Author, Historian, Storyteller

I am a pain in the butt to feed. Not because I am a picky eater, but because I have severe reactions to a LOT of different foods. The easy ones to talk about are dairy and gluten, but then there’s a whole slew of fruits and vegetables as well. Needless to say, the thought of trying new dishes or going to a dinner party makes me break out into a cold sweat. And a cook who uses “Secret Ingredients” are the bane of my existence. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had someone let me look at a recipe or labels, ascertain that I can eat something, then as I’m taking the first bite they remember their “secret ingredient,” which inevitably will have gluten in it making it necessary for me to spit out my half masticated bite and then rush to the bathroom to rinse out my mouth. It’s good times.

Side note – Most Worcestershire sauce, which seems to be the “secret ingredient” for about 95% of all people, contains gluten. So make sure you speak up about that one!

I know what you’re probably thinking, why don’t I just make sure everyone knows about my food restrictions, or simply always bring my own food. While the second option would indeed be smart, and much safer, let’s face it, I’m not that organized. Okay, I’m totally that organized, I’m just too lazy. Not to mention it’s really nice to have a meal that you didn’t prepare every once in a while. As for the other option, the only way for that to be successful is if you make a BIG deal out of it. Which again is safer, but I hate, loath and despise that tactic. I have also lost count of how many times a BIG deal has been made at a restaurant or dinner party, which results in the entire group at the table staring at me and then for the next half hour discussing my food restrictions and what happens if I eat those foods. Which I HATE for a number of reasons. I understand that people are curious, but would you like to openly discuss your medical history in front of a group of people that you may only know as acquaintances? People wonder why I’m so comfortable talking about poop. It’s because I’m forced to do it on a regular basis! News flash! If someone has digestive issues, then at least one of the symptoms is going to be poop related. So if you ask, you’re not allowed to get affronted!

However, the biggest reason, is because from that point on, I am now known as the woman who can’t eat anything. I have actually had people introduce me and instead of saying that I’m a writer, or a dog owner, they’ll announce that I have Celiac disease. Or am lactose intolerant, or that I’m “allergic to everything.” Which sucks! I don’t enjoy being known for my deficits. I don’t know anybody that does, or people would go around introducing themselves like, “Hi! I’m Jane. I failed out of college the first time that I went.” That’s ridiculous! And don’t get me wrong, I have no problems discussing these issues with people I know, because I understand that they care and if they’re going to be spending time with me, they want to help keep me safe. But it’s not the first conversation that I want to have with someone that I’ve just met.

Therefore, I have come up with a new game plan. I am going to a dinner party this weekend, which I was invited to by a friend. Therefore, I don’t know the hostess or anyone other than my friend. The exact situation that makes me break out in a cold sweat. So instead, I had my friend get me in touch with the hostess so that I could write her a quick note. I told her that I have a bunch of food restrictions, but that she should not feel any pressure whatsoever to cater to them. (Yet another thing I’ve lost track of, is how many times people have tried really hard to provide food that I CAN eat, but missed the mark just enough so that I can’t eat it. When I tell them I can’t try it, they inevitably get really frustrated. Sometimes with me, but usually just in general. Either way, it’s not a fun moment.) Then I explained that my friend and I were bringing a dish, so I would for sure have something to eat and then I could just pick and choose amongst whatever else was there. I gave her my list of most common “offenders” and said that I would be more than happy to look at recipes/labels if she wanted to make sure she had something for me. But again, not necessary. I am very low-maintenance in my high-maintenance-ness.

She got back to me right away, thanking me for letting her know and included the ingredients for a recipe that she said she would throw in if it worked for me. It does – lentil bruschetta with rice crackers, which also sounds amazing! So for the first time, probably ever, I’m actually looking forward to a dinner party, composed of entirely new people. It’s kind of awesome.

On the whole, I would consider myself an independent and competent person. I can figure out and take care of most things by myself – definitely with the help of The Google at times, but I generally don’t have to pay someone else to do things for me. I have been this way for as long as I can remember. Therefore, I find it odd that every now and then when I am faced with something that I’ve never done before, my initial reaction is to freak out and think I can’t do it. My heart quickens a bit, I get that deer in headlights look and my inner monologue turns into this:

“But, I can’t do that, I’ve never done that before, I shouldn’t be doing that, who am I to think that I can do that? I need to find somebody else to do it, I’ll pay them, or bribe them, or maybe I’ll just ask really nice. Who do I know that knows how to do this, or where does somebody go to pay someone to do this? How much would that cost, can I even afford to pay somebody to do this for me? Somebody needs to do this other than me. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHY IS MY LIFE SO HARD?!?!”

Okay, so that might be a little over-exaggerated, but I do freak out, and when that happens I shut down and just stare at whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing. This tactic is very effective, you should try it sometime. My next step is to walk away and ignore it for a while. Then I come back and poke it with a stick, you know to see if it’s still there needing attention. It always is. So I ignore it some more. Come back and this time go through the motions like I’m going to figure things out. Then I give up, run away and eat chocolate. Sometimes there’s wine too. More ignoring. Finally, I pull on my big-girl panties, sit down and vow that I’m not getting up until I figure out whatever it is that needs figuring out.

Guess what? I figure it out every time. Sometimes it takes some research, or a call to a friend/expert/helpline, but I get it figured out. And every damn time I look back at my ridiculous behavior and all of the time that I wasted and shake my head. Why didn’t I simply sit down and finish the task from the very beginning? This is what I have been thinking about all day as it is apparently a “big-girl panties” kind of day. I finished two such tasks this morning and vowed to complete a third this weekend. I’ve realized that when I have this kind of freak out/reaction it is because the task falls into one of two categories.

1. It’s something that I don’t know very much about and I’m terrified that I’ll do it wrong and not be able to fix it, have to go to somebody else for help and then they’ll laugh at me for being an idiot.
   1. This is the category that the two tasks today fell under as they had to do with the formation of my LLC, and the thought of sending in forms to the government that are incorrect makes me break out into a flop sweat.
2. It’s something that has always been done for me, therefore I’ve never had to learn how and quite frankly. I don’t wanna!
   1. This is the category of the task that I vowed to take care of this weekend. I have two hard drives that I need to install in my computer, and when I lived in Colorado, any and all things that had to do with computers were handled by my dad. Seriously even software updates.

After chewing on this all day, I’ve come to one logical conclusion. I need to get the hell over myself and stop wasting my time. That is all I’m doing, wasting time. Not to mention, I seriously doubt somebody from the government is going to come to my door to return my incorrectly filled out form, so they can point and laugh in my face. Doesn’t seem very plausible. Returned to me with a penalty for filing incorrectly or late – yes. Laughing in my face – no. Therefore, there is no need to freak out. Now to figure out how to actually do this in real life. Does anyone else freak out about stuff like this, or it is just me?

I don’t know how I became the lucky winner, but somehow I wound up as our company’s safety warden. Really I think it’s because I’m the lowest man on the totem pole who still has the gumption to tell the COO of the company that, no, he can’t go get a cookie from the kitchen, he needs to get his ass outside because the fire alarm is going off. Don’t mess with me in an emergency. I don’t care who you are, I will drag your grown-ass adult self out of the building by the ear if I have to. So really, I guess it makes complete sense why I’m the safety warden. This responsibility comes not only with the flashlight, clipboard and ever-so-attractive day-glow orange vest, but also mandatory attendance at the building’s annual safety warden meeting.

This meeting is comprised of the same things every year. Coffee, snacks, some-what amusing anecdotes and the same safety information. Occasionally there will be a new tid-bit thrown in, but for the most part same-o same-o. At this point, I’m pretty sure I could give the speech. The majority of this speech is all about preparedness. After all, I do live in Southern California and earthquakes are a regular occurrence around here. Heck, they’re so regular that anything under a 6 doesn’t even attract attention outside of the immediately affected area. One day I thought I had drunk WAY too much coffee, but it turned out we had just had a series of low grade tremors. Go figure.

Yet every time I attend, I get a bug up my ass about preparedness. Because, well, I’m extremely type-A and I don’t like to be caught unawares. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m already pretty damn prepared. I have an emergency earthquake kit at home, one in my car and one at work. Out of everybody I know, I am the most prepared. But every damn time I go to this meeting I leave with this forboding sense of IT’S NOT ENOUGH! I inevitably think of something that I’m missing from the kits, or a better way to store them, or think that I don’t have enough food or water or bandages or something.

So I will be spending this weekend going through my kits and strategizing for the worst case scenario. Not because I’m expecting or worried about the worst case scenario, but should it arise, you can bet your sweet ass that I’ll be ready. Now does anybody know where I can buy a machete?

Now don’t get me wrong, I ask for my share of favors from people, and some of them are doozies. Like my readers are going to discover when they realize that the first quarter of my novel that they signed up to read is 140ish pages long. That’s a big favor, and I am forever grateful to each and every one of them. I am also more than willing to return the favor to that same person, or pay it forward to others. But there is something about total and complete strangers popping up out of the blue to ask me for a favor that really raises my hackles. I’ve discovered this new phenomenon as my social media presence has grown, and despite the fact that it’s been happening for about a year now it still takes me aback.

Someone that I’ve never encountered reaching out asking me if I’ll share a tweet with my followers. Pass the word about a Kickstarter campaign, recommend a book or blog site. Inevitably all of them include the same phrase, “It’ll only take a second.” Which is true, if I knew the person and was familiar with their work. I have no problems tooting a horn for a friend, or taking a minute to go vote on a picture of their baby in a contest. However, as most of these requests tend to pop up out of the woodwork, no it will take much longer than a second. I have worked very hard to develop my following on my various social media platforms, and I pride myself in the fact that I do not spam them with crap. I have looked at and read every link that I share and if I say that I like or recommend something, it’s because I genuinely do.

So no, sharing your link or recommending your book is going to take me much more than “a second.” Especially since many of the recommendations that I post generate responses back and I don’t want to look like an idiot when someone asks me to tell them more. And while I do feel for your uncle’s roommate’s son who has leukemia and is trying to raise money for treatments, I am not going to retweet for you. I don’t know you from Adam, and for all I know “your uncle’s roommate’s son who has leukemia” is actually code for “let me see how much money I can get from the bleeding-heart suckers.” Is that horribly cynical? Yep. I’m okay with that.

I guess what I’m saying is, learn to ask for favors people! Or at the very least follow two very simple guidelines. 1. Actually know the person, or at the very least have interacted with them on more than one occasion. 2. Provide an easy out, so the person can say no if they want to without looking like an asshole. That’s fantastic that you’re eight-year-old daughter, whom I have never met, has decided that she wants to write a children’s book. But no, I have no desire to teach her how. Thanks for bringing it up and making me feel horrible for crushing your child’s dreams, though. In fact, I think I may change my name. Kat “Ruiner of Dreams” Michels, yep, it has a ring to it.

*In my defense, I did give the mother a few suggestions of things that she could do with her daughter to help her write a children’s book.