Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!

The cat is FINALLY out of the bag. But it's not even really a big secret for most of you...but...

I bought my tickets for a six-month (plus) trip last week. I leave May 10. And I can't wait!!! ARGH!!!

Because some of you probably have the same questions my co-workers/bosses/roommates have had, I'll answer the my-trip-around-the-world FAQ below:

Why did you decide to do this?
I usually tell people it's because I've always wanted to do it, and I feel that now while I'm mortgageless, husbandless, childless, and petless I should do it. But the answer is actually much longer and more complicated than that and will probably get its own post soon. (Forewarning, though, this future answer does have something to do with Roger Clemens)

Where are you going?
As of right now, my tickets have me going through India in the fall. Before that I'll be in Beijing, Seoul, Thailand, Australia, and Malaysia. After that, if I still want to/am able, I may be going on to eastern Africa.

What are you doing with your silverware?
I'll probably see if I can store smaller things like my kitchenware and clothing at a friend's house in LA. All the big things (such as bed, TV, truck), I'm going to sell.

Where are you staying?
I don't know. Hopefully not hostels. I don't do well with that whole "sharing" idea and don't want to wake up to a strange man sleeping underneath me again. But I don't think I can afford a JW every night.

Speaking of money, do you care if I ask how much you'll have on this trip?
Well, the tickets are already bought...and besides the money I have set aside for visas, shots, insurance, etc. it is definitely enough to get me through the first six months even if I don't freelance write at all. But let's just say that it's enough to buy a big trendy Hermes bag (maybe even a few scarves too), a trailer and few acres in my hometown, or a boob job, liposuction, and nose job. If you want to know exact numbers, we can talk off blog.

So you're going to write during the trip?
Of course I'm going to write. But I also do want to use a good portion of my time to volunteer for some really cool programs.

Who's going with you?
It's a one-woman deal. My sister is meeting up with me in Korea...but other than that, I'm doing it solo, Hans.

Aren't you afraid you'll get lonely?
I probably will. But I'll have to get through it.

Will you do a blog?
Well, there's this...but I do plan on making another blog that will be shared with the whole world.

What if I want to call you?
Whoa, Charlie! I haven't even gotten there yet. I'll figure it all out eventually. I'm sure I'll have a phone of some kind.

And that's all for tonight...more answers to come.

Check Out These Guns

My legs? They've always been pretty muscular. My arms? Not so much. I've always had pretty puny upper limbs.

So I have to say that the best part of being a server is the kick-arse arms I've recently noticed sprouting up. Which, considering I haven't been to the gym since July is pretty darn awesome. Now if I can only figure out a way for serving to give me a six-pack (of abs, not beer).

Am I Alone?

Do you ever get confused about life? Sometimes I feel like everyone else has their lives figured out...or that you're just not thinking about it as much as I do.

It's not that I want to ponder the meaning of life (and mine in particular) all the time. I just can't help but feel that if I don't think about it, then I'll wake up one day and be old, poor, single (save one pitiful cat I'll probably rescue from the throes of death), and in a job I never loved. And that scares me more than being young, poor, single, and still wondering if there will ever be a job I love. So, I sit and consider everything I should be doing to not be these things in 15 years. And I've no idea where to start.

And sometimes my confusion is almost as bad as feeling as though I'm the only one confused.

Greatest Hits 2006

Best Sports Moment: (tie) Cardinals winning the World Series and Quin Snyder's resignation
Best Reading Material: (tie) Jesus Land by Julia Scheeres, Be Honest, You're Not That Into Him Either by Ian Kerner, and Rich Dad Poor Dad by Robert T. Kiyosaki
Best New Show: My Boys on TBS
Best Break: Memphis (possibly the friendliest city I've ever been to)
Best Quote: Fiscus' "They thought about talking to us for two hours and could only muster seven minutes of conversation. What was wrong with them?"
Best Purchase: My new Sony VAIO (LOVE it!!!)
Best Part-Time Job: Um, the one I stayed at for longer than a month (i.e., the current one)
Best Discovered Drink: Poormosa
Best Part of the Full-Time Job: It paid for me to cross off one of my life goals

If You Actually Care

So, yeah, it's been a while to say the least. The highlights to catch you up:
1. I'm working double-time...working hard to make my "dreams" a reality.
2. The Tigers are No. 25 in the AP poll.
3. The Cardinals FINALLY won tonight.
4. I met the son of the writer to It's a Wonderful Life.
5. I watched the Rockstar: Supernova finale with the cousin of the winner.
6. I found another gray hair on my head.
7. My legs were waxed last weekend.

I'd Be a Sports Writer...

It was only a month into classes. And that day I had the lecture portion of my class at The Missourian. I didn't have cable in my bedroom, so as I pulled on my (probably pink) clothes, I listened to the pop radio station. In between songs, they had vague announcements of some airplane accidents in New York. It wasn't until I was just about ready to leave for class that things became clear to the DJs. The planes hitting buildings in New York was no accident. Someone meant to do it.

After watching replay after replay of the incident in Alicia's room, I sped off to class. The teacher took random attendance, so even though there was a major terrorist event, I knew I'd better get to Lee Hills Hall. But there was a note on the door...for us idiot "journalism" students who hadn't thought of reporting to the newsroom the second we heard of the attacks, we were all to report there immediately.

As my magazine friends and I made our way into the frenzy of MU news ed students, we were informed of where the school's "poster children" were. BJ was already at the Columbia airport -- and I can't remember if Nina and I actually found out that he was on his way there before calling the newsroom to see what they needed, or if we just made it up. But actually, it didn't matter. He was there, and I wasn't. Thus, that was the day I realized I would never win a Pulitzer. That was the day that I realized that there are some people who live for telling the amazing story. But that wasn't me. I needed the time to talk to people. To mull things over. To call my one New York friend (who was actually still in Australia) and see if her family was OK. I was not on my way to CoMo's tarmac. I was sitting in a cushioned spinning seat with my eyes glued to the TV.

And as the rest of my classmates/reporters buzzed around trying to do the story they'd been assigned, me and the rest of my beat sat around lifeless. We were the sports geeks, and we had nothing to do that day. Or for the rest of the week. Games were cancelled. Sports were put on hold. And as I clawed my brain for some story that I could do that would relate sports to the attacks, I began to see that it was a little fruitless. Sports was a game. It simply didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

Sure, I went on to get an internship in sports, and I still write sports stories today. But since that day, I've never thought it mattered.

It's Logical to be Mediocre

Up until a year and two months ago, my life had a definitive plan. Everything was laid out for me. It was simple and logical. Finish high school. Go to college. Join Teach For America. Now that all that is done, I'm lost. I've got no blueprint for life. What society does give me is the idea that I should be dating now, get married, and have 2.5 kids. Then, maybe I can join the rest of the adult population and get a divorce because he/I am having a mid-life crisis or decide "I never loved you." That's the only guidance life has given me.

But that's not good enough for me. I'm a woman who loves my ability to choose, yet I still desperately want a plan in life...just not THAT plan. If God were a life coach laying it all out there for me, I'd tell him "Whoa, Chucko...that doesn't work for everyone. You're gonna have to ditch that generic one and give me one that makes sense for me."

But God isn't channeling himself through Tony Little anytime soon. So for now, I'm stuck trying to pencil in my own plans -- to no avail. Every day is a different mood for me. Somedays I love my job, and I never want to leave Southern California. Other days I can't wait to leave everything that L.A. has.

I've recently decided that all this uncertainity stems from my inability to locate my passion in life. For the life of me, I can't figure out what it is that I love to do. Nor do I know what I'm good at. This week after tiring of writing at the full-time job and having a personal essay (nicely) rejected from a freelance idea I had, I'm feeling that I was never meant to be a writer. Then, I wonder what it was that made me want to be one in the first place.

Generally that traces back to 1st grade when Mrs. M told me I should be one. (See, I told you I liked plans laid out for me) But if she'd never said that, would that be what I thought I had wanted out of life? Would I write if I didn't care what others thought and didn't listen to them?

I don't know...so for now, I allow myself to be a mediocre writer because I'm not sure I love it. And I haven't stumbled upon the next step yet.

"No One's Gonna Drag You up, to Get Into The Light..."

I see the signs, people.

One of the four cute guys at my job recently put in his notice that he's leaving. What other job has tempted him away? Oh, it's not another job. It's a trip. A continent-hopping venture that's left open-ended. Sound familiar?

And in another twist of fate, today I got an e-mail addressed to his ex (who I replaced at work) from STA Travel about around-the-world trips.

"...and it opened up my mind..."

A Working Girl

News from the job front:
-the managing editor at my publication put in her notice
-the magazine has hired a senior editor to replace her
-I received a raise this week
-I was given the opportunity to change some of my editorial duties
-I got complimented on my toes' polish job today at church

And that's what's new at work.

What does it mean to you?

FOB has come to mean three things in my life:
1. the little key tag that swipes me in at work
2. front-of-the-book, as in, the pieces I'm trying to pitch to all the magazines
3. fresh off the boat

A Very Sarah Jessica Parker Moment a la The Family Stone

She screams “Does nobody in this family love me?” before running out of the room.

Today I came to work hoping to avoid thinking about my personal life and the story for my class that I should be finishing. While settling in and reading the forum board for people in my industry, I was surprised to find a thread with my magazine’s title in it. There had been so many responses, that two pages of comments were now filled. Clicking on it, I saw that the original post was reaming a short FOB piece I wrote (which wasn’t bylined) that had an accompanying risqué photo. Others chimed in on their surprise at my magazine for running it, but eventually it led to a ream into the huge feature I’d written in that issue (yes, the one on Vietnamese techs that I’d been excited about and had spent much time researching).

OK, I knew the feature would not be received well by all in the industry (that was part of the motivation for writing it), but really now. There was no need for the thread to eventually become a tear-into the writer topic.

I don’t regret writing it. I’m glad I did it. But I am saddened that perceptions of race and nationality control so much of people’s thinking. “Xenophobia is rampant,” one tech told me (in thanking me over the phone last week for writing it). Yes. It is. But it sucks that other people’s fear of the unknown and unfamiliar makes me feel like poop.

It is days like today that I wish I would marry some stupid chump for his money, write quietly in a journal that nobody ever sees, sit around half the day watching CMT and take runs along the beach.

Instead though, I scream into the void of this blog, “Does nobody in this world love me?” before walking out to figure out my place in this world.

Beauty Is in the Eye of the Photo

Yesterday was not spent watching the Super Bowl. Instead I watched gaggles of gals running around, loading themselves up on hair, makeup and nail products. I normally wouldn’t do this, but I attended my first industry trade show this weekend.

One thing that surprised me throughout the weekend was finding out what the people looked like. I’m not just talking about the stylists and techs walking around the showroom floor. I was blown away by everyone. Many look nothing like what I’d imagined. Some were younger, perkier and fresher-faced than I expected, but there were others I thought I knew what they looked like. But I didn’t. I’ve realized quickly that in the beauty industry, most people in the industry have publicity shots…that look nothing like them.

But this isn’t JUST in the beauty industry. When I attended a “meet the teachers” event through mediabistro.com, I was completely stunned when I saw many of the instructors. Their “instructor” photo face was nothing like their real-life face.

And friendster…myspace? They’re both a playground of photo-frenzy people, who put up their “best” photo…which was shot at some weird angle and really looks nothing like the person.

It seems to me that people know this when choosing photos that represent them. Is it that people are so self-conscious they think the real them won’t attract buyers or students or friends from the past? Or is it others telling them, “you would look great like this?” Or is it the fact that maybe they did look like that at one point…but age and gravity took hold, and said person is too ashamed to take a new photo?

Whatever the reason, this saddens me. I think many of these people are beautiful in their own way and how they are…and their confidence to show that would only make them more attractive.

Alas. I realize my myspace photo is nearly two years old (but was put up less than two weeks ago)…my friendster photo is nearly 10 years old…and my professional writing Web site features photos that are really jokes. I tell myself I did that so others wouldn't see glam Jayna, expect that, then be disappointed. But maybe that whole train of thought is just as bad as putting up a glam Jayna picture.

Have Fun Will Travel

There is this whole world out there, and I'm dying. Dying for two things: to see it all and to change it. Which will win?

As I'm getting more and more settled into the job, I'm realizing how much I have to set goals for my professional life. I fear I will be in this same job for 10 years and unhappy after three. I know this job is not for the rest of my life, and I have to prepare myself now for what will come after I leave. That is why I created a freelance Web site (up for about two weeks now, woohoo!), and that is also why I'm taking another mediabistro course. I know I'm supposed to be watching my money and dropping close to $500 on a travel-writing course doesn't seem like the wisest decision, but I felt I had to do it.

Since college I've been doing things based on the assumption that I would one day be a travel writer -- that's why I did an independent study photo course on landscapes and how I convinced the HRM teacher to let me take Professional Beverage Management senior year. That's also why I'm working hard at my current job. All will put me into a position to know more about travel or be able to better land freelance writing gigs on places.

And then I had my STRS (state teachers retirement system) money that is sitting around...money that will fund my around-the-world trip if I decide to ever do it. As this travel-writing course approached, I rationalized that taking $500 of that money to do the course would be an investment of that cash. That money would help me earn loads of money on a trip.

Now enrolled, I wait for the first class. And question what I'm doing with my life. Do I want to just travel the globe for the next 50 years and write about it? No. I want to do journalism that makes a difference. While getting paid well to write about luxury spas, I want to be paid little to write about big problems. I want to change maybe not lives but at least thoughts. I want to inform people. I want the world to be a better place because I existed.

So, as I sat today in chuch and pondered my existence, I realized that travel writing will be my gateway. Well, actually, I remembered that...I remembered that the whole reason I wanted to return to journalism was to either launch my own publication and/or become a journalism professor who pushes her students to make their own changes.

I must remember why I'm doing what I'm doing. Money will come if I need it. Fulfillment...the earth will bring me that.

A Surprise

I got the bestest early Christmas present ever today. I got a surprise in my mailbox after Christmas shopping today, and I haven't been this happy, relieved or positive about my life in a long time. And tomorrow I'm paying off my credit card bill. In full.

Maybe there is such a thing as Santa. Because this is probably what I would have put on a real wish list for Christmas. And it's not from anyone I know. So, Joy to My World.

$5 Million

As my debt and bills continue to pile up, I thought about how much money it would take to make me financially happy. On my way to an event for the non-profit for which I volunteer, I started adding up how much money I would need in order to have what I wanted for myself and give what I wanted to others. $5 million was the approximation I came up with. "Whoa! That's a lot!" I thought.

Then I came home, and my roommates suggested they would need more. One said $15 million. When we walked by a Santa Monica condo last night that was for sale for $1.28 million, I realized she may be even more realistic...

So, what exactly would I do with my $5 million?
For myself:
-pay off student loans and car loan
-buy a three-bedroom or two-bedroom with a home office house in South Redondo
-do that stinking around the world trip

For family:
-build my parents a three-bedroom one-level home that is easily accessible for my mother and near the woods or a lake
-pay off my parents' car loans
-buy my sister a two-bedroom home in St. Louis
-put money aside for Trina to go to med school if she wanted
-put money aside for Gabe to go to college

For others:
-give four-year scholarships to any of my past students who attend college
-donate money to WriteGirl
-donate money to Harlem RBI

For career:
-finance Tim's latest venture (not because he's my friend, but because I think he has a great idea)
-launch my own consumer magazine
-launch RLife

Writing Is My Weakness

I still have not begun my novel. I told myself that I would start it this week. Luckily, I've been tied up at work and not feeling much like writing my memoirs. See, as much as I love this blog, I know that writing about my personal life, especially for a national audience, leaves me vulnerable (remember, that feeling that I absolutely loathe?).

Nobody that I know has actually read my first published personal essay (recently came out in an October magazine issue), and I'd kind of like to keep it that way. The guy has asked a couple of times to see things I've written. I kind of blow it off and pretend I don't have anything around the house for him to read. (And he definitely doesn't know about the blog) My roommates have asked a few times to read articles as well. "I'll get my clips out for you later," I usually tell them. When people actually do read what I've written, I'm surprised, and then I question whether I actually should have written it.

Because, well, writing I can't take back. And it shows a lot of who I am. And others can probably figure out when you mention them, despite clever name changes. Such as I'm sure "cute IT boy" figured out his moniker when he found the blog today. (I knew google would mean the end of my anonymity)

Note to self: IT people spend all their time on computers. Writing about them on your blog=them finding it.

Interesting Job Information

As those in the magazine business know, magazines come and go, and folding is quite commonplace. Yesterday, I found out about one recent closure at my new company: Death Row. Yes, a magazine for people on death row. It kept mugshots of all those (a spread, if you will, of these images) and told their stories.

I don't know exactly what happened to it, but I have my theories. Yes, it was a captive audience, but getting advertisers probably wasn't the easiest. (These folk probably didn't have a large disposable income) And, well, keeping loyal subcribers for many years didn't happen. Especially in Texas.

You've Got Male

Imagine a new huge Pecker full of energy. Just huge. Smash the ladies like crazy!
If your a lady, take a "monster!"

This is an email I've been continually getting at my work address (and yes, I left capitalization and grammar intact but deleted the web address). This message pops up at least once per day. Usually, I also get one about the Jack Rabbit Vibrator of Sex and the City fame (although the email calls it "Sex In the City").

I wonder if the IT guys can't figure out how to filter them, or if they're just letting them slip in for kicks. I'm sure it's not the latter...and I would ask, except one of them is a hot 20-something-year old. I don't want to go up to him, and say, "I keep getting these messages about huge peckers..."

So, instead, I keep getting these messages. Blushing. Deleting. Hoping that nobody walked up behind me while it temporarily popped up (no pun intended) in my Outlook window.

It's a Difficult Job . . .

Yesterday, a person from our graphics department and I started talking about her husband (she had recommended a Chinese restaurant for lunch that they had used for their wedding reception). It turns out he's a B-track teacher in LAUSD -- South Central. She didn't know my work history, so I told her that I had been a teacher in East LA before this job.

Of course she wanted to know why I left. I gave her the TFA spiel, and then I said I just wanted to get back into journalism. "So you think writing is easier than teaching?" What!?!? I couldn't believe anyone would ever ask that question. I immediately started telling her about the early mornings, late nights of grading, home visits when kids missed detention, etc.

"Really? Now I feel kind of bad!" she says. "I always complain to my husband about how hard my job is. I tell him, 'I have to stare at a computer screen all day! You're up doing things with kids, you get off at three every day AND you get four months off a year!'" Yes, that's true. The teacher vacations are great. But mean nothing when the job isn't for you.

I guess today was a little hard, though. I mean, I had lunch on the company at the Elephant Bar (they pair us up with a veteran worker in another department -- for a "family" feel), I got a free pedicure from a guy who is a licensed massage therapist and they signed me up to go to a Red Cross benefit in Beverly Hills next week that will be hosted by one of the women of Desperate Housewives. Even better than all that though -- I got a brand new three-hole punch when I requested it. That's a sure sign that a job is better.

Where'd That Come From?

I went home to AV. I lay on a coach. I put a towel underneath me. I felt some rumbling in my tummy. Then I gave birth.

It was a bizarre dream that I had last night. I remembered in my dream holding the baby to my chest and explaining to my mother that really, I hadn't had sex with anyone in January. This was impossible. Oddly, she didn't care. In my dream, she was just excited to have a grandchild (which I think would be her probable reaction with her recent bout with MS).

Today at work I looked up what it meant to have a dream about giving birth. One bogus site told me that it meant an acting out of my desires or fears and that good news was to follow. I'm not one to think that dreams are predictors, so I kept looking. Another site told me that myself giving birth is a sign of a new idea or new project. It's a symbol of a fresh start. I suppose this whole career-change-thing is quite a fresh start. That's obviously what it meant. Right?

Oddly enough, though, the burning memory of my dream was the fact that the pregnancy didn't cause me to gain weight. I remembered marveling aloud how childbirth hadn't affected my belly or hips and saying "That's what happens when you have them young!" Good to know I'm vain even in my dreams.