Forgive me for delays in life updates. But as Dawn Summers over at Clarified can attest, moving is a bitch.
First I hurt my back, then I purchased a bed that could not be delivered for a week. Then the movers were 4 hours late and we exceeded the "move-in deadline" of the new apt complex, risking a fine and pissing off the neighbors in this excessively quiet neighborhood. Finally, a lock-out at the old place and a lock-out at the new place within 3 days of each other! Plus a $50 parking ticket. Oy vey.
The good news is that I'm finally settling in. It's been challenging combining decorative items from the several rooms of the old place to the more limited areas of the new place. Can you put grey-blue curtains in a room with a burgandy duvet cover? Hmm. Where does the vintage orange standing lamp fit into that picture? Or the black and gold hookah-esque standing lamp? Oh dear. I'm afraid that I'm so used to seeing all these things in one setting together that they actually "work." It will be interesting to hear what my first guest says (or doesn't).
In other news, I have to finish settling in quite quick over here because the Long Distance Guy will be visiting over the holidays. Yes, the holidays. Yes, all of them. I guess in Europe it's not such a big deal to spend the holidays with someone else's family? Little does he know, oh, little does he know!
December 13, 2005
November 26, 2005
The Last Night on Waller Street
Tonight is my last night on Waller Street. That's the Upper Haight, People, the Haight Ahsbury District - yes, that's right - I'm officially done with the Summer of Love.
I decided to just chill out and watch bad TV w/ a nice wine on the last night (no dvd or books left here), so went to the store and bought wine. On way home I thought - "no glasses left to drink from!" Then realized I had 2 glasses left in the cupboard. Saved!
Then! 3 steps later in my walk home and... no wine opener!!! - oh boy, defeat. Then realized I had one in the pocket of a travel bag (I am from near Napa afterall - almost every bag I own has a wine opener in its pocket!!! Thank goodness!!! Saved!
So here I am. A few glasses left and some more bad TV to go. But This. Is. It. I'm on to the next chapter.... and it's a good thing, because I'm out of toilet paper.
I decided to just chill out and watch bad TV w/ a nice wine on the last night (no dvd or books left here), so went to the store and bought wine. On way home I thought - "no glasses left to drink from!" Then realized I had 2 glasses left in the cupboard. Saved!
Then! 3 steps later in my walk home and... no wine opener!!! - oh boy, defeat. Then realized I had one in the pocket of a travel bag (I am from near Napa afterall - almost every bag I own has a wine opener in its pocket!!! Thank goodness!!! Saved!
So here I am. A few glasses left and some more bad TV to go. But This. Is. It. I'm on to the next chapter.... and it's a good thing, because I'm out of toilet paper.
November 18, 2005
My Passport Photo
I thought I looked cute today. That is, at least, until I was handed my fresh-off-the-press passport photos. I paid $14 to look like this for the next 10 years?! In fact, I think the photographer was even giving me a re-shoot chance and I didn't realize it. He said "I think you were smiling a little too much??" Ah yes, that would explain why I look like an Asian vampire with a double chin.
A picture may be worth a thousand words, but this photo left me speechless. Fuck. Should I re-take them when I haven't consumed beers and only had 5 hours of sleep?
A picture may be worth a thousand words, but this photo left me speechless. Fuck. Should I re-take them when I haven't consumed beers and only had 5 hours of sleep?
November 13, 2005
Packing It Up
It is Sunday afternoon and I have been making a bigger and bigger mess since I woke up this morning.
I am packing, and if any of you have lived in the same place for more than a few years, well, you have a lot of stuff.
I really thought this packing thing would be a breeze. After all, for the last 3 years or so I've had a really tight budget, and have had little opportunity to exercise my materialistic tendancies. Additionally, there is very little storage in my apartment. Unfortunately, if one is considered good at packing, then inherently that person becomes a good pack rat. It's amazing how I've managed to accumulate little boxes and baskets that store knick nacks of all sorts that I used to think were really important to keep.
My closet has been the biggest surprise. It is only the size of a coat closet, but somehow I have managed to make it contain (aside from clothes) a suitcase, several rolls of gift wrap and a box of ribbons, a comforter, a quilt, a blanket, 4 sets of towels, 6 sets of sheets, an old box of files, my checkbooks for the last 6 years, 2 pairs of boots, a lacrosse stick, a tennis racket, a bag of worthless paper items, 2 halloween wigs, 4 ceramic sculptures I did in high school but still cannot bare to part with, and a box containing a car stereo and speakers. There's other stuff to but I think you get the point. It dawns on me that I am a bit of a pack rat.
Anyway, the point is that I am really tired from 2 days straight of this, but it's like a drug I can't stop. Passing any lingering item while walking from one room to another will just make me stop in my tracks and tackle it. I guess it's better than procrastinating.
I am packing, and if any of you have lived in the same place for more than a few years, well, you have a lot of stuff.
I really thought this packing thing would be a breeze. After all, for the last 3 years or so I've had a really tight budget, and have had little opportunity to exercise my materialistic tendancies. Additionally, there is very little storage in my apartment. Unfortunately, if one is considered good at packing, then inherently that person becomes a good pack rat. It's amazing how I've managed to accumulate little boxes and baskets that store knick nacks of all sorts that I used to think were really important to keep.
My closet has been the biggest surprise. It is only the size of a coat closet, but somehow I have managed to make it contain (aside from clothes) a suitcase, several rolls of gift wrap and a box of ribbons, a comforter, a quilt, a blanket, 4 sets of towels, 6 sets of sheets, an old box of files, my checkbooks for the last 6 years, 2 pairs of boots, a lacrosse stick, a tennis racket, a bag of worthless paper items, 2 halloween wigs, 4 ceramic sculptures I did in high school but still cannot bare to part with, and a box containing a car stereo and speakers. There's other stuff to but I think you get the point. It dawns on me that I am a bit of a pack rat.
Anyway, the point is that I am really tired from 2 days straight of this, but it's like a drug I can't stop. Passing any lingering item while walking from one room to another will just make me stop in my tracks and tackle it. I guess it's better than procrastinating.
November 06, 2005
You Mean.... I'm Nice?
How evil are you?
It's hard to believe that someone who gets dramatic over the odor of urine at her doorstep can be classified as "Angelic."
November 04, 2005
Pissed On My Parade
I am very glad to say that someone has pissed on my parade.
In my last post, I announced the "End of an Era." I shared the bittersweet feelings I had about moving out of the apartment I have inhabited for the last 9 years. Nine years!
After parking my car this evening, I headed to The Gate that separates My Home from its actual location in The Haight Ashbury. This is The Gate that creates an oasis every time I step through it. Case in point: this evening, within 5 yards of arriving at The Gate, I smelled urine. And as I approached, the smell got stronger. That's right, People, someone had decided that a little nook between my building and the next one over is the perfect place to relieve oneself. Even passing through The Gate and advancing on the porch steps did not alleviate the foul odor.
So when I got inside the front door, I breathed a sigh of relief. Relief not only of being past the portico, which smells so horrendous, but that this will be one of the last times I have to do so. As days pass and packing begins, bitter starts to separate from sweet, and I am growing more excited about the new location.
In my last post, I announced the "End of an Era." I shared the bittersweet feelings I had about moving out of the apartment I have inhabited for the last 9 years. Nine years!
After parking my car this evening, I headed to The Gate that separates My Home from its actual location in The Haight Ashbury. This is The Gate that creates an oasis every time I step through it. Case in point: this evening, within 5 yards of arriving at The Gate, I smelled urine. And as I approached, the smell got stronger. That's right, People, someone had decided that a little nook between my building and the next one over is the perfect place to relieve oneself. Even passing through The Gate and advancing on the porch steps did not alleviate the foul odor.
So when I got inside the front door, I breathed a sigh of relief. Relief not only of being past the portico, which smells so horrendous, but that this will be one of the last times I have to do so. As days pass and packing begins, bitter starts to separate from sweet, and I am growing more excited about the new location.
November 02, 2005
The End of an Era
I'm moving! I'm moving!
After 9 years living in the same apartment, I'm cutting the cord. It's not that I want to, but budget confirms I have to.
One the one hand I am really sad. There are so many good memories from this place, and what is happening is like closing a really big chapter. I'm also downsizing, so the majority of my furniture has to go. And I do mean the majority! Let's just say the new place will be very zen and sparse. Otherwise, I don't think I'll be able to move from Bed to Bath at all.
I'll miss being close to Golden Gate Park, and I'll miss being around authentic people. After all this time I now know a lot of my neighbors and local businessmen. How will I know who to trust with my drycleaning?? Who else will give me a "neighborhood discount? "
On the other hand, of course, I'm a little excited. Finally getting out of The Haight. Away from the riff-raff of homeless runaway kids, of drugged out guys in their 60's who are STILL HERE from the '60's, away from the 2am bar-closing noise, the marked signs of vomit on the sidewalk, the smells of people living in the streets, the loonies, the tourists, etc etc. I just hope all of the plastic people in the new neighborhood will be tolerable. Yes, Little Los Angeles is where I'm headed, otherwise known as The Marina. Sorry folks, no room for guests. Or parties. But if you want some cozy one on one time with me, you got it!
After 9 years living in the same apartment, I'm cutting the cord. It's not that I want to, but budget confirms I have to.
One the one hand I am really sad. There are so many good memories from this place, and what is happening is like closing a really big chapter. I'm also downsizing, so the majority of my furniture has to go. And I do mean the majority! Let's just say the new place will be very zen and sparse. Otherwise, I don't think I'll be able to move from Bed to Bath at all.
I'll miss being close to Golden Gate Park, and I'll miss being around authentic people. After all this time I now know a lot of my neighbors and local businessmen. How will I know who to trust with my drycleaning?? Who else will give me a "neighborhood discount? "
On the other hand, of course, I'm a little excited. Finally getting out of The Haight. Away from the riff-raff of homeless runaway kids, of drugged out guys in their 60's who are STILL HERE from the '60's, away from the 2am bar-closing noise, the marked signs of vomit on the sidewalk, the smells of people living in the streets, the loonies, the tourists, etc etc. I just hope all of the plastic people in the new neighborhood will be tolerable. Yes, Little Los Angeles is where I'm headed, otherwise known as The Marina. Sorry folks, no room for guests. Or parties. But if you want some cozy one on one time with me, you got it!
October 31, 2005
Take That, Arnold Schwarzenwhatever!
For all you out-of-staters who are jealous we Californians have such a cool Governor, you should know that Arny, aside from creating movie-style PR opportunities for himself (like the time he ordered city workers to dig a pothole, so that he could stand in front of it and promote the fact that California's potholes are getting filled), also pushed a very expensive Special Election on us To! Save! California!
In Arny's eyes, these issues are A Matter of Life and Death to California's Budget Problems! To be honest, now that I have read the ballot issues, I can't for the life of me see why they are so urgent that they require our tax dollars to bring them to light right now. Therefore, in an assertive effort to throw a proverbial "Fuck You" to the Gov for spending what little money we have: I will vote on every issue except those that are part of the Special Election. Who knew I was into abstinence?
"What the hell will that do," you ask. For some reason, my political philosophies always seem to hinge on the fact that I think there is always post-election analysis. Tiny little men in glasses who crunch and crunch and crunch the myriad of ratios and percentages offered in our racially, financially diverse land of the multi-party system. Future agendas, political platforms, and demographic solicitations, in my opinion, all stem from these analyses. So my hope, my hope here, is that the Gov will hear something akin to this in post-election wrap-up:
"The Special Election showed embarrassingly low voter turnout, less than 7% of California residents voted on Props x, x, or x, while 77% voted on non-Special Election issues. Voting officials say this is the lowest turnout for a non-presidential-election in the history of California. All Propositions related to the Special Election were opposed and therefore, the millions of dollars of expense to Californians for the Governer's agenda, were unfortunately moot."
Yeah! Take that!
In Arny's eyes, these issues are A Matter of Life and Death to California's Budget Problems! To be honest, now that I have read the ballot issues, I can't for the life of me see why they are so urgent that they require our tax dollars to bring them to light right now. Therefore, in an assertive effort to throw a proverbial "Fuck You" to the Gov for spending what little money we have: I will vote on every issue except those that are part of the Special Election. Who knew I was into abstinence?
"What the hell will that do," you ask. For some reason, my political philosophies always seem to hinge on the fact that I think there is always post-election analysis. Tiny little men in glasses who crunch and crunch and crunch the myriad of ratios and percentages offered in our racially, financially diverse land of the multi-party system. Future agendas, political platforms, and demographic solicitations, in my opinion, all stem from these analyses. So my hope, my hope here, is that the Gov will hear something akin to this in post-election wrap-up:
"The Special Election showed embarrassingly low voter turnout, less than 7% of California residents voted on Props x, x, or x, while 77% voted on non-Special Election issues. Voting officials say this is the lowest turnout for a non-presidential-election in the history of California. All Propositions related to the Special Election were opposed and therefore, the millions of dollars of expense to Californians for the Governer's agenda, were unfortunately moot."
Yeah! Take that!
October 19, 2005
What the...?
What the...? What the hell time is it? 3:08!! Geez! What the hell am I doing up? I have an 8:45 meeting!!! Goodnight.
October 18, 2005
Musings on San Francisco's Selfish Culture
For a city which is internationally known as a community of concerned activists for every known cause, and then some, there is certainly a large degree of selfishness that runs rampant. Let's just take a look at a few of them:
A lot of the selfishness occurs on the streets, literally, in the manner with which auto drivers and pedestrians tend to feel that they own the roads:
Parking: Now, it's a known fact that parking in San Francisco is a virtual nightmare. Sometimes it takes me 40 minutes to park in my neighborhood, after circling the same streets over and over; and at the end of that 40 minutes, I end up in a spot that requires me to move the car by 8 am the next morning for street cleaning. And the reason for this is... Selfish Parking:
1. Some people either know they suck at parallel parking or they feel their cars are more precious than all of the others, and thus when they park they leave entirely too much space between their cars and those around them. Hey People! If everyone would just park properly, we'd add a few more spaces every block! How cool would that be if we all looked out for each other like that!!
2. Some people drive motorcycles. Not only do I think that's HOT, I also appreciate that they alleviate congestion on the roads. But BIKERS, PLEASE! Don't fucking park your bike in the middle of a car-sized spot!! You already get to bypass traffic, do you really need to spite us by eliminating parking as well?
Double Parking: I'll be the first to admit, due to problem (A) above, I'm a BIG FAN of double parking. You out-of-towners have to keep in mind that there are a significant amount of hills in San Francisco, and if one is schlepping anything slightly heavy, with the wind blowing and the moisture of the fog stripping the the make-up off one's face while one practically rolls down a hill in high heels, you will find double parking to unload and quickly get into comfortable shoes before searching endlessly for some crazy-ass-90-degrees-steep parallel parking mission, is the superior option. However, there are some streets where this is okay, and some streets where it is absolutely selfish:
1. It's a one-way main thorough-fare. Some streets in San Francisco, lo and behold! - are meant to move autos rapidly from one point to another. That means that the streets are 3 lanes wide in one direction and that the stop lights are timed to allow autos to smoothly green-light it at 35mph to the other side of town, or, to another street with similar flow in another direction. People, please don't double park in one of these lanes! It creates a merging bottleneck, road rage for those that don't want to let people merge, and doesn't allow the green-light flow. Is it too much to ask that you double park on the next side street that isn't as busy and walk a half a block?
2. Parking with hazards on before 6pm is another problem for these streets. During commute hours, the 3 lane streets become No Parking zones, and allow a 4th lane to ease the congestion and continue the whole process of moving people quickly to the other side of town. So what do the selfish people do? They pull into a desired spot RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEIR BUILDING, and put their hazard lights on from 5:35 until 6pm. Yes, people, they sit in their cars (lest it gets towed for illegal parking) for 25 minutes and the result is the same as above. You know what, selfish hazard-light people? Fuck you!
As you can see, with a bit of awareness and consideration for others can spare a lot of San Franciscans from undue high blood pressure.
However, people with cars are not the only street problem. The other is Pedestrians. And let me tell you, they can really screw up the flow:
1. Chinatown. Chinatown in San Francisco is no joke. It is a real and large community and is the heartbeat of SF's Asian-American population. I have absolutely no problem with the fact that Chinatown has such a heartbeat, in fact, it is one of the many things that I appreciate about living here. But its visitors are so many that they simply cannot get across the street in time for the stop light to change. I am not kidding. San Francisco's authorities need to adjust the light times to accomodate the amount of people crossing the street, or someone is going to get killed.
2. General slow walkers: I'm sorry, I may seem like an ugly person for saying this, but there are certain types of people that cross the street in a manner just to fuck with us. Intentional lollygaggers. The pedestrian lights in SF actually count down how many seconds you have until crossing the street is no longer an option, and there are some entirely self-consumed people that just don't care that they only have 3 seconds left before the light turns red. They go anyway, and they take their time. They come from all backgrounds and take their time for a myriad of their own selfish reasons. But again, someone can get killed like that. And for the drivers, who are already frustrated, who are being impeded by your lollygagging, you're not helping our health out either.
OK, so by now you just think I'm the female version of Mario Andretti. But I can assure you that there are other selfish acts in San Francisco happening all the time:
1. The sidewalk/aisle hog: I cannot tell you how many times I have been minding my own business and not taking up much space and helping the general FLOW of life, in which I have been bumped or shrugged or moved out of the way by someone taking up way too much space. Like 2 people walking down the sidelwalk but taking up the whole thing, so much so that I have to gutter myself or purposely hard-shoulder them into awareness. Am I invisible? I mean, shit, I am not Paris Hilton, but I am not some spry piece of a person barely existing. Share, people, share! Be aware. And that goes for the aisles in the grocery store too. Really, I don't take up too much space, why should you?
2. Ladies First - Not: Maybe it's due to the incredible melting pot of diversity here, maybe it's our liberal stand, or maybe it's just because people are simply self-consumed, but there is no chivalry here. Rarely is a door opened for a woman or an elder, rarely does a man exiting a building at the same time a woman is entering step out of the way to let her pass. One of my girlfriends told me once that the trick is to look him in the eye and stand your ground, but I can assure you that rarely works. Even with an added smile. Come on! I am all for equality but every woman needs to feel a little bit a lady. So for you few and random strangers and friends that actually DO make that happen, thank you. For you others, you'll never be a Craigslist Missed Connection if you don't.
On a final note, I'd like to consider myself one of the considerate and aware. You've probably already gathered that. However, I can tell you it's very, very tiring. In this self-absorbed culture, one's consideration for others is rarely noticed or appreciated. Which, in fact, makes it even more difficult to NOT fall into the hard cold selfish cycle: "I did consider that person, and that person didn't even notice or appreciate it, so why bother?" That is why, when someone does hold a door open, or let my car merge in, I always say thank you. I hope it is enough of a lift for those people to continue on in their polite endeavors. I certainly hope so, because, as I said, going unappreciated is very tiring.
A lot of the selfishness occurs on the streets, literally, in the manner with which auto drivers and pedestrians tend to feel that they own the roads:
Parking: Now, it's a known fact that parking in San Francisco is a virtual nightmare. Sometimes it takes me 40 minutes to park in my neighborhood, after circling the same streets over and over; and at the end of that 40 minutes, I end up in a spot that requires me to move the car by 8 am the next morning for street cleaning. And the reason for this is... Selfish Parking:
1. Some people either know they suck at parallel parking or they feel their cars are more precious than all of the others, and thus when they park they leave entirely too much space between their cars and those around them. Hey People! If everyone would just park properly, we'd add a few more spaces every block! How cool would that be if we all looked out for each other like that!!
2. Some people drive motorcycles. Not only do I think that's HOT, I also appreciate that they alleviate congestion on the roads. But BIKERS, PLEASE! Don't fucking park your bike in the middle of a car-sized spot!! You already get to bypass traffic, do you really need to spite us by eliminating parking as well?
Double Parking: I'll be the first to admit, due to problem (A) above, I'm a BIG FAN of double parking. You out-of-towners have to keep in mind that there are a significant amount of hills in San Francisco, and if one is schlepping anything slightly heavy, with the wind blowing and the moisture of the fog stripping the the make-up off one's face while one practically rolls down a hill in high heels, you will find double parking to unload and quickly get into comfortable shoes before searching endlessly for some crazy-ass-90-degrees-steep parallel parking mission, is the superior option. However, there are some streets where this is okay, and some streets where it is absolutely selfish:
1. It's a one-way main thorough-fare. Some streets in San Francisco, lo and behold! - are meant to move autos rapidly from one point to another. That means that the streets are 3 lanes wide in one direction and that the stop lights are timed to allow autos to smoothly green-light it at 35mph to the other side of town, or, to another street with similar flow in another direction. People, please don't double park in one of these lanes! It creates a merging bottleneck, road rage for those that don't want to let people merge, and doesn't allow the green-light flow. Is it too much to ask that you double park on the next side street that isn't as busy and walk a half a block?
2. Parking with hazards on before 6pm is another problem for these streets. During commute hours, the 3 lane streets become No Parking zones, and allow a 4th lane to ease the congestion and continue the whole process of moving people quickly to the other side of town. So what do the selfish people do? They pull into a desired spot RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEIR BUILDING, and put their hazard lights on from 5:35 until 6pm. Yes, people, they sit in their cars (lest it gets towed for illegal parking) for 25 minutes and the result is the same as above. You know what, selfish hazard-light people? Fuck you!
As you can see, with a bit of awareness and consideration for others can spare a lot of San Franciscans from undue high blood pressure.
However, people with cars are not the only street problem. The other is Pedestrians. And let me tell you, they can really screw up the flow:
1. Chinatown. Chinatown in San Francisco is no joke. It is a real and large community and is the heartbeat of SF's Asian-American population. I have absolutely no problem with the fact that Chinatown has such a heartbeat, in fact, it is one of the many things that I appreciate about living here. But its visitors are so many that they simply cannot get across the street in time for the stop light to change. I am not kidding. San Francisco's authorities need to adjust the light times to accomodate the amount of people crossing the street, or someone is going to get killed.
2. General slow walkers: I'm sorry, I may seem like an ugly person for saying this, but there are certain types of people that cross the street in a manner just to fuck with us. Intentional lollygaggers. The pedestrian lights in SF actually count down how many seconds you have until crossing the street is no longer an option, and there are some entirely self-consumed people that just don't care that they only have 3 seconds left before the light turns red. They go anyway, and they take their time. They come from all backgrounds and take their time for a myriad of their own selfish reasons. But again, someone can get killed like that. And for the drivers, who are already frustrated, who are being impeded by your lollygagging, you're not helping our health out either.
OK, so by now you just think I'm the female version of Mario Andretti. But I can assure you that there are other selfish acts in San Francisco happening all the time:
1. The sidewalk/aisle hog: I cannot tell you how many times I have been minding my own business and not taking up much space and helping the general FLOW of life, in which I have been bumped or shrugged or moved out of the way by someone taking up way too much space. Like 2 people walking down the sidelwalk but taking up the whole thing, so much so that I have to gutter myself or purposely hard-shoulder them into awareness. Am I invisible? I mean, shit, I am not Paris Hilton, but I am not some spry piece of a person barely existing. Share, people, share! Be aware. And that goes for the aisles in the grocery store too. Really, I don't take up too much space, why should you?
2. Ladies First - Not: Maybe it's due to the incredible melting pot of diversity here, maybe it's our liberal stand, or maybe it's just because people are simply self-consumed, but there is no chivalry here. Rarely is a door opened for a woman or an elder, rarely does a man exiting a building at the same time a woman is entering step out of the way to let her pass. One of my girlfriends told me once that the trick is to look him in the eye and stand your ground, but I can assure you that rarely works. Even with an added smile. Come on! I am all for equality but every woman needs to feel a little bit a lady. So for you few and random strangers and friends that actually DO make that happen, thank you. For you others, you'll never be a Craigslist Missed Connection if you don't.
On a final note, I'd like to consider myself one of the considerate and aware. You've probably already gathered that. However, I can tell you it's very, very tiring. In this self-absorbed culture, one's consideration for others is rarely noticed or appreciated. Which, in fact, makes it even more difficult to NOT fall into the hard cold selfish cycle: "I did consider that person, and that person didn't even notice or appreciate it, so why bother?" That is why, when someone does hold a door open, or let my car merge in, I always say thank you. I hope it is enough of a lift for those people to continue on in their polite endeavors. I certainly hope so, because, as I said, going unappreciated is very tiring.
October 12, 2005
I Hate It I Hate It I Hate It!
I am in agony here, on many physical levels.
I strained my sacral ilium. Know what that is? That's my butt. Right butt cheek, to be exact. Not so good for someone about to run 13 miles.
The answer, from Mr. Sports Medicine Doc, is an anti-inflamatory. Seems easy enough, but I'd almost prefer the pain in my ass. Two pills a day, and must, I quote: "MUST be taken with food." So I take them with food. Immediately I get shooting pains like my stomach lining is ripping out. To rationalize, I try to imagine how bad it would be if I actually didn't heed the warning and had taken them WITHOUT food. Man.
Next: extreme upset stomach. So, the food I have just eaten, to soften the blow of this apparant poison disguised as an anti-inflamatory, is not taking the mix so well. I went to 2 parties last night and couldn't enjoy either one what with the running to the bathroom.
Because of the impending discomfort, I don't eat throughout the day, as I know it will only upset my stomach further and lead to a life in the WC. As dosage time looms, I recoil even more from it all. I am starving with an upset stomach and the lining is ripping out and I know that eating and taking more pills will only continue this horrible cycle.
I feel so sick...so sick...honestly, I can't express it... and I'm hungry..so hungry... yeah, I'd definitely prefer the pain in my ass...
I strained my sacral ilium. Know what that is? That's my butt. Right butt cheek, to be exact. Not so good for someone about to run 13 miles.
The answer, from Mr. Sports Medicine Doc, is an anti-inflamatory. Seems easy enough, but I'd almost prefer the pain in my ass. Two pills a day, and must, I quote: "MUST be taken with food." So I take them with food. Immediately I get shooting pains like my stomach lining is ripping out. To rationalize, I try to imagine how bad it would be if I actually didn't heed the warning and had taken them WITHOUT food. Man.
Next: extreme upset stomach. So, the food I have just eaten, to soften the blow of this apparant poison disguised as an anti-inflamatory, is not taking the mix so well. I went to 2 parties last night and couldn't enjoy either one what with the running to the bathroom.
Because of the impending discomfort, I don't eat throughout the day, as I know it will only upset my stomach further and lead to a life in the WC. As dosage time looms, I recoil even more from it all. I am starving with an upset stomach and the lining is ripping out and I know that eating and taking more pills will only continue this horrible cycle.
I feel so sick...so sick...honestly, I can't express it... and I'm hungry..so hungry... yeah, I'd definitely prefer the pain in my ass...
October 11, 2005
Fuddy Duddies and Wet Rags
Two parties tonight - like I said, it's Event Season!
First up was the Centennial bash for my Association. B-O-R-I-N-G. Among the fuddy duddies and the shrimp and oysters, Mr. Most Eligible Mayor came down and gave us some canned speach that seemed geared toward some other crowd. Quite frankly, as handsome as he is, his speach didn't make a damn bit of sense.
Second party was the Pool Toss, an acclaimed SF Benefit where local celebs are auctioned off to the highest bidder to be thrown into an outdoor pool at the Phoenix Hotel. With the stomach upset (see above post), I was at this point in no mood to be standing outside in 57 degree weather to not drink and to watch people throw thousands of dollars toward a good cause. Unfortunate, I know. Especially when I didn't enjoy all of the lacrosse players in just their trunks.
The two bonuses of the Pool Toss were (in ranking order): 1) One of the volunteering "tossees," a current NFL football player for who knows what team, in direct response to being disrobed by models, turns to the crowd in his scivvees complete with erection! Ha ha ha. Well done. 2) being chatted up by the SF Chron's most recently "volunteered" into early retirement Editor, Ken Garcia. (Apparantly, without alcohol in me, I was a boring conversationalist, as he didn't chat me up for long.)
One more event and I think the season is done. I'm tired; so is my Event Season wardrobe, and I'm just getting ready to ignore Halloween.
First up was the Centennial bash for my Association. B-O-R-I-N-G. Among the fuddy duddies and the shrimp and oysters, Mr. Most Eligible Mayor came down and gave us some canned speach that seemed geared toward some other crowd. Quite frankly, as handsome as he is, his speach didn't make a damn bit of sense.
Second party was the Pool Toss, an acclaimed SF Benefit where local celebs are auctioned off to the highest bidder to be thrown into an outdoor pool at the Phoenix Hotel. With the stomach upset (see above post), I was at this point in no mood to be standing outside in 57 degree weather to not drink and to watch people throw thousands of dollars toward a good cause. Unfortunate, I know. Especially when I didn't enjoy all of the lacrosse players in just their trunks.
The two bonuses of the Pool Toss were (in ranking order): 1) One of the volunteering "tossees," a current NFL football player for who knows what team, in direct response to being disrobed by models, turns to the crowd in his scivvees complete with erection! Ha ha ha. Well done. 2) being chatted up by the SF Chron's most recently "volunteered" into early retirement Editor, Ken Garcia. (Apparantly, without alcohol in me, I was a boring conversationalist, as he didn't chat me up for long.)
One more event and I think the season is done. I'm tired; so is my Event Season wardrobe, and I'm just getting ready to ignore Halloween.
October 07, 2005
Flying High
For those of you who don't live in San Francisco, it's now "summer." And summer means Event Season.
So, not only do we have the nice weather (finally!! tank tops!!), but we have a shit load of activities to occupy our weeknights and weekends.
Last weekend was the Bluegrass festival with headliner... Dolly Parton! Woo hoo! I didn't go. And! Shakespeare in the Park! I didn't go to that either.
This weekend we have a very patriotic show for everyone, that's right... The Blue Angels! The most acrobatic of the US Airforce! Go Blue and Gold! It sounds like there's a WAR going on over here!
Last night I went to a 7x7 Magazine (SF is 7x7 sq miles) party at the W hotel. Awesome. All photo ops that I didn't get asked to participate in. Hmm. The party was great but too loud, so I know I am getting old. They cut the booz at 10:30, I saw them closing up the bars, left winggirl WR for a moment and pretended to be on my mobile while I sneekily swiped 2 Heinekens before they carted all the alcohol away. We spent 8 minutes pillaging our purses for something adequate to use as a bottle opener. I kept hitting my beer bottle on the table edge with no success. Finally we just asked a guy cleaning up for an opener - he didn't care they weren't serving anymore. After all, how much havoc are 2 way too sober girls like us gonna do?
The videographer was a high school alumn of mine who introduced his cute blonde "associate" to us at the beginning of the night. He stopped by as we were finishing our Heinekens and told us he was looking for the afterparty, would let us know. Later he took my card and told us we'd all get together to have a video watch party. THEN! Then he told us he was married (no ring) to his "associate." WTF, man, WTF?? Not that I was even slightly interested, but if you film celeb weddings for Courtney Cox (now Cox Arquette) and the like, you better tell people you're married. And wear a ring, for crying out loud. Poor "associate."
Our handsome, young and recently single Mayor Gavin Newsom, who is on the fast track to Mr. President (except for his unabashadley nonconservative pro-gay-marriage stance), showed up at the magazine party, and was hanging for most of the night. Lots of girls talking to SF's newest Most Eligible Bachelor. People taking pics. He's such a non-Kennedy Kennedy. I am going to a black-tie gala Friday night where he will be doing the opening speach, and he will also be at the City Hall reception that my centennial committee is having on Tues night for our association, so I will be at 3 functions with SF's MEB in less than a week. I doubt he'll notice.
On a final note, I'm finally getting into "The Club." As in, the only private club (er, maybe the only publicized private club) in San Francisco. Got invited to a birthday party at Otis. Very excited to see how pretentious everyone will pretend to be. More importantly, how do I go to a magazine party, a black-tie event, a wedding, a Centennial reception I'm hosting AND a private club with only 4 dresses in the closet????
So, not only do we have the nice weather (finally!! tank tops!!), but we have a shit load of activities to occupy our weeknights and weekends.
Last weekend was the Bluegrass festival with headliner... Dolly Parton! Woo hoo! I didn't go. And! Shakespeare in the Park! I didn't go to that either.
This weekend we have a very patriotic show for everyone, that's right... The Blue Angels! The most acrobatic of the US Airforce! Go Blue and Gold! It sounds like there's a WAR going on over here!
Last night I went to a 7x7 Magazine (SF is 7x7 sq miles) party at the W hotel. Awesome. All photo ops that I didn't get asked to participate in. Hmm. The party was great but too loud, so I know I am getting old. They cut the booz at 10:30, I saw them closing up the bars, left winggirl WR for a moment and pretended to be on my mobile while I sneekily swiped 2 Heinekens before they carted all the alcohol away. We spent 8 minutes pillaging our purses for something adequate to use as a bottle opener. I kept hitting my beer bottle on the table edge with no success. Finally we just asked a guy cleaning up for an opener - he didn't care they weren't serving anymore. After all, how much havoc are 2 way too sober girls like us gonna do?
The videographer was a high school alumn of mine who introduced his cute blonde "associate" to us at the beginning of the night. He stopped by as we were finishing our Heinekens and told us he was looking for the afterparty, would let us know. Later he took my card and told us we'd all get together to have a video watch party. THEN! Then he told us he was married (no ring) to his "associate." WTF, man, WTF?? Not that I was even slightly interested, but if you film celeb weddings for Courtney Cox (now Cox Arquette) and the like, you better tell people you're married. And wear a ring, for crying out loud. Poor "associate."
Our handsome, young and recently single Mayor Gavin Newsom, who is on the fast track to Mr. President (except for his unabashadley nonconservative pro-gay-marriage stance), showed up at the magazine party, and was hanging for most of the night. Lots of girls talking to SF's newest Most Eligible Bachelor. People taking pics. He's such a non-Kennedy Kennedy. I am going to a black-tie gala Friday night where he will be doing the opening speach, and he will also be at the City Hall reception that my centennial committee is having on Tues night for our association, so I will be at 3 functions with SF's MEB in less than a week. I doubt he'll notice.
On a final note, I'm finally getting into "The Club." As in, the only private club (er, maybe the only publicized private club) in San Francisco. Got invited to a birthday party at Otis. Very excited to see how pretentious everyone will pretend to be. More importantly, how do I go to a magazine party, a black-tie event, a wedding, a Centennial reception I'm hosting AND a private club with only 4 dresses in the closet????
September 28, 2005
I'm "Lost"
I don't get it. On the show "Lost," the men never shave, their hair never grows, the fat guy isn't losing weight, and the flashlights never run out of batteries. For these reasons alone I have a REALLY hard time with the show.
September 27, 2005
Racing Family Style
I didn't think I would be this excited about the family version of Amazing race. Not only am I excited, I'm always getting choked up. I'm already voting for the Schroeder family. Er, is it the Ghaghan family? Who cares, oh boy oh boy!
September 25, 2005
Splinter Girl Lives!
Update on my slow death from lead poisoning. I still have the splinter, but I will not die.
Lucky for me, no ER required. There was a street fair going on up the road and it had a Med Tent! I asked one of the nurses if I was going to die of lead poisoning and she was very good at not laughing at me. Told me a few tricks and hopefully the intrusion will remove itself without any pus involved.
Lucky for me, no ER required. There was a street fair going on up the road and it had a Med Tent! I asked one of the nurses if I was going to die of lead poisoning and she was very good at not laughing at me. Told me a few tricks and hopefully the intrusion will remove itself without any pus involved.
"Girl Dies From Splinter"
I decided yesterday that the beginning of Fall is the perfect time to do some spring cleaning. All was going fine until I started dusting.
Man, I was going at it. Top to bottom of every room. Starting with a duster on the picture railings, then on the baseboards, and followed up with a brush over with a "Grab-it" dust cloth then a spritz of cleaner. I was neurotic. It was like a drug.
By the 3rd room I had the routine down and was going to town on the baseboards of my Queen Anne rounded window and BLAM! Serious splinter, I thought, right under my thumb nail. Went to the bathroom to grab the tweezers and the hypochondriac in me came alive.
What has happened is that I scraped the loose paint with my thumb nail, hard enough to tear the paint and some wood away and dig in about 2mm into my nail. I tried and tried to dig it all out, but it is just absolutely jammed down and deep. Normally I wouldn't worry about this, but because of all the lead-based paint warnings being waived around here in CA, I am afraid that I have scraped some old sick lead-based paint layer into there too, and soon I will keel over from lead poisoning. Seems silly to go to the ER for a splinter penetration under my nail, but it's not as silly as dying from dusting.
Man, I was going at it. Top to bottom of every room. Starting with a duster on the picture railings, then on the baseboards, and followed up with a brush over with a "Grab-it" dust cloth then a spritz of cleaner. I was neurotic. It was like a drug.
By the 3rd room I had the routine down and was going to town on the baseboards of my Queen Anne rounded window and BLAM! Serious splinter, I thought, right under my thumb nail. Went to the bathroom to grab the tweezers and the hypochondriac in me came alive.
What has happened is that I scraped the loose paint with my thumb nail, hard enough to tear the paint and some wood away and dig in about 2mm into my nail. I tried and tried to dig it all out, but it is just absolutely jammed down and deep. Normally I wouldn't worry about this, but because of all the lead-based paint warnings being waived around here in CA, I am afraid that I have scraped some old sick lead-based paint layer into there too, and soon I will keel over from lead poisoning. Seems silly to go to the ER for a splinter penetration under my nail, but it's not as silly as dying from dusting.
September 21, 2005
Fashion Shows: Who Knew?
I went to my first fashion show tonight. Now, I have seen people go to fashion shows on TV, and well, I just wasn't expecting to be ENTERTAINED. I mean, really, I felt like I was at dinner theater or a musical. It was so bizarre.
There was no one famous there (they must save that for the Gala night). Oh yeah, also, if you ever go to one, don't be surprised if you prance like a horse as you are walking to your car afterward. You just can't help it!
There was no one famous there (they must save that for the Gala night). Oh yeah, also, if you ever go to one, don't be surprised if you prance like a horse as you are walking to your car afterward. You just can't help it!
HAHAHAHAHA!
The new Dockers commercial is filmed a block from Gap, Inc.'s corporate headquarters. Oddly enough, the Levi's headquarters is only a quarter mile down the street. I know this cuz I used to work at Gap HQ, and I interviewed at Levi.
September 20, 2005
September 12, 2005
Cramping My Style
I have cramps. Is it ok to swallow down 2 Midol with a Coors Light? I didn't think so. But I just did anyway. I'd swallow a 3rd one to expedite and elongate the benefits, but I'm fresh out.
Speaking of cramps, my sister-in-law has unknowingly had me crazed for the past 5 days. Now, she's a sweet girl (and I say girl 'cuz anyone under 49.5 is a girl in my book, but yes, she's a couple years my senior), but one thing about her is her totally unabashed brainwave-to-mouth vocalization of her thoughts. Basically, she thinks something then says it, before she even assesses whether it's appropriate or not.
Now, I don't have a problem with her process, or lack thereof, at all - I used to have the same problem, and still do from time to time. But let's dash back to my visit with her a few days before I went to Jamaica.... (enter dreamscape/going back in time music)
I was under a rapid-fire pre-Jamaica Q&A session: was I excited about seeing Dutchy? What did I think would happen? What if it didn't happen as planned? Did I get a new bathing suit? Oh My God! You waxed WHAT?! Was it painful? So when does Dutchy arrive? What if you get pregnant in Jamaica?
(SKREACH! WTF??)
Me: Jesus, Sis-In-Law, that's not going to happen.
SIL: Well! It could! You never know!
Me: SIL!
SIL: Nothing's 100% fool proof!
End of discussion.
(Back to Present, er, well, 5 days ago. Er, well, maybe a day or two before 5 days ago)
So there I was, back from Jamaica, still revelling in the bliss of super-hot-humid-romantic days. And then a particularly monthly thought entered my head: what day am I getting my period again? And I calc'ed back, tried to estimate. But I've never been good at math, or rather, I tire of it before figuring out whether I need addition, subtraction, long division or a serious equation, and I dropped it, figuring I was in good shape. After all, I'm amazingly regular.
A day or two later I started getting the signs. A ping here, a dire need for carbs and sweets there, the tenderness we all know in the breastesses. And then a panic struck. Tenderness in the breastesses? Well! That's a telltale sign of being prego! And what if the pings and cravings can all be traced back to prego as well?! How the hell should I know? I've never been prego before. Normally, I wouldn't think this way. Mainly because Dutchy is in Amsterdam and no one's fish can swim THAT far, but also because these are without a doubt typical symptoms of PMS. And we used protection. The fear factor came from a new and very disturbing varient symptom: nausea. Not only have I had PMS the past 4 days, but every so often throughout each day a little wave of feelin' sick. That combined with Sis-In-Law's innocent words threw my over the edge.
The good news, of course, in all of this, is that I am on the Midol train, so the worry is over. But I have to have a talk with Sis-In-Law, 'cuz Dutchy is supposed to be visiting in 5 weeks, and I don't want her freaking me out again.
Speaking of cramps, my sister-in-law has unknowingly had me crazed for the past 5 days. Now, she's a sweet girl (and I say girl 'cuz anyone under 49.5 is a girl in my book, but yes, she's a couple years my senior), but one thing about her is her totally unabashed brainwave-to-mouth vocalization of her thoughts. Basically, she thinks something then says it, before she even assesses whether it's appropriate or not.
Now, I don't have a problem with her process, or lack thereof, at all - I used to have the same problem, and still do from time to time. But let's dash back to my visit with her a few days before I went to Jamaica.... (enter dreamscape/going back in time music)
I was under a rapid-fire pre-Jamaica Q&A session: was I excited about seeing Dutchy? What did I think would happen? What if it didn't happen as planned? Did I get a new bathing suit? Oh My God! You waxed WHAT?! Was it painful? So when does Dutchy arrive? What if you get pregnant in Jamaica?
(SKREACH! WTF??)
Me: Jesus, Sis-In-Law, that's not going to happen.
SIL: Well! It could! You never know!
Me: SIL!
SIL: Nothing's 100% fool proof!
End of discussion.
(Back to Present, er, well, 5 days ago. Er, well, maybe a day or two before 5 days ago)
So there I was, back from Jamaica, still revelling in the bliss of super-hot-humid-romantic days. And then a particularly monthly thought entered my head: what day am I getting my period again? And I calc'ed back, tried to estimate. But I've never been good at math, or rather, I tire of it before figuring out whether I need addition, subtraction, long division or a serious equation, and I dropped it, figuring I was in good shape. After all, I'm amazingly regular.
A day or two later I started getting the signs. A ping here, a dire need for carbs and sweets there, the tenderness we all know in the breastesses. And then a panic struck. Tenderness in the breastesses? Well! That's a telltale sign of being prego! And what if the pings and cravings can all be traced back to prego as well?! How the hell should I know? I've never been prego before. Normally, I wouldn't think this way. Mainly because Dutchy is in Amsterdam and no one's fish can swim THAT far, but also because these are without a doubt typical symptoms of PMS. And we used protection. The fear factor came from a new and very disturbing varient symptom: nausea. Not only have I had PMS the past 4 days, but every so often throughout each day a little wave of feelin' sick. That combined with Sis-In-Law's innocent words threw my over the edge.
The good news, of course, in all of this, is that I am on the Midol train, so the worry is over. But I have to have a talk with Sis-In-Law, 'cuz Dutchy is supposed to be visiting in 5 weeks, and I don't want her freaking me out again.
September 10, 2005
Not Ready for Bed
I have to be up early tomorrow for a 10 mile run. Today was supposed to be about healthy eats and lots of water to fuel the a.m. workout. Probably not enough water, and now it's after midnight and I am NOT ready for bed. Hell, I've got to get up at 6:30 to run. Hoping posting it out loud will force me to realize it's time to fait dodo (French for go night night).
September 02, 2005
In Negril, Kudos to....
Hey Y'all,
Be warned that Negril, as a resort town, has a lot of local workers that are just working for income. There are the few, the good, that offer outstanding service. I want you to experience the best of Negril so, withough further ado, my hats off to:
Resort: Rockhouse Hotel - just mind blowing. Always beautiful and peaceful. Truly romantic. Plus, if you're not romantic, at least they have high speed internet! Or if you are romantic, use the high speed internet to change your ticket and extend your stay!
Massage: Wanda, at Couples Swept Away - Ask for her!!!! Tip well!!!
Manicure: Nadine, at Couples Swept Away - Ask for her!!! Tip well!!!
Bar: 1) Rockhouse - Shane, poolside - the best of the best!!!
2) Coral Beach - Maurice - right on, Mon! You're so accomodating!
Restaurant: 1) Hungry Lion - ROAR! - this restaurant is awesome. Patience is a virtue, and excellent food is your reward.
2) Coral Beach - Super slow kitchen service but highly congenial servers!!!
For full details of the trip, see my previous post, Return from Paradise.
Be warned that Negril, as a resort town, has a lot of local workers that are just working for income. There are the few, the good, that offer outstanding service. I want you to experience the best of Negril so, withough further ado, my hats off to:
Resort: Rockhouse Hotel - just mind blowing. Always beautiful and peaceful. Truly romantic. Plus, if you're not romantic, at least they have high speed internet! Or if you are romantic, use the high speed internet to change your ticket and extend your stay!
Massage: Wanda, at Couples Swept Away - Ask for her!!!! Tip well!!!
Manicure: Nadine, at Couples Swept Away - Ask for her!!! Tip well!!!
Bar: 1) Rockhouse - Shane, poolside - the best of the best!!!
2) Coral Beach - Maurice - right on, Mon! You're so accomodating!
Restaurant: 1) Hungry Lion - ROAR! - this restaurant is awesome. Patience is a virtue, and excellent food is your reward.
2) Coral Beach - Super slow kitchen service but highly congenial servers!!!
For full details of the trip, see my previous post, Return from Paradise.
Return From Paradise, A Log/Novella
I'm back people. And let me be the first to say: I don't even know how to report about this trip. If I "tell all," this will be a novella. If I don't, well, it will lack spice and look like the Captain's Log from Star Trek Enterprise. Hmmm. Which way to go? Maybe a mix...
Location of Paradise: Negril, Jamaica
Speed of Paradise: SLOW SLOW SLOW. Don't bother being anxious or impatient about anything. A simple meal takes upwards of an hour. Enjoy it.
Season: Low Season (too hot for wicked fun)
Resort 1: Rockhouse Hotel
Resort 2: Coral Beach Resort
(If you want my opinion/rating of these hotels, pls add a comment, as I have much valuable and honest information!!)
Purpose of Mission: Wedding/Fun in the Sun
Coffee type: Jamaican Blue Mountain
Coffee rating: 10 out of 10!
The trip was awesome. I had a great time with the bride/groom and their friends and family. Even though there were 60 guests, Bride was tremendous at getting one on one time in with the people who are important to her, so none of us felt snubbed.
I arrived noonish day 1. Was escorted to my villa, which I shared with another "single," Kathy. The villa is a luxe Gilligan's Island thatch-roofed hut, with a 4 post bed on the main level and 2 smaller beds on the loft level. The shower is outside, off of the WC! I only turned on the hot water in the shower once the entire trip. I put my things aside, changed out of my required SF jeans, which were melted to my skin at this point, and headed out. Met up with the gang on "The Alter," a rock cliff overlook that would be the alter of the wedding. We hung out there most days, just to let the whole "wedding" thing soak in for our "never-getting-married-ever!" bride. We jumped off the cliffs into the water as well. Actually, I only jumped once. Because I jumped funny off that 15 ft high bridge, and did sort of a backwards belly flop, and got a big-ass water spanking. Broke the blood vessels below my butt and ended up with some gorgeous black and blues for the entire trip. Well done, Gertie, well done!
Evening of day 1 the majority of the European contingency arrived, shortly after dinner, completing the guest list. It was late, so mostly we just gathered in the open-air restaurant with beers sequestered from random mini-bars.
Morning of Day 2 (day before wedding) the word was out to most guests by breakfast that the wedding wasn't the only exiciting thing going on at Rockhouse Hotel. The wedding guests had heard of my and Long Distance Guy's "romance," and how we've been talking for a year, haven't seen each other for 2, blah blah blah. Needless to say we had a lot of Q&A sessions from people. Although we tried to enjoy ourselves, day 2 was the beginning of life under a microscope. Luckily, the petri dish was poolside on a cliff-top resort, so can I really complain?
Evening of Day 2 was a wonderful poolside buffet rehearsal dinner for all of the guests. Complete with steel drum reggae band and a rapidly melting ice sculpture (too fast too even identify what it was). The food was amazing: salads, mushroom sautee melting in your mouth, jerk snapper and beef, and open bar. The men took off around 9 for a bachelor party, and left all the ladies happily chatting at the pool. We all started off at 6 different tables of Euro and American (or American imports to Europe), but by the end of the night we were just one big blob of chatting women, in the dark by the pool, with bats occasionally swooshing by the flood light above the bar. We turned in early for the big day.
Apparantly, the men did, too. As I was all cleaned up and ready for bed, having my last smoke on my cliff-top verandah while listening to the lapping of subtle waves against the rock walls below, LDG arrived. He said the designated Bachelor Party club was gross, full of Negril prostitutes and mediocre vibes. Since my villa-mate was spending the nite in Bride's villa, LDG and I had our first sleep-over. And we didn't waste it on a recap of the Bachelor Party.
The Wedding Day (Day 3) was off to a great start when she and I and 5 other girlfriends went off for a breakfast at Aqua Moon Resort on the beach and a private chef made us whatever we wanted. Then off to Couples Swept Away Resort for massage and manicure. Got back to our resort and, while sitting on the verandah of Bride's villa eating lunch, she and I watched disappointingly as rain clouds came our way. It started raining, and Bride was bummed the wedding might not be outside. However, she was a really good sport about it! Shortly before the [delayed] wedding time, the skies opened, just in time for the most glorious sunset wedding any of us had experienced. Reception was great, complete w/after reception night swim.
Day 4, we had a "Recovery" brunch and then a chill day with the Newlyweds on the cliffs by the pool. I got stung by a water wasp in the boob while swimming through a cave. It hurt for 3 hours. I was disappointed to have the pain of a nipple pierce without the reward of the actual piercing. This was the day that LDG and I had "the talk," about whether I would leave the next day or stay on longer with him. I really wanted to stay; as I said before, we had been living in a petri dish since arrival and it would be nice to take that away. Additionally, LDG had done a few things that caused pause, and I certainly wasn't going to spend the time and money to go to Europe to find out whether those pausey things were his nature or a result of our environment. So I changed my ticket, and I stayed.
The next day most people left, and LDG and I, along w/his parents and other brother's family, moved to a beach resort for the remaining 3 days. It was door-knob-turning-equals- instant-sweat hot but I loved every minute of it. LDG and I chilled, ate, jet ski-ed, met with locals and chilled some more. We had a most excellent time. But you might want to know some other aspects of the trip:
Jamaican food is awesome; the produce is so fresh it's unbelievable. I had fruit and yogurt every morning (except the last day – fruit and French toast). The fish is also excellent and I had mostly red snapper dishes for lunches AND dinners. Couldn't get enough of it!
The difficult part about Jamaica for me was that you look out to the west, at the ocean, and it is the most glorious vision of peace, beauty and serenity one can know. Crystal blue, no waves, amazing skies. Then, you turn to look east and you see the poverty, the dirt, pollution and litter (SO much litter). It's absolutely day and night. As much as I like to think I have an ounce of humanity in me, I never wanted to look eastward. Interacting with local Jamaicans is also difficult, because they are always scheming, even the children. You think you are having a friendly conversation, and when you finally tire of the local's incessant "helpfullness" and pull away, they ask for money or cigarettes. I caught on to this quite early, it took LDG 4 or 5 experiences, and even then he was more ok with it than me. Our last evening there, he and I were sitting on the beach, right at the water's edge, watching the sunset. This cute local kid came up and started talking to us, then his brother and nephew arrived as well. Mario hung out with us for about 10 minutes before pointing to his mouth saying he was starving, and could we use our all-inclusive bands to get him some food. His pals were violently splashing in the water in front of us, one of them knocked over my drink, and I had finally lost all island patience. "Gwon now" I said, Jamaican style, "that's enough, now gwon home!" I must have said it 10 times! They didn't move, so I dragged the beach chair they had set their clothes on to the end of the resort's beach territory. They still didn't move, but at least they were leaving us alone. LDG says he's the good cop and I'm the bad cop. He's totally right. I was also the bad cop with the non-working a/c, and the missing towels, AND the unchanged sheets on the bed.
I didn't venture into the ocean much at the beach, mainly because of the hyper-active sardines. The first and only trip into the ocean off of the beach, Bride and I were standing chin deep in the water, and she was pontificating on how amazing it was that we are both now connected to the Dutch family on the beach. And then it bumped me. A fish. I screached. Then another bumped me. We started swimming back to shore, as every time I put my foot down, either a crab snapped at me or a fish nudged me, so we swam until we could sit our asses down in the sand. I was describing the shape and size of the water monsters when one came between us and scared the sh*t out of Bride. So we were out of the water. For good.
The last evening, as I said, LDG and I watched the sunset, and then went to dine at the dining hall along the beach. It was wonderful and sad at the same time. We sat on our balcony for one last Red Stripe together, listening to the insane night birds and the more insane taxis on the main road. The next morning we had a wonderful breakfast, I said goodbye to his family (who hopes to see me soon soon soon) and LDG helped me pack up. We were quiet; focused on the tasks and blocking the upcoming goodbye.
So the next step with LDG is that he's coming out here end of October for my half marathon, which he thinks he will run but I seriously doubt it as he's really out of shape (we ran like 1/16th of a mile on the beach and he quit before the end)! He's even talking about moving here, which I am a little worried about, so I plan on slowing him down in that department. Don't get me wrong; I love that LDG is already there. But Jamaica is a little piece of paradise, and although it was an excellent trip for us, it wasn't the real world. Even a visit for a week to SF or Europe won't really tell either of us if a larger commitment is right, because that's like "oh, cool, a week in SF/Europe!" You know what I mean? Seriously - do you know how good the shopping is in Europe and how fun the biking around is? I'd be swooned by that alone. Same goes for LDG over here. Too many good restaurants and new experiences to not fog the brain. Because SF can get quite foggy.
Location of Paradise: Negril, Jamaica
Speed of Paradise: SLOW SLOW SLOW. Don't bother being anxious or impatient about anything. A simple meal takes upwards of an hour. Enjoy it.
Season: Low Season (too hot for wicked fun)
Resort 1: Rockhouse Hotel
Resort 2: Coral Beach Resort
(If you want my opinion/rating of these hotels, pls add a comment, as I have much valuable and honest information!!)
Purpose of Mission: Wedding/Fun in the Sun
Coffee type: Jamaican Blue Mountain
Coffee rating: 10 out of 10!
The trip was awesome. I had a great time with the bride/groom and their friends and family. Even though there were 60 guests, Bride was tremendous at getting one on one time in with the people who are important to her, so none of us felt snubbed.
I arrived noonish day 1. Was escorted to my villa, which I shared with another "single," Kathy. The villa is a luxe Gilligan's Island thatch-roofed hut, with a 4 post bed on the main level and 2 smaller beds on the loft level. The shower is outside, off of the WC! I only turned on the hot water in the shower once the entire trip. I put my things aside, changed out of my required SF jeans, which were melted to my skin at this point, and headed out. Met up with the gang on "The Alter," a rock cliff overlook that would be the alter of the wedding. We hung out there most days, just to let the whole "wedding" thing soak in for our "never-getting-married-ever!" bride. We jumped off the cliffs into the water as well. Actually, I only jumped once. Because I jumped funny off that 15 ft high bridge, and did sort of a backwards belly flop, and got a big-ass water spanking. Broke the blood vessels below my butt and ended up with some gorgeous black and blues for the entire trip. Well done, Gertie, well done!
Evening of day 1 the majority of the European contingency arrived, shortly after dinner, completing the guest list. It was late, so mostly we just gathered in the open-air restaurant with beers sequestered from random mini-bars.
Morning of Day 2 (day before wedding) the word was out to most guests by breakfast that the wedding wasn't the only exiciting thing going on at Rockhouse Hotel. The wedding guests had heard of my and Long Distance Guy's "romance," and how we've been talking for a year, haven't seen each other for 2, blah blah blah. Needless to say we had a lot of Q&A sessions from people. Although we tried to enjoy ourselves, day 2 was the beginning of life under a microscope. Luckily, the petri dish was poolside on a cliff-top resort, so can I really complain?
Evening of Day 2 was a wonderful poolside buffet rehearsal dinner for all of the guests. Complete with steel drum reggae band and a rapidly melting ice sculpture (too fast too even identify what it was). The food was amazing: salads, mushroom sautee melting in your mouth, jerk snapper and beef, and open bar. The men took off around 9 for a bachelor party, and left all the ladies happily chatting at the pool. We all started off at 6 different tables of Euro and American (or American imports to Europe), but by the end of the night we were just one big blob of chatting women, in the dark by the pool, with bats occasionally swooshing by the flood light above the bar. We turned in early for the big day.
Apparantly, the men did, too. As I was all cleaned up and ready for bed, having my last smoke on my cliff-top verandah while listening to the lapping of subtle waves against the rock walls below, LDG arrived. He said the designated Bachelor Party club was gross, full of Negril prostitutes and mediocre vibes. Since my villa-mate was spending the nite in Bride's villa, LDG and I had our first sleep-over. And we didn't waste it on a recap of the Bachelor Party.
The Wedding Day (Day 3) was off to a great start when she and I and 5 other girlfriends went off for a breakfast at Aqua Moon Resort on the beach and a private chef made us whatever we wanted. Then off to Couples Swept Away Resort for massage and manicure. Got back to our resort and, while sitting on the verandah of Bride's villa eating lunch, she and I watched disappointingly as rain clouds came our way. It started raining, and Bride was bummed the wedding might not be outside. However, she was a really good sport about it! Shortly before the [delayed] wedding time, the skies opened, just in time for the most glorious sunset wedding any of us had experienced. Reception was great, complete w/after reception night swim.
Day 4, we had a "Recovery" brunch and then a chill day with the Newlyweds on the cliffs by the pool. I got stung by a water wasp in the boob while swimming through a cave. It hurt for 3 hours. I was disappointed to have the pain of a nipple pierce without the reward of the actual piercing. This was the day that LDG and I had "the talk," about whether I would leave the next day or stay on longer with him. I really wanted to stay; as I said before, we had been living in a petri dish since arrival and it would be nice to take that away. Additionally, LDG had done a few things that caused pause, and I certainly wasn't going to spend the time and money to go to Europe to find out whether those pausey things were his nature or a result of our environment. So I changed my ticket, and I stayed.
The next day most people left, and LDG and I, along w/his parents and other brother's family, moved to a beach resort for the remaining 3 days. It was door-knob-turning-equals- instant-sweat hot but I loved every minute of it. LDG and I chilled, ate, jet ski-ed, met with locals and chilled some more. We had a most excellent time. But you might want to know some other aspects of the trip:
Jamaican food is awesome; the produce is so fresh it's unbelievable. I had fruit and yogurt every morning (except the last day – fruit and French toast). The fish is also excellent and I had mostly red snapper dishes for lunches AND dinners. Couldn't get enough of it!
The difficult part about Jamaica for me was that you look out to the west, at the ocean, and it is the most glorious vision of peace, beauty and serenity one can know. Crystal blue, no waves, amazing skies. Then, you turn to look east and you see the poverty, the dirt, pollution and litter (SO much litter). It's absolutely day and night. As much as I like to think I have an ounce of humanity in me, I never wanted to look eastward. Interacting with local Jamaicans is also difficult, because they are always scheming, even the children. You think you are having a friendly conversation, and when you finally tire of the local's incessant "helpfullness" and pull away, they ask for money or cigarettes. I caught on to this quite early, it took LDG 4 or 5 experiences, and even then he was more ok with it than me. Our last evening there, he and I were sitting on the beach, right at the water's edge, watching the sunset. This cute local kid came up and started talking to us, then his brother and nephew arrived as well. Mario hung out with us for about 10 minutes before pointing to his mouth saying he was starving, and could we use our all-inclusive bands to get him some food. His pals were violently splashing in the water in front of us, one of them knocked over my drink, and I had finally lost all island patience. "Gwon now" I said, Jamaican style, "that's enough, now gwon home!" I must have said it 10 times! They didn't move, so I dragged the beach chair they had set their clothes on to the end of the resort's beach territory. They still didn't move, but at least they were leaving us alone. LDG says he's the good cop and I'm the bad cop. He's totally right. I was also the bad cop with the non-working a/c, and the missing towels, AND the unchanged sheets on the bed.
I didn't venture into the ocean much at the beach, mainly because of the hyper-active sardines. The first and only trip into the ocean off of the beach, Bride and I were standing chin deep in the water, and she was pontificating on how amazing it was that we are both now connected to the Dutch family on the beach. And then it bumped me. A fish. I screached. Then another bumped me. We started swimming back to shore, as every time I put my foot down, either a crab snapped at me or a fish nudged me, so we swam until we could sit our asses down in the sand. I was describing the shape and size of the water monsters when one came between us and scared the sh*t out of Bride. So we were out of the water. For good.
The last evening, as I said, LDG and I watched the sunset, and then went to dine at the dining hall along the beach. It was wonderful and sad at the same time. We sat on our balcony for one last Red Stripe together, listening to the insane night birds and the more insane taxis on the main road. The next morning we had a wonderful breakfast, I said goodbye to his family (who hopes to see me soon soon soon) and LDG helped me pack up. We were quiet; focused on the tasks and blocking the upcoming goodbye.
So the next step with LDG is that he's coming out here end of October for my half marathon, which he thinks he will run but I seriously doubt it as he's really out of shape (we ran like 1/16th of a mile on the beach and he quit before the end)! He's even talking about moving here, which I am a little worried about, so I plan on slowing him down in that department. Don't get me wrong; I love that LDG is already there. But Jamaica is a little piece of paradise, and although it was an excellent trip for us, it wasn't the real world. Even a visit for a week to SF or Europe won't really tell either of us if a larger commitment is right, because that's like "oh, cool, a week in SF/Europe!" You know what I mean? Seriously - do you know how good the shopping is in Europe and how fun the biking around is? I'd be swooned by that alone. Same goes for LDG over here. Too many good restaurants and new experiences to not fog the brain. Because SF can get quite foggy.
August 21, 2005
See Ya, Mon!
Well, Carmen Electra I'm not, but I'm off to Jamaica for a fab-o wedding and holiday anyway. See ya on the flip side...
Proud of My Nathan
Anyone who was ever a good babysitter loves to watch her "kids" grow up. When one goes astray, said babysitter can't help but feel a little accountable. It's in the cards, and it's hard to get over that "what did I do wrong raising ___?" playing in your head.
I did have one child who went astray, and her little brother is still a little lost because of it, but all in all I have a fantastic record. And it was such a pleasure to have that re-inforced tonight.
Yesterday I made a call to Bad Seed's Mom who continues to be a close friend of mine, just to check in on her upcoming life change, and a young man answered the phone.
Me: Is this "_______?" (Mom's son, AKA little brother of the aforementioned Bad Seed)
YM's voice: No, it's Nathan.
Me: Nathan ________???
YM: Yeah!
Me: It's Gertie!
YM: No way! Holy cow!
Summary: Nathan is another boy I babysat, along with his 2 younger brothers. He's 21 now. Apparantly he has been in the area and staying with the Mom while making a documentary during school break. He's in film school.
Since he goes back to school at the end of next week and (as I haven't said it enough already) I'm off to Jamaica, today was the only day we could meet up. He came to SF to meet me for dinner and WOW! What a handsome guy. And headed in a good direction. All those things that made him an adorable and impossible as a child are still there, tucked under a new maturity, and strangely working for him. He's affable, smart, a born salesman (thanks to his dad) and surprisingly unaware that he should have more confidence in how he is perceived by women.
We were both a little mesmorized by each other at first. We couldn't stop staring, probably because we both look the same but better. You know what I mean? He's all grown up, and I actually know how to dress and what to do with my hair now. We were mutually surprised.
I realized half way through that he still needs me to babysit him. Correction: I still need to babysit him. Now it's time for me to give him dating tips (the one today: "Hey, I'm European. That's how we do [/see/feel about] it."). Although, I think the "handsome, shy, not confident with women" current approach probably works for just fine.
I'm proud of my Nathan!
I did have one child who went astray, and her little brother is still a little lost because of it, but all in all I have a fantastic record. And it was such a pleasure to have that re-inforced tonight.
Yesterday I made a call to Bad Seed's Mom who continues to be a close friend of mine, just to check in on her upcoming life change, and a young man answered the phone.
Me: Is this "_______?" (Mom's son, AKA little brother of the aforementioned Bad Seed)
YM's voice: No, it's Nathan.
Me: Nathan ________???
YM: Yeah!
Me: It's Gertie!
YM: No way! Holy cow!
Summary: Nathan is another boy I babysat, along with his 2 younger brothers. He's 21 now. Apparantly he has been in the area and staying with the Mom while making a documentary during school break. He's in film school.
Since he goes back to school at the end of next week and (as I haven't said it enough already) I'm off to Jamaica, today was the only day we could meet up. He came to SF to meet me for dinner and WOW! What a handsome guy. And headed in a good direction. All those things that made him an adorable and impossible as a child are still there, tucked under a new maturity, and strangely working for him. He's affable, smart, a born salesman (thanks to his dad) and surprisingly unaware that he should have more confidence in how he is perceived by women.
We were both a little mesmorized by each other at first. We couldn't stop staring, probably because we both look the same but better. You know what I mean? He's all grown up, and I actually know how to dress and what to do with my hair now. We were mutually surprised.
I realized half way through that he still needs me to babysit him. Correction: I still need to babysit him. Now it's time for me to give him dating tips (the one today: "Hey, I'm European. That's how we do [/see/feel about] it."). Although, I think the "handsome, shy, not confident with women" current approach probably works for just fine.
I'm proud of my Nathan!
August 15, 2005
Visualize
A "wise" woman I work with speaks in cliches. It's mostly annoying, but it's also fascinating. She does it no matter the topic. Once she asked me if I had a boyfriend, and I told her about Long Distance Guy, who is more a cyber-boyfriend than a real one at this point, and she replied: "People who have long distance relationships live in fear of loving and being loved." Thanks. Fuck you! Are you right? That makes me feel inadequate. Ever since then, I almost fear attempting a conversation with her. Then again, I'm quite fascinated.
Cliche came to my running club on Saturday morning, and ended up in my minute/mile group. In small talk, which she ALWAYS makes big, I told her how impressed I was with our colleague who had just run a marathon without really training. This common act threw her into virtual cliche chaos. "Colleague has run several marathons before," she said. (Enter Cliche #1: Muscle Memory) Once your body has done an incredible feat, it remembers and can do it again. Do you know what Colleague did? (Enter Cliche #2: Visualize) She excercised her brain. She took out the route map every day and memorized it. She knew every mile of that race, every block, and she visualized herself running every step. (enter Cliche #3: It's All in Your Head) The mind is a powerful thing; it can make you or break you."
We went on for some time, running and me receiving cliches interspersed in normal conversation, and I was feeling more or less as if I am not living up to my potential. I burned her after the 3 mile mark, and for the next 3 miles I couldn't help but think that, somewhere along my road from childhood to 33, I had lost a significant amount of confidence.
For a long period of my life I felt I was destined for greatness. As a child I interviewed myself while taking a bath, using Barbie as a microphone, practicing for when I was so great that people wanted to interview me. In fact, I was sure that my big compassion and my little frame were going to end the Cold War. Back then and for several years thereafter, people told me I was a dynamic person. In college, my landlord told me he wished people could invest in people instead of the stock market, because he'd most certainly invest in me. All this fueled my ego and confirmed my belief in my destiny.
Trouble was, I didn't see the path to get there. I didn't even realize I needed a plan, I just assumed success.
A 5 year stint at a Fortune 500 company, in other words Life Itself, began to slowly erase greatness from my mind. F-5 probably started tearing away at it from day one, but hey, just because I'm smart doesn't mean I'm not naive. I thought I was supposed to be an international business powerhouse.
Since F-5, Life Itself has continued to put me through spin cylce. I've had to realize and accept that there are actually people I encounter on this earth who are smarter than me (imagine!), and as much as I can respect that, it also makes my confidence fold at times. After all, if there are people smarter than me, how can I still be exceptional? Every once in a while, Life Itself stops to let the water drain, and a big WTF about where my life and my destiny for greatness meet enters my mind.
Now I work for myself. It's one of the clarities that has come from the pause. My boss is really cool. But you know what she forgot to do? She forgot to visualize the path. She sees the success of the company, she sees how that success will allow her to travel when she's not too busy, she sees the ease of paying the bills. But she forgot to take out the route map every day, and she doesn't know every step it will take to finish. Damn that Cliche. Or bless her, I don't know which.
Cliche came to my running club on Saturday morning, and ended up in my minute/mile group. In small talk, which she ALWAYS makes big, I told her how impressed I was with our colleague who had just run a marathon without really training. This common act threw her into virtual cliche chaos. "Colleague has run several marathons before," she said. (Enter Cliche #1: Muscle Memory) Once your body has done an incredible feat, it remembers and can do it again. Do you know what Colleague did? (Enter Cliche #2: Visualize) She excercised her brain. She took out the route map every day and memorized it. She knew every mile of that race, every block, and she visualized herself running every step. (enter Cliche #3: It's All in Your Head) The mind is a powerful thing; it can make you or break you."
We went on for some time, running and me receiving cliches interspersed in normal conversation, and I was feeling more or less as if I am not living up to my potential. I burned her after the 3 mile mark, and for the next 3 miles I couldn't help but think that, somewhere along my road from childhood to 33, I had lost a significant amount of confidence.
For a long period of my life I felt I was destined for greatness. As a child I interviewed myself while taking a bath, using Barbie as a microphone, practicing for when I was so great that people wanted to interview me. In fact, I was sure that my big compassion and my little frame were going to end the Cold War. Back then and for several years thereafter, people told me I was a dynamic person. In college, my landlord told me he wished people could invest in people instead of the stock market, because he'd most certainly invest in me. All this fueled my ego and confirmed my belief in my destiny.
Trouble was, I didn't see the path to get there. I didn't even realize I needed a plan, I just assumed success.
A 5 year stint at a Fortune 500 company, in other words Life Itself, began to slowly erase greatness from my mind. F-5 probably started tearing away at it from day one, but hey, just because I'm smart doesn't mean I'm not naive. I thought I was supposed to be an international business powerhouse.
Since F-5, Life Itself has continued to put me through spin cylce. I've had to realize and accept that there are actually people I encounter on this earth who are smarter than me (imagine!), and as much as I can respect that, it also makes my confidence fold at times. After all, if there are people smarter than me, how can I still be exceptional? Every once in a while, Life Itself stops to let the water drain, and a big WTF about where my life and my destiny for greatness meet enters my mind.
Now I work for myself. It's one of the clarities that has come from the pause. My boss is really cool. But you know what she forgot to do? She forgot to visualize the path. She sees the success of the company, she sees how that success will allow her to travel when she's not too busy, she sees the ease of paying the bills. But she forgot to take out the route map every day, and she doesn't know every step it will take to finish. Damn that Cliche. Or bless her, I don't know which.
August 13, 2005
Do I Look Like Carmen Electra Yet?
I know most of you have been up nights wondering if I will look like my body goal girl - Carmen Electra - for my Jamaican vacation in one week.
Well, you can go on back to worrying about American troops in Iraq and skyrocketing oil prices (fyi my gas is now $2.99/gallon), because the answer is a resounding NO.
Doesn't mean I'm not happy with the changes, though oddly enough none of them have been on the scale. I know it's muscle replacing fat, but still I probably shouldn't have eaten almost an entire box of Cheez-Its yesterday.
Body news aside, nothing much new is happening:
I accidentally sat on a snail the other night. That was gross.
I spilled an entire grande coffee on the counter of the carwash place, and I mean entire. I hadn't consumed more than 3 sips.
I picked up the latest issue of Cosmo because I was interested in seeing what the "50 Ways to Be a Better Girlfriend" are so I can store them away for when I happen to have a boyfriend. Turns out, disappointingly, that the areticle was just advice quotes from girls all over the nation, ranging from 19 to 37. Lame.
I am wondering if I am the only one who spends more money preparing FOR a trip than during the trip itself (excluding trips to fashion capitals). Today I seemed to find it extremely important to have "island poolside jewelry." When I got home I realized I now require a couple cute pairs of sandals that will accentuate the poolside jewelry, and vice versa.
I like some of the jewelry so much, I am wearing a new chunky "poolside perfect" bracelet right now. What do you mean it doesn't go with my polarfleece hoodie?
Well, you can go on back to worrying about American troops in Iraq and skyrocketing oil prices (fyi my gas is now $2.99/gallon), because the answer is a resounding NO.
Doesn't mean I'm not happy with the changes, though oddly enough none of them have been on the scale. I know it's muscle replacing fat, but still I probably shouldn't have eaten almost an entire box of Cheez-Its yesterday.
Body news aside, nothing much new is happening:
I accidentally sat on a snail the other night. That was gross.
I spilled an entire grande coffee on the counter of the carwash place, and I mean entire. I hadn't consumed more than 3 sips.
I picked up the latest issue of Cosmo because I was interested in seeing what the "50 Ways to Be a Better Girlfriend" are so I can store them away for when I happen to have a boyfriend. Turns out, disappointingly, that the areticle was just advice quotes from girls all over the nation, ranging from 19 to 37. Lame.
I am wondering if I am the only one who spends more money preparing FOR a trip than during the trip itself (excluding trips to fashion capitals). Today I seemed to find it extremely important to have "island poolside jewelry." When I got home I realized I now require a couple cute pairs of sandals that will accentuate the poolside jewelry, and vice versa.
I like some of the jewelry so much, I am wearing a new chunky "poolside perfect" bracelet right now. What do you mean it doesn't go with my polarfleece hoodie?
August 08, 2005
Fire! Fire! The Aftermath
Okay, remember how Cloud 9 I was after the bonfire? Well, I have a feeling that fires won't be allowed on the beach for much longer.
Yesterday morning I was awakened bright and early, which we all know I don't like very much, by the sweetest old yeller of a dog, who was gently knocking at the hardwood floor with his tail.
Actually, I like it when I am up early, I just don't like to WAKE UP early. So already up and at 'em, I fed him and decided to take him to the beach. We arrived at 7:45 on Sunday morning, and I couldn't believe my eyes. The beach was trashed. Garbage everywhere, improperly doused fires (meaning they weren't completely doused), and food lying around that only Old Yeller could see, making our trip down to the water quite a workout.
Once you got down near the water, you couldn't see the trash anymore. But the tide was low, and it was a miserable sight to see getting to the water and heading back up to the car. I'm going to put a Missed Connection on Craigslist for the assholes that soiled our beach, but I doubt it will change any future behavior. That totally sucks.
Yesterday morning I was awakened bright and early, which we all know I don't like very much, by the sweetest old yeller of a dog, who was gently knocking at the hardwood floor with his tail.
Actually, I like it when I am up early, I just don't like to WAKE UP early. So already up and at 'em, I fed him and decided to take him to the beach. We arrived at 7:45 on Sunday morning, and I couldn't believe my eyes. The beach was trashed. Garbage everywhere, improperly doused fires (meaning they weren't completely doused), and food lying around that only Old Yeller could see, making our trip down to the water quite a workout.
Once you got down near the water, you couldn't see the trash anymore. But the tide was low, and it was a miserable sight to see getting to the water and heading back up to the car. I'm going to put a Missed Connection on Craigslist for the assholes that soiled our beach, but I doubt it will change any future behavior. That totally sucks.
August 02, 2005
published and counting down
Well, I don't have any great stories to relate but I know there are a few of you out there that like to check in and see what's going on.
On the New Business front, things are beginning to move. I am closing in on one year in New Business and the excitement of the first deal has waned, since the first deal has yet to appear. But things are happening here, we're closing in, and crossing fingers and praying and begging that the first deal will be in the super near future.
In other news I am published, however in no big way. I am a new member of my SF neighborhood's community advocate group, which puts out a bi-monthly newsletter to the 'hood about the 'hood (also good for New Business!), and I offered to write an article on the newest kid on the block: a surf shop. The newsletter came out today, and there I was!
Big City Name: also in the newsletter it showed the minutes from last month's Board meeting, which I attended. The minutes pleasantly announced I was invited to join the Board! So you may just be reading words from the newest member of the Cole Valley Improvement Association. My first task will be to get us classified as a 501(c)3 organization, so we can accept donations. Hoo-ha! I love researching that kind of shit. Look out, San Francisco, I'm getting active.
Speaking of active, I've been kicking up my half-marathon training. Not adding more days, which is probably hurting me, but making the 2 runs each week further, faster, longer. Ran 6.5 on Sunday and a fast 5 today, with 8 planned for Saturday. I'll take the 8 pretty slow, since it will be my longest run ever.
The count down is on for the vacation, which is more of the reason hard-ass running than the half marathon. To be honest, I know I won't transform in the next 3 weeks into Carmen Electra, but a girl can try. Next week I will start doing full-on body prep to doll myself up and make the vacation easier to handle, such as tanning sessions to prevent burning and scaring the rest of the vacationers who might think I am a Finnish albino. Also on the calendar is the all important bikini wax, cleaning up the haircut, a mani-pedi and scouring all the surf shops in SF for the Best Bikini Ever (for which no expense will be spared).
As the vacation was not my choice, but rather a wedding invitation I was happy to accept, I am also in charge of procuring the garter for the bride. In case you were wondering, if you ever attempt to find a garter in Australia, you will find, as this bride has, that they are all frilly and blue. Frilly and blue happens to be absolutely unacceptable, so I am on task.
I know this is not the most amusing post I've ever written. But whatever. Thought you might like to know what's up.
On the New Business front, things are beginning to move. I am closing in on one year in New Business and the excitement of the first deal has waned, since the first deal has yet to appear. But things are happening here, we're closing in, and crossing fingers and praying and begging that the first deal will be in the super near future.
In other news I am published, however in no big way. I am a new member of my SF neighborhood's community advocate group, which puts out a bi-monthly newsletter to the 'hood about the 'hood (also good for New Business!), and I offered to write an article on the newest kid on the block: a surf shop. The newsletter came out today, and there I was!
Big City Name: also in the newsletter it showed the minutes from last month's Board meeting, which I attended. The minutes pleasantly announced I was invited to join the Board! So you may just be reading words from the newest member of the Cole Valley Improvement Association. My first task will be to get us classified as a 501(c)3 organization, so we can accept donations. Hoo-ha! I love researching that kind of shit. Look out, San Francisco, I'm getting active.
Speaking of active, I've been kicking up my half-marathon training. Not adding more days, which is probably hurting me, but making the 2 runs each week further, faster, longer. Ran 6.5 on Sunday and a fast 5 today, with 8 planned for Saturday. I'll take the 8 pretty slow, since it will be my longest run ever.
The count down is on for the vacation, which is more of the reason hard-ass running than the half marathon. To be honest, I know I won't transform in the next 3 weeks into Carmen Electra, but a girl can try. Next week I will start doing full-on body prep to doll myself up and make the vacation easier to handle, such as tanning sessions to prevent burning and scaring the rest of the vacationers who might think I am a Finnish albino. Also on the calendar is the all important bikini wax, cleaning up the haircut, a mani-pedi and scouring all the surf shops in SF for the Best Bikini Ever (for which no expense will be spared).
As the vacation was not my choice, but rather a wedding invitation I was happy to accept, I am also in charge of procuring the garter for the bride. In case you were wondering, if you ever attempt to find a garter in Australia, you will find, as this bride has, that they are all frilly and blue. Frilly and blue happens to be absolutely unacceptable, so I am on task.
I know this is not the most amusing post I've ever written. But whatever. Thought you might like to know what's up.
July 30, 2005
Gotta Be Kidding
You all may think I like to bitch a lot. But I just have to say, how hard is it to view an ENTIRE SF transit map???
I noticed this yesterday when I was walking in a heavily trafficked tourist area. There are these lovely parisienne style kiosks on the streets that offer post transit maps. But only for part of the City. I wondered when I walked by one of these kiosks, what a difficulty it would be if a visitor to have flown into SFO, taken the Bart to downtown San Francisco, and then had to find which bus(es) would take said visitor to his uncle's house in say, the St. Francis Wood neighborhood. Because St. Francis Wood is not on the map portion available at the kiosk.
Now here I am online wanting simply to see if the bus line I think goes from my house to my destination actually stops where I think it does. I have gone to the transit website and, of course, same portional maps, and a laborious "trip planner" that, after punching all my data in, still doesn't give me what I want.
Might I remind the transit powers that be, that this city is only 7x7. In my head I imagine there are only about 10 bus lines (ok there may be many more, but they are the only ones I notice). Can't we make a goddamn map that includes them all? Again, I urge you f*ckers to look at other cities that actually know how to provide information to transit riders. The maps in Paris work just fine, thank you, as well at of course NYC. Come on.
It's 3:37, wrote this post at 2:51. I just found a complete sf transit map online.
I noticed this yesterday when I was walking in a heavily trafficked tourist area. There are these lovely parisienne style kiosks on the streets that offer post transit maps. But only for part of the City. I wondered when I walked by one of these kiosks, what a difficulty it would be if a visitor to have flown into SFO, taken the Bart to downtown San Francisco, and then had to find which bus(es) would take said visitor to his uncle's house in say, the St. Francis Wood neighborhood. Because St. Francis Wood is not on the map portion available at the kiosk.
Now here I am online wanting simply to see if the bus line I think goes from my house to my destination actually stops where I think it does. I have gone to the transit website and, of course, same portional maps, and a laborious "trip planner" that, after punching all my data in, still doesn't give me what I want.
Might I remind the transit powers that be, that this city is only 7x7. In my head I imagine there are only about 10 bus lines (ok there may be many more, but they are the only ones I notice). Can't we make a goddamn map that includes them all? Again, I urge you f*ckers to look at other cities that actually know how to provide information to transit riders. The maps in Paris work just fine, thank you, as well at of course NYC. Come on.
It's 3:37, wrote this post at 2:51. I just found a complete sf transit map online.
Fire! Fire!
There's nothing like being invited to a July bonfire at one of San Francisco's beaches. Upon invitation, one immediately pulls out the essential sub-zero clothing kept in the back of the closet for those chilly early spring camping trips, or, in more rare cases, for beach bonfires during SF's summer. Yes, yes, I too contemplate why on earth people want to live here as well as why the hell the median home price is $678,000.
Preparation for such an event requires thorough planning. Flip flops are not an option unless you are interested in frostbite. Jeans are mandatory, as are several upper body layers. But tonight had a sense of unusual in the air, so the layering was done one at a time; each added layer took a test drive on the fire escape to ensure the perfect balance between not too cold and not burning up. Final compilation included a long sleeved tee, a full crew mid-weight sweater with an additional v-neck mid-weight sweater over that (oh how fashionable). Topping it off was a vest and knit hat option tucked away in the shoulder bag.
It is magical to land on the almost-boardwalk and see the tide under the haze of fog and 20 orange sparsely glowing fires. And the fun part about beach bonfires is finding which one of the 20 out there belongs to your tribe. Given a beach point-of-entry clue eliminates the guesswork down to about 8 fires. Trudging through the sand on your sea air high, you pass each group and assess vocal and body language. Not mine. Not mine. Not mine but looks fun. Not mine thank God. Is that Jeremy's voice? Yes, that's definitely Jeremy. Here we are.
The 7th fire was ours, and after greeting the few of 23 people we were familiar with, we set down a blanket and got busy with mixing drinks. We were on notice that alcohol has been recently banned from the beach at night, and that the police were patrolling in offroad mini-jeeps for violators. Therefore, our final drink choice was coffee and Kahlua - hard to detect, and we thought it might take the expected chill off.
The weather was actually mild. One could even say it was pleasant. I never added the vest or the cap. The wind was low, the fog was thin, and the fire was HUGE. We even had a fire dancer (thanks, Burning Man)!
There is nothing like the smell of yummie campfire good. Personally, I think it's one of the best unisex scents available. Better than CKOne, which is rather plain in comparison. Anyway, we were the last ones left at our fire, I didn't want to leave, but the rest of my gang was ragged from the week and so we kicked sand on the last embers and I arrived home at about 2:30. I had only intended to stay until midnite, but it was so good, so damn good.
Preparation for such an event requires thorough planning. Flip flops are not an option unless you are interested in frostbite. Jeans are mandatory, as are several upper body layers. But tonight had a sense of unusual in the air, so the layering was done one at a time; each added layer took a test drive on the fire escape to ensure the perfect balance between not too cold and not burning up. Final compilation included a long sleeved tee, a full crew mid-weight sweater with an additional v-neck mid-weight sweater over that (oh how fashionable). Topping it off was a vest and knit hat option tucked away in the shoulder bag.
It is magical to land on the almost-boardwalk and see the tide under the haze of fog and 20 orange sparsely glowing fires. And the fun part about beach bonfires is finding which one of the 20 out there belongs to your tribe. Given a beach point-of-entry clue eliminates the guesswork down to about 8 fires. Trudging through the sand on your sea air high, you pass each group and assess vocal and body language. Not mine. Not mine. Not mine but looks fun. Not mine thank God. Is that Jeremy's voice? Yes, that's definitely Jeremy. Here we are.
The 7th fire was ours, and after greeting the few of 23 people we were familiar with, we set down a blanket and got busy with mixing drinks. We were on notice that alcohol has been recently banned from the beach at night, and that the police were patrolling in offroad mini-jeeps for violators. Therefore, our final drink choice was coffee and Kahlua - hard to detect, and we thought it might take the expected chill off.
The weather was actually mild. One could even say it was pleasant. I never added the vest or the cap. The wind was low, the fog was thin, and the fire was HUGE. We even had a fire dancer (thanks, Burning Man)!
There is nothing like the smell of yummie campfire good. Personally, I think it's one of the best unisex scents available. Better than CKOne, which is rather plain in comparison. Anyway, we were the last ones left at our fire, I didn't want to leave, but the rest of my gang was ragged from the week and so we kicked sand on the last embers and I arrived home at about 2:30. I had only intended to stay until midnite, but it was so good, so damn good.
July 23, 2005
Mind Over Body
I know this is not a "half marathon training journal," but sometimes the whole mind/body thing is all I can think about (but wait there's more! A glorious summer day and thoughts about a lady on the bus below!)
So you already know the training is doublely beneficial as I have the holiday I need to get in shape for, too, which happens before the actual half-marathon. As I mentioned in the last post I only have 4 weeks till the holiday and the body is not ready. Thus this week I ran a lot more than usual , and added abdominal and upper body workouts. No problem in my head, big BIG problem in my body.
My body quite simply doesn't want to do as much work as my head tells it to do. For example, I ran 4 hills today in 50 minutes (in non-runners terms, a torture run), after running 3 miles yesterday and 4 the day before. Both those days I also did ab and upper body work, and today my body was very upset. Especially because I am still eating like crap (note to new runners: Cheez-its have no nutritional value). Oh, it let me finish the 4 hills alright. But did it hate walking heavy bags up one flight of stairs? Yes. Did it make walking in the sand today more laborious than normal? Yes. Did it like that I drank a few beers in the evening? Absolutely not. Did it then like that I walked 8 blocks to my friend's house, uphill? Hell no. Grumpy body. Now I am back home, it's 11pm, and I'd really like to do some upper body strengthening, but I feel faint.
Here's the incredible thing though, and you really forget about this whether you try to stay in shape all the time or just getting in shape once in a while. The body is an amazing thing. It will do almost whatever you ask whenever you ask it, and make up for the expenditure of energy later. Also, I've noticed changes in my body already, which is wild because I've really only been working out a week. But my Seven jeans just keep looking better and better. The only downside to my working out more is that my back fucking breaks out, no matter how well I scrub post workout. But you have to make a choice I guess - gee, do I want to have a white-ass jello tummy or look sleek what for a few bumps near my sports bra line?
On another note, you wouldn't believe what we had today. We had an actual summer day! In San Francisco! In July! I noticed it was warm during the 8 am hill run, but blamed it on my bad circulation and being out of shape. But when I got home there was a distinctly different feel to the air... it was WARM. Called a few friends right away and shouted "It's Beach Weather! It's Beach Weather!" 45 min later I was being picked up by N.C. and off we went to the beach.
What a glorious day. I mean, seriously, we don't get days like this in July. Which is why I was the whitest thing on the beach (how the others got so tan, I don't know). It was a nice 2 hours on the beach, just enough time not to get burned. On the way home I said to N. C.: "N, you know what kind of day today is?"
N: What kind?
Me: It's a Finnegan's Wake kind of day.
N: Well, after my therapy session today, yes, it will very much seem like a Finnegan's Wake kind of day
So later on when N.C. was done sorting some issues, we headed over to one of the few bars in San Francisco with an outdoor patio, complete with highly competitive ping-pong. Got a few beers and headed to the tables outside. Still sunny but the wind was coming in, and I called Mr. Barbados to see if he was in the hood to join us. Turns out he was at the OTHER outdoor bar, Zeitgeist, which we were planning on hitting afterward anyway.
At Zeitgeist I saw Mr. Barbados on his way out and we nabbed his precious seats outside. Hung out with an unsually social table and before I knew it it was 9pm. Still warm. In fact, in my 8 block walk the friend's house, I must have stripped half my clothing off (again, could have been that I was still exhausted from the running even after 12 hours. Seriously.). Brief visit to friend's house before almost tripping over a curb on my way home, right in front of a loaded passing bus. That's just me. Body takes over and decides it's time for a spectical, despite my mind's cluelessness to the upcoming event.
My bus finally came and I was all about checking people out. Gay guy. Gay guy. Gay couple. Lesbos. Mexican immigrant and obnoxious 6 year old daughter. Then. Someone that made me contemplate things. A woman, mid 50's. Obviously intelligent, could see her wheels cranking inside the forehead. Very proper. Very pert. Very extavagant rings on her fingers, but none of them telling she was married. A single lady mid-50's. Why's she single? She's nice looking. She's fit. Divorced? She more had the look of never married. Never married! Mid-50's! You know, as a 30 something single gal who knows 40 something single gals, we like to "be happy" with our singledom. Not that it's better or worse than being married, but simply we're OK with the way our life plan has evolved. But when I looked at this lady, I was kind of sad for her. I would think that if I am mid-50's and single, it would not be near as fun as being 30 something and single. I mean, I know I'm in a different place than my used-to-be-single-now-married-with-first-child girlfriends, but we can still relate on this and that. What about when we're mid-50's? And I'm the spinster! That would suck, quite frankly.
Anyway, in rounding up the theme for this evening, my body is now telling my mind to stop the damn typing and hit the well-deserved proverbial hay.
So you already know the training is doublely beneficial as I have the holiday I need to get in shape for, too, which happens before the actual half-marathon. As I mentioned in the last post I only have 4 weeks till the holiday and the body is not ready. Thus this week I ran a lot more than usual , and added abdominal and upper body workouts. No problem in my head, big BIG problem in my body.
My body quite simply doesn't want to do as much work as my head tells it to do. For example, I ran 4 hills today in 50 minutes (in non-runners terms, a torture run), after running 3 miles yesterday and 4 the day before. Both those days I also did ab and upper body work, and today my body was very upset. Especially because I am still eating like crap (note to new runners: Cheez-its have no nutritional value). Oh, it let me finish the 4 hills alright. But did it hate walking heavy bags up one flight of stairs? Yes. Did it make walking in the sand today more laborious than normal? Yes. Did it like that I drank a few beers in the evening? Absolutely not. Did it then like that I walked 8 blocks to my friend's house, uphill? Hell no. Grumpy body. Now I am back home, it's 11pm, and I'd really like to do some upper body strengthening, but I feel faint.
Here's the incredible thing though, and you really forget about this whether you try to stay in shape all the time or just getting in shape once in a while. The body is an amazing thing. It will do almost whatever you ask whenever you ask it, and make up for the expenditure of energy later. Also, I've noticed changes in my body already, which is wild because I've really only been working out a week. But my Seven jeans just keep looking better and better. The only downside to my working out more is that my back fucking breaks out, no matter how well I scrub post workout. But you have to make a choice I guess - gee, do I want to have a white-ass jello tummy or look sleek what for a few bumps near my sports bra line?
On another note, you wouldn't believe what we had today. We had an actual summer day! In San Francisco! In July! I noticed it was warm during the 8 am hill run, but blamed it on my bad circulation and being out of shape. But when I got home there was a distinctly different feel to the air... it was WARM. Called a few friends right away and shouted "It's Beach Weather! It's Beach Weather!" 45 min later I was being picked up by N.C. and off we went to the beach.
What a glorious day. I mean, seriously, we don't get days like this in July. Which is why I was the whitest thing on the beach (how the others got so tan, I don't know). It was a nice 2 hours on the beach, just enough time not to get burned. On the way home I said to N. C.: "N, you know what kind of day today is?"
N: What kind?
Me: It's a Finnegan's Wake kind of day.
N: Well, after my therapy session today, yes, it will very much seem like a Finnegan's Wake kind of day
So later on when N.C. was done sorting some issues, we headed over to one of the few bars in San Francisco with an outdoor patio, complete with highly competitive ping-pong. Got a few beers and headed to the tables outside. Still sunny but the wind was coming in, and I called Mr. Barbados to see if he was in the hood to join us. Turns out he was at the OTHER outdoor bar, Zeitgeist, which we were planning on hitting afterward anyway.
At Zeitgeist I saw Mr. Barbados on his way out and we nabbed his precious seats outside. Hung out with an unsually social table and before I knew it it was 9pm. Still warm. In fact, in my 8 block walk the friend's house, I must have stripped half my clothing off (again, could have been that I was still exhausted from the running even after 12 hours. Seriously.). Brief visit to friend's house before almost tripping over a curb on my way home, right in front of a loaded passing bus. That's just me. Body takes over and decides it's time for a spectical, despite my mind's cluelessness to the upcoming event.
My bus finally came and I was all about checking people out. Gay guy. Gay guy. Gay couple. Lesbos. Mexican immigrant and obnoxious 6 year old daughter. Then. Someone that made me contemplate things. A woman, mid 50's. Obviously intelligent, could see her wheels cranking inside the forehead. Very proper. Very pert. Very extavagant rings on her fingers, but none of them telling she was married. A single lady mid-50's. Why's she single? She's nice looking. She's fit. Divorced? She more had the look of never married. Never married! Mid-50's! You know, as a 30 something single gal who knows 40 something single gals, we like to "be happy" with our singledom. Not that it's better or worse than being married, but simply we're OK with the way our life plan has evolved. But when I looked at this lady, I was kind of sad for her. I would think that if I am mid-50's and single, it would not be near as fun as being 30 something and single. I mean, I know I'm in a different place than my used-to-be-single-now-married-with-first-child girlfriends, but we can still relate on this and that. What about when we're mid-50's? And I'm the spinster! That would suck, quite frankly.
Anyway, in rounding up the theme for this evening, my body is now telling my mind to stop the damn typing and hit the well-deserved proverbial hay.
July 21, 2005
Vacation Countdown
Holy shit holy shit holy shit. I just realized the holiday is exactly 4 weeks away. My bikini body is far from visible. It is time to Turn. It. On. Hardcore. (Closing eyes) I am Carmen Electra. I am Carmen Electra. I am Carmen Electra... I am Car... Doh. That didn't work. Guess I'll be doing leg lifts while reading tonight. Gotta make it to a nice, firm 6. Come on 6!
July 15, 2005
Just Like New Sneakers
You know when you buy those new tennis shoes? They are so white. Even though you are not looking at your feet, when you are walking in them you still notice the flish-flash of their whiteness as you trudge forth.
That is kind of how I felt today, wearing my new Body By Victoria bra. I must have been wearing really bad bras lately, because all of the sudden my boobs are Va-Va-Voom. No joke. Just like with new tennies, even if I'm not looking at my cleavage, the girls are now very obvious in the bottom of my visual frame.
And yes, I think you can consider this a plug for Victoria's Secret.
That is kind of how I felt today, wearing my new Body By Victoria bra. I must have been wearing really bad bras lately, because all of the sudden my boobs are Va-Va-Voom. No joke. Just like with new tennies, even if I'm not looking at my cleavage, the girls are now very obvious in the bottom of my visual frame.
And yes, I think you can consider this a plug for Victoria's Secret.
July 12, 2005
Ha Ha Ha! Memory Lane
K.O.! I was just looking through Craigslist because I need some additional income to supplement the oh-so-many-times-afore-mentioned-new-business, and I had a funny memory.
Remember working at the Banana Republic flagship store? Can you remember that? Ha ha ha! I think we each made somewhere between $8 and $12 an hour. Ha ha ha! $12 bucks an hour! How absolutely ridiculous that is for the cost of living in SF. Folding sweaters. And then you turn around and some B*tch making way more than that had mussed up the work. The reason it came back to me is that, cruising Criagslist, I was excited to see an ad for sales associates for Zara. Not because I want to be a sales associate for Zara, but for the fact that Zara is coming (and apparantly very soon if they are seeking sales associates).
Zara is coming! Zara is coming! I love Zara. I love the concept of Zara. I wish I could live at Zara. Oh boy. I still dream fondly of my Zara purse I bought in Paris, after I moved up from the BR flagship to the Big Gap Inc and had started receiving a Salary and Vacation Time. Hell, they even gave us PTO and clothing discounts. Remember those coporate days? Well, yes, we'd like to keep them forgotten, Excel spreadsheet days, Spring '00 Walk-through days, and the out-too-late-have-to-take-cab-to-be-at-work-by-8:30 days especially, but I have to say at this point I almost feel like the living was easy back then.
Anyway, I don't really know the point here, because that purse was super-nice and it distracted me to remember how cool it was (RIP), but I think it had to do with Holiday 1997! The Front Lines! Unbelievable hours! All this for $12/hour! Good times. Good times.
Remember working at the Banana Republic flagship store? Can you remember that? Ha ha ha! I think we each made somewhere between $8 and $12 an hour. Ha ha ha! $12 bucks an hour! How absolutely ridiculous that is for the cost of living in SF. Folding sweaters. And then you turn around and some B*tch making way more than that had mussed up the work. The reason it came back to me is that, cruising Criagslist, I was excited to see an ad for sales associates for Zara. Not because I want to be a sales associate for Zara, but for the fact that Zara is coming (and apparantly very soon if they are seeking sales associates).
Zara is coming! Zara is coming! I love Zara. I love the concept of Zara. I wish I could live at Zara. Oh boy. I still dream fondly of my Zara purse I bought in Paris, after I moved up from the BR flagship to the Big Gap Inc and had started receiving a Salary and Vacation Time. Hell, they even gave us PTO and clothing discounts. Remember those coporate days? Well, yes, we'd like to keep them forgotten, Excel spreadsheet days, Spring '00 Walk-through days, and the out-too-late-have-to-take-cab-to-be-at-work-by-8:30 days especially, but I have to say at this point I almost feel like the living was easy back then.
Anyway, I don't really know the point here, because that purse was super-nice and it distracted me to remember how cool it was (RIP), but I think it had to do with Holiday 1997! The Front Lines! Unbelievable hours! All this for $12/hour! Good times. Good times.
July 06, 2005
Gary Busey Goes Downhill
OK. Really. Truly. I'm not much of a Celeb follower (forget my Trista, America's Top Model, etc comments...). And most people don't consider Gary Busey as an "Of-The-Moment" Celeb. But for some reason, he was on some ABC late night show - what's his name - er, funny goofy guy... Greg Kinnear? No. I mean - Craig Kil...Hell NO!... this guy's not that Hot... I mean Jimmy Kimmel Live! Yeah! That Guy!
OK. Again. Really. Truly. Am I the only one that sees that GB is a little, well, off? I mean, the guys is N-U-T-S, far out, out of time, off sync, etc, etc. So he lost a little weight (due, apparantly, to the "weight challenge")... but doesn't he look a little obscurely anorexic at this point?
OK. Again. Really. Truly. Am I the only one that sees that GB is a little, well, off? I mean, the guys is N-U-T-S, far out, out of time, off sync, etc, etc. So he lost a little weight (due, apparantly, to the "weight challenge")... but doesn't he look a little obscurely anorexic at this point?
July 05, 2005
Happy 4th I Dare Say
I am not one to make a spectical of a spectical. Meaning, I don't like to post about whatever other bloggers typically post about, i.e. Holidays.
So let me say that this is not a post about Independence Day. It is a post about a much-needed Retreat Weekend.
That's right People. This weekend I headed north of the Foggy City, which didn't take much effort considering I left at 5:15pm on the most vacationed Friday of the year. Got to my destination just north of the Golden Gate in a mere 25 minutes... where the hell everybody was I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. E-Z commute to be sure, and a great start to Retreat Weekend.
Started off with a, dare say!, liesurely dinner with my bro and sis-in-law, and believe it or not, also with Mr. Colicky himself, my nephew. Great, quiet resto where the Indian-lady Owner decided that the best time to take said Nephew off our hands and entertain him herself was when the food was on the table. Dinner, to say the least, was pure spicey bliss, which is a surprise to anyone dining with a 5 month old child.
Next day I awoke to the habitually excited Happy-Go-Lucky labarador retriever of The Great Estate, who was terribly eager to spend some quality time with yours truly. We hit the trails running at a nice clip, and he was a good leash-less boy steadily matching my 9 min/mile.
Back at Great Estate, a quick shower before the ulitmate spa treatment - a hot stone massage. Which ended up to be not as "hot" as one would expect: never quite relaxed the super-tense muscles like they yearned so to be, but it was 60 minutes of gorgeous TLC, complete with a heated robe, spa flip-flops, a 'Quiet Room' complete with tea and New-Age music, and euculyptus facial. Yum.
A nice, quiet evening at Great Estate awaited, just me and the new MTV Real World (oh and of course Happy-Go-Lucky hogging the couch), the only call to duty was dealing with the incessant march of ants onto the cat food, which was easily dealt with by a few Raid Ant Motels purchased after the morning run.
Gosh, Sunday, all to myself. With the sun shining and Happy-Go-Lucky, what's not to love? Caught a few breezy waves of sunshine in the patio (first - gasp - flesh meets sun since who knows when - and it's ensuing sunburn) before heading to the folks for a mellow BBQ.
Then! To top it all off! Another day off! Which I took full advantage of, by taking myself and Happy-Go-Lucky on a 5 mile walk, complete with coffee break at the half-way point. Talked to a retired professor who thought I played tennis (must have been the Yacht Club visor and the newly crispy shoulders), and bumped into a good friend's half-sister who happened to be watching her husband racing sailboats from the shore. Gotta love this place.
To finish out the day, headed further north to a 4th party, which happened to be even sunnier and warmer than The Great Estate. People were still in the pool until 7:30 pm! This, to my virgin-tour-in-shorts legs was a complete shocker. It's amazing that 8 miles north of San Francisco you can be in a bikini. 8 miles! Bikini! Of course, I should know this, being originally from there...
We heard booming fireworks in the distance, but didn't bother moving to the front of the house to see the man-made stars. The ambiance of the pool patio lit by candle-light was more enticing. All in all, the whole weekend was fabulously warm. Warm warm warm, on so many levels. When your summer feels like Alaska in winter, anything warm is an appreciated gift.
So it is Tuesday evening; the fog swooped into SF early on it's ocean breeze and plans to stick around. It's a bit on the dismal side, especially knowing the temperature difference between here and 8 miles away, but, isn't that always the case around here? Hrmph.
So let me say that this is not a post about Independence Day. It is a post about a much-needed Retreat Weekend.
That's right People. This weekend I headed north of the Foggy City, which didn't take much effort considering I left at 5:15pm on the most vacationed Friday of the year. Got to my destination just north of the Golden Gate in a mere 25 minutes... where the hell everybody was I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. E-Z commute to be sure, and a great start to Retreat Weekend.
Started off with a, dare say!, liesurely dinner with my bro and sis-in-law, and believe it or not, also with Mr. Colicky himself, my nephew. Great, quiet resto where the Indian-lady Owner decided that the best time to take said Nephew off our hands and entertain him herself was when the food was on the table. Dinner, to say the least, was pure spicey bliss, which is a surprise to anyone dining with a 5 month old child.
Next day I awoke to the habitually excited Happy-Go-Lucky labarador retriever of The Great Estate, who was terribly eager to spend some quality time with yours truly. We hit the trails running at a nice clip, and he was a good leash-less boy steadily matching my 9 min/mile.
Back at Great Estate, a quick shower before the ulitmate spa treatment - a hot stone massage. Which ended up to be not as "hot" as one would expect: never quite relaxed the super-tense muscles like they yearned so to be, but it was 60 minutes of gorgeous TLC, complete with a heated robe, spa flip-flops, a 'Quiet Room' complete with tea and New-Age music, and euculyptus facial. Yum.
A nice, quiet evening at Great Estate awaited, just me and the new MTV Real World (oh and of course Happy-Go-Lucky hogging the couch), the only call to duty was dealing with the incessant march of ants onto the cat food, which was easily dealt with by a few Raid Ant Motels purchased after the morning run.
Gosh, Sunday, all to myself. With the sun shining and Happy-Go-Lucky, what's not to love? Caught a few breezy waves of sunshine in the patio (first - gasp - flesh meets sun since who knows when - and it's ensuing sunburn) before heading to the folks for a mellow BBQ.
Then! To top it all off! Another day off! Which I took full advantage of, by taking myself and Happy-Go-Lucky on a 5 mile walk, complete with coffee break at the half-way point. Talked to a retired professor who thought I played tennis (must have been the Yacht Club visor and the newly crispy shoulders), and bumped into a good friend's half-sister who happened to be watching her husband racing sailboats from the shore. Gotta love this place.
To finish out the day, headed further north to a 4th party, which happened to be even sunnier and warmer than The Great Estate. People were still in the pool until 7:30 pm! This, to my virgin-tour-in-shorts legs was a complete shocker. It's amazing that 8 miles north of San Francisco you can be in a bikini. 8 miles! Bikini! Of course, I should know this, being originally from there...
We heard booming fireworks in the distance, but didn't bother moving to the front of the house to see the man-made stars. The ambiance of the pool patio lit by candle-light was more enticing. All in all, the whole weekend was fabulously warm. Warm warm warm, on so many levels. When your summer feels like Alaska in winter, anything warm is an appreciated gift.
So it is Tuesday evening; the fog swooped into SF early on it's ocean breeze and plans to stick around. It's a bit on the dismal side, especially knowing the temperature difference between here and 8 miles away, but, isn't that always the case around here? Hrmph.
June 29, 2005
Vive Les Touristes!
The tourists are coming! The tourists are coming! And according to a leftover hippie I had to patiently wait in line behind at the Haight Street Smoke Shop (which carries cigs for a mere $3.75 a pack), the French tourists are coming, and he thinks they are the worst kind.
Most importantly, I have to tell you that this: hippie-still-here-from-the-Summer-of-Love did a complete Jedi mind trick. After I finally pummeled through a group of tourists at the door and arrived at the counter, Leftover Hippie was engrossed in a one way conversation with the clerk. He was going on and on about a hand injury, which was causing him to be extremely slow to draw the money out and hand it over (in my opinion the problem wasn't his hand, but I digress). Then he continued his ramble, enlightening the bored and desparate clerk on how impatient other customers get while he tries the best he can to manage his hand dexterity just enough to pull out and set down money. I am about to start fidgeting exageratingly and huff and puff, because he obviously doesn't see me waiting, when his word (impatient... impatient.... impatient) starts to soak into my brain. So I don't fidget, and I don't huff and puff, and I stand idly by. Jedi Mindtrick!
Leftover Hippie starts pontificating on the tragedy of the arriving French tourists, but the clerk is Over It, decides to completely ingnore him, and helps me instead. Thank you Mr. Clerk!
By the by, French tourists happen to be my favorite kind, being a francophile and all. Alors, bienvenue, et vive les touristes!
Most importantly, I have to tell you that this: hippie-still-here-from-the-Summer-of-Love did a complete Jedi mind trick. After I finally pummeled through a group of tourists at the door and arrived at the counter, Leftover Hippie was engrossed in a one way conversation with the clerk. He was going on and on about a hand injury, which was causing him to be extremely slow to draw the money out and hand it over (in my opinion the problem wasn't his hand, but I digress). Then he continued his ramble, enlightening the bored and desparate clerk on how impatient other customers get while he tries the best he can to manage his hand dexterity just enough to pull out and set down money. I am about to start fidgeting exageratingly and huff and puff, because he obviously doesn't see me waiting, when his word (impatient... impatient.... impatient) starts to soak into my brain. So I don't fidget, and I don't huff and puff, and I stand idly by. Jedi Mindtrick!
Leftover Hippie starts pontificating on the tragedy of the arriving French tourists, but the clerk is Over It, decides to completely ingnore him, and helps me instead. Thank you Mr. Clerk!
By the by, French tourists happen to be my favorite kind, being a francophile and all. Alors, bienvenue, et vive les touristes!
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