I wake up a little after 7 to see what my hair has decided to do overnight. A crazy flip? A slick bob? A raggedy mess requiring a hat? I lay in bed watching the local morning show, waiting for the weather report. I ponder the state of my hair and wardrobe. (I have clothes that are too big and clothes that are too small. I need a Goldilocks outfit that will fit me just right.) I eventually drag my ass out of bed.

As long as I get to the BART station before 8, I can get a parking spot. (The horrible thing is that if I oversleep, the situation goes from bad to worse. Not only am I late getting to BART in the first place, I can no longer find a parking spot and become even more late. It's a downward spiral of tardiness. I'm lucky that nobody I work with is ever on time.)

I get on the train. It is too early in the morning to fully appreciate the parade of freaks, and I get motion sickness if I try and read on the train. Instead, I listen to one of my Journalcon mix CDs until the train spews me out in San Francisco. Good morning, San Francisco! Love the bay, love the fog, love everything.

The walk to work takes me fifteen minutes. I take a detour into a deli and buy a fresh, perfectly yellow banana for breakfast. It costs 50 cents. It makes me happy.

I walk down Montgomery, hang a left on Bush, and start climbing toward Starbucks. Before I get there, someone stops me on the street. "Monique?" she says. I wonder if she's one of the nine thousand people I work with who I don't remember meeting. But no! She's one of my readers!

For the next thirty seconds, I feel very very famous. Then I remember I was just walking down the street with crazy hair, eyes that haven't completely opened, and a banana in my hand. So much for that.

I stop at Starbucks. It's the third Starbucks on the way to work, right outside the gates of Chinatown. They are fast there, and I quickly have my hands around a Grande nonfat cappuccino. I give them my partner number and watch them make drinks, thinking that I don't miss the other side of the counter as much as I thought I would. Hmm. You know what this cappuccino needs? Cinnamon!

I walk out the door, clutching my coffee in one hand and the banana in the other. I head through the Chinatown gate and pass all the souvenir shops, where the owners are rolling out stacks of "Alcatraz Swim Team" T-shirts and ben wa balls and tiny wooden hands.

I get to work on time! Nobody's here. I toy with the idea of shooting a game of pool at some point today if I can talk someone into it. I head to my desk, turn on my computer and go to the kitchen to fill up my water bottle.

People start to trickle in. In-between checking my e-mail and sending IMs to people, surfing my Nibelung ring and checking my Friendsters, I get proofing projects. Some of them are tedious (like reading teeny legal copy over and over) and some of them are interesting (like a script for a commercial). I find mistakes and circle them with my red pen! I am mighty.

Something hits against my foot. It's the hamster ball. Her favorite spot on the whole fifth floor is under my desk, behind my file cabinet. I have no idea why, but she makes a beeline straight for it every time she is out of her cage. I pick up the ball, open it up and play with the hamster. She would rather be behind the file cabinet! She tries to eat my sweater.

I check the company e-mail. We have a mandatory fire safety meeting in the afternoon. (One day last week, the fire alarm went off four times. We spent a lot of time walking up and down stairs that day.) Sometimes I get notified that there are pastries and bagels somewhere in the building, but there are no such breakfast meetings today. Probably for the best.

I am thirsty. Do I want some coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate? One of my friends tells me there's a soda machine on the fourth floor. The sodas cost a quarter. I head down there and see that they have both A) Diet Dr. Pepper, and B) Budweiser. For a quarter! I go for the Diet Dr. Pepper; a bargain on bad beer is no bargain at all.

One of my co-workers comes by and says, "Chinese for lunch today?" "Oh," I respond, "are there any good places around here?" She laughs at me like I'm kidding and walks away. Thirty seconds later I remember: I work in Chinatown. Damn.

My friend comes by my desk to ask me if I saw the latest company-wide e-mail. They need people to have their pictures taken. We're going to be on an electronic billboard in Times Square! He's going to do it. Do I want to do it? Hell yes! I'm a rockstar!

We head to the studio to have our photos taken. I take a few happy smiley ones, and then the art director encourages me to make goofy faces. I pout, I peer over my glasses, I cross my eyes and stick out my tongue. I feel very sure that I will be on a billboard, in Times Square, with my eyes crossed and my tongue sticking out.

Hey, time for that mandatory fire safety meeting! We head down to the main floor of the building, where everyone is gathered. Two guys come out in fireman outfits. In extremely fake-looking fireman outfits. What's going on here? Apparently we won an important account. In the next room is a champagne and ice cream reception. Wouldn't we like some? Would we!

I grab a glass of champagne (there's also apple cider, but the novelty of drinking on the job has not yet worn off) and a bowl of strawberry ice cream. I put some fresh raspberries on top, and some dark chocolate chunks. It is divine with the champagne.

I take my frosty treat back to my desk, not feeling overly social today. I just want to eat my ice cream and instant message Jenfu. "Ice cream and champagne!" When she expresses jealousy, I remind her that I am getting fat while she is getting skinny. She feels better.

By the time everyone comes back from the party, it's time to go home. I have one or two last projects to do, and I wonder, "Is this glass of champagne going to have an adverse affect on my proofreading abilities?" Then I circle some commas. I cross out some things. I write down some words. Done!

I shut down my iMac, shrug on my jacket, and walk back to BART. Sometimes I go the long way around, to Union Square for some shopping, but often I am in a hurry because I still have students to tutor. Tonight I have to hurry home because I am taking Megan out for her birthday movie. One of these days, I have to go down to the new Sephora and buy some of that Urban Decay body glitter.

To go with my sparkly life, of course!

The afternoon BART is the perfect time for observing the parade of freaks. There is the woman who sits there, eating an entire bucket of hummus. The guy who walks up to a couple sitting in the back of the train and says to the guy, in a belligerent voice, "Let me sit next to her, man." The lady who flaps her arms up and down like a chicken to air out her armpits-- or maybe to propel the odor through the subway car. The guy who flings himself into the car as the doors are closing, prompting a small round of applause from my fellow commuters. The girl carrying a wedding cake on her lap. The guy who is trying to talk on a cell phone inside a tunnel under the San Francisco Bay. ("Hello? HELLO?! I'm in a TRAIN! A TRAIN!!")

I would take a nap, if only I wasn't afraid to put my head (or any other part of my body) on the seats. It's been a long day, and the champagne has made me woozy.

I think about the woman I'm covering for, who had a beautiful baby girl last week. I wish her nothing but the best. I wish her joy and happiness. I wish she would stay the hell away from my job. Do you hear me?! This job is mine! Mine!!

MINE!!!