The New Job (Or, Office With a View)

Yesterday, I worked a nine-hour day for the first time since 1999. That's fairly astonishing, isn't it? A regularly scheduled nine hours -- eight hours of work and one hour for lunch. And I had to be at my desk at 9 a.m. That was an eye-opener.

I'm not suggesting that in the past I've been a (total) slacker. While I worked a scheduled 7-hour day in Paris, the work was steady and the day was full. Before that, I had a 10-hour, four-day workweek in L.A. But neither of those jobs began before noon. In fact, this is the first time I've ever had a permanent job that required me to be at the office before, oh, 11. Weird huh?

But it all went pretty well.

I put on my big-girl pants (read: not jeans), a top that wasn't a T-shirt and a pair of heels and walked on over to work. They were excited to see me! I got a warm, welcoming e-mail! They had a printed training plan for me! There were snacks in the kitchen! It was evident that I was out of the newspaper business.

I was concerned about entering a new field ... would I find it interesting? Would the pace of it be too slow? Would I have any idea what they were talking about? Yes, no and yes. The idea of learning about something new was intriguing instead of scary. They didn't expect me to be an expert on my first day. I'm joining an enterprise that is growing rather than one that is waning. There is no doom and gloom talk, just an inevitability of opportunities still ahead. The whole thing was refreshing.

Anyone who has experienced the rush of deadline can understand the worry of moving into the regular world. But as much as I loved deadline, as I grew older deadline did not love me. The older one gets, the bigger the toll it takes on one's health. For me, anyway. It was definitely a love-hate relationship. Craving something I knew was bad for me.

Now, I will have plenty of work, and pressure from my bosses to succeed. I will do it quickly, because that's what I'm used to. But there won't be that ticking clock and inevitable sense of doom as I try to cheat time. My hope is that I will be a quick learner. That I will be able to do anything and everything asked of me.

It's so weird to think of a new career after being in one field for more than 20 years. I never expected to do anything else. And, frankly, I never thought I could do anything else. While I believe journalism will continue, newspapers are in danger. And I am, at my core, a newspaper woman. I don't have the same place in electronic journalism that I had on paper. And that makes me sad on so many levels.

But there is life after journalism, as I've heard people say, and I think I might have found it. Working in a growing firm in a very tall building just minutes away from my home.

"You're Not Going Anywhere!'

Sidney doesn't like the suitcase.

I brought it out today to get some paperwork about Hong Kong that I'd left in a pocket, and Sid immediately made his feelings clear. Guess I'll stay put a while longer.

Dressing the Part

Some of you may know that I'm starting a new job soon. As if it's not enough of a shock to my system that I am leaving my beloved field of journalism, I've discovered I have to dress up for work.

As my mom said, "Time for you to dress like a grown-up."

To that I say, "Grrr."

Now obviously, going from a job working from home to a job in an office would require some wardrobe changes. Sure. You can't work anywhere in fuzzy fleece pants and skinny tanks, can you? But all my office experience has been in a newsroom. Working at night. So I've always had a little freedom in terms of what I wear.

I'm not considered a slob (I don't think). I have some fashion sense. And in my younger days, I used to look forward to fall when all the new clothes would come out. It was my own version of back-to-school, and I would get clothes that were not jeans, or shorts, and manage to dress "professionally" for a month or three until I finally lost interest. I am nothing if not lazy.

I always figured if I had to work nights and weekends, I could wear what I wanted.

No more.

This week I went shopping for work clothes. When I moved back from Paris I got rid of anything that was remotely dressy. This is oh-so-casual SoCal, after all. So I'm kind of starting from scratch.

And what does work clothes even mean? Trousers, I guess. Certainly not jeans. Khakis would probably be fine, but I prefer the cargo look, and that's not too office-like. Plus, khakis always need to be ironed. And I gave away my iron. I was told no jeans ... so that's totally off the table. Like many women these days, my idea of dressing up is heels and jeans and a nice top. Hey, if it works in a Paris restaurant, shouldn't it work in a Long Beach office?

Guess not.

I headed to my usual off-price haunts, since a new wardrobe can be a pricey proposition. But we're between seasons, and there was nothing on the picked-through racks. In fact, I hit five stores last week in one day. I found two pairs of trouser pants at the Gap -- and they were on sale. Score! Would those things go with the tops I already own? I don't know. And shoes? What about shoes?

I headed to Macy's yesterday. They were having a sale - -surprise! Got two tops that were acceptable. (Acceptable = sort of dressy without being too ugly and unflattering) Then we went to Gottschalks, which I've always avoided because it has a lot of old lady clothes. And while I'm no spring chicken, I'm not an old lady. There's a fine line between professional and matronly, I'm discovering.

Without extraordinary effort we managed to find another two pairs of pants. And the best part, they were ridiculously priced -- as in 60 percent off ridiculous. So it's all good ... a few days worth of clothes to get me started.

I suppose I'll get used to it. Heels instead of flip flops, blouses instead of T-shirts, trousers instead of jeans.

It's a whole new world.

Starting Anew

Now that the Asian adventures are finished, I find myself still drawn to this blog. It's not a glamorous life here in Long Beach, but it is my life. And things with us are ever-changing: I will soon have a new job, Paul will embark on a new adventure once he gets back from Hong Kong and there are probably some stories to tell.

So here we go.

Size Matters (Or, It's All Relative)

When we moved to our apartment in Long Beach, we worried a bit about how we would adjust to such small quarters. Paul had been living in a five-bedroom house and my apartment in Paris was a fairly large two bedroom, two bathroom place with a double living room.

The Long Beach apartment is a pseudo-loft. The ceilings have been removed and what used to be two hotel rooms (our building is a restored hotel from the 1920s) has been combined to make one apartment. We have no full walls to divide the rooms, so I suppose you could say that at just over 1,000 square feet, it's a very large studio.

Hong Kong, of course has changed our perspective. From a hotel room to a very small one-bedroom apartment to a well-divided studio to a spacious three-room apartment and back to the one-bedroom, we lived in places ranging from about 380 square feet to a whopping 550 square feet.

When you live in close quarters, your perspectives on space change. A year ago, when we bought our place in Long Beach I think we worried about living in a small space. At that time, I could not have imagined two people living in my friend Ellen's apartment -- a building we looked at. She has a great place right on the ocean, 700 square feet, but we wanted a bit more room. In Hong Kong, we would have been in heaven to have a place like hers. Imagine, a bed that doesn't touch the wall!

So my return to Long Beach has been extra pleasant. Not only am I home, and in my home, but I'm swimming in space. Even though we don't have walls, we have distinct spaces. The place in Wan Chai would fit in our living room, so the whole rest of the apartment is gravy. It's such a treat.

And as with the last few places, I've posted photos of the apartment in Long Beach. Try not to get lost in all the space.

Home, Sweet Home

One thing I can safely say about Hong Kong is the living was easy. Once I got the hang of things, which didn't take all that long, I really relished the ease with which I was able to conduct my life.

Part of that, of course, is being somewhere temporarily, and not having to deal with many of the daily intricacies of long-term living. And now that I am home, I am faced with those realities.

After four months of having someone else do my laundry and clean my house and cook my food it's back to the real world. The trade-off for a normal schedule.

Now, I am consumed with the tasks looming in front of me: take the cat to the vet, get the house scrubbed down, sort the mail and the bills, start the newspaper, return the phone calls, make doctor's appointments, get the car fixed, figure out why the TV won't work. Rinse and repeat.

Doing this from the comfort of my own home of course makes it easier. But no more do I have the luxury of a 15-minute run to accomplish all my errands and chores for the day.

A new day, a new adventure.

I Can't Believe I Ate the Whole Thing