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!
June 29, 2005
June 27, 2005
This Old Hag
Well you can rest easy People. I won't be blaring the fact that I am 32 to you anymore. Because I'm 33 as of Saturday.
And I have something to report! I am OUT OF SHAPE! Holy cow I am out of shape. I could never have imagined I am actually this out of shape. The proof? Surfing. I went surfing for 1 hour (count them: 60 measley minutes) for my birthday. Fun, small waves, easy for a beginner. And my upper body is d e a d. Sunday was excruciating whenever I used my arms (try going a full day without using your arms ha ha ha). By today, I can manage better but I am still sore.
It's funny that I can run 7 miles without much difficulty but after an hour of paddling myself to and fro on a floating board I can't seem to lift my arms higher than my collar bone. So now, on top of beginning my training for a half marathon (Nike Women's Marathon), I will start some upper body workout. Maybe surfing. After all, you obviously have no idea how hard you are working out until the next day!
And I have something to report! I am OUT OF SHAPE! Holy cow I am out of shape. I could never have imagined I am actually this out of shape. The proof? Surfing. I went surfing for 1 hour (count them: 60 measley minutes) for my birthday. Fun, small waves, easy for a beginner. And my upper body is d e a d. Sunday was excruciating whenever I used my arms (try going a full day without using your arms ha ha ha). By today, I can manage better but I am still sore.
It's funny that I can run 7 miles without much difficulty but after an hour of paddling myself to and fro on a floating board I can't seem to lift my arms higher than my collar bone. So now, on top of beginning my training for a half marathon (Nike Women's Marathon), I will start some upper body workout. Maybe surfing. After all, you obviously have no idea how hard you are working out until the next day!
June 24, 2005
For You
For those of you that offered spiritual and emotional support, and those who are always sending me ESP wishes for success, thank you! You'll be happy to know that I am back to myself and feeling great! And tomorrow I have a surf lesson!
June 21, 2005
Cracking
I have a tough facade. Unbreakable. But lately I have begun to crack.
Mounting pressures of a flailing business venture, my best friend and closest confidant in a far-away land, and feeling for the first time in my social but alone life very much alone, today I was feeling close to the bottom. Since I can't afford a day at a retreat spa, complete with Swedish massage and windchimes in the vacuous hot air of Napa Valley, I decided to throw on my sneakers and walk 3 miles to the ocean.
Chatting on the phone with a friend on the way there, I finally, at the end of the conversation, began to let someone other than my soul sister know the pressure I have been under. But then I remembered that on the other end of the line was not only my friend, but a mother of a 5 month old baby who was starting to prepare dinner for her family. So with a wobbly voice and strong "OK!" I let her go.
I walked around the bend and there was the ocean, huge and sparkling and swelling beyond the retaining wall. It enveloped my entire vision, and then it blurred with salty tears. I couldn't wait to sit on the beach and reflect, let it out, compose myself.
But I couldn't do anything but sit. There were other people on the beach. Basically, there was no place I could go on that span of sand where no one else was. When you're looking for a quiet place for introspection, having high school lovers near you and happy naive children in front of you screaming at the chasing waves, it's just not possible. So after an hour of trying really hard not to see anyone else, and only crying an iota of the amount required to feel better, I began my walk back.
Trudging through the park my eyes were burdened and tingly with un-released tears. My mouth in permanent frown, jaw tight, brow furrowed. The ocean hadn't calmed me. I would spot a lush reclusive area and consider just sitting there, but then I would think it's still too close to the noisy road, and if I went deeper into the park I'd be killed by the homeless clans that live in the park's depths. I trudged on.
Then something ridiculous happened. I walked under a sprawling canopy of pine trees filled with cawing crows. Ahead of me a few feet was a crow in the grass, and he was looking intently at the ground while talking to his friend in the tree. His friend would answer back. I watched the crow on the ground to try to figure out what he was looking at, and decided he was fighting with a gopher over something to eat and his friend in the tree was giving him advice.
A few yards later I realized that my eyes didn't feel burdened anymore and my mood was slightly lifted. And I whirled with amazement inside because all I had done was watch a stupid crow. And that whirling lifted my spirits even higher. I felt like chatting with the woman walking ahead of me. I realized the early evening sun was still warm on my back and the wind, that incessant summer wind, had died. I breathed deep and was me again.
Mounting pressures of a flailing business venture, my best friend and closest confidant in a far-away land, and feeling for the first time in my social but alone life very much alone, today I was feeling close to the bottom. Since I can't afford a day at a retreat spa, complete with Swedish massage and windchimes in the vacuous hot air of Napa Valley, I decided to throw on my sneakers and walk 3 miles to the ocean.
Chatting on the phone with a friend on the way there, I finally, at the end of the conversation, began to let someone other than my soul sister know the pressure I have been under. But then I remembered that on the other end of the line was not only my friend, but a mother of a 5 month old baby who was starting to prepare dinner for her family. So with a wobbly voice and strong "OK!" I let her go.
I walked around the bend and there was the ocean, huge and sparkling and swelling beyond the retaining wall. It enveloped my entire vision, and then it blurred with salty tears. I couldn't wait to sit on the beach and reflect, let it out, compose myself.
But I couldn't do anything but sit. There were other people on the beach. Basically, there was no place I could go on that span of sand where no one else was. When you're looking for a quiet place for introspection, having high school lovers near you and happy naive children in front of you screaming at the chasing waves, it's just not possible. So after an hour of trying really hard not to see anyone else, and only crying an iota of the amount required to feel better, I began my walk back.
Trudging through the park my eyes were burdened and tingly with un-released tears. My mouth in permanent frown, jaw tight, brow furrowed. The ocean hadn't calmed me. I would spot a lush reclusive area and consider just sitting there, but then I would think it's still too close to the noisy road, and if I went deeper into the park I'd be killed by the homeless clans that live in the park's depths. I trudged on.
Then something ridiculous happened. I walked under a sprawling canopy of pine trees filled with cawing crows. Ahead of me a few feet was a crow in the grass, and he was looking intently at the ground while talking to his friend in the tree. His friend would answer back. I watched the crow on the ground to try to figure out what he was looking at, and decided he was fighting with a gopher over something to eat and his friend in the tree was giving him advice.
A few yards later I realized that my eyes didn't feel burdened anymore and my mood was slightly lifted. And I whirled with amazement inside because all I had done was watch a stupid crow. And that whirling lifted my spirits even higher. I felt like chatting with the woman walking ahead of me. I realized the early evening sun was still warm on my back and the wind, that incessant summer wind, had died. I breathed deep and was me again.
June 16, 2005
For the Sake of a Laugh
Aaah, San Francisco. Sometimes we residents think it is the closest to a European city this side of the Atlantic. We love that. Other times (after walking down Haight Street days before the Haight Street Fair, for example) we feel we live in a metropolitan toilet.
But! The Saving Grace! The Saving Grace is our city's finest party. SO big it's only put on every 2 years. Yes, People, I am talking about the Black & White Ball. With a high ticket price and a "who's who" list of attendees, it's a party that rejuvinates the soul with hope, desire and history.
However. One of my favorite local blogs, the SFist, has just published photos of the event, which took place last weekend. Either the tickets got cheaper, or they gave some away for free, or I just don't know what's "in" anymore, because look what they provided: http://www.sfist.com/archives/2005/06/13/sfist_paints_the_city_black_and_white.php
Enjoy.
But! The Saving Grace! The Saving Grace is our city's finest party. SO big it's only put on every 2 years. Yes, People, I am talking about the Black & White Ball. With a high ticket price and a "who's who" list of attendees, it's a party that rejuvinates the soul with hope, desire and history.
However. One of my favorite local blogs, the SFist, has just published photos of the event, which took place last weekend. Either the tickets got cheaper, or they gave some away for free, or I just don't know what's "in" anymore, because look what they provided: http://www.sfist.com/archives/2005/06/13/sfist_paints_the_city_black_and_white.php
Enjoy.
June 15, 2005
Hibernation
It could be that San Francisco's summers are like winters. It could be depression. It could be anemia. But People, I am sleeping a lot lately. A LOT.
Case in point: Last night I went to bed at midnight. Set the alarm for 6:45 am. Did the typical "hit snooze a few times" routine, but dodged out on my morning plans and ended up sleeping until...gulp... 11:53 am! What! That's like 12 hours!
I will admit to a chronic anemia problem - since my teens. But if this is a result of anemia, it's certainly affecting my body differently at 32 than it did when diagnosed at 17 (and the many years I've had to maintain it since). I don't feel tired during the day. But now I can't live without at least 9 hours of sleep. More would be preferable. What the hell?
Please note that anemia is not related to bolemia. Anemia has to do with the red blood cell count in your blood, the cells that carry oxygen throughout your body. Have low red blood cells, have limbs falling asleep a lot, and have excessive physical tiredness (especially after working out).
But like I said, I don't seem to have the problem with the limbs, and I haven't been working out much. But then again, I haven't been taking my required iron supplements either. Think I'll do that now...
I'm certainly preferring that this is a biological problem and not the afore mentioned emotional problems. Although work (or lack thereof in my new "sales" job) has been frustrating, as has been the uber-long-distance relationship gig, I would like to think that I am not depressed, and I am not being affected by San Francisco's complete lack of summer-ness. Suffice it to say that I probably need therapy, even if it is just to reassure me that I am not emotionally distraught in any way, shape, or form.
Case in point: Last night I went to bed at midnight. Set the alarm for 6:45 am. Did the typical "hit snooze a few times" routine, but dodged out on my morning plans and ended up sleeping until...gulp... 11:53 am! What! That's like 12 hours!
I will admit to a chronic anemia problem - since my teens. But if this is a result of anemia, it's certainly affecting my body differently at 32 than it did when diagnosed at 17 (and the many years I've had to maintain it since). I don't feel tired during the day. But now I can't live without at least 9 hours of sleep. More would be preferable. What the hell?
Please note that anemia is not related to bolemia. Anemia has to do with the red blood cell count in your blood, the cells that carry oxygen throughout your body. Have low red blood cells, have limbs falling asleep a lot, and have excessive physical tiredness (especially after working out).
But like I said, I don't seem to have the problem with the limbs, and I haven't been working out much. But then again, I haven't been taking my required iron supplements either. Think I'll do that now...
I'm certainly preferring that this is a biological problem and not the afore mentioned emotional problems. Although work (or lack thereof in my new "sales" job) has been frustrating, as has been the uber-long-distance relationship gig, I would like to think that I am not depressed, and I am not being affected by San Francisco's complete lack of summer-ness. Suffice it to say that I probably need therapy, even if it is just to reassure me that I am not emotionally distraught in any way, shape, or form.
June 08, 2005
If You Were Here
If you were here, these are the things I would do:
I would wake up smiling
I would watch less TV
I would look for and try new recipes
(You would wash the dishes)
I would have background music on in the evenings
(You would do all the downloading)
I would make sure the apartment always looked nice
I would buy more sexy underwear
I would cuddle with you on the couch
I would go to bed early
(Hopefully you would too)
But you know what? I should do all that shit anyway. FOR ME.
I would wake up smiling
I would watch less TV
I would look for and try new recipes
(You would wash the dishes)
I would have background music on in the evenings
(You would do all the downloading)
I would make sure the apartment always looked nice
I would buy more sexy underwear
I would cuddle with you on the couch
I would go to bed early
(Hopefully you would too)
But you know what? I should do all that shit anyway. FOR ME.
Trista Can't Move
In an only-somewhat-shocking twist to America's latest reality "hit" Dancing With the Stars, Trista Sutter got booted. Being as she used to dance for the NBA's Miami Heat, it's amazing she is so *stiff.* Hence the "only-somewhat-shocking."
The biggest shocks of the night were that a) Rachel Hunter was in the bottom two and b) that Evander Holyfield is still competing.
The biggest shocks of the night were that a) Rachel Hunter was in the bottom two and b) that Evander Holyfield is still competing.
It's Nights Like This
Ahh... It's because of nights like this that one loves San Francisco. I got home, ragged from work, and checked my personal e-mail at 6:03 pm. A new message told me that a friend's husband had some of his photographs up at a funky coffee shop in SoMa, from 6-7:30 that night. Being new in the sales world and needing to make all the contacts I can, with a huge sigh I changed into something cuter and warmer and hopped on Muni to attend the event.
Well, it was nice to notice upon walking in that this "coffee shop" also had a full bar. Yum. Event appearing to be a good investment of time. The event got more and more delightful as the boisterous crowd dissipated, and I found out from the owner that he isn't normally open on that specific night. SWEET! As Un-Swank as it is, it's a Private Party. Love that.
Even though there weren't free drinks, the bartenders were nice. AND, this party by no means ended at 7:30. At about 8:15 or so, the owner closed the door and the unbelievable happened...he pulled out some little plates and started smoking INSIDE. Said he was tired of dealing with the wind tunnel outside. Then he said "feel free." Feel free! To smoke inside! The bar! That is currently closed to the public! Yeeee-ha!
For any of you that have followed the blog so far, yes, yes, I know smoking is bad. And I think about quitting a lot. Just haven't met the decisive point of when I will consciously make the decision to do so. Therefore, I had a f*ckg fabulous time that night.
The oddest part of the night was that I ended up being a bit of a celebrity. Apparently, my friend and her husband holding the show thought it was a nice piece of trivia that my dad used to shoot photos for Playboy back in the day, and as much as I clarified that it was mostly "editorial," I had quite a few men come up to me and shake my hand. Which is quite odd, actually. I don't know how they register it in their heads, but coming up to a young woman and saying "Hi, I'm Troy. I heard your dad used to take pictures for Playboy and I just wanted to introduce myself. Kudos" isn't something that one knows how to respond to. Seriously. Is "Thank you" the correct response?
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