The Sonia Show

Writer. Mocker. Beer drinker. Old movie watcher. Mother. Goober.


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There’s no crying in yoga

Yeah, so, I made a New Year’s resolution to be healthier in 2018 … just like a majority of human beings (and some animals – probably).

I’ve been eating healthier, and preparing whole food, plant-based meals using the Forks Over Knives meal planner. I even joined the gym down the street from me. It’s walking distance from my house, so I can walk to the gym so I can walk on the treadmill and listen to podcasts. I know what you are thinking: “Why don’t you just walk around your neighborhood, dummy?” Because. That’s why! Also, I feel safer in the gym, where I don’t have to worry about someone mugging me or hitting me with their car.

AND, the gym has yoga classes! I started going back to yoga, which always makes me happy. I’m so out of practice, so I’ve been easing my way back into it.

I started with a restorative yoga class which is very mellow. You know, it’s one of those classes in which the instructor says, “You’re going to need three bolsters, four blankets and two blocks.” And you think, “YAAAAAS!” Then you spend 90 minutes trying not to fall asleep in some crazy yoga pose. I love that class.

I also started another class on Monday nights that is a little more vinyasa flowy – it’s more challenging but not too challenging. I can kinda keep up.

But this is a story about the Saturday morning class …

It’s a class for students with an existing practice, which I have … sort of. I mean, I used to be good at yoga. I’m rusty and out of shape, but I never walk into a new class at think, “Oh, I’ll be able to do all the things.” I’ll just do what I can and hopefully, I’ll get stronger and better.

So, I walked into the class on Saturday, and I spoke with the teacher. I gave her some background. Breast cancer, mastectomy,  chemotherapy and breast reconstruction surgery – all things that make me struggle sometimes in a yoga class. I can’t do any amazing backbends, stuff like that. Maybe someday, but not yet. I told her I’m out of practice, but I really want to get back to it.

“You might find this class challenging, but just do what you can,” she kindly told me.

She was right. About 20 minutes into the class, and I was already struggling. I had to take child’s pose a few times. It felt really hot in the class.

“It’s really hot in here. Oh god! I hope I don’t pass out,” I thought.

And then that was it. I started panicking that I was going to pass out. Then I started beating myself up. I’m so out of shape. I used to be good at yoga, and now I suck at it. I’m embarrassing myself in this class. I was fighting my urge to just roll up my mat and run out of the class.

I worked myself up, so when the nice instructor came by to modify me in a pose I started crying. CRYING! Bawling, really. Tears. The works.

“Oh no! What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’m so embarrassed. You are right. This class is too challenging for me,” I sobbed. “I used to be good at yoga. And now I’m so terrible at it. Oh god! I’m so embarrassed. I’m so embarrassed.”

The instructor was so kind to me.

“You are the best student in this class,” she told me. “You are working so hard, internally and externally. Yoga isn’t easy. No one is good at yoga. You just do what you can, and that’s all you can do, and I will support you.”

I wiped my tears, and I said, “I’ll keep trying.”

I stayed on my mat and finished the class. It was hard: physically and emotionally. When the class was over, the instructor came to my mat, and instantly I started crying again.

“Thank you for helping me,” I cried. “I’m really embarrassed. I guess I have some work to do on my body and my mind.”

We chatted for a bit about how yoga is exactly what I need. It’s going to help me.

“You’re not the only one who was in child’s pose today,” she told me. “And you’re not the only one who cried during a yoga class. It happens all the time.”

“I know this class was really hard for me, and maybe I’m not at this level, but if it’s OK with you, I’d really like to come back next Saturday and try again,” I said.

“I would be so disappointed if you didn’t,” she replied. “This is the class for you. It’s what you need.” And then she asked if she could hug me.

And even though I barely made it through, and even though I embarrassed myself by crying, I left the class feeling like I’m going to get better. I was proud of myself for not running away. I was proud of myself for just saying how I felt, even though it might sound stupid.

I felt so motivated that after class I went home and bought a new yoga mat, yoga mat tote and yoga pants. Any reason to shop, I guess.

I told my mighty, mighty good man David what happened.

“I think I’m just too hard on myself,” I said.

“Breaking news: Sonia is too hard on herself,” he said. “Way to point out the obvious.”

So, yeah, I’m really mean to myself. What’s up with that? I’m nice to other people, but I’m a real asshole to myself. I guess that’s something I should work on in 2018, too.

 

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Buh bye, 2017

Yeah, so, this year hasn’t been awesome.

We have a sexual predator in the White House, and – with the help of an enabling GOP – he is attacking this country’s most vulnerable citizens, including the sick, elderly, disabled and immigrants. It’s disgusting and depressing as fuck. It fills me with rage.

I have donated money to organizations and candidates who are helping people and fighting for what’s right. I’ve been calling my reps, and occasionally reps in other districts since their votes affect me. I do what I can handle, and it makes me feel a little less helpless.

BUT, I wanted to focus on some good things that happened this year in the MansTracy household.

My mighty, mighty good boy Calvin started kindergarten, and he is flourishing. He’s so happy, and he’s learning so much. His language skills have improved by leaps and bounds.

I got a new job … kinda. The big corporate overload moved me from the Oakland office where I was the lone content person from the past 8 years to the San Francisco office to join the content team. And instead of just working on content for one brand, I will be working on the content with the team on all the brands. I’m really excited and nervous. Writing is in my comfort zone. Thinking big picture is outside my comfort zone. But, I’m down to expand my skillset. Plus, I super love being in the SF office. Not only has it cut my commute in half (and I’m taking BART instead of driving), but I absolutely adore my content coworkers. They are fuckin’ rad as hell.

I got on an airplane all by myself for the first time ever. True story. I met up with my mighty, mighty good man David in Portland after his work trip. We had a great time exploring the city, which is swimming in vegan options for me and beer for both of us. Plus, we got to see our friends Caitlin and Kirk, which made the trip even more awesome.

I got to go to Washington, DC to see my good buddy Katie and her husband Nathan. I finally got to see their house, and we spent some awesome time together walking around the Newseum, going to a Nationals game and sitting on the couch watching YouTube videos, because that’s how we roll.

We went to Santa Cruz again this year for our little family vacation, and we had an amazing time. Calvin has been asking to go back pretty much every day since we got back.

I started baking bread this year. I have always wanted to bake my own bread, but I thought it was too difficult and too time consuming. I found a perfect bread baking book: “Bread Illustrated” from America’s Test Kitchen.

My sister Michelle and my sister from another mister, Amanda, did a spa day at the Sonoma Mission Inn. We got massages and lounged by the pool with drinks. It was heaven.

I went to Bourbon & Branch for David’s birthday, and I discovered that I like gin. That’s a good thing.

 

 

My 15-year-old (!) niece Lorelei came out for the weekend, and we saw “IT” at the Alamo Drafthouse. Lorelei is a Tiny Sonia, so I knew she would love the Alamo Drafthouse. We had so much fun hanging out together. I was scared to see “IT.” I thought it was really fuck me up, but it turns out that I loved being scared about something other than the news.

After our weekend together, I went on a scary movie watching spree. It turns out I love horror movies! Funny enough, I’ve been listening to F This Movie for years, and the host Patrick Bromley is always taking about horror movies. Now I have the courage to actually watch all those movies he’s talking about.

Speaking of podcasts, Dorking Out with Chris & Sonia is still going strong. We recorded a podcast every week, except for one week. Even dorks need a week off once in a while. Super-big, mad props to my co-host Smith for keeping us on schedule, and all the work he does recording the podcast. Oh, and we got this amazing new logo by Jeff Heerman.

I’ll end this post with what everyone wants to see: Dog and cat cuddling action!

Happy New Year, you guys! Let’s hope that 2018 is chrome and shiny.


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Dinner party panic attack

Yeah, so, I had another panic attack.

Once again, nausea was the trigger. Nausea reminds me of chemo, which reminds me of cancer. Fuckin’ chemo. Fuck you, cancer. Cancer/chemo PTSD is a real thing, you guys. Here’s what happened …

Friday I was going to a chick dinner at my friend DH’s house. Once a year, my friend DH invites a bunch of her lady friends over for dinner. I look forward to it. It’s really fun to chat with a group of smart, funny, interesting women. It’s really fun. I baked bread and everything. See?

I’m practically a professional baker now, you guys.

So, yeah, I was planning on drinking several glasses of wine at DH’s place, so I took a Lyft. But, when I got into the Lyft, it was 100 degrees. He had the heater cranked all the way up. I’m going through menopause hot-blooded and sweaty all the time, so the heater is not really my friend. I immediately took off my scarf and coat.

“Can you turn off the heat? And can I roll down the window?” I asked, because I’m polite AF.

It wasn’t too long into the ride that I started to feel nauseous. I don’t know why I started feeling sick. Maybe from the heat? Maybe I just wasn’t feeling well? Either way, it wasn’t good. I started to panic.

“Oh my god! I’m going to throw up in this car. I feel nervous. I’m going to have a panic attack. I’m going to throw up in this car and faint, and then the driver is going to rape me and ditch me in Glen Park Canyon.”

Of course, my mind immediately goes to the sunken place, which means my driver isn’t a nice man, but a horrible man who will rape and kill me. (Spoiler alert: He was neither of those things, as far as I know.)

In the car, I just kept repeating to myself, “Keep it together. Keep it together.”

Thankfully, I didn’t throw up in the car, but even if I did I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be the first person to throw up in a Lyft.

When I got to DH’s house, I was in full panic mode. I walked in, and it was pretty obvious that I wasn’t OK. I explained that I was feeling nauseous and having a panic attack, and I needed some time to settle down.

“You’re in a safe place here,” DH reassured me. “Have some wine.”

I had some wine. It was delicious, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was so awful, and the nausea wasn’t going away. I was so bummed. DH’s house looked so lovely. It’s decorated for the holidays, and she had her nice dishes out on the table. It was really nice.

“Her house looks so nice. I’m going to throw up all over her nice house,” I thought to myself. “I am TOTALLY going to throw up all over her nice house!”

All the ladies were gathered in the living room. It was a small gathering, so it wasn’t overwhelming … if I wasn’t having a panic attack. I just blurted it out, “I’m having a panic attack. I’m really sorry.”

Everyone was so sweet and understanding. I felt so embarrassed. They tried distracting me by talking about Chris Pine, Chris Evans and Chris Pratt:  a conversation that I would have been ALL ABOUT if I wasn’t freaking out.

“Keep it together. Keep it together.”

Eventually, I gave up. The nausea wasn’t going away, which meant the panic attack wasn’t going away. I called my mighty, mighty good man David and started crying.

“I feel nauseous. I’m having a panic attack, and you need to come get me,” I said, crying.

“Oh no! Calvin is wet and naked,” he replied. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a Lyft. It’s faster.”

“The idea of a Lyft makes my anxiety so much worse. You need to get Calvin dressed and come get me. I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

“Of course! Of course! I love you. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said, and even though the nausea didn’t go away, I felt a little better knowing he was coming.

Then I walked into DH’s kitchen where she was prepping some food, and I immediately burst into tears again.

“David is coming to get me. I’m having a really bad panic attack, and I’m so embarrassed,” I bawled. “I feel so stupid.”

DH was totally understanding: “If I had cancer twice and did chemo, I’d probably have some triggers. You’re OK here. You’re safe.”

I sat with the ladies until David arrived. I smiled and did my best to not send out my crazy anxiety vibes. When David arrived, I politely said my goodbyes and headed out. When I got to the car, Calvin was peeing on a bush.

HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!

“He couldn’t wait,” David laughed.

On the way home, I took an Ativan, which I always have in my bag. I didn’t take it at DH’s house, because I was afraid it would make me fall asleep on her couch.

When we got home, I instantly crawled into bed. Shortly after, the Ativan kicked in, and it was like a knot was untying. My mind and body just relaxed. Good god, I love Ativan. It’s the fuckin’ shit.

I fell asleep, but woke up around 11:30 p.m. David was still playing his new video game, South Park: The Fractured But Whole. I kissed him. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

And then I kissed sleeping Calvin and then climbed back into bed.

Ugh, panic attacks.

I feel lucky that it had been more than a year since I had one. They are so awful and frustrating. I can tell myself, logically, “Dude, you’re fine. Calm down. Who fuckin’ cares if you throw up?” If I threw up at DH’s party, it wouldn’t even be the most embarrassing thing I did at a party. I went to Chico State. It wouldn’t even be the sixth most embarrassing thing I did at a party. I used to get drunk, dance and sing “Cool Rider” from “Grease 2” at parties.

But, my body and another part of my mind doesn’t like logic. It’s just thinking, “We’re totally going to die!”

Panic attacks are the fuckin’ worst.

 

 


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Halloween and the cutest UPS driver

Yeah, so, this was the first year that my mighty, mighty good boy Calvin actually got a little excited about Halloween.

I mean, it wasn’t your typical nonstop talk of costumes and candy. BUT, for the first time, he put on a costume, understood it was a costume and actually liked it. In previous years, we dressed up Calvin in shit we wanted him to wear, because he didn’t care. And the “costume” had to practically not be a costume. It just had to a shirt and pants. No crazy hats, no masks, no weird superhero padded suits. So, he was Captain Kirk a few times, and last year he was Batman, because I found some cute Batman footie pajamas at Target.

This year, my mighty, mighty good man David came up with the brilliant idea of really trying to pick something that Calvin would like. Calvin is not into comic book movies or Pokemon, or any lot of the other costumes that kids want to wear. He likes Curious George, Daniel Tiger and the “Toy Story” movies, but he doesn’t want to dress up as those characters. Believe me, we tried.

Here’s what Calvin loves: trains, buses, cars, trucks and ceiling fans. Finally, David settled on getting Calvin a UPS delivery man costume. Calvin knows who that is, and he likes them. I knew he would never carry a package around with him, so I ordered him a little UPS truck to carry around.

On Halloween, I walked him to the school bus. I had the costume and truck in his backpack for the school’s Halloween parade. While we were waiting for the bus, I decided to give it a shot. I took the UPS truck out of his backpack.

“It’s a mail truck! Can I have it?” he asked.

“Of course. AND, I have something else you might like,” I told him. I took the UPS shirt out of his bag and asked him if I could put it on him. “It’s a mail truck driver shirt.”

He put it on, and he started jumping around excitedly.

“I’m a mail truck driver! I’m a mail truck driver!”

He even wore the hat, you guys!

He wore the costume all day. He walked in the school’s Halloween parade. He trick or treated that night.

We trick or treat on Chenery in Glen Park. It’s just a few blocks from our house, and the entire street goes all out. Tons of decorations, eager people on their porches with tons of candy (and wine for the adult trick or treaters like me).

Every adult loved Calvin’s costume, because all adults love to see the UPS delivery person. And, he’s such a polite trick or treater. At every house he said says, “Trick or treat,” and takes one piece of candy. He smells it before he puts in his bucket, because he wants the chocolate. (Sadly, that means no Smarties for me. Dammit!)

“Thank you very much,” he says. Most of the time, because he is so polite, people give him extra candy. Maybe that’s part of his master plan.

Then, after a few blocks of trick or treating, he decided he had enough candy.

“Let’s go look at the fans,” he said. “I’m all done.”

So, we walked over to the businesses on Diamond and checked out a few ceiling fans. Some people offered him candy, assuming he was still trick or treating.

“No, thank you,” he replied. They would look at us so confused. They looked like this.

What kid turns down candy? Our kid. It’s one of the many things that’s so fuckin’ awesome about him.

A few other random Halloween things …

We went to our friend Roger’s birthday party/Halloween party, and we dressed up as the carpet from “The Shining.” It’s probably the scariest costume I’ve ever worn.

But on Halloween proper, I decided to wear this cute Halloween dress I bought on Think Geek for about $25. It’s got black cats and pumpkins on it. I decided to wear a wig, and it turned into a Sonia S. Pumpkins costume.

The UPS driver and Sonia S. Pumpkins. Any questions?

Close up of the wig, glasses and dress (dress from Think Geek).


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Lipstick Jungle

Yeah, so, I have an addiction.

No, not beer. But good guess, you guys!

I cannot stop buying lipstick. I have 30 different lipsticks – most of them are some variation of red. I don’t mean, “Oh, I have a few tubes of lipstick.” I mean, I have a lot of lipsticks.

I have 30 different lipsticks. I have a drawer in my bathroom that is mostly filled with lipstick. I usually have two or three of them in my purse at any given time.

This is a ridiculous amount of lipstick, right?

I don’t buy a lot of the cosmetics. I have one foundation I use. I have one face power I use. I don’t wear eye shadow or mascara. I do fill in my eyebrows, but I’ve only got one powder that I use for that, too.

It’s all about lipstick for me. I’ll just stroll through Target, Walgreen, Rite Aid, wherever, and I’ll end up buying a lipstick and maybe a tinted lip balm, even though I don’t need them.

My makeup drawer is jam-packed with lipstick, and if I try to clean it out, I end up keeping almost of them.

“No, I can’t get rid of that one. I might wear it.”

“Oh, what if I run out? I might need that one if I’m desperate.”

“I wore that lipstick on my wedding day almost 8 years ago. I can’t get rid of that one. It’s sentimental.”

I wish I was exaggerating.

I have two feet worth of lipstick.

I have a Toby and a half of lipsticks.

I have a Kubo and a half of lipstick.

I have two wine bottles worth of lipstick.

I’m not sure why I keep buying lipstick, when I already have so many. Maybe I’m hunting for the perfect lipstick; the one that will be that perfect shade of red and last all day without rubbing off when I eat and drink and without drying out my lips and makes me look 15 years younger and 30 pounds lighter.

I mean, are all those things too much to ask from one lipstick? GAWD!

Tell me about your makeup drawer. What are you collecting in there?


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My Totally Boring Dream Story

Yeah, so, I had a dream the other night … Hey, where are you going? I get it. Dream talk is boring. Come on. It’s a short story.

Anyway, in the dream, my mighty, mighty good man David said I was stupid, and he was going to divorce me.

“You fooled me for a while, but you are really stupid. I will be letting the zoo know that we are divorcing,” he said.

So, just to be clear, in my dream, it was David’s top priority to let the zoo know that our family membership status would be changing.

I told him about my dream the next morning.

“Well, you don’t want to mess with the zoo people,” he replied.

And now, whenever we have a disagreement David says, “Oh that’s it. I’m calling the zoo.”

 


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Dorking Out Episode 58: Our Favorite Movies Of The 2000s

Yeah, so, we share our favorite movies of the 2000s in this week’s Dorking Out.

I worked on this list off and on for weeks beforehand, which is ridiculous because it’s not like it’s a binding legal document. I was determined to have some variety on the list, and I really didn’t want it to be like every other movie lover’s list.

I made a few rules for myself in compiling the list, including considering a movies “rewatch-ability factor.” I think I did pretty OK. Please remember that my list are my favorite movies, not the best movies. My list of movies that I would argue are the best would be very different and probably include movies such as “Children of Men,” “Pan’s Labyrinth” and “Inglorious Basterds.” You know, influential shit like that.

So anyway, you can listen to our podcast here, or you can find us on iTunes and Stitcher. If you listen to the show, I’d love to hear what you think. You can comment here, or on our website or Facebook page.


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Maybe It’s The Theraflu Talking But …

Yeah, so, I am on Day 6 of the never-ending flu.

All week I’ve been coughing, blowing my nose and having weird fever dreams. Good times. I missed three days of work, and I had to work from home on Thursday and Friday. I need to go to see “Baby Driver” for this week’s Dorking Out, but I’m still coughing. I don’t want to ruin the movie for everyone by coughing throughout the movie. I’m hoping by Sunday morning, I’m coughing less so I can see it before we record on Sunday night.

I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired. I have been drinking Theraflu for more than a week. I’ve probably built up a tolerance to it, and I should consider switching to a different cold med. Or maybe I should start pouring whiskey in it. I hate taking cold meds. They make me feel loopy. Theraflu is one of the only ones that works for me and doesn’t make me high.

So anyway, at some point this week, I was in the fetal position in bed, trying to fall asleep, and I started thinking about the GOP health care bill, because apparently I wasn’t already feeling shitty enough.

I started thinking about how fucked up it is that we need to have a health care bill at all. Basically we need a health care bill, because if we don’t the health insurance companies will fuck us all until we all die. That’s it, right? They absolutely won’t do anything even remotely close to the right thing AT ALL. Unless there is a law, health insurance companies will not offer us a policy at a reasonable price that covers reasonable medical bills.

Think about how fucked up that is! If you need cancer treatment or you have a baby, instead of covering your costs, which is what health insurance should do, they will find a way to screw you over and make you pay for it. They want you to pay for health insurance AND your medical bills, because if there isn’t a law so fuck you.

Health insurance companies are not just mindless robots, they are owned and managed by actual human beings with hearts and souls (in theory). I don’t understand how they sleep at night. How do they justify trying to screw people over during some of the most stressful times in their lives? “I know you’ve been diagnosed with heart failure and you’re fighting for your life, I need to make another $10,000 to throw on my giant pile of money.”

What am I missing? Are health insurance companies like sharks? Just killing machines. Sharks gonna shark. Health insurance companies gonna health insurance company.

I also started thinking about the people who work for the Predator Trump administration, because – once again – apparently I don’t think I’m suffering enough. They are just lying, awful pieces of human garbage, aren’t they? How do they even look at themselves? How do they talk about their day at work with their spouse?

Terrible person #1: “How was your day at work, honey?”
Terrible person #2: “Good! I bullied the White House Press Corp turning off their recording equipment and then I accused them all of being fake news. Then I lied about Trump’s Muslim ban and the Medicaid cuts in the GOP health bill. How was your day?”

Here’s the thing: It’s not just that these “people” have a difference of opinion. They are lying, and they know they are lying. But by lying they thinking they are winning. I’m not sure what they think they’re winning.

“Today I helped the president bully a senator, who dared not to support something we wanted him, too. It’s really exciting time for us. We’re so close to stripping away health care benefits from millions of people, including those with pre-existing conditions as well as children, the elderly and people with special needs, because our most vulnerable citizens are not really Americans. Fuck those people, am I right? I mean, get a job or something. Whatever.”

I have yet to hear one reasonable argument for the GOP health care bill … or one reasonable argument for anything Predator Trump has said or done. I assume that’s because there isn’t one. All I’ve heard is a lot of lies.

I continue to be super disgusted and embarrassed by Predator Trump. I haven’t mentioned it on the blog in a while, but I’m still donating money to organizations that fight for what’s right: the ACLUSouthern Poverty Law Center and Planned Parenthood and SwingLeft.org. Oh, and I usually spend my evenings drunk dialing my reps. You should do it, too. It’s kinda fun.

 

 

 

 

 


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Same company. Same job. New office. New people. Eeek!

Yeah, so, there have been a lot of changes my job recently. A pair of big bosses were fired laid off right after the new year, and for a while the team was working on a million projects to show the other big bosses that we were worth keeping.

It was stressful … for other people. Well, I mean, I didn’t want anyone to lose their job, but I try not to stress out about work. Work is just work. It’s not life. Losing your job isn’t as bad as say – oh I don’t know – getting cancer. I figure if I can deal with that, I can deal with it if my company decided to give me the boot.

They didn’t, of course, because I’m super awesome and amazing to work with. Instead, there was a ton of restructuring and now I report to the corporate overload’s director of content who works in — wait for it — San Francisco. You see, the corporate overload owns another company that is based in SF, and a several members of the content team work out of that office. I had no idea!

Even though the company I work for is based in Oakland, my boss said it would be a good idea if I worked at least a couple of days in the SF office. Obviously, I agree. This means I can walk down the hill from my house, get on BART, and be in the office in like 15 minutes. It was taking about an hour to get to the office every morning. It sucked.

So anyway, you guys … That means, for the first time since college, I am living and working in the same city! I am downright giddy about it.

I’ve worked at the same place for 8 years. I’m still doing the same job for the same company, but at a different location. I might even get some content support like – dare to dream – some copy editing. As good buddy Kate said, “It’s like getting a new job without getting a new job.”

I went into the office on Wednesday, and I made it very clear that I was super happy to be there. I practically did cartwheels and a happy dance. The next day I found a cube that would make a good home for me, and set up shop. I introduced myself to all the neighbors. “I’m moving in. Tell me to shut up if I get too loud.” Loud = eating all the free salt and vinegar potato chips from the kitchen, because this place provides snacks. Whaaaat?

You guys! I can even see out the window over my cubicle wall.

But wait, there’s more.

This place has a sparkling water dispenser. And, AND, there are bagels on Monday, fresh fruit on Wednesday, and there’s a full stocked refrigerator of drinks, including BEER AND WINE! I can’t comprehend that this company is owned by the same company that owns us. We don’t have a fully stocked refrigerator. In fact, last year they threatened to stop providing complimentary coffee and tea.

I will still be working in my old office once or twice a week, which is great because I’d miss my Oakland peeps. But it is really nice in the SF office. I feel at any minute the big bosses are going to say, “Send Sonia back to her old office full time.”


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Put a Bird On It

Yeah, so, a few weeks ago I won a free ticket to Rock Prom, which was a fundraising event for Bay Area Girls Rock Camp.

My good buddy Jess was on a fundraising team, and I donated because I like girls and rock. I was entered into a drawing and won, which doesn’t happen to me very often.

Anyway, Jess and her team were called “Pretty In Pink,” and they were all wearing pink dresses, she told me. I know that Jess and her friends are super into gorgeous vintage clothes, but there was no way I was going to have time to find something super rad to wear. In fact, I didn’t even own a pink dress. I went on Amazon and bought a ridiculous pink dress with flamingoes on it, because I’m a ridiculous person.

Jess and I doing our awkward prom pose.

I seriously debated wearing this hat with it.

So, I show up to the event and Jess and her teammates look AMAZING. Seriously. Beautiful, fun vintage dresses and tiaras – the works. Meanwhile, I’m wearing a $20 dress with flamingoes I bought on Amazon.

I texted David, “All of Jess’s friends look amazing and beautiful in their vintage dresses, and I’m wearing a $20 dress with flamingoes on it.”

“That’s why I love you,” he replied.

I’m such a goober.

Of course, it didn’t matter. Jess and her friends are rad people, and I had a great time. If you are interested in Bay Area Girls Rock Camp, you can check it out riiiight here.