reality, neither has really happened.  My unemployment has not been as barren nor productive as I had anticipated it would be.

This past weekend I began to rectify my laziness.  My little sister is expecting her first child, and a little soiree was in order.  A good, old fashioned baby shower, with party games involving diaper pins, and cupcakes topped with tinted coconut,

and mounds of frosting.

When buying supplies for the party, my mom picked up a Wilton sprinkle assortment because it contained blue sprinkles without noticing that it was for Hanukkah.  My sister, who, at nearly nine months pregnant was directing activities from a recliner near the kitchen, decided that she liked the Star of David and wanted it used anyway.  It was with some trepidation that I added them to the rice crispies,

but in the end, the shape didn't really stand out, and the rice crispie treats were nicely, though slightly inappropriately, festive.

Most of the games were won by a co-worker of my sister's who herself gave birth only a few months ago.  Apparently, the secret to properly estimating the circumference of a pregnant woman is to take into consideration the arch of the back.  In case you ever need to know.  

My very pregnant sister, who was remarkably good natured despite the fact that  my mom and I referred to her throughout the weekend as "the fat one".