Category Archives: Photo = 1k Words

I Presume You Think I’m Stupid

"A- I presume you know that .25 is #1/4

Dear Mrs. Upper Micro Management,

No, I did not know that .25 would be referring to 1/4, despite getting an A in my 4th grade math class.
Even so, I still managed to graduate from college and accurately calculate all the invoicing for both your businesses for the last two years.
In fact, I was going to work very hard today,  but I have decided my time would be better spent grasping my head around the concept that .25 is 1/4.
That must be why 25 cents is called a quarter!!!
Thanks for the enlightening post-it note.
Working with you is such an enriching experience.

Your Eager Employee

PS- I notice you throw away the magazines in reception that don’t have white people on the cover.
I will speak to Sports Illustrated, National Geographic and People en EspaƱol to request special custom covers for our particular office.

PPS- I presume .5 is 1/2?


My Anti-Style

How I really am…

My style of dressing:
What’s on sale at Goodwill?
Do I have to iron it?
Can I find matching heels?
Check today’s high temperature…
…Wear the same thing I wore one week ago.
Hope no one notices.

My style of singing:
Start soft, hold high notes, explore second voice, tap tempo, interweave lyrics slightly off beat, fall out of key, apologize.

My style of carrying keys:
Insert key ring through finger and jingle as I walk.

My style of walking:
Drag feet as close to the ground as possible. Kick pebbles.

My style of running:
30 feet uphill then hyperventilate.

My style of drinking water:
I always miss my mouth for some reason.

My style of driving:
Window half down, left hand steerer, right hand on the emergency break, listening to NPR.

My style of reasoning:
Well I could do it so why can’t they?

My style of befriending:
“Here kitty kitty kitty. Oh you’re such a fat kitty,  aren’t you?  Mrreow? Mrreow?”

My style of petting:
Ear scratch followed by a back stroke, followed by a tummy rub, sealed with a chin scratch.

My style of saving money:
I’ll have to come back to this one.

My style of eating:
Remove braces, remove what I’m allergic to, nomnomnom, choke on something, nom…nom…nom…, drink, brush teeth, insert braces.

My style of cooking:
Fry everything in oil with spices, then add sauce, boil, add more sauce,  melt cheese, add more spices.

My real style of cooking:
“Mom, do you have leftovers?”

My style of parenting:
“Kid, I appreciate your fondness,  but I’m really not your mother.”

My style of birth control:
Showering profusely.

My style of intercourse:
Rejection, crying, writing a song about ponies and daffodils.

My style of cleaning:
Natural store-bought liquids and recycled paper towels, sweep to my heart’s content, avoid mopping and vacuuming when possible.

My style of working:
Work a little, blog a little. Leave a stack for when my manager is here.


My style of receiving calls:
Act like you’re the center of my universe while I draw on a post-it.

My style of blogging:
Somewhat anonymous, somewhat sporadic, mostly non-linear, pretty much inconsequential.

My style of saving money:
Be generous and life will be generous to you.

In response to today’s prompt Style Icon.

Ye Ol’ Blog Post

Life Updates:
I have glue dots on my teeth.
I look Frankensteinesque.
I’ve resolved not to smile til my orthodontist takes them off.

Speaking of smiles, my general dentist wants to hire me.
Her practice is five minutes away from my new home.
For anyone not familiar with my life, that’s 5 minutes vs the 55 minutes of my current work commute.
That’s when I drive my own car instead of taking the bus.
That would give me between 8-10 hours per week to do what normal people do.
Haha! Just kidding.
Not socialize.
I’m not ready for that.

I’m obviously getting overly excited by the possibilities.

Yes, she is the same dentist in whose chair I broke out crying that time I was arguing with my escrow loan broker over text messages.
If I had known she was going to offer me a job, I would have made a bigger scene.
Wailed even.

So, not my dream job; I’d just handle scheduling and calls while my friend concentrates on billing.
None of this customer service order processing silly stuff I have to do where I’m at now.
My dentist is a normal dentist though, with a decently sized staff.
Here it’s just the doctor’s assistant, (whose job I took), my assistant, (who’s no longer my friend), and myself.
My manager, as we will remember, is never to be seen, and the doctor here goes on lecture tours about every 5 weeks.
Not only that, Tuesdays and Thursdays they work out of another office, and no one comes Friday mornings but me.
As a result, I am highly self-supervised.
(And damn good at it).

Still, as I am not generally recognized as a strong authority figure, there can be issues.
Last week they were out of town and my assistant brought her sister, who also works in the dental field,  over to show her the office.
I snapped at her when she started explaining our production methods.
Our other coworker, the dental assistant, thinks I overreacted.
I think it was very unprofessional of my assistant to bring her sister to our packing area.

Yesterday, her sister confronted me at church and told me I’d hurt her feelings.
She said I shouldn’t apply the rules to everyone.
Oh please forgive me, why was I such an ethical employee…

…You can understand why my assistant is no longer my friend.
But eh who needs friends.
I’ve got cats.
And a husband who tries really hard to please me even though he doesn’t always understand how I feel.
Or why I yell.
Parents who…
Well they have a great sense of humor.
And a few real friends who know better than to make me choose between them and my means of living.

I have to go to the new office and work two days to see if my new boss and I will fit each other.
I already got my assistant to cover me here but I don’t know whether or not to tell my manager yet.
If I tell her, it’ll have to be tomorrow.
Friday, right before I leave.
Ruin her weekend just like she ruins Mondays.

The truth is, when I asked for a raise, she said she didn’t think I was worth more and that there were a ton of people who can do just what I do.
Who could possibly multitask between two separate businesses and blog at the same time?
Sometimes even while eating and still catching not just my own mistakes, but those of others?

Maybe it’s time to move on.
Besides, my stalker hasn’t called in two weeks.
If he can do it, so can I.

I probably won't be able to do this at my next job.

Exciting News. I guess.

I remember the Golden Age of blogging.
Back then I’d get up to 2 page views per day.
Once I even got 4 likes.
Nowadays I’m lucky if I have one visit per week.
Blogging is in a way Survival of the Fittest, I suppose, but I just refuse to quit.
My third grade teacher told me I was going to be a writer and I’m sticking to that.
Still… Some days I can’t help but wonder what she saw in me.

Sure, we got the house alright, and that is super exciting and all, and I would have shared the news here first…
With the loyal readers who are intimately familiar with my dramatic backstory…
How I was so poor after college and totally suicidal and then pretty much homeless six months ago, living on less than $1000/month (trust me, that’s nothing in Southern California)…
And now in what seems close to a miracle, suddenly a homeowner.
And not just any home…
A creek runs through the back yard (or would run through it if we weren’t in a drought)…
Tons of squirrels…
Lovely neighborhood in which we literally saw Magneto walking down the street the other day.
The town is a haven for painters, playwrights and musicians.
I fit in.

Yes, I am happy, and I want to tell the whole world.
But my loyal readers are more of an abstract concept than real people, so this happy ending didn’t get the momentum I would’ve enjoyed.

I was going to post the following pics on Facebook but my husband says it is insensitive of me cause a lot of people at our church are losing their homes.
I’m so insensitive.


As you can see, the house is plagued by giant pink happy cloud monsters.

...again, under attack.
Our realtor brought us this house warming gift.

This isn't manipulated. There actually were two giant birds on our bodies.

Random anonymous new homeowner's (cute) feet.
Uphill Arroyo Verde Park

Long, Long Weekend

The Italian doctor sent me a Facebook friend request.

I was so excited, I didn’t know whether or not to accept it.

Then *poof* just like that, I woke up.

So I’ve had a hell of a week, even though it’s barely Monday, I am counting today as part of last week.

This last week I only slept for a couple hours on 4 separate nights.

Then Thursday at work, our loan broker texts me: “Hi there!! We have our loan approval…”

Five minutes before that, my co-worker’s real estate agent had just texted her that her house is now in escrow.

She was very sad about that since she did not choose to sell the house; the decision was made for her.

So there she was, standing right in front of me, crying, when I get the text that our home loan got approved.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have told her, it was bad timing, but I was excited and she was right there, so I showed her the text and she was happy for me.

Extremely ironic. Extremely awkward.

I texted a few of my closer friends to share in the festivities with me.

The next day while I am getting a cleaning at a dentist’s office where my friends work, literally while I am in the chair, our broker sends me a message that they made a mistake and the loan is not approved.


I kind of held it under control during the cleaning but then when I was back in the waiting room I was so mad I couldn’t stop crying.

Thankfully my two friends were there to comfort me.

I called my husband and let him know what was going on but he seemed to be taking it a little too well, which was disconcerting.

We tried to go out to dinner that night but he lost all patience with me and after chasing him down in the car and then pretending I was going to divorce him so he’d come back home to talk to me, it turned out he never got the text that said our loan had been approved.

Only I got that text.

I just assumed they had told him too.

That is why he didn’t understand why I was so disillusioned and making such a big deal about our loan broker being dishonest.

I think by then it was like 2 AM.

The birds woke me up at 4:30 AM.

I went back to sleep at 6 AM.

My husband’s alarm woke me back up at 7 AM.

That was Saturday.

Yesterday he got upset at me about something else.

I guess cause supposedly I have really bad timing when bringing up things he hasn’t done.

You mean half an hour before you’re supposed to give a speech isn’t a good time to tell you you still haven’t installed the software you promised me on my Mac?

Well yeah. I can see it now.

But yesterday it seemed perfectly logical.

This bad timing thing seems to be a recurring issue for me.

I am supposed to start Invisalign this week which I guess by blogging about it it kind of defeats the purpose of its being invisible. (‘—‘)

As for the Italian guy- I think I looked at his profile too many times cause now he’s appearing in those little Facebook boxes that say “people you might know.” *0*

If I were to send him a friend request I’m pretty sure he’d accept it, but I am under the impression he’d accept a friend request from a squirrel.

So then I’ll just be lost in a sea of acquaintances, I’ll still be a nobody to him, and it’ll break my heart much like asdfghjkl;.

Heart patch boy and girl
Some people’s approach to relationships.

Even worse would be the alternative to that- the alternate ending in which we fall madly in love with each other and sail away to the moon.

…Because the moon is across the sea.

I guess.


Moving on.

My husband did do something quite grandiose for me today which is that he helped me overcome my fear of steep hills.

No, he didn’t push me down one.

We went hiking and he walked at my pace. …After I texted him to wait up.

I will hereby refer to it as the hike that saved our marriage.

Uphill Arroyo Verde Park
We went up this hill…
Downhill Arroyo Verde Park
…And came down this hill (the scary part). (Because you can’t see the bottom or top from the trail). (Trust me, it’s just scary.)
Random Pig Salsa Tray
Random Pig Salsa Tray

“I Wouldn’t Leave You for an Italian”

My conscience was bothering me on account of the Italian doctor with whom I had an emotional affair over the course of last week.

Well it was more like an imaginary affair considering we technically never exchanged words.

I did thank him once for fixing my boss’s computer, but I’m not even sure he heard me.

I think the couple times he came over to chat I just turned red and my coworker or boss did all the talking.

The point is- in my head we lived happily ever after so I felt terrible around my husband, like I had totally betrayed him.

I decided to confess what had happened and my husband said,

“Frankly, if you were to leave me for an Italian to go live in Italy, I would’ve done the same thing.”

That took a great load off my shoulders.
It is wonderful to have such an understanding husband.
We finally see eye to eye in something.
I think I’ll let him come stay with us in Italy.

Just kidding.
I wouldn’t leave my husband for another man.
Not even for an Italian doctor.
Now, whether I’d leave him for a lifetime’s supply of gelato…?

This is quite troubling.

Just when I think I've passed the ultimate test of my morale...

Owning Up to my Flash Fiction Fail

I’m Ave.

You might remember me from such memorable blog posts as “I Shaved My Bikini Line” and “I Shaved My Bikini Line, the Aftermath.”

I am pleased to now bring you the video version: “I Shaved My Bikini Line” with optional director’s commentary.

The proceeds from the sales of this video go to fund my Ave-is-Lying-in-Bed-Sick-SoSheCouldn’tGoToWork fundraiser.

Me right now.

As many of you (1 or with a little luck, 2) may know, I recently vowed to do a flash fiction project in which I would write a little bit every hour for seven days straight.

The truth is I find it very hard to stop myself when I’m writing something good.

I mean, let’s be honest, I even have trouble stopping when I’m writing something bad.

The result was very long short stories that could hardly qualify as flash fiction (bad or good) and migraines from spending too much time typing into my cell phone screen.

Deep inside, though, I have that fighting spirit, (deep, deep inside), so I refuse to let my reader(s) down!
Despair not for I shall rise from these ashes of self-loathing and try once more!

This will be my new approach, so soon as I feel like it:
I will write one full day, ONE SENTENCE per hour.
I will upload the story that night, regardless of whether or not it has a conclusion, even if I fell asleep half way through the last sentence.
I will let my eyes rest for two days and then write another story on the fourth day.
I shall do this first for two weeks and if I like the result perhaps make it into a regular (hahaha) section on this blog.

That is my once-a-week Daily Update on my personal projects.
Thank you for your audienceship.
You may be excused.

Oh! And for the first ten people to request the video, I have a special audio-book: “The Organ and the Malfunctioning Blender and Other Fun Tales for Your Teenage Daughter’s Sleepover.”

I Think I’m Depressed

I can’t tell the difference anymore.
I was depressed as a side effect of my ADHD for so many years.
Then I learned how to manage it better.

There’s always a choice factor.
What to do, what to do…
Something positive, something destructive…?
Being positive is more fun but after a while you realize, or rather, I realize -I forget I’m the one who gets distracted, not you, necessarily, unless I’m boring you, which I think is safe to assume I probably am, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt- I realize that either way, happy, angry or sad, the fundamental problems persist.

I hate it when people aren’t straight up with me so I will try to be straight up with my reader.

It is wearing being tied to someone who basically has very little time for you.
A lot of people think I have so many advantages over them because I read a lot, use technology more, because I was born in the U.S., because my husband has a steady job.

I have no one to talk to when I’ve had a hard day.
Except my cats.
Sure I have a lot of friends but I’m not particularly close to any of them.
Not to the point where they’d support me if I ever needed a place to spend the night.
Of course not.
Why would I need a place to sleep?
I have a hard working husband and my parents are still alive.

It’s like I’m isolated on so many levels but none of them tangible.

How do I get support for things no one can see?

Have you ever tried to sort a Rubik’s Cube and all the little squares fall out?
It happens to me.
Every single time.
Since I was 8.
I feel like one of those Rubik’s Cubes I broke.
Waiting for someone to either come and fix me or throw me away.
Some quasi-genius child trying to get into classes for gifted white kids from Santa Barbara even though she has a free life pass.
Whatever happened to her?
Oh wait, that was me.

The question lingers…
Am I depressed?
Am I suicidal?
Am I fully functional?
Yes, no, and yes.
Am I lying to myself?

Stanley the stapler is my BFF.

Read similar

Here Comes the Sun

A poem by Fifa Cat

Come on!
Come on!
Here comes the sun!
All cats-
Skinnies and Fats-
Gather to our windows
As the bright
Fire light
Emerges from
Fuzzy blanket
Of darkness.
Oh but what bliss!
How it warms my tummy!
Purr purr,
Purr purr,
Ever so yummy!
You, Chariot
Of Great Cat Warrior
In the sky,
To you
Paws raise.
In your honor
We lie.