A Day at the Office

by Rose David





I have a friend, Jessica, who works a normal office job. It's got its perks--it affords her a normal schedule, vacation time, health benefits. There's a degree of security there, too, not necessarily because her company is financially impenetrable, but because office jobs carry with them an inherent sense of calm and stability. It's just their nature.

I had forgotten what that was like after working in coffee houses and bookstores for the past few years. I've only ever had one "real" job. There was an office component, sure, but the job mostly involved driving into bad neighborhoods to convince parents that it wasn't really a good idea to hit their children. And, oh yeah, maybe they could try to get a job and a diploma in the meantime?

It was the kind of career that sounds wonderful and fulfilling, but quickly turns to shit.

Jessica, on the other hand, seemed completely happy with her data administration something or other, which was why she had been at her current position for three-plus years.

My friend, Colin, and I were meeting her for lunch. It was the middle of the week, which for most people, would have been a working day. But being in retail affords you the odd luxury of freedom on a Wednesday afternoon.

Anatomy of a Starbucks Drink

by Rose David


Writing at a Starbucks can be an awkward experience, because the employees really seem to hate it there.

I know what this is like. Putting an your all-black gear and puckering on a smile, knowing that you're toiling for a company that would happily replace you with a trained monkey if it would save a few thousand dollars, all while serving customers that you feel don't really respect you.

I try to be extra nice to my baristas--not because I myself am extra nice, but because I'm desperate for someone to think I'm the Cool Customer, the one-in-a-million that really GETS them, man. And technically I would stand a better chance at this, considering I was one of them all through college.

But then, it's like those people who immediately think they're going to charm children just because they have the terribly un-unique credential of having once been a child.

In both cases, it's far enough in the past that you won't be immediately adored the way you think you should.

Triceratops

Drawing dinosaurs is fun, but it can be challenging. I'm trying to figure out how to express joy, pain, rage, and et cetera without anthropomorphizing them too much. It's kind of a downer how unemotive they can be.

I assume it's because they are, in fact, dinosaurs.

Animals in SPACE

by Rose David


I woke up this morning feeling really sad about Laika, the Russian space-dog… although now that I've actually typed that out and seen the awesomeness of that sentence, I feel a little less bad.

Anyway, Laika was a Russian dog that they put into a rocket in the 50s to see whether space travel was safe. The good news: Laika didn't immediately explode upon reaching the Earth's orbit. The bad news: the capsule hadn't been designed for retrieval. So... Yeah.

The thought of a dog dying in the middle of space, having no concept of why nobody was telling her she was good anymore, really messes me up.

Which I guess is kind of silly on a certain level, since I eat meat and dairy and eggs, so I can't be totally into making animals happy and comfortable.

There's a difference, though, between eating the meat of an animal you've never met (and probably wouldn't like that much anyway) and being cool with sending a cute terrier into space to get suffocated to death.

What if Laika survived and somehow had puppies and they took over a planet, like sort of how they did Planet of the Apes, but it's Planet of the Dogs? Are cats a marginalized population there? And how do the doggy overlords regard humans? Do they believe in us, or are we simply myth to them?

What if I crash-landed there and they captured me, but they didn't know I could talk and stuff?

Honestly, I'm just wondering why they never sent up animals that weren't as charming. For example, bunnies are cute, but they don't really have much of a personality and word is that they don't even really like cuddles.

I'd even settle for a cat, but not just any cat. Some of them have awesome personalities. I'd like for them to have sent up a cat with a history of violence and a true, overwhelming, incredible disdain for humanity. And perhaps even life itself.

Or maybe like… a frog. For no other reason than they are scary to me.

Or a parrot! Yes, absolutely a parrot. Strap that fucker in and shoot him off into space.

And since I'm feeling at least a little bit guilty, maybe we could replace the animals with that waiter who flirted with me incessantly, and then stood me up a few years ago. Yeah. Shoot that bastard into the moon. I hope he lands on the Planet of the Dogs.

Stuff in Progress

Progress, progress, progress...

It's been a while since I did real, sequential art. I was all about comics for a long time, so much so that I think I burnt out that part of my brain for a few months.

But last week, I started poking around on an autobio comic about my "career" as a barista. That's got quotey marks around it because, like... Yeah.

But I'm keeping it casual. No real posting schedule. Episodes will be short, probably.

Mid-January Thoughts: Rumblings, Ramblings, and Half an Epiphany

by Rose David

Well, we're a little over mid-way through my month of gratitude journaling.

After the first few days, I started running out of things to be grateful about, which I understand seems like a really shitty thing to admit.

But it wasn't that I'd actually run out of things to be grateful for. It was more like I had run out of superficial answers, and now I had to actually THINK.

Because, you know, it's so easy to start with the totally obvious, stereotypical stuff. "I'm grateful that I'm healthy."

Which is true. But since I've never had to worry much about my health in the first place, I wasn't practicing gratitude so much as practicing my cop-out.

Which I'm pretty good at already, so no help needed there.

Anyway, I haven't had any brain-exploding bursts of gratitude yet. I do understand that I'm fortunate to be where I am--youngish and healthyish, living in a culture where I have the time to write and draw and, you know, stream TV shows and stuff.

But, by now, I feel like I should be more grateful on a visceral level. The more I try to force it, the worse I feel.

So, over the past week, I've started journaling my gratitude about smaller, random things. Things that make sense to me right now.

Like how my husband brought home a juicer he found on clearance. And also that he even THINKS to bring home stuff like that.

But not all is fluff! I think I have had one semi-epiphany--let's call it a half-piphany.

I'd had a frustrating writing-and-drawing day, and I was in a really crap mood when I started filling in my journal. It came time for me to write what I was grateful for, and lacking any other ideas, I wrote, "I'm grateful that I have the opportunity to try."

Because TRYING was what I was doing--NOT succeeding.

But... Yeah. After a second, I realized that I WAS grateful for this. I have the luxury of time and relative obscurity, so if I don't do something very well, it doesn't matter too much. And though I'm still an epic fail at colored pencils, all the crappy pictures I've produced have helped me better understand color theory. So, because I TRIED (never mind the outcome), my skills have grown and gotten better, even if it's not in the way I intended.

So... Yeah. There's that.

Oh, I've also started thinking about next month's challenge. I'm still too enamored with bread and cheese to go vegan just yet. So I'm thinking... A month without looking in the mirror? I was going to skip TV for a month, but then the Walking Dead should be back, I figure I'd just be begging myself to fail.

Sorry About That

by Rose David


So, I guess by now you've noticed that you're on my blog.

I mean, maybe not Literally You.

Well, maybe not.

But if it is, I just want to say... Well...

"Sorry" just doesn't cut it in some situations, does it? Because what are apologies, really, besides an acknowledgement that you've done wrong and a vow to do better in the future?

But let's be real. I'll probably do this again.

You would think I'd at least know how to cover my tracks, but no.

Magical Me

by Rose David

I stared at the spread of cards, the thickly inked illustrations nudging at my psychic powers. “I’m sensing a lot of conflict in your life right now,” I said. “A lot of people going through changes.”

My sixteen-year-old cousin’s eyes widened. “Yes. That’s exactly what’s happening.”

I nodded sagely and plucked another card out of my deck. Breathing deep, I turned over its blue-and-black patterned surface to reveal--

Oh, I forget which card.

My Big, Fat Panic Attack - pt 3

This is Part Three of a 3-part post. Check out Part One and Part Two. Or you can read the whole thing in one post.

INT. ROSE’S LIVING ROOM, NIGHT.

Our heroine is curled up on her sofa and freaking the fuck out, clutching her chest like she’s having a heart attack.

But, of course, I wasn’t. Though in some ways, a heart attack might have been a little bit easier for me to understand.

The night that my panic attack finally hit me was... Not awesome.

There was a lot of crying and scary thoughts. Lots of wishing that I would feel better and, when that wouldn’t work, simply wishing that I couldn’t feel anything. No such luck, though.

Eventually, miraculously, I somehow did get to sleep. Crying is pretty exhausting, if you’re really putting your back into it.

I hoped I would feel better in the morning.

I didn’t.

When I thought about going into work to do an 8-hour shift at Corporate Coffee, I felt like my chest was caving in.

I tried to imagine getting dressed, driving over, and clocking in--but my brain kept getting stuck on a fantasy about steering my car into a traffic median so I wouldn’t have to go to work.

Here’s a useful tip: if you start thinking bonkers shit like this, do not try to tough it out. Do not do anything. Just freaking stop for a second, okay? I wish someone had bothered telling me this.

That day, I didn’t go to work--and I felt like a total asshole about it.

My Big Fat Panic Attack - pt 2

This is Part Two of a 3-part series. Check out Part 1.

All right. So, there I was. Stressors piling up, forming a ton of bricks that was shortly going to dive-bomb me. And there I was, pretending that everything was

JUST FINE, OKAY? GAWD!

Never mind that I was drinking more than usual, which (for me) means drinking at all. I wasn’t getting drunk-drunk, understand. Only people who have a problem get drunk-drunk. BUZZED was what I wanted.

If I played this right, it was just enough to take the edge off and distract me from whatever pesky emotions I was feeling.

My Big Fat Panic Attack - pt 1

I have a sort-of history with depression, and by that, I mean that it was something I could keep under wraps enough to pretend that it wasn’t happening.

Every few months, my accumulated stress would coalesce into a big snowball made of Suck, at which point, I would develop a case of the Freak Outs (I believe that’s the scientific term).

Then, I would confine myself to bed for an hour or a day, usually doing nothing more than staring at the ceiling or, if I was really ambitious, reading a book. Eventually, I would start to feel well enough to emerge from my hiding place, renewed.

I was okay.

Everything. Was. Okay.

Except of course, it really wasn’t.

January's Experiment : Gratitude Journaling

As part of My Big, Weird Year, I'm testing out a new, daily habit every month. It's part self-improvement, part social-experiment, part girl-you're-crazy.

Starting a gratitude journal has been on my "should" list since forever, Probably ever since Oprah told me that it changed her life, which was maybe... fifteen years ago? I was just a wee Rose watching Miss Oprah after school, probably snacking on Totino's pizza and drinking too much soda. Interestingly, not much has changed, in that regard.

For a while, bookstores were displaying the Oprah-approved brand of gratitude journals in prominent places, and starting my own journal seemed simultaneously intimidating and enticing. There it was, a life-changing experience for only $12.95, but there was always something shinier and more interesting to spend my money on, which meant that I usually put it off until later.

And the thought of starting a gratitude journal on non-official card stock? Blasphemous, I tell you.

Fast-forward a decade or two and here we are.

So, what do I hope to get out of this month's experiment? Oh, you know... Just like... Stuff?

The problem with answering this question honestly is that it's so difficult for me to just be earnest for fuck's sake. It's so much easier for me to be sarcastic or funny or (on a good day) sarcastic and funny. I hate to say it, but I've fallen into sarcasm as a default reaction, and sometimes, that isn't pretty.

Is it lame to say that I want gratitude journaling to sharpen my experiences and make me happier, that I want to be more aware of how great my life actually is--instead of distracted by all the noise and entitlement and weirdness that sometimes seems to cloud my brain like some kind of douche-fog?

Yes. To all those things, yes.

Especially the part about douche-fog.

My Big, Weird Year of Big, Weird Experiments

How in the hell did I get it in my head that this would be a good idea?

The concept is pretty basic... Every month of 2014, I'm going to commit to building a habit that's new and uncomfortable and supposedly good for me. It's like eating vegetables--but sadly, without the butter. Some of the experiments will be easy, but most will be hard.

Like... 

Not lying--for a whole month.

Or staying away from TV.

Or, sweet sassy jean, going vegan.

The idea of a month without cheese makes me want to pack it in and just resolve to lose five pounds, like I do every year. Maybe buy a gym membership that I'll never use, like that one year.

And yet... I'm intrigued.

Am I glutton for punishment if this fear of discomfort makes me want to go forward with the project?

It's the kind of idea that sounds great at the time. I know that I'll be very, very happy that I got off my ass and made an effort this year--you know, once 2015 rolls around and the weirdness is all behind me.

But, as far as how I'll feel when I'm in the thick of it, desperate for cheese or "The Walking Dead" or probably both at the same time, I guess we'll have to see.

And hey, at least Oreos are vegan.