Jonathan and I are heading off to Australia for OSSPAC today. I had asked Kris to take us to the airport, letting him know that if he's home by 2:30, we should be fine. He arrived home just before 2:30, as I frantically gathered the rest of my items, throwing this and that into bags, realizing that I had more stuff than my carryon and personal item bags. I usually sneak on a third bag of food, since food bags aren't considered in the count (and, oh boy, did I have a lot of food with me).

As I gathered my items, Kris stood at the door, becoming more and more agitated. I ran out of the house, bags in hand, shoving them into the truck, and off we went to pick up Snook from work. He was, thankfully, waiting for us at his work's roundabout, so picking him up was easy. Kris was increasingly nervous about getting us to the airport on time.

When he stayed in the right lane, I commented that, no, he didn't want 237 West, he wanted 101 South, he asked me, "What airport are we going to?"

"San Jose."

His whole body relaxed.

Apparently, he had asked me earlier if we were flying out of San Francisco International, and I had grunted yes. The longer it took me to get out of the house, the less and less likely we were going to make our flight.

Fortunately, the 45 minute, really 60 minute in this bad traffic, airport run was actually a 15 minute dropoff, and Kris didn't have to worry too much about our missing our flight. Suddenly my cavilier attitude made sense: we were going to arrive at the airport waaaaaay early.

I tragically planned poorly for tickets, having bought tickets out of Los Angeles instead of SFO. Next time I'll be better about checking for all good times, but this time, meh, Los Angeles, here we come!

I have a vague childhood memory of a talk I had with a friend of mine. Just before this conversation, she had asked me for something of mine, something I was unwilling to part with, and I had declined. I don't recall what the item was. I don't recall why I wasn't willing to part with it. I do recall that my declination prompted her to response, "I said please!" in an angry tone.

I remember being surprised at her response. Surprised enough at her response that I have remembered it all these years. I recall that conversation when someone these days says something similar, when they believe that merely saying please is going to magically change my mind about something.

It's a reaction and stance that puzzled me then and puzzles me now. While I agree that asking nicely will certainly help in most cases, asking nicely or saying please doesn't mean that the other person just automatically gets their*) way.

I'm reminded of this today, as I read over an email from someone who wrote to me asking for a truce in a battle I'm not even participating in. She has done some remarkably awful, deceitful, hurtful things, to myself and to a friend of mine. Now that there will be an opportunity for the two of us to be in the same room together, a chance for me to call her on her actions, for her to realize there are consequences to her actions, for her to be personally responsible, she wants "no drama."

Problem is, there is no remorse in her words. There is no apology. There is no regret or consideration that her actions, her deliberate chosen actions, have caused an incredible amount of pain. There is no change in her behaviour, she continues doing the spiteful things she's been doing all along.

But that's okay, she asked nicely.

There are times when I wonder how people can be as cruel as they are. Those times are quiet times, when the world isn't overwhelming, when I'm not rushing to complete some project, when I have time to stop, think and just be. It's then that I think about who I want to be, what kind of person I want to be. The choices made during those contemplative times help me during the more hectic times when I have less time to think.

I see how people like that spiteful, hateful woman are, and I know that I want to be on the opposite side of the spectrum from her.

And I'll ask nicely.

* Oh, how I am struggling with the use of the gender neutral plural when refering to a singular gender-neutral person

Okay, so, you're casually working away, knowing you're practicing your talk tonight and have some work that needs completing today, and the project manager of one of your projects comments that hey, three of these projects need to be done today.

Three.

Today.

So, what do you do?

Yeah, I spent the first twenty minutes spinning my wheels thinking, "omg. omg. omg," too. Because, really now, *that* is completely productive.

And then I realized that, you know what, this is going to be a long, long, long day, and I had best make the most of it. Especially when Katy commented how great the day is, and completely took me up on the suggestion, "Hike?" What I liked the best was that she immediately followed the suggestion with a definitive hike time, all the better to ensure I can't skip out on the plans. While I want to say, "It's like she knows me or something," I've been working hard at setting expectations, so when I suggested the hike, I knew that I'd go on it even if it meant for a crazier day than I really wanted.

Because exercise is incredibly important.

As are friendships.

Brian and Katy were willing to meet up at my house, for which I was incredibly grateful, and off we went, Brian bringing along probably over three gallons of water for our hike.

Our 60 minute hike.

Our 60 minute hike in partial shade.

They explained to me how they had gone on a hike recently without sufficient water, and had a really hard time of it. They've swung in the other direction, bringing too much water, but, well, the hike is unknown, so maybe too much water isn't such a bad thing.

After my requisite bathroom break we were on our way. Right up to the top of Hunter's Point, with the views of the Bay, we walked, talking about webapps and phone apps and game metrics and the other ideas that make me excited when talking with people who share the same interest and enthusiasm for my chosen profession.

Yes. Way excited.

The view was pretty clear this afternoon. We were able to see from past San Jose and Fremont all the way to Redwood City, naming landmarks (the Stanford Quad Tower, Moffett Field hangers) and downtown clusters.

While at the top, Katy commented that she had forgotten her hair tie in the car, and dangit, her hair was annoyingly hot. I suggested she tie it in a knot, which caused a bit of confusion.

Confusion dispersed by a quick demonstration of the hair twisting technique of shoving long hair into a twist, and keep twisting into a bun, then wrapping the ends through the bun, and around the edges of the bun, to keep it tied in a knot.

Because, yes, it's true, I have long hair. I can do this.

After I demonstrated, Katy looked at me for a moment, bent over, twisted her hair into a knot, wrapped it into a tie, straightened back up, and commented something to the effect of "score another girl point for me."

Yes, indeed.

After lingering at the lookout for a short bit, we hiked down, and continued along our hike. For quick hikes, I like the Seven Springs Trail, so we went along that route.

Ten maybe fifteen minutes into the hike, I noticed something fall off Katy's pants, and stopped to look at it. It was a bright orange, so I thought it might be from Katy's shirt. Even after staring at it for a short bit, I was confused as to what it was. Katy, however, was not. "It's a snake."

Brian came over to look at it, and commented, yeah, it's a snake, but probably dead, let's move on.

A snake.

Up close and personal?

Yeah. I need a macro of that.

I snapped a picture standing over the snake, but couldn't really see what was going on with it. I stuck my face probably way too close, had I actually thought about what I was doing as I was fascinated by it.

No, it didn't look dead to me, but there was something odd about the dark spot on the tip of the snake. I couldn't quite figure it out.

I turned the macro on the camera, and looked at it, then adjusted myself to lean in closer.

"Uh, Kitt," I heard Katy say, "you probably don't want to do that."

Yeah. Probably didn't.

Just as I pressed the button to take a closer picture of the snake, it jumped at me.

I jumped away, too.

Turns out, the orange was the bottom of the snake, and the dark tip of the snake was its head turned right side up. It jumped at me, then slithered off to the bushes, as I squealed and laughed and took more pictures.

Then realized, wow, I had goosebumps all over me.

I really thought the snake had fallen off of Katy, but only after talking about what had happened, did I realize that it had probably slipped off the hill along the side of the trail, just as Katy was walking by. Because, you know, she said, she just doesn't have that Medusa style hair this week.

The rest of the hike was considerably less exciting, but no less fun! Brian and Katy took the lead, requiring only slight prompting to turn around for a picture (otherwise, I'd have all ass pictures).

We were done with our hike, with lots of water remaining, in just under the hour I promised them. It was a good hike. I'm glad we went.

As a side note, Katy wears the Vibram Five Fingers shoes. While Brian and I were leaving shoe prints in the dirt on the train, Katy was leaving adorable footprints:

In a spectacularly idiotic move last night, I started baking sweet potato fries in the oven as a snack while I was working. That task in and of itself wasn't so bad. Forgetting I had done so, and leaving them in not only for hours, but overnight, however, was.

When I arrived home after the impromptu slumber party at Brynne's place last night, I was greeted by two excited dogs and an odd metallic smell. I puzzled over the smell until I wandered into the kitchen and saw the bake light on.

F---!

One time is an accident, twice is a trend. Given that I've ruined the non-stick mat and an expensive cookie sheet, I have no intention of having said second incident and starting such a trend. I'll be far more careful about starting food, which is a good thing, since being present and in the moment is a recent goal.

That means, yes, I'll be back to my stack of cards and timers starting now, thankyouverymuch.

So, the pickles I made with Pickett last month? They're supposed to pickle for four to six weeks before eating. I really really couldn't wait that long, and pulled out a jar today.

Six weeks? Wouldn't have made it. Didn't even wait four weeks, and that is okay, because they were fabulously delicious. Yummy!