It just got even lighter. I feel like having one right now.
February 28, 2006
A Sound Worth a Thousand Words
Ah, if only I was a podcaster! You'd hear the insane rain that has been plaguing us all day here in SF. And the wind, practically blowing my windows off. To think just the other day I wore a skirt?? Or am I being lame; as I only wear skirts when it is affirmative I won't freeze my ass off.
February 26, 2006
A Ziplock Bag Surprise
When I arrived at my office on Friday, I had a voicemail waiting from my mother. It said "Hi. I left something for you in your left drawer."
This is not an unusual message. My mom, bless her [healthy] heart, takes a bus part way to work and walks the rest of the way. Oft times, she is able to walk past my office, walk by the receptionist with a quick "I'm Gertie's Mom," and wisk something into the top drawer of my desk. Before I am even awake! An amazing women, to be sure.
I really like the fact that I live so close to my parents. Now that I've moved, it's even easier to get to their house, down to 25 minute drive from 35. A hop skip and a jump to free laundry, dinner, and some nice catch-up time. Yes, I know I'm 33, but I still bring the whites to mom's house. She'd reprimand me if I didn't, anyway. I do it to appease her, not to save $8.
So, I get to my office, I hear the message, delete it and hang up. I write a few points about the other, more demanding messages. I sort through my worthless office mail. Then, I open the drawer.
Next to my myriad of free notepads is a freshly placed ziplock bag. Filled with something hot pink and a post it. The hot pink is my underwear. The post it says: "I don't know how to fold 'these things.' And I don't understand how you can wear them. Love, Mom." Ha ha ha! Even funnier - it's not the first time I've received a package like this. From my mom, I mean. Which is actually quite sad. Yeah... uh... the Jewish mom thing IS a reality. And the ziplock bag is proof.
This is not an unusual message. My mom, bless her [healthy] heart, takes a bus part way to work and walks the rest of the way. Oft times, she is able to walk past my office, walk by the receptionist with a quick "I'm Gertie's Mom," and wisk something into the top drawer of my desk. Before I am even awake! An amazing women, to be sure.
I really like the fact that I live so close to my parents. Now that I've moved, it's even easier to get to their house, down to 25 minute drive from 35. A hop skip and a jump to free laundry, dinner, and some nice catch-up time. Yes, I know I'm 33, but I still bring the whites to mom's house. She'd reprimand me if I didn't, anyway. I do it to appease her, not to save $8.
So, I get to my office, I hear the message, delete it and hang up. I write a few points about the other, more demanding messages. I sort through my worthless office mail. Then, I open the drawer.
Next to my myriad of free notepads is a freshly placed ziplock bag. Filled with something hot pink and a post it. The hot pink is my underwear. The post it says: "I don't know how to fold 'these things.' And I don't understand how you can wear them. Love, Mom." Ha ha ha! Even funnier - it's not the first time I've received a package like this. From my mom, I mean. Which is actually quite sad. Yeah... uh... the Jewish mom thing IS a reality. And the ziplock bag is proof.
February 21, 2006
A "Dan-dy" Update!
I don't know how many of you have been reading for how long. Sometimes, every once in a while, I read my old posts. Mostly because I think I am a big dork and wonder what message I am sending out to the world. Then again, if a tree falls in the forest, does anyone hear it? Wha? Earth to Gertie....
OK, my point being, I was looking for any references for the previous post, and stumbled upon my post "What About Dan?" As is clear in the post, my friend Dan is a pretty cool guy.
So! I am so so happy to report that he is engaged to a lovely young lady! (Not me, a different lovely young lady)!! I am so happy for them both. He has no clue about this blog, but I wanted to announce my CONGRATULATIONS to my really good friend.
See you at the wedding, CCHD (on occasion I call him Cold Clammy Hand Clavical Dan, but that's another story....).
OK, my point being, I was looking for any references for the previous post, and stumbled upon my post "What About Dan?" As is clear in the post, my friend Dan is a pretty cool guy.
So! I am so so happy to report that he is engaged to a lovely young lady! (Not me, a different lovely young lady)!! I am so happy for them both. He has no clue about this blog, but I wanted to announce my CONGRATULATIONS to my really good friend.
See you at the wedding, CCHD (on occasion I call him Cold Clammy Hand Clavical Dan, but that's another story....).
"The Italian:" Still Available!
I don't know if I ever told you about The Italian. [ed note: I just reviewed the archives, and I haven't.] This guy was a trip, and he was smitten with me for a while.
The Italian was steeped in his Jersey Italian upbringing. Parents from Italy, worked hard, bore 2 sons, worked themselves to death and died young. He and his brother raised themselves among the old school Italian-American community and the tough streets. Hence, the nickname. I don't know if you've ever seen Raging Bull, which I saw a few months after cutting The Italian out of my life, but he is the epitome of DeNiro's Jake LaMotta in that movie. Imaging dating that shit!
I met him at a 4th of July BBQ, where I don't even think he made an effort to introduce himself, and I didn't notice him for the first 3 hours. He finally spoke when we were both near the potato chips. Probably just small talk about chips.
Less than an hour later the BBQ morphed into a house party, and we got to talking a little more. And let me tell you, people at the party thought we were going to kill each other. They even verbalized it to us. Separated us at times! He made asinine comments and I called him out, then he yelled at me asking what the hell I was talking about and I yelled back that he was incapable of having a real, open discussion. This went on and on. And then he walked me home, tried to get me in a headlock several times, and then held my hand. Wha?!
I never gave him my number, but he called. "How'd you get my number," I asked, thinking he had called up the hosts of the party to get it. "You're in the book!" Oh, right.
He was the ultimate tough guy with a soft, very much protected heart. Completely incapable of holding a conversation, anytime I asked him something about himself he replied "whaddya want from me!" And that was that.
The Italian wore the same exact outfit every time I saw him. An old white undershirt, a black "police" belt, worn 501's (with the cuff up!) and black "police" shoes (with white socks! Warning! Don't try this in the milennium! It doesn't work! Unless you're over 60 in Florida!). Sometimes he'd mix it up by wearing a Kangaroo hat (white. Warning!) or a jacket or a flannel shirt, depending on the weather. Truth be told, I wanted to buy him a sweater. Just to see.
He was [not] studying Christianity at some um... what are those places that study Christianity? Oh yeah, he was at the Franciscan School of Theology (Roman Catholic studies, of course!). I kept asking him what he was planning to do once he finished and he replied "Whaddya asking me!" He never invited me over to his house, claimed to not have any material items, and was proud of the fact that he probably spent the absolute least amount of money of anyone living in San Francisco. Great. Spoil me, why don't you?
I was never really iterested enough to want to crack his code. I don't even think I feigned interest. But The Italian kept calling me for a long non-conversations or he would spontaneously happen to be in front of my building wanting to come up and visit. Most the time I let him. Most the time because I was home watching TV anyway. And he was exactly one ounce more interesting.
So this one time, I had had a really rough day, can't recall why now, this must have been a year ago or so. But I came home and I was treating myself to a very nice bottle of wine I had been storing for a special occasion. I decided that feeling like I just survived whatever I survived was a good enough occasion. I was enjoying my first glass when.... you guessed it! The Italian just happened to be downstairs!
I let him come up and offered him a glass of wine. He wasn't saying much, mumbled something about it being his birthday. And went to refill his glass. And refill it again. And... I finally said: "Listen, I'm glad you're enjoying the wine, but I really wish you'd slow down and enjoy it, because it is a $30 bottle of wine my dad gave to me - this is no cheapo shit here...." Apparantly that was enough to offend him and he shortly thereafter he excused himself.
A couple days later my phone rings and it is The Italian downstairs at my door. I am so tired of this by now, that I tell him I am working and it is not a good time. "I have something for you. Come down and get it. I'll leave you alone." So I go downstairs and he hands me a paper bag. I can feel that inside is a bottle of wine. I thank him and go back upstairs. I'm touched! That is, until I pull the bottle out of the bag and it is.... a bottle of Manischewitz. Only the worst wine ever. Traditional, yes, I'll give him credit for that. But drinkable? No.
Anyway, I think I ran into him on the street one day and looked like shit and was in a horrible mood, and I may have said something mean and that ended any further interruption of my life by The Italian.
Until tonight. Because my latest odd fun thing to waste my time with is to troll Craigslist for funny post titles and compile them into a list. (I only have a few so far, but if it gets good enough I'll share it here). Yeah, I know, lame, but that's beside the point. Point is, one that I clicked on was... guess who it was! Yep. Raging Bull himself. Now, in order to protect the innocent I am not linking the post here, but it just about blew my head off. And no, I didn't reply.
The Italian was steeped in his Jersey Italian upbringing. Parents from Italy, worked hard, bore 2 sons, worked themselves to death and died young. He and his brother raised themselves among the old school Italian-American community and the tough streets. Hence, the nickname. I don't know if you've ever seen Raging Bull, which I saw a few months after cutting The Italian out of my life, but he is the epitome of DeNiro's Jake LaMotta in that movie. Imaging dating that shit!
I met him at a 4th of July BBQ, where I don't even think he made an effort to introduce himself, and I didn't notice him for the first 3 hours. He finally spoke when we were both near the potato chips. Probably just small talk about chips.
Less than an hour later the BBQ morphed into a house party, and we got to talking a little more. And let me tell you, people at the party thought we were going to kill each other. They even verbalized it to us. Separated us at times! He made asinine comments and I called him out, then he yelled at me asking what the hell I was talking about and I yelled back that he was incapable of having a real, open discussion. This went on and on. And then he walked me home, tried to get me in a headlock several times, and then held my hand. Wha?!
I never gave him my number, but he called. "How'd you get my number," I asked, thinking he had called up the hosts of the party to get it. "You're in the book!" Oh, right.
He was the ultimate tough guy with a soft, very much protected heart. Completely incapable of holding a conversation, anytime I asked him something about himself he replied "whaddya want from me!" And that was that.
The Italian wore the same exact outfit every time I saw him. An old white undershirt, a black "police" belt, worn 501's (with the cuff up!) and black "police" shoes (with white socks! Warning! Don't try this in the milennium! It doesn't work! Unless you're over 60 in Florida!). Sometimes he'd mix it up by wearing a Kangaroo hat (white. Warning!) or a jacket or a flannel shirt, depending on the weather. Truth be told, I wanted to buy him a sweater. Just to see.
He was [not] studying Christianity at some um... what are those places that study Christianity? Oh yeah, he was at the Franciscan School of Theology (Roman Catholic studies, of course!). I kept asking him what he was planning to do once he finished and he replied "Whaddya asking me!" He never invited me over to his house, claimed to not have any material items, and was proud of the fact that he probably spent the absolute least amount of money of anyone living in San Francisco. Great. Spoil me, why don't you?
I was never really iterested enough to want to crack his code. I don't even think I feigned interest. But The Italian kept calling me for a long non-conversations or he would spontaneously happen to be in front of my building wanting to come up and visit. Most the time I let him. Most the time because I was home watching TV anyway. And he was exactly one ounce more interesting.
So this one time, I had had a really rough day, can't recall why now, this must have been a year ago or so. But I came home and I was treating myself to a very nice bottle of wine I had been storing for a special occasion. I decided that feeling like I just survived whatever I survived was a good enough occasion. I was enjoying my first glass when.... you guessed it! The Italian just happened to be downstairs!
I let him come up and offered him a glass of wine. He wasn't saying much, mumbled something about it being his birthday. And went to refill his glass. And refill it again. And... I finally said: "Listen, I'm glad you're enjoying the wine, but I really wish you'd slow down and enjoy it, because it is a $30 bottle of wine my dad gave to me - this is no cheapo shit here...." Apparantly that was enough to offend him and he shortly thereafter he excused himself.
A couple days later my phone rings and it is The Italian downstairs at my door. I am so tired of this by now, that I tell him I am working and it is not a good time. "I have something for you. Come down and get it. I'll leave you alone." So I go downstairs and he hands me a paper bag. I can feel that inside is a bottle of wine. I thank him and go back upstairs. I'm touched! That is, until I pull the bottle out of the bag and it is.... a bottle of Manischewitz. Only the worst wine ever. Traditional, yes, I'll give him credit for that. But drinkable? No.
Anyway, I think I ran into him on the street one day and looked like shit and was in a horrible mood, and I may have said something mean and that ended any further interruption of my life by The Italian.
Until tonight. Because my latest odd fun thing to waste my time with is to troll Craigslist for funny post titles and compile them into a list. (I only have a few so far, but if it gets good enough I'll share it here). Yeah, I know, lame, but that's beside the point. Point is, one that I clicked on was... guess who it was! Yep. Raging Bull himself. Now, in order to protect the innocent I am not linking the post here, but it just about blew my head off. And no, I didn't reply.
February 13, 2006
The "Hysterical"-ness of women
Ah... Hysterical. That's funny. Ironic, actaully. Well, it is funny or ironic to anyone who has studied greek comedy, drama, or history. Or rather, medical science.
"The term originates with the Greek medical term, hysterikos. This referred to a supposed medical condition, peculiar to women, caused by disturbances of the uterus, hystera in Greek." (via Wikipedia, don't hate; this is a general encyclopedic [?] description, look it up somewhere else if you didn't study it.)
And after watching "The Bachelor," I often get hysterical about the hysterical-ness of women. I do. Not only because I can admit to being part of it, but also because of the simultaneous comedy and reality of the fact that the origins of women's "hysterical-ness" is so damned true. We get really wack, don't we, when the right (or wrong) man comes along? Most importantly, in general, we just get wack. We get off kilter, which is one of the things that God's other creatures don't seem to have to deal with. Bless our "human intelligence" for that one.
Think on this: women are told that being confident in who they are will be attractive to men. At the same time, women get multitudes of advice on how to prove (gauaranteed!) to a man that they are confident in who they are. It makes me hysterical just thinking about it. Because most of the women who are out there being "confident in who they are" might just be good studiers who are faking it (because, at least we know a good man when we see one). Those fakers! Hrmmph. On Valentine's Day, even. Hrmmph! They're just trying to grab society's perception of what a "good man" is.
And so, coming off of a difficult relationship, where I gave as much as I could give, given my guarded circumstances, I am faced with the fact that the man thinks I am a bit (if not more) on the hysterical side of things. Damn uterus. And so, due to my apparant "hysterical-ness" and his apparent "man-ness," we are at a disgustingly grotestque-could-ruin-someone impasse. On Valentine's Day, no less. Damn.
Can someone either explain it's (the uterus') mysterious process to me or take it out completely? I am so tired of letting good men go.
On Valentine's Day, no less!
And so, to all of you out there who are fortunate enough to know a good thing when you see it, who are well enough to know that some kinks are worth straightening out, to the perfect people that don't have a clue what I'm referring to, I wish you all a very great and romantic Valentine's Day, full of hearts and flowers and dreamy eyes of the future, remiss of any hysteria. Cheers.
"The term originates with the Greek medical term, hysterikos. This referred to a supposed medical condition, peculiar to women, caused by disturbances of the uterus, hystera in Greek." (via Wikipedia, don't hate; this is a general encyclopedic [?] description, look it up somewhere else if you didn't study it.)
And after watching "The Bachelor," I often get hysterical about the hysterical-ness of women. I do. Not only because I can admit to being part of it, but also because of the simultaneous comedy and reality of the fact that the origins of women's "hysterical-ness" is so damned true. We get really wack, don't we, when the right (or wrong) man comes along? Most importantly, in general, we just get wack. We get off kilter, which is one of the things that God's other creatures don't seem to have to deal with. Bless our "human intelligence" for that one.
Think on this: women are told that being confident in who they are will be attractive to men. At the same time, women get multitudes of advice on how to prove (gauaranteed!) to a man that they are confident in who they are. It makes me hysterical just thinking about it. Because most of the women who are out there being "confident in who they are" might just be good studiers who are faking it (because, at least we know a good man when we see one). Those fakers! Hrmmph. On Valentine's Day, even. Hrmmph! They're just trying to grab society's perception of what a "good man" is.
And so, coming off of a difficult relationship, where I gave as much as I could give, given my guarded circumstances, I am faced with the fact that the man thinks I am a bit (if not more) on the hysterical side of things. Damn uterus. And so, due to my apparant "hysterical-ness" and his apparent "man-ness," we are at a disgustingly grotestque-could-ruin-someone impasse. On Valentine's Day, no less. Damn.
Can someone either explain it's (the uterus') mysterious process to me or take it out completely? I am so tired of letting good men go.
On Valentine's Day, no less!
And so, to all of you out there who are fortunate enough to know a good thing when you see it, who are well enough to know that some kinks are worth straightening out, to the perfect people that don't have a clue what I'm referring to, I wish you all a very great and romantic Valentine's Day, full of hearts and flowers and dreamy eyes of the future, remiss of any hysteria. Cheers.
Deep Thoughts
I wonder sometimes what we would have done before the double roll of toilet paper. I try to think back to those days of single rolls... but the for the life of me I can't recall.
I think the double roll is really just a fluffed up single roll. How else would I go through one every 4 days or so? And no, it's not due to my "frequency." Oh, and I'm still jealous of France's pink t.p.
I think the double roll is really just a fluffed up single roll. How else would I go through one every 4 days or so? And no, it's not due to my "frequency." Oh, and I'm still jealous of France's pink t.p.
February 11, 2006
Aah...Spring
Aah, sweet sweet Spring! For the last couple days, I have been waking up to bright morning sun and the birds-a-chirpin'.
An added boon: 70+ degree weather and clear blue skies that last and last, until well after 5:00 pm! Hoo ha! I love Spring. Well, I love this Spring, anyway. I think the Weather Gods of San Francisco are just making up for giving us no Spring at all last year and only letting us have 2 weeks of summer. In November.
An added boon: 70+ degree weather and clear blue skies that last and last, until well after 5:00 pm! Hoo ha! I love Spring. Well, I love this Spring, anyway. I think the Weather Gods of San Francisco are just making up for giving us no Spring at all last year and only letting us have 2 weeks of summer. In November.
February 07, 2006
"Something New:" Let's Go See It!
In the DVD rental world, it appears the "Previews" section of the dvd's haven't decided on a consistently defined idea of what a "preview" is.
If you must know my dvd rental viewing habits, first I watch the movie, then the Deleted Scenes, then the Gag Reel - always - even if I didn't like the movie. The few times I have selected "Previews," I have ended up watching previews of the movie I just watched. So a), why the hell put in a Previews section, and b), shouldn't it come up in the menu a lot closer to, or even maybe BEFORE, Play Movie? So since then, I rarely bother.
Anyway... I just finished my "dvd roll" of a flick and somehow wasn't tired enough of the movie to watch the previews of that same movie all over again. So I clicked on it.
But! Guess what? Here in the Previews section were ACTUAL previews of upcoming movies! Wha? (Note to self, even if you didn't love the film, add Previews to your dvd roll.) AND! Looks like a good one coming up:
"Something New." First of all, let's name a few of the hot hot cast: Australian looker Simon Baker (formerly of tv's The Guardian fame, for which he was the only reason I ever watched it), Donald Faison (first of tv's Clueless and now of Scrubs fame), Blair Underwood (no need to cite qualifications here), and one of my "Girlfriends" faves, Golden Brooks. Hello! This is gonna be good.
Second of all, well, I don't have a second of all. I just had to say "second of all" because I put "first of all" above. That thar is the rules of essay composition. However, if I did have a second of all, it would be.... if you're looking for a promising movie to see tonight, and in the line up you see "Something New" but you don't have a clue... it just looks really good. For a romantic comedy, that is. So let's go see it!
If you must know my dvd rental viewing habits, first I watch the movie, then the Deleted Scenes, then the Gag Reel - always - even if I didn't like the movie. The few times I have selected "Previews," I have ended up watching previews of the movie I just watched. So a), why the hell put in a Previews section, and b), shouldn't it come up in the menu a lot closer to, or even maybe BEFORE, Play Movie? So since then, I rarely bother.
Anyway... I just finished my "dvd roll" of a flick and somehow wasn't tired enough of the movie to watch the previews of that same movie all over again. So I clicked on it.
But! Guess what? Here in the Previews section were ACTUAL previews of upcoming movies! Wha? (Note to self, even if you didn't love the film, add Previews to your dvd roll.) AND! Looks like a good one coming up:
"Something New." First of all, let's name a few of the hot hot cast: Australian looker Simon Baker (formerly of tv's The Guardian fame, for which he was the only reason I ever watched it), Donald Faison (first of tv's Clueless and now of Scrubs fame), Blair Underwood (no need to cite qualifications here), and one of my "Girlfriends" faves, Golden Brooks. Hello! This is gonna be good.
Second of all, well, I don't have a second of all. I just had to say "second of all" because I put "first of all" above. That thar is the rules of essay composition. However, if I did have a second of all, it would be.... if you're looking for a promising movie to see tonight, and in the line up you see "Something New" but you don't have a clue... it just looks really good. For a romantic comedy, that is. So let's go see it!
February 05, 2006
Pressure
Well, I asked for it.
I was curious if my blog was just in outer space not getting read by anyone. Which, when I started the blog, was sort of the point: just a creative outlet. I only hoped, if anyone ever "Next Blogged" over to me, that it would at least be a little entertaining to read. But now that I've finally added a visit counter, figured out what tags are and how to add them to the post (that's a story in itself), and fellow blogger Clarified added me to her link list, I'm newly AWARE that some people actually read this.
Instantly I feel a pressure to perform! How old was my last post? OMG, that was not only lame but it actually asked MORE people to read. I must have been crazy! Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Since I have a few urgent crises in the material world, I hope no one minds if my coping mechanism for the time being is ignorance that you're there. I'll post when I want to post, damnit! Er, not to be impolite or anything. Thanks for reading.
I was curious if my blog was just in outer space not getting read by anyone. Which, when I started the blog, was sort of the point: just a creative outlet. I only hoped, if anyone ever "Next Blogged" over to me, that it would at least be a little entertaining to read. But now that I've finally added a visit counter, figured out what tags are and how to add them to the post (that's a story in itself), and fellow blogger Clarified added me to her link list, I'm newly AWARE that some people actually read this.
Instantly I feel a pressure to perform! How old was my last post? OMG, that was not only lame but it actually asked MORE people to read. I must have been crazy! Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Since I have a few urgent crises in the material world, I hope no one minds if my coping mechanism for the time being is ignorance that you're there. I'll post when I want to post, damnit! Er, not to be impolite or anything. Thanks for reading.
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