Welcome (Back) to Cubeville, Earthling

It’s 11pm and I have yet to read a blog today (other than Ali’s, who I peruse at 6am each morning over my bowl of Cheerio’s Oats & Crunch and mug of lukewarm coffee, because she’s on Toronto time and extremely diligent about posting first thing every day; gold stars to Ali!). Um, WHAT? This from the girl who usually spends her first four or so “working hours” catching up on e-mails and the daily happenings of all of you. And all day long my Google Reader sat there TAUNTING me, begging me to go through and see what Chelsea and Holly and Jennie and Jonna and everyone else who updated their blog today had to say. Because Internets, the not knowing? WAS KILLING ME. We’ve become a society of Big Brothers, and I’m just a mere pawn in the game. But you see. I returned to CubeVille today for the first time in 4.5 months, and CubeVille when you’re one of seven in an Internet start-up does not allow for much blog-reading time, I’m sorry to say.It was a strange feeling being back in an office environment and wearing something other than a T-shirt and granny panties when doing so (ashamedly, ’tis my daily “work” attire, considering my “office” is the blue chaise I purchased from IKEA and a breakfast tray from Bed, Bath & Beyond; before you start feeling sorry for me, we have two actual desks, but the makeshift, pillow-padded corner in my cave is far more comfortable). I have exactly three kinds of outfits in my wardrobe: dresses and flip-flops; skirts, long-sleeved tees, leggings and boots; and yoga pants and tank tops. There really aren’t any in-betweens. I’ve tried, heavens to Betsy, I’VE TRIED, to become one of these jean wearers like the rest of you, but I just can’t do it. I even splurged on a pair of Joes (on sale) and J Brand (also on sale) because the lone pair of nice jeans I’ve ever owned, Sevens from college because everybody was doing it, was lost with the rest of my belongings by the Dutch Post when I moved from Holland to Denmark 2.5 years ago. But I just can’t do it. It’s not because I’m high maintenance or anything—actually, it’s probably quite the opposite. Whereas with a dress, you just throw it on, add a pair of earrings and you’re ready to go, with jeans, you must accesorize and really make an effort. And the real truth? I feel so uncomfortable in jeans, like the denim is trying to force every previously unnoticeable ounce of fat on my body up and over its waistband, creating the most attractive kind of muffin top that I generally only see on biker babes racing down I-5. My mom said she couldn’t even get me in jeans for the first 10 years of my life, and once she did, it didn’t last long. In essence, I was always a dress girl. Or maybe I just liked showing off my legs from an early age.

So I threw on a reasonably cute ensemble—a skirt this time, J. Crew if you must know, paired witha J. Crew top, Steve Madden boots, Zara leggings, and a white jacket from Italy—and headed out to Sausalito. How did this day in CubeVille come about, you might be wandering. Particularly for those of you with whom I mingled over a couple Heffeweisens just last night when there was no talk of holing myself up in a concrete cave today, or and day for that matter. Well. Last night, on my way home, I got a frantic voicemail from my-friend’s-ex-cum-my-new-book-editor-cum-pal M saying he really hoped I wasn’t busy and would I come into the company’s new office in Sausalito to write copy for the first newsletter that will be sent out to 1.5 million Northern Californians next Tuesday. Hrmmm. Then, talk of huge sums of cash—well, maybe not huge, but a better hourly rate than I’ve ever made, that’s for sure, and I’m guessing tax free, but don’t tell my CPA father, or the IRS either, please—was tossed around, and the wheels started turning. Not that I necessarily needed the money–I mean, I’m rolling in the dough, ROLLING I tell you (HA! Do we remember that trivial detail that I’m a writer by trade? Which basically means I’ll never be rolling in much more than deadlines and stress)—but when he promised me there would be a never-ending Chinese buffet, that’s when I quickly piped in, “YES!” Because clearly nothing gets me to Sausalito quicker than a steaming plate of garlic noodles and Kung Pao chicken. YUM. Fat girl, party of one.

The website is actually an extremely cool concept involving California travel and is sponsored by Frommer’s. For those of you living in the area, I’ll give you more deets when it launches, because it might aid you in your future travel endeavors, and there I go again with the whole copywriting talk—it’s kind of like how after you read a Seuss book, you speak in rhymes and riddles for the remainder of the day. So yeah, I wrote copy. A lot of it. And hot damn, my brain has never hurt so much in my life. Whereas I’ve held journalism jobs for practically the last decade, usually when you work in-house, you’re not writing more than a news article or two a day, maybe a sidebar or capsule here and there. Even now when I’m under constant deadline from the comfort of my own chaise, I’ll read some blogs, write a story on the world’s best mountain lodge getaways, watch some sub-par Bachelorette, pen a feature on summer spots south of the Equator, beat my record on Wii Mario Kart, churn out a lenghty piece about secret celebrity hideaways. When M said “come in and help out,” I was thinking more along the lines of sprucing up someone else’s work, not writing two full pages of copy—ad copy, at that—essentially from scratch or all of 20 properties. I have a newfound respect for my editor friends at Travelocity who do this daily, because man if I have to stare at the words “charming,” “sumptuous,” “grandiose,” “amazing”—all words I don’t usually allow to creep into my writing, yet somehow when it’s advertising, hey! it’s suddenly OK!—one more time, I may vomit up an entire dictionary of five-cent words.

The work quarters in Sausalito were extremely chill and located right on the waterfront in a warehouse that I assume once housed some bad-ass boat. When the mercury hit 80 degrees and we were all sweltering because Bay Area natives don’t believe in A/C, we hit a button and the room opened up just like a garage door or maybe a spaceship. Voila, an immediate 10-degree temperature drop! I had to be there at 8:30, as in THE MORNING—meaning leave an hour before because although just an 18-mile drive San Francisco has this little problem with traffic, you may have heard—which would have bothered me in NYC, as I never rolled into the office until 10am (who am I kidding, it was more like 10:20), and didn’t get up until 9 even, but now that I’m a West Coaster—damn straight!—I’m quite used to being up before it’s light, thanks to Sarah and Autumn dragging my lazy ass out of bed for sunrise runs and boot camps.

And then I worked. For a solid nine hours straight, I worked. Heck, when I “worked” at Lucky, the majority of my days were spent blogging and reading blogs; that’s how Camels & Chocolate came to be in the first place, out of boredom (sorry, former boss Susan at Lucky! I still love you! But come on fact-checking fashion? Not the most riveting stuff out there). With only a 20-minute break for Chinese. Wah wah wah, all you people with real jobs really pity me, I know. But seriously, I’ve never sat down and wrote text for 540 minutes straight. The thing about writing is it’s not one of these mindless tasks where you can only be semi-checked-in and still get the job done. You have to be all on, all the time.

So needless to say, when 5:30 rolled around, while the other six staffers were probably only two-thirds of the way through their work day seeing as they’re launching on Tuesday, I was out the door and on my way to Jack Falstaff to meet Scott, drown my brain fatigue in raspberry lemon drops and basil juleps, and gorge myself on a seven-course tasting menu.

But hey, when it was all said and done, it was kind of nice being back in the daily social sphere, and everyone who works in the travel industry is generally pretty awesome. These guys were no exception. And I got to drive over the Golden Gate Bridge twice today and utilize my FasTrak, which makes me feel so cool despite the fact that it’s just deducting $4 out of my bank account each time, but the little brrr-oop sound it emits just makes me all warm and fuzzy inside and eliminates all thoughts of “sweet Mary and Joseph, this little drive to Sausalito is costing me nearly $5 a gallon!”

And now. Now, I will resume my blog reading. Despite the fact that I have to be up in a few, short hours, before squeezing in Boot Camp and returning to another day in the office. Because yes, when 5:30 rolled around, they asked me to come back tomorrow. And despite the fact that after today, I concluded that I will NEVER AGAIN hold an office job—hold me to this, dear Internets!—I said yes. That’s just how much of a pushover I am. (And now you all know, so when I start getting requests to plant sit, pick up your mail and drive your granny to the hair salon, I’ll only have myself to blame.)