I'm an apparently intelligent, liberal, disgustingly generous, relatively well adjusted human being! So, can you believe I'm actually compatible with Dawn Summers? Well, if you read the part about her being like a "dribbling child," then yes, I'd say I could be a good influence for her. But then again, with that kind of test result, I totally think she bull-shitted the quiz.
See how compatible you are with me!
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey
March 29, 2006
March 23, 2006
Ramblings of a Thursday Night: A 16, High Heels and Sound Machines
After living in the Marina in SF for a mere 3 months, I can finally answer "yes, YES, I have eaten at A 16" to the myriad of people who beg me the question. I ate there tonight.
A 16 opened a while ago but it has only been in the last month or two that one could walk in on a Thursday without reservations and be seated. Yes, it's that kind of neighborhood, and some people are still surprised that chose I to live here. Since I was being treated to dinner (yay! I love that!), my dinner companion and I sat down at the bar and ordered a bottle of wine for our long haul of a wait for a non-bar table. The wine list was bigger than a college syllabus. I loved it, even though I made a boo boo and almost ordered a WHITE abruzzo instead of a RED abruzzo from the Multopulciano region (because I hadn't reached the RED section of the list yet). We ordered a 2000 abruzzo but it wasn't available, so they suggested another of the same year that was a few bucks more. Well worth it and fabulous.
We were seated about 1/2 way through the bottle and the menu was regional Italian and true to form (meaning, I didn't like any of the sides because they were all Italian bean-related, and everyone knows I hate beans), but I settled on a starter of house-aged ahi with artichokes and grilled bread sitting on a pool of virgin olive oil and sweet aged vinegar, and the small sized tagliani pasta with porcinis, proscuitto and pecorino. Dinner Companion went true Italian with the goat cheese, arugula and pine nut app with a lamb meatball main and a side of cannelini beans. The lamb meatballs were a tad greasy but otherwise heavenly. Even with my small portion of homemade pasta (you could tell), I was filled to the gills by the end. No dessert. I got up and went to the open kitchen for a moment to banter with the kitchen staff and applaud the meal, a few minutes after my return to the table we were gifted some sweet peachy wine champagne thingy. Don't know if it was leftovers from the outside party or a gesture from the kitchen, and it wasn't either of our style of drink, but it was super-nice all the same.
As usual, once I turned off Chestnut Street to head home, all the world's sound muted and I was back in The Quietest Urban Neighborhood Ever. It was so quiet that the click clack of my heels was the loudest thing going. So loud that, for the first time, I didn't oddly question my neighbor's use of a "sound machine;" a small round object that plugs in and offers up the quiet hush of white noise.
I've heard my neighbor's sound machine and thought "good God, how could anyone ignore that big white whirl of noise and find sleep?" But now, as I hear my heels echoing down a good 2 blocks both ahead and behind me, the sole sound around (ha ha), I think, maybe white noise isn't such a bad option, in this historically single-paned, double hung window place we live in. After all, didn't I just last night cuss out the random helicoptor that woke me up at 3 am as it flew overhead? And this morning also cuss out the garbage truck revving up to chuck trash into its belly?
And speaking of bellies, mine is pleasantly digesting tonight's scrupmtious meal (much to its chagrin, since it lost all sense of hunger during the break-up with LDG).
A 16 opened a while ago but it has only been in the last month or two that one could walk in on a Thursday without reservations and be seated. Yes, it's that kind of neighborhood, and some people are still surprised that chose I to live here. Since I was being treated to dinner (yay! I love that!), my dinner companion and I sat down at the bar and ordered a bottle of wine for our long haul of a wait for a non-bar table. The wine list was bigger than a college syllabus. I loved it, even though I made a boo boo and almost ordered a WHITE abruzzo instead of a RED abruzzo from the Multopulciano region (because I hadn't reached the RED section of the list yet). We ordered a 2000 abruzzo but it wasn't available, so they suggested another of the same year that was a few bucks more. Well worth it and fabulous.
We were seated about 1/2 way through the bottle and the menu was regional Italian and true to form (meaning, I didn't like any of the sides because they were all Italian bean-related, and everyone knows I hate beans), but I settled on a starter of house-aged ahi with artichokes and grilled bread sitting on a pool of virgin olive oil and sweet aged vinegar, and the small sized tagliani pasta with porcinis, proscuitto and pecorino. Dinner Companion went true Italian with the goat cheese, arugula and pine nut app with a lamb meatball main and a side of cannelini beans. The lamb meatballs were a tad greasy but otherwise heavenly. Even with my small portion of homemade pasta (you could tell), I was filled to the gills by the end. No dessert. I got up and went to the open kitchen for a moment to banter with the kitchen staff and applaud the meal, a few minutes after my return to the table we were gifted some sweet peachy wine champagne thingy. Don't know if it was leftovers from the outside party or a gesture from the kitchen, and it wasn't either of our style of drink, but it was super-nice all the same.
As usual, once I turned off Chestnut Street to head home, all the world's sound muted and I was back in The Quietest Urban Neighborhood Ever. It was so quiet that the click clack of my heels was the loudest thing going. So loud that, for the first time, I didn't oddly question my neighbor's use of a "sound machine;" a small round object that plugs in and offers up the quiet hush of white noise.
I've heard my neighbor's sound machine and thought "good God, how could anyone ignore that big white whirl of noise and find sleep?" But now, as I hear my heels echoing down a good 2 blocks both ahead and behind me, the sole sound around (ha ha), I think, maybe white noise isn't such a bad option, in this historically single-paned, double hung window place we live in. After all, didn't I just last night cuss out the random helicoptor that woke me up at 3 am as it flew overhead? And this morning also cuss out the garbage truck revving up to chuck trash into its belly?
And speaking of bellies, mine is pleasantly digesting tonight's scrupmtious meal (much to its chagrin, since it lost all sense of hunger during the break-up with LDG).
March 22, 2006
If I Could Dine With
I don't know how many of you actually subscribe to hard copy magazines anymore. Quite frankly, I only receive monthly magazines for which my mother gives me an annual subscription for Channukah. 99.9% of the time, they are cooking magazines. I get it, Ma!
Just kidding. She knows I'm a good cook. Yes, yes, I know the way to a man's heart. Unfortunately, I don't find many men I want to cook that well for.
Which leads me to Gertie's "non-tapping" meme (ha, yes, I looked around and you don't have to capitalize that... though, I still don't know the phonetic pronuciation). And that is... If I could dine with any person alive, who would it be?
I think I have mentioned this man before here. Probably several times, but usually it's late and I am either a little buzzed or exhausted to the hilt, so I can't right recall. But my dinner mate: Charlie Rose.
I mean, come on! How the hell did Charlie Rose get so lucky! His show! Have you seen his show?! This guy has his pulse on everything intriguing. I have never seen a Charlie Rose interview that I wasn't at least 82% interested in. I have never come away from watching a show in which I haven't been 100% impressed with whomever he interviews, especially because none of his interviewees has ever "um'd" or "er'd. (note to self: avoid um's, er's, like's and totally's. Especially around clients!)
Seroiusly. Wouldn't YOU want to have dinner with Charlie Rose? This guy has interviewed international royals; the most contentious and admired political leaders; the most controversial analysts and scientists and commentators on the state of whatever; he has interviewed writers, authors, directors, actors (both popular and obscure); he has interviewed legends of every subject. But most of all, he always does his research.
Oh, man, what I wouldn't do to have a long extended dinner with Charlie Rose. What about you?
Just kidding. She knows I'm a good cook. Yes, yes, I know the way to a man's heart. Unfortunately, I don't find many men I want to cook that well for.
Which leads me to Gertie's "non-tapping" meme (ha, yes, I looked around and you don't have to capitalize that... though, I still don't know the phonetic pronuciation). And that is... If I could dine with any person alive, who would it be?
I think I have mentioned this man before here. Probably several times, but usually it's late and I am either a little buzzed or exhausted to the hilt, so I can't right recall. But my dinner mate: Charlie Rose.
I mean, come on! How the hell did Charlie Rose get so lucky! His show! Have you seen his show?! This guy has his pulse on everything intriguing. I have never seen a Charlie Rose interview that I wasn't at least 82% interested in. I have never come away from watching a show in which I haven't been 100% impressed with whomever he interviews, especially because none of his interviewees has ever "um'd" or "er'd. (note to self: avoid um's, er's, like's and totally's. Especially around clients!)
Seroiusly. Wouldn't YOU want to have dinner with Charlie Rose? This guy has interviewed international royals; the most contentious and admired political leaders; the most controversial analysts and scientists and commentators on the state of whatever; he has interviewed writers, authors, directors, actors (both popular and obscure); he has interviewed legends of every subject. But most of all, he always does his research.
Oh, man, what I wouldn't do to have a long extended dinner with Charlie Rose. What about you?
March 21, 2006
News Radio Forced Me To Sleep In
[Disclaimer: I am neither a Republican nor a Democrat. I have very conservative or liberal views, depending on the issue. I don't really like to talk about American politics because the absurdity of the system makes me sick. And don't comment on either side here please, I'm just sayin'... but! you can comment on how Bush looks like a monkey when he's trying to be very serious.]
I don't know if there was a State of the Union address today or what, but on my alarm, which is set to a news radio station due to the fact that it's so boring and annoying that it jolts me up, this morning the jolt was the voice of President Bush.
Sometimes, when I'm really tired and the news radio alarm comes on, I'll snooze it. Maybe a two times. But today, that voice, THAT VOICE! made me cringe and set the snooze 15 min ahead, hoping desparately that That Voice! would be off air when the radio alarm came on again. No such luck. No such luck 4 times, actually. And I laid in bed, clenching my jaw and furrowing my brow, pissed that Bush was allowed so much "Convince America" time (and I wonder if it convinces anyone?). The clenching and furrowing was also due to the fact that his voice is so ANNOYING BUSH that I could actually visualize his body language and face retardation as I heard it. Bleck. And thus, I couldn't sleep between snoozes, and I was super behind schedule.
When I finally got done with my day, had had a quick bite, and was able to repose in front of Le Tube avec una cerveza por favor, it was 9:15p. And while flipping through the few channels I get for free, there it was: a recap of whatever bullshit was spilling out of Bush's mouth this morning. And for the 1.2 seconds that I watched, I pointed at Le Tube and yelled "HA!" because everything I had imagined in my head about his body language and facial expressions earlier that morning while trying to snooze button it all away, those things that had made me tense up in disgust while I tried to get ready for a 12 hour day, were 100% on target. Bleck! Oh man, how many years does he have left? I just can't watch or listen anymore. Does he have a mute button?
I don't know if there was a State of the Union address today or what, but on my alarm, which is set to a news radio station due to the fact that it's so boring and annoying that it jolts me up, this morning the jolt was the voice of President Bush.
Sometimes, when I'm really tired and the news radio alarm comes on, I'll snooze it. Maybe a two times. But today, that voice, THAT VOICE! made me cringe and set the snooze 15 min ahead, hoping desparately that That Voice! would be off air when the radio alarm came on again. No such luck. No such luck 4 times, actually. And I laid in bed, clenching my jaw and furrowing my brow, pissed that Bush was allowed so much "Convince America" time (and I wonder if it convinces anyone?). The clenching and furrowing was also due to the fact that his voice is so ANNOYING BUSH that I could actually visualize his body language and face retardation as I heard it. Bleck. And thus, I couldn't sleep between snoozes, and I was super behind schedule.
When I finally got done with my day, had had a quick bite, and was able to repose in front of Le Tube avec una cerveza por favor, it was 9:15p. And while flipping through the few channels I get for free, there it was: a recap of whatever bullshit was spilling out of Bush's mouth this morning. And for the 1.2 seconds that I watched, I pointed at Le Tube and yelled "HA!" because everything I had imagined in my head about his body language and facial expressions earlier that morning while trying to snooze button it all away, those things that had made me tense up in disgust while I tried to get ready for a 12 hour day, were 100% on target. Bleck! Oh man, how many years does he have left? I just can't watch or listen anymore. Does he have a mute button?
March 18, 2006
Just A Reminder
Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
-Alexander Pope,
An Essay on Man, Epistle I, 1733
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
-Alexander Pope,
An Essay on Man, Epistle I, 1733
March 13, 2006
The Nerve! A Quiz: Who was Being Most Selfish?
Granted, my perspective is a little biased, but, who here was most selfish? A) Gertie or B) Phyllis Dillar?
The scene: I stroll along 5 blocks with the teeny, tiny, skinny, sniff-o-rama doggie I am watching, to let her take care of business and to grab my morning coffee. My favorite place in the neighborhood is closed, so I head to the Starbleck's on the next block.
I tie Miss Delicate Princess to a table and walk in. Approaching from the other direction is an older woman who is a younger, dark-haired version of Phyllis Diller in a long, black down coat. I go inside and get in line, and only seconds later Phyllis is in line too. But not exactly behind me. No, she is almost PARALLEL to me and has her $20 out and is staring staring staring at the barrista. Just waiting to shoot her order out. Not only am I feeling my personal space is being invaded, I am also feeling the pull of nature, and the territorial beast in me is starting to come out. I move a half-step forward and a half-step left, trying to ensure a clearly identifiable wedge between myself and Phyllis. I was before her in line, after all.
I am only ordering a drip, so I really don't care too much if she yells an order at the barrista, except for the fact that the barrista would get my drip first if she noticed I was first. I happened to be behind a very pokey woman, who was buying coffee for 4... and treats... and also adding value to her Starbleck's card... as well as asking really stupid questions of the cashier. What, may I ask, do people ask the cashiers at Starblecks? What the heck can be so unclear at this coffee joint? Anyway, I was more interested in maintaining my ground as next to pay than being next to get the barrista's attention, but still. Phyllis was being a bit "naively aggressive." I've seen this at bars and I've done this at bars, so I know when a 54 year-old woman is pulling the naively aggressive maneouvre.
Luckily, my two half-steps did get me the attention of the barrista, from whom I ordered my grande coffee, and she placed it on the counter as the lollygagger in front of me finally finished her Q&A session and fumbled to put her Starbleck's card back in her wallet. And then fumbled to put her wallet in her purse. And then scoot slowly and decisively out of the counter space. By this time, Phyllis had ordered and her order was not even quite ready yet, but she noticed the transaction was through and stretched her 8 foot arm toward the cashier and started to say "I have a..."
Enter Gertie. Enter evil look to Phyllis and curt yet polite voice. "Excuse me. But I was next in line." Phyllis stopped her 8 foot arm 4 feet out and slowly retracted it, with the typical "naively aggressive but I'm caught" glare back. I turned to the cashier and paid my $1 plus change, then headed to the coffee decorating station. I didn't care that Phyllis wasn't gracious or even faigning naivitee. I know the game. I was just curious to see how she approached the rest of her coffee experience.
And as Phyllis stepped the one step forward and one step RIGHT (yeah, back into the real line she thought didn't pertain to her) she gave the cashier a look like "what's with ~HER~? The Nerve!" as she forced her bill upon him. Poor guy. I'd hate to be a cashier at Starbleck's.
Phyllis took her time (looking a little dazed and psychotic while doing so) to get to the coffee decorating station which was only steps away, which is funny because she was in such a damn hurry in the first place. But enough time passed for me to mix my goods, throw on the lid and head back out to the shaking delicate beast tied to the table and waiting for me.
So, People? Was Gertie being territorial and selfish or was Phyllis pushing the protocol of queus?
The scene: I stroll along 5 blocks with the teeny, tiny, skinny, sniff-o-rama doggie I am watching, to let her take care of business and to grab my morning coffee. My favorite place in the neighborhood is closed, so I head to the Starbleck's on the next block.
I tie Miss Delicate Princess to a table and walk in. Approaching from the other direction is an older woman who is a younger, dark-haired version of Phyllis Diller in a long, black down coat. I go inside and get in line, and only seconds later Phyllis is in line too. But not exactly behind me. No, she is almost PARALLEL to me and has her $20 out and is staring staring staring at the barrista. Just waiting to shoot her order out. Not only am I feeling my personal space is being invaded, I am also feeling the pull of nature, and the territorial beast in me is starting to come out. I move a half-step forward and a half-step left, trying to ensure a clearly identifiable wedge between myself and Phyllis. I was before her in line, after all.
I am only ordering a drip, so I really don't care too much if she yells an order at the barrista, except for the fact that the barrista would get my drip first if she noticed I was first. I happened to be behind a very pokey woman, who was buying coffee for 4... and treats... and also adding value to her Starbleck's card... as well as asking really stupid questions of the cashier. What, may I ask, do people ask the cashiers at Starblecks? What the heck can be so unclear at this coffee joint? Anyway, I was more interested in maintaining my ground as next to pay than being next to get the barrista's attention, but still. Phyllis was being a bit "naively aggressive." I've seen this at bars and I've done this at bars, so I know when a 54 year-old woman is pulling the naively aggressive maneouvre.
Luckily, my two half-steps did get me the attention of the barrista, from whom I ordered my grande coffee, and she placed it on the counter as the lollygagger in front of me finally finished her Q&A session and fumbled to put her Starbleck's card back in her wallet. And then fumbled to put her wallet in her purse. And then scoot slowly and decisively out of the counter space. By this time, Phyllis had ordered and her order was not even quite ready yet, but she noticed the transaction was through and stretched her 8 foot arm toward the cashier and started to say "I have a..."
Enter Gertie. Enter evil look to Phyllis and curt yet polite voice. "Excuse me. But I was next in line." Phyllis stopped her 8 foot arm 4 feet out and slowly retracted it, with the typical "naively aggressive but I'm caught" glare back. I turned to the cashier and paid my $1 plus change, then headed to the coffee decorating station. I didn't care that Phyllis wasn't gracious or even faigning naivitee. I know the game. I was just curious to see how she approached the rest of her coffee experience.
And as Phyllis stepped the one step forward and one step RIGHT (yeah, back into the real line she thought didn't pertain to her) she gave the cashier a look like "what's with ~HER~? The Nerve!" as she forced her bill upon him. Poor guy. I'd hate to be a cashier at Starbleck's.
Phyllis took her time (looking a little dazed and psychotic while doing so) to get to the coffee decorating station which was only steps away, which is funny because she was in such a damn hurry in the first place. But enough time passed for me to mix my goods, throw on the lid and head back out to the shaking delicate beast tied to the table and waiting for me.
So, People? Was Gertie being territorial and selfish or was Phyllis pushing the protocol of queus?
March 08, 2006
Holy Crap I've Been MEME'd
Dawn Summers, next time you are in Oak-Town or SF you better not breathe a word of it into your blog - cuz I will hunt you down.
First of all, I barely know what a MEME is. Is it all capitalized like that? Actually, I'm smart enough to have read a few MEME posts and figured it out, but my main concerns are: who came up with the name, is it an acronym, is it "me" twice, and how do you pronounce it? I've never been quite interested enough to Google out the answer, so I will play along. This once.
My nickname: I have a few of these. The coolest ones will divulge my true name (which is WAY cooler than Gertie, by the way). But, to make up for that I will also give you some stingers: The Zipper (college and a misnomer!), Aquafresh, Legs
My hometown: Fairfax, California
My team: Uh. I guess I'll go with my alma mater (even though I only watch if they are in Bowl games) University of Colorado Buffalos. Go Buffs.
My theme song: I don't know if this is by El DeBarge or what. I was never good at titles or band names, but it's the song that goes: ain't nothin' gonna break my stride, ain't nothing gonna slow me down. Oh No! Got to keep on movin'" [disclaimer: a reminder to readers that this is my theme song, not my daily choice in music genre]
My drink: Citron and soda.
My occupation: Sales of sorts
My spare time: Every spare minute I have goes to looking at my RSS aggregator to see if other people are being productive. No. Kidding. But man have I turned into a computer nerd. Other than a little off time sitting on my ass watching for other people to post stuff, I run, take photos, cook, read in cafes, watch TV, rent movies, go out on the town with friends. Damn I'm exciting.
My hiding spot: My apartment.
My book: A Room With a View by E.M. Forrester. That's the one that got me to love reading. I'll be forever grateful. Er, maybe not, because it also gave me false elusions about romance and relationships.
I made it! Do I have to pass this on then? Is it usually to 3 bloggers? Well I'm screwed, cuz I only read 2 blogs, and one of them passed it to me. What happens if I don't pass the MEME? Is it like a chain letter curse? Ah screw it, I'm sending it to my Cuz. I'll also send it to Gib since he felt so left out. Hi Gib, I'm Gertie. Dawn wanted you to have this.
First of all, I barely know what a MEME is. Is it all capitalized like that? Actually, I'm smart enough to have read a few MEME posts and figured it out, but my main concerns are: who came up with the name, is it an acronym, is it "me" twice, and how do you pronounce it? I've never been quite interested enough to Google out the answer, so I will play along. This once.
My nickname: I have a few of these. The coolest ones will divulge my true name (which is WAY cooler than Gertie, by the way). But, to make up for that I will also give you some stingers: The Zipper (college and a misnomer!), Aquafresh, Legs
My hometown: Fairfax, California
My team: Uh. I guess I'll go with my alma mater (even though I only watch if they are in Bowl games) University of Colorado Buffalos. Go Buffs.
My theme song: I don't know if this is by El DeBarge or what. I was never good at titles or band names, but it's the song that goes: ain't nothin' gonna break my stride, ain't nothing gonna slow me down. Oh No! Got to keep on movin'" [disclaimer: a reminder to readers that this is my theme song, not my daily choice in music genre]
My drink: Citron and soda.
My occupation: Sales of sorts
My spare time: Every spare minute I have goes to looking at my RSS aggregator to see if other people are being productive. No. Kidding. But man have I turned into a computer nerd. Other than a little off time sitting on my ass watching for other people to post stuff, I run, take photos, cook, read in cafes, watch TV, rent movies, go out on the town with friends. Damn I'm exciting.
My hiding spot: My apartment.
My book: A Room With a View by E.M. Forrester. That's the one that got me to love reading. I'll be forever grateful. Er, maybe not, because it also gave me false elusions about romance and relationships.
I made it! Do I have to pass this on then? Is it usually to 3 bloggers? Well I'm screwed, cuz I only read 2 blogs, and one of them passed it to me. What happens if I don't pass the MEME? Is it like a chain letter curse? Ah screw it, I'm sending it to my Cuz. I'll also send it to Gib since he felt so left out. Hi Gib, I'm Gertie. Dawn wanted you to have this.
March 06, 2006
The Wrong Hot Pursuit
A couple of weeks ago I went to my friend's birthday party. When she called me she said it started that day around 2:30p - 3ish and wouldn't go too late. I was working and showed up at 4:15. I was the first one there.
C and her husband B throw the absolute best parties. Both from well established families in Mexico City, then San Diego, their parties have a latin flair that sucks you in and doesn't spit you out until you are really drunk and it's way past your bedtime. There is always great background music and I have the best conversations with their usual guests, who are all intelligent, well traveled and bi-lingual.
The cool thing about this party was that Cynthia's guitar teacher came with his guitar and played amazing songs in Spanish for like 2 hours. A lot of times the guests would sing along or clap or dance - it was awesome. Afterward, he handed out some cd's he had made and on which he calls himself El Troubador. I had taken photos of him playing and gave him my card so he could make sure I send the good ones to him.
And the night powered on. We had paella and the party broke into 2 different rooms, one with dancing and the other with deep discussion. I met a really interesting and attractive guy and we were hitting it off. We were selected to go on the next beer mission and had a good time getting lost in a foreign neighborhood. We hung out talking for about another 45 minutes. We both started to feel like our connection was getting too obvious to the rest of the crowd; we were sensing whispers between guests, so we separated.
Hours and hours and hours since I had arrived, at 2 a.m., I could feel it was time to leave. "What! It's still early!" cried the birthday girl. Ah, those people really know how to party. On my way out, my beer-run partner got up and asked for my number. Goody!
Since the party, I have received 4 e-mails and 3 phone calls. From El Troubador! Nothing from the beer-run partner. El T is in hot pursuit and I'm absolutely not interested. Ah, well.
C and her husband B throw the absolute best parties. Both from well established families in Mexico City, then San Diego, their parties have a latin flair that sucks you in and doesn't spit you out until you are really drunk and it's way past your bedtime. There is always great background music and I have the best conversations with their usual guests, who are all intelligent, well traveled and bi-lingual.
The cool thing about this party was that Cynthia's guitar teacher came with his guitar and played amazing songs in Spanish for like 2 hours. A lot of times the guests would sing along or clap or dance - it was awesome. Afterward, he handed out some cd's he had made and on which he calls himself El Troubador. I had taken photos of him playing and gave him my card so he could make sure I send the good ones to him.
And the night powered on. We had paella and the party broke into 2 different rooms, one with dancing and the other with deep discussion. I met a really interesting and attractive guy and we were hitting it off. We were selected to go on the next beer mission and had a good time getting lost in a foreign neighborhood. We hung out talking for about another 45 minutes. We both started to feel like our connection was getting too obvious to the rest of the crowd; we were sensing whispers between guests, so we separated.
Hours and hours and hours since I had arrived, at 2 a.m., I could feel it was time to leave. "What! It's still early!" cried the birthday girl. Ah, those people really know how to party. On my way out, my beer-run partner got up and asked for my number. Goody!
Since the party, I have received 4 e-mails and 3 phone calls. From El Troubador! Nothing from the beer-run partner. El T is in hot pursuit and I'm absolutely not interested. Ah, well.
March 04, 2006
Long Day
Uh... yeah. So I came over here with purpose to pontificate about something or another. Then! I got a VIP phone call. And so, well, now I don't remember why I came here. Some explicit details of the mundane, I'm sure. But I forget entirely the subject or purpose. I'm sure it was good. Hmm. OK then.
It's been a long week, a long day, and a hard day's night. So, unless I remember my point in the next 2 seconds, I'll see ya when I see ya...nope. Sorry, Charlie. Appiphany - - - gone!
OK. 2 seconds gone. Ciao! Doi.
It's been a long week, a long day, and a hard day's night. So, unless I remember my point in the next 2 seconds, I'll see ya when I see ya...nope. Sorry, Charlie. Appiphany - - - gone!
OK. 2 seconds gone. Ciao! Doi.
March 02, 2006
Ah, Meg!
Hey, whatever happened to Meg Ryan? Well, she answered today on Oprah. I'm only into the first few minutes of the "encore" presentation, so I'm really not able to tell you. I probably won't even stay awake the whole time, as much as I'd like to get all the answers.
OK. FIRST, I have to admit, I LOVE Meg Ryan. If I could look any way I could choose in the world, I would choose to look like Meg Ryan (or Goldie Hawn). Must be the bubbly personality. The zest for life - the internal beauty matching the outward.
Now, I am looking at Meg on Oprah, and she does indeed still look beautiful. She does! But I can't help but wonder if it's all real? Has she has some work done or is she STILL that outwardly beautiful? Her lips are lookin' a little bigger. She has fewer wrinkles than me (and I'm 33 for God's sake); it could be the "pancake" or the nice eyebrow waxing, who knows. I still like Meg because I like who Meg is. But have the demands for aged beauty pushed her in a certain direction or has she simply aged gracefully? Hard to tell, because, I do think she's graceful (in a bubbly kind of way).
And I still like The Quaid. Hmm. Wonder what's so bad about a relationship with The Quaid? Wonder how they couldn't work stuff out. Children, I guess. We keep together to keep the children solid. But then again, as a single gal, what do I really know about keeping things together and at what sacrifice? After all, I like The Quaid for his characters and his looks, which are not necessarily his being, which could be all together difficult.
Anyhoo, I guess I shouldn't pass any judgement. What I would like to say is that I am truly jealous of Meg's hair, which I have always strived to achieve, in every era really (except the exceptionally curly ones). But I don't have the thickness required, nor the cheekbones to allow the creativity of style, and so here I sit, just watching Meg. Admiring how her hair cuts and her eyes shine. Meg who is impossible NOT to watch. Botox or lip enhancers or not. She's simply captivating.
OK. FIRST, I have to admit, I LOVE Meg Ryan. If I could look any way I could choose in the world, I would choose to look like Meg Ryan (or Goldie Hawn). Must be the bubbly personality. The zest for life - the internal beauty matching the outward.
Now, I am looking at Meg on Oprah, and she does indeed still look beautiful. She does! But I can't help but wonder if it's all real? Has she has some work done or is she STILL that outwardly beautiful? Her lips are lookin' a little bigger. She has fewer wrinkles than me (and I'm 33 for God's sake); it could be the "pancake" or the nice eyebrow waxing, who knows. I still like Meg because I like who Meg is. But have the demands for aged beauty pushed her in a certain direction or has she simply aged gracefully? Hard to tell, because, I do think she's graceful (in a bubbly kind of way).
And I still like The Quaid. Hmm. Wonder what's so bad about a relationship with The Quaid? Wonder how they couldn't work stuff out. Children, I guess. We keep together to keep the children solid. But then again, as a single gal, what do I really know about keeping things together and at what sacrifice? After all, I like The Quaid for his characters and his looks, which are not necessarily his being, which could be all together difficult.
Anyhoo, I guess I shouldn't pass any judgement. What I would like to say is that I am truly jealous of Meg's hair, which I have always strived to achieve, in every era really (except the exceptionally curly ones). But I don't have the thickness required, nor the cheekbones to allow the creativity of style, and so here I sit, just watching Meg. Admiring how her hair cuts and her eyes shine. Meg who is impossible NOT to watch. Botox or lip enhancers or not. She's simply captivating.
March 01, 2006
3, Count 'em, 3
We had 3 earthquakes today. Leave it to plate tectonics to decide to do some shuffles AFTER I have moved to landfill. Bedrock is seeming very nice to me right now. Oh, if I had just moved a couple of blocks up!
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