Liquid Laughter

A Blogger Into Oblivion

2007-07-11T18:01:00.000-07:00

As with the many many stars that light our night sky, there are many many bloggers. Many more bloggers are born each day. And sometimes, like a star that has long burned brightly, a blogger who has filtered news and stories, tales of sadness and joy will just fade out into oblivion. Part of the composite whole no more.

I am feeling the pull, people. Blogging for the past few years has been a great source of joy; it filled voids in between boyfriends and gaps of space and time of friendships, and provided the sense of having a voice that was being heard... somewhere, even if nothing echoed back.

As life ebbs and flows from lazy days to absolute chaos, it is hard to guage if my time and inspiration to share my stories will continue to peak and dip, and that isn't fair to "my three readers" or to the tiny side of me that is always looking for a creative outlet.

First, I want to thank you, my readers, for reading. For not chastising when I was on an apparant rant, for supporting me with like stories or passing them on, for congratulating me on this or that, and for making me laugh and feel like part of a wonderful community. Second, I'd like to ask you to delete me from your rss feed aggregator, or whatever way in which you stumble upon my now infrequent posts, and take me off your blogroll (sad weep weep, but lame if you keep me on there). Third, I'd like to tell you: you bet your ASS I am still reading your blog.

My blog spot will still be around. But don't expect anything new, other than, perhaps, more frequent comments on yours ; )

All my best!
Gertrude "Gertie" Stein.

The Three's

2007-06-29T22:20:00.000-07:00

It is said that things come in threes. Good things come in three's and bad things come in three's. Whether it be an old wives tale, Murphy's Law, or The Universe Sayin' Something, or just plain old superstition, the theory seems to hold true.

When I was in college, I had 3 jobs to pay for tuition. Funny that - never thought about it until now. Anyway, one of those jobs was as the Unit Coordinator on the Post Partum wing of Boulder Community Hospital. For those who don't speak hospital, that's where the ladies go after giving birth. On that wing, all the nurses were convinced that things happened in three's. When something bad happened, they started counting. When a woman was about to have her 3rd child, they celebrated and knew nothing would go wrong. When there was a full moon, they all got edge-y - but that's another story, as is their solidarity on the pro-life issue (it was Colorado, so give them some slack). When something good or bad happened that didn't align with the three's rule, they went about their routine but puzzled over it in the break room.

That was a long time ago, but ever since BCH, I always subconsciously think in three's. When life gives me a knock, I wait for and expect a couple more, not even knowing that I do. So when they don't come, I'm briefly puzzled and carry on. And when everything's good, I hope and hope it will get to or even extend past the three's. Gosh, who wouldn't?

And so, you three dear readers of mine, I announce that I've just summed up six or maybe eight! Three blows and three-plus incredible successes, all within the last 5 weeks. All at the same time. Because that's how life throws it, I guess.

The first string of three's were negative, and all to my dear, darling, adorable car, Desdemona. Most of it cannot be explained really; if I were to boil it down I would figure she had it coming considering her name's origin is Greek for "wretchedness" or a direct translation for "misery." Thanks, Google. Knowing that now, such a pretty name, and such a pretty car who has been so good to me for so long, I don't think I would have ever named her that when I took title.

Three weeks ago, I was out and about for work, driving the lovely Desi, and came second in line to a stubbornly slow stop sign intersection. Apparantly, some Arizona Ass-Wipe got mixed up along his way, pulled into a driveway before I arrived there to do a U-turn, and backed out right up on Desi's shank. Good thing he was of my Jewish tribe - otherwise I wouldn't have been so accomodating to him.

Two weeks later, Desi got the sh*t smashed out of her side mirror (I know this is sounding repetetive to my 3 readers, so I'll keep it short - there's a point here somewhere near the end). A week later someone bashed in her passenger window to grab the mobile she was coddling for me as I absent-mindedly slept.

So there's Desi's 3. Almost all of them are fixed now. She's taking it well and running like the Arabian stallion she is. Goddamn BMW's. You have to love them.

On the flip of the three's though, and congrous with the timing of the bad three's, three great things have happened. Actually, if everything positive can be counted on the plus side of the universe, then 5 great things have happened. So bonus kharma points, I guess. Man, I think I deserve them with all my niceness anyway.

I closed two fantastic business deals even while nursing Desdemona back to health. I also, shortly thereafter, had a (*ugh*) birthday, for which the parties were very well attended (it was a big birthday, so it commanded more than one party). Plus I had my first friggin' date since December (I must be a monster!! Or busy. Or something in between.... at least I hope that's the case), and yes, people, I just scored the BIGGEST contract thus far in my new business. Just today. Woo! Hoo!

I cannot explain the universal wives' tale/Murphy's Law/Universe Doin' It/Kharma thing. I cannot say that I consciously count all the time. But on occasion, when I do, it all seems to add up. So if you don't already, take the good with the bad and know that life ebbs and flows, and all you can do to stay sane is roll with it.

Perspective

2007-06-19T23:02:00.000-07:00

I recently reported that I have nothing to report. Some curve balls, yes. And I'm really glad to have had the perspective I had then, as it continues even further now. After all, they are just curve balls; they are diffucult to navigate, but any pro can manage.

After the previous post of un-interesting events, some others have occurred.
Another one of my contracts closed - pay day - woo hoo. But my company decided to take a big chunk to cover some costs. Boo.

A few days later, my best friend who I hadn't talked to in 6 weeks had her birthday. We went out, had fun, and the late night ended after a 1 hour discussion on how we had both f*cked up. This, actually, wasn't so bad. I swear - so much in the world can be put right just by hearing the other side. Clarity people! We're not totally renewed, but we're both aware now of some outstanding stuff and know we're important enough to each other to work through it and continue to be beacons in each other's lives.

That same night, however, I neglected to remove my cell phone from the car, and awakened next morning to a smashed in car window (no! Desdemona! no!) and the mobile gone. Most of the following Monday was dedicated to getting a new cell and a new window.

But here's where perspective comes into play. Several unfortunate events have come to me recently, but nothing life-altering (except an almost gone best friend, which is pretty huge and altering). But the rest: Annoying? Yes. Inconveniencing? Yes. Expensive to replace when I totally wasn't at fault? Certainly. But it's not like one of my parents died, which happened just recently to another friend.

Over Father's Day weekend, a friend's dad passed away. I simply could not imagine a more devastating blow. To not be there; to have so many things left unsaid; to have so many more life processes to go for which one would want to share with one's parents. Makes my curve balls seem even more trivial than they already seemed. After all, I have pretty much lived 10 years incident-free in a big urban metropolis.

So please, just talk to your loved ones. Parents, rellies, children, and best friends, and let them know you care. I was fortunate enough to putz around my parents' place on Father's Day, trimming the bottle brush tree in front while my dad worked the garden in back and my mom planned her sister's visit and her week's meals in the kitchen, and then I was dragged to the grocery store and helped make a King's Dinner for Dear Old Dad on the BBQ, and I couldn't have asked for anything more that day.

Life-o

2007-06-10T22:57:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, life brings you nothing but chores and nothing to report. And that sucks for general life blogging. That is where I seem to have been for the last many many weeks. For those of you who have hung on and checked in anyway, I thank you and I really appreciate it! And, I guarantee that there are circles in life, and soon I will be sharing some really amazing, surprising joys instead of all this crap.

So life, as it were, and as it continues to be, has recently thrown me several curve balls. Not dissimilar to a rather famous religious figure who was asked to make water into wine, I have been asked to turn curve balls into a balanced juggling act on a tightrope of passion vs. getting payed, not to mention having to prove to my parents that I am not a spinster; no, I'm really, truly waiting for the right guy. And really, I am. Come on.

Needless to say, my intellectually designed pithy diatribes have been reduced to quiet, internal grumblings. If you have been in such a position, in which your pithy diatribes have been reduced to quiet, internal grumblings, then you know that these can eat away at your core of Ever-Positiveness. It can shake one's confidence. All around, a dark place to be.

Sometimes-Positive-and-Heading-Down is a tough spiral to contradict, and a meager replacement for one's previous Ever-Positiveness. Seriously. It takes absolute defiance of natural human tendancies. I'm happy to report that the dark storm is subsiding in the outshine of a glorious sunrise. Wait. What? Who the hell said that?

So, to appease my quiet and small audience, here is what has been going on:
1. Work work work work work work work;
2. work. This, as well as the above work, has thus far gone unpaid. Grr.
3. Volunteer work. Um. Can we say unpaid again? OK> Unpaid X 2 groups and I'm on 4 of the committees, come on...;
4. Social networking. This may be fruitful down the line, but as I'm sure you are aware, these activities are sometimes, but almost always, LAME evenings and are yet again Unpaid;
5. Met a real cool cat at the SF Int'l Film Festival. We set up a tentative date. He changed it around at least 5 times and then said he was in a hurly burly chaos state and can we just chill out. I laughed out loud at his email, because we were only trying to set up a night to get drinks and get to know each other better, and his life, apparently, got overwhelmingly in the way. Whatevs, dude. It was just a drink. Chill out.
6. Car crash - in the most urban and mundane sense of the phrase. Some dickhead from Arizona decided to back out of a driveway and into the back of my car, Desdemona, while I was at a stop sign. Apparently he doesn't know to check both LEFT and right before backing up. Nevertheless, it took 2+ weeks to estimate and resolve while I was staying out of town - in general a pain in the ass;
7. Upon making my lovely Desdemona beautiful again (yeah that's her name, don't judge), I came out from today's 4 hour Sunday work appointment only to find that some crazy got super crazy on Desi and kicked out her driver's side mirror just for fun. Oh Joy! Another call to AAA and another visit coming to Tony's Imported Autobody. Damn, they love me there;
8. Haven't talked to my best friend in 6 weeks. Tired of being the olive-branch giver in this situation. She's pissed at me about something, and with 1,2 and 3 above, I really can't be bothered to figure out why and find the olive branch that will work this time. Why do Geminis have to be so damn difficult? However, her birthday is next week, so I've got to do something... must find appropriate gift/olive branch, damn her;
9. Somewhere in my recent calendar of exciting events, I forgot to mention to you that I was kissed (read: accosted) by a 53 year-old Irish man after he bought me 3 glasses of nice Italian wine at my favorite Italian wine bar Ottimista Enoteca. And, let's just wipe that out of all of our memories right now. It doesn't matter that he was such a gentleman and looked like a slightly older Dave Foley, he doesn't exist. Who? That's right. How? Nevermind. And stop complimenting me on my calves.

Geez. More later and I miss you,
Gertie.

The new mosquito delight - my O+ eyelids

2007-05-31T13:47:00.000-07:00

Occassionally some nordic, moisture-hating version of a mosquito travels into the habitat of my dry-aired apartment and calls it home. I don't discover the mosquito until it annoyingly announces itself about 5 minutes before my REM sleep. Then I begin the frustrating contortion act of trying to be comfortable and able to breathe while hiding 100% of my body underneath the covers for protection.

It's not an easy task. The problem is that by being under the covers you can no longer hear the blood-sucker approaching and finding that one damned spot you left vulnerable. An elbow. A pinky toe. Your forehead.

Sometimes I wonder why mosquitos make the noise they make: after all, it warns us to duck and cover. Then I think maybe other species don't hear the mosquito and the sound we hear is a warning system set-up in the human body. I wonder if mosquitos and other blood suckers prefer a certain blood type, say for example mine, which is O+, since I always seem to be bothered the most. And then I wander off to sleep with only my airways poking out of a sea of bedcovers.

For the third consecutive time, I have awakened to discover that the mosquito has bitten me on the EYELID. Let me tell you this is the most annoying place to have an itch, and the resulting swelling not only makes me look like a descendent of the Elephant Man but also lays pressure on the eye, which makes me feel sleepy all day. I am now going out to buy straws, so I can cover my entire head for the next round.

If You Can

2007-05-25T23:09:00.000-07:00

If you can, go out tonight. Go out where there is the whisper of wind between the Eucalyptus trees and under the shadowy light of the pale crickety moon. Breathe in the cool valley air that tumbles between the sea and the bay and really, really breathe it in. My God! That, my friends, is why we are here. Why we are one. Why we are here! OK, so I'm a little with nature, and a little on the left, and I am a litle tipsy, but being home is why. We. Are. Here. So Be home. Cheers.

Where's Gertie?

2007-05-22T00:31:00.000-07:00

Holy cow. I cannot believe how long it has been since I've been here, and how little I have to say about it. Truly, I don't know how I cannot be writing this stuff down that happens to me. Then again, as I think back at least a week, nothing seems notable. Hmrph. So let me do a quick check-in:

Work. Nothing special. Oh wait! Right. New sale closes the 16th of June. Woo hoo!

Running. What's running? Oh wait! I just ran a 12k! That's right, the Bay to Breakers, that crazy crazy only-in-SF race. I ran with 3 girls, one of which was a bit out of shape, so it was pretty easy. Then I took a nap.

Dating. What's dating? Oh wait! I have a date! Oh my God! I have a date! I have a date! Crap; what the hell am I going to wear?

And that's a wrap. Sorry it's not very exciting.

A New Kind of Sign Language ~ This Time for Love ~

2007-05-02T00:02:00.000-07:00

Granted, I'm a girl who rarely dates and I'm still rather clueless in the department, but I think all my dating problems have finally been solved!

Enter The Bar Code. Apparantly, a discernable sign language allowing you to talk to strangers, when your eyes or your body, or probably nervousness in my case, won't allow. A new language, so to speak, for when all esle fails.

I can't but think this phenomenon will spread like the "Cougars," but will it ultimately pan out as a form of communication other than "can I get in your pants?" I'm wondering if the most popular sign will ultimately translate to be The Number One French phrase known by non-French speakers: Woulez-vous couchez avec moi?

The Sad Thing about Wednesday

2007-04-05T15:54:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday I went to a luncheon at a horse racing track. It was supposed to be a fun lunch where women where hats and network. I wasn't crazy about the hat part, I went for the networking.

I only bet once, a Quinella on the 4th race in which both of my horses came dead last. Ah, well, not traumatizing. At least they were pretty and had nice uniform colors. What happened two races later, now that was traumatic.

During the 6th race, something happened to horse number 7, and he tripped, falling to his knees, wrenching his head and neck to his breast and throwing his rider. Horse number 4 was so close behind him that he tripped over the rider, also fell and threw his rider. Both the horses got up quickly and dispersed, number 7 running after the rest of the horses down the track and number 4 just kind of getting away from the scene.

Number 7 was fine. But number 4, he limped. And I knew that very second that his leg was broken and he'd have to be put down. I just didn't realize they'd do it right there. Right then. In front of me.

Some track people gathered number 4 and held him by the reigns. Two other workers were bringing a green tarp and began to raise it to sheild the horse from public view. My colleague started to ask "what is the tarp fo-" and before it was completely raised so that Club Level couldn't see beyond it, a man pointed a gun at the horse's head and the horse fell to the ground. Seven minutes from leg break to dead.

Now THAT is traumatic. I'm happy the track is closing this year. I don't think I could ever go back. It's just too sad that once a horse has a broken leg he's a gonner.

Ocean, Faking, & an Axe

2007-04-05T15:40:00.000-07:00

A few years back when I lived close to the beach, my roommate-slash-best friend and I would often walk down there and lay around if the weather was half decent. Usually it was a lazy time of reading and smoking cigarettes and laughing our arses off about nothing.

The problem with San Francisco's beaches on half-decent days is that they are public, and our un-beloved homeless people consider them a nice place to "freshen up."

Minding our own business and hiding behind sunglasses, we were approached by such a character. He was in his mid-50's, had grey scraggly hair and a scraggly beard to match. He came up to us with his backpack on and started talking:

"Would you gals watch my bag while I go in the water?"

Immediately Best Friend and I spoke in French. "No English. Francais. French..." and we began chatting bull to each other and went back to our reading.

But he was unphazed; still there. "Hola. Watch-o my bag-o por favor. I swim." And then he pointed to the ocean, did the breast stroke, and pointed to himself.

"French." That should do it!

It didn't. He started to take off his shoes and said "I swim. Bag-o," pointing at us, then pointed to his eyes, then pointed to the bag. I looked at the bag: it had an axe tied to it. I shook my head "no." He walked toward the water and started taking off his pants.

"DUDE! He has a fucking AXE! What should we do?"

Best friend: "Move?"

Me: "But what if he gets pissed and comes after us?"

Best friend: "Move, but not so far that he gets pissed?"

We tried that. Obviously, since I'm alive to tell the story, it worked.

Gertie's Advice #26

2007-03-22T18:37:00.000-07:00

During allergy season, refrain from taking Sudafed and then having 2 cups of coffee. That is, unless you like being in an uneasy jittery panic for 4 hours.

Damned Nanny

2007-02-12T22:16:00.000-08:00

That damned Supper Nanny. She makes me cry every time. Every Time! Or, maybe it's not Super Nanny's fault. Maybe I'm just a sucker for family relationships. Ugh. Kleenex!

Dear Neighbor

2007-02-11T23:19:00.000-08:00

Dear Neighbor,
I made the mistake of driving home late last night and parking in front of your house. Because it was dark, I did not see that you paid the Dept of Parking & Traffic an exhorbitant amount of money to paint your curb red. Regardless, I certainly left enough space for you to pull your car into the garage. A $75 Blocked Driveway ticket would have been a good enough lesson for me to know never park there again... you didn't have to tow my car and make me pay an additional $218 to go get it out of impound tonight. May Karma slap you silly in your next life.

Love,
Your Neighbor

Ha ha ha ha!

2007-02-08T23:53:00.000-08:00

I'll have to translate for you, but this (to me) is hilarious....

... a message from my French meet-up group (to which I have not gone yet after 4 months) about the St. Valentine dance ("ball"):

SI les hommes sont timides a inviter les femmes a danser ... elles peuvent les inviter! & bien sur un Monsieur ne refuse jamais a une femme de danser avec elle. Dansez, amusez-vous Seul/e ou avec un/e partenaire peu importe! l'idee c'est de danser & de s'amuser. Que personne ne reste
assis/e. N'oubliez pas que la musique & la danse sont un elixir pourl'ame & le corps...

"If the men are too timid to invite the women to dance, the women can ask the men! And, of course, a "gentleman" never refuses to dance with a woman. So everyone dance and have fun, individually, with a partner or as a group, it doesn't matter! The idea is to dance and have fun. Nobody should be sitting. Don't forget that music and dancing are an 'elixer' for the body and spirit..."

Ha ha ha ha! Nevermind the previous email, which I won't pain you with in translating, about the "dress code."

All Hail the Queen

2007-02-05T16:49:00.000-08:00

You would think that the Pope has arrived in San Francisco. Or you would think SF is at this very moment hosting the Olympics. Or that the Oscars are taking place here. People are flocking to the water. They are skipping work and school. They are getting in their cars and driving to San Francisco.

Yesterday for the first time, the Queen Mary II oceanliner arrived in the San Francisco Bay. Superbowl - Superboat. Superbowl - Superboat. What to do? A helluva lot of people were more interested in the Superboat. And still are - SF has been absolute chaos since yesterday. Auto and foot traffic is ridiculously backed up due to all the rubbernecking and people hordes snapping pics.

I knew the boat was coming to town but had no idea so many people would get this excited about it. This morning I took my usual route to work and I saw streets that normally have no traffic completely jammed. I had to park 3 blocks away from my office.

I saw a colleague and asked "Is the Queen Mary around here or something?" I thought it was a funny since the waterfront, which is a block from our office, has 4 miles of piers. Her eyes got real big, indicating that I am dumb and blind, and she pointed up. No wonder there is no sun. We were standing in the shadow of that enormous vessel, tied up just on the waterfont the next block down.

To describe the massiveness of this boat I can only make one analogy: think of a gorilla. Now think of a gorilla standing next to King Kong.

Check out this YouTube Video from Lophat, which was taken from the Golden Gate Bridge as the QMII entered the Bay. It keeps going, and going, and going! And tonight it will be gone.

Hotwire? You Tool.

2007-01-16T23:56:00.000-08:00

Someone tried, I think, to hotwire my car. This past Monday night. I only realized yesterday, well, because I was just in my car yesterday, and there was this pair of willy nilly needle nose pliers just laying there on the floor beneath my floor mat.

Now, I don't normally carry around a pair of needle nose pliers. And, let me tell 'ya, I don't just have them hanging hither nither in my BMW. No-sir-ee. The BMW has its own little tool kit right in the trunk with everything you should need for the roadside emergency. I am not missing a pair of worn-out, chipped-red-paint needle nose pliers from there.

So, it was odd to find these needle noses pliers peeking up on the floor. I thought to my self: "what the fuh...?!" Rewind.

I remembered Monday night. Monday night I had an evening meeting in the Old Neighborhood, the Haight Ashbury. I parked my car; I was early. I decided to visit a couple old haunts. I rumbled the streets. Then finally the hour of my appointment showed up, and I went into said appointment and had a grand olde time with some grande olde folkes with some good 'ole wine for the next two hours. Some colleagues and I walked me to My Desdemona afterward, my tragically beautifully ancient BMW parked on the street.

Whoops. In my excitement for the monthly meeting, I had neglected to lock the car. Initial review: all intact (only retards leave shit in their cars in SF). Phew. Get in, belt up. Roll.

And then yesterday I got in My Desi to go to work, and lo and behold! A booby prize: not new at all needle nose pliers. Cool. Fucked up, but cool. Must have been that someone that Monday night in the Haight Ash tested the doors and found them open. Popped in - BUT! Hold on there Fellow! Everyone sees you and YOU - quite honestly - do not own a Beemer. So, get scared you bastard and run, run! Run! That's right. My Desdemona is not a tragedy for your gain. Bi-atch. And now I have your tool, Tool.

Dumber Than a Box of Rocks

2007-01-09T00:53:00.000-08:00

Why is it that, when I am face to face with Pocket Watch Guy, I become dumber than a box of rocks? Maybe, just maybe, it's because he is the epitome of the figment of my imagination of the guy I end up with. Ever. Since. I. Ever. Imagined. Him.

He is attuned to the fact that every person (including Men) has the capacity for, and a destiny of, Personal Growth. He is travel-adventurous. He is action-adventurous. He is career-adventurous. He is socially adaptable. I don't need to advise him on how to dress [much]. He doesn't have a flat screen because he barely ever watches TV. He reads stuff. He is funny. He is relaxed. He is aggressive in his career path. And! He has a pocket watch collection. Melt. I have no idea why that is attractive to me, but it is.

And so, because of all of these things, I cannot look him in the eye long, for fear he sees me melt, and I say really stupid stuff when I am a reasonably intelligent lady, I shuffle my feet, etc., etc. Dear Lord, what must he think of all that?

Because I have said such really stupid things to him (REALLY, I am not exagerating), I have all but given up on any chance of him being interested back. Which is a good thing, because when I care less about what one thinks of me I can be more myself. So, I should be myself by now; I've blown it at least four times with him already, which is enough for me to feel I've ended Scene I and I can relax now. But somehow I'm still as nervous as I was when I liked the coolest boy, Will M, when he was in the 7th grade and I was in 6th, and I was awkward in stature and just starting to get boobs. THAT'S how it feels when I am around Pocket Watch Guy. The horror!

One time Pocket Watch Guy saw me about to go to Starbucks, and he said "you're going into Starbucks?! I would have figured you for a Peet's girl." And in reality, I am a Peet's girl; the coffee is far superior. But I was new to the neighborhood and Starbucks looked to be more social than Peet's at the moment, and I was hoping to start making a community in my new hood, and I replied lamely... "..."... oh crap, it was such a lame response that I have blocked it entirely from my mind. Sorry to ruin a good reference point. But I will tell you that upon reciting the story to WR, she laughed and laughed and laughed into my cell phone, literally for minutes on end, and I was almost home by the time she stopped. I really wish I could remember now - I can assure you it was one of the most retarded things I have ever said. If I remember over night, I'll let you know. But fate is telling me it's probably a good thing I have blocked it, lest I be too harshly judged.

Gertie Goes Down

2007-01-08T23:24:00.000-08:00

Everyone who knows me, including myself, considers me an athletically inclined person. Between the ages of 7-17, I played soccer, excluding a brief hiatus in Jr. High when my fascination with horses led me to a somewhat pathetic attempt at Equestrian riding.

In college I switched from soccer to the women's lacrosse team. I am known to be a somewhat formidable opponent in volleyball, tennis, racquetball and co-ed softball (catcher!). I am good with a Frisbee, and at kickball, and have been known to navigate the winds pretty well with a kite. If you can convince me to pay for a cabin-share, and pay for equipment rental, and pay for a lift ticket, I will begrudgingly swoosh down the intermediate slopes of a mountain in either skiis or on a snowboard. Begrudgingly, but capable.

What few people know, however, is that I am also incredibly klutzy. I feel the term "athletic klutz" best describes my excessively ridiculous brushes with breaking my bones and poking one of my eyes out. Because frankly, I've been "this close!" way too many times for a normal human lifespan.

Case in point: last Thursday. My office. ("My office" may sound like a bustling place. But because we are all sales people and sales is about getting out there and being with clients, rarely are there more than half a dozen of us in our 75-person office at a time.) Thursday was quiet. Until Gertie went down.

Unless one is a Partner salesperson in my line of business, you are up to your own devices to locate and be the consequence of parking. Because I have received more parking tickets than sales in the last year, I had begun a vigilant watch on my parking meters. The buzzer on my cell sounded and I rushed to move my car.

In the process, I can't recall now what it was, I remembered something very important on my desk. Whether it was an email to finish or double checking to make sure I had my cell as I turned the corner to exit, I don't recall. But whatever it was, it forced me to look back at my desk as I exited stage right toward the hallway. As an athlete, I felt the mojo of the path pulling me forward to an appropriate exit point. As a klutz, I got the turn wrong by about a foot and a half.

Instead of turning right into the corridor, I turned right into my colleague's ridiculously appropriately placed garbage can, which I leaned into with full walking force and motion, and cracked my upper shin upon. As I kicked the can and continued my forward movement, the can stopped hard against the cubicle wall, ricocheting all inertia back toward me. Upon receiving the new direction of force, Gertie was thrown askew to the right, lost all balance and landed rib cage to arm rest on the colleague's empty chair. A chair which happened to be a rolling chair on wheels, and once it felt the force of motion, propelled itself, with Gertie's weight and ribcage stuck to it, to the furthermost point of the cube, where it hit a wall and could no longer continue to travel. As quickly as science stopped the chair's motion, I equalized forces to counter-act a complete falldown.

I remember the last bit, and looking out to the left, to see my left leg doing a high kick only equalled by the Rockettes. I quickly did the athletic elastic "I'm Okay!" gymnastic landing, arms up and everything. When I looked around, the five people in the office had seen none of it. But they heard it. Eyes peared from behind a few computer screens.
"You OK?"
"I'm fine!" Ouch. Ouch. My shin. My ribs. Shake it off. Shake it off! You're fine!

Even the receptionist heard it. And the clients of another colleague, who were waiting (eyes wide open in shock now) for the conference room. All of them heard it. But I shook it off.

Today is Monday. Don't make me laugh. Please. Every time I laugh, it feels like I have a gun shot wound in my ribs. Also, don't make me reverse my car. Parallel parking feels like I'm getting shot. Yes, my ribs are bruised. I cannot run. Fuck, I can't even laugh. Or reverse. Ouch. My GSW! Stop it! OUCH!

The Men Are Right

2007-01-03T14:56:00.000-08:00

Wow.
Wow.
I just got an email from email guy. And here I'd gone and pretty much gave up on that playing out.
I"m rehiring my flirting consultant tout suite.

Ring It In

2007-01-02T23:21:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year to all; I truly hope you had an extravagant time ringing in another year! I am still recovering... this is a long post, but if you skim I swear there is some really entertaining stuff in here...

To sum up my NYE 2006 - it was crazy. I preface my recap by admitting that I hate New Year's Eve (almost as much as I hate Halloween). I know, I know, hate is a strong word. But when you have spent the majority of the last 5 NYE's trying to get home alone very late at night, in the cold, in heels and with less than the appropriate amount of clothing, trying not to be insignificant from the perspective of all cab drivers and other revelers, well, you'd probably not like it very much, either. But I digress.

This year was different. I had a really good event to go to: my best friend's wedding. The wedding was at 8pm and the reception "immediately following" lasted till 1:30am. This was very special to me, as not only was it my best friend's wedding, but the groom was also a friend from the old college days, and the guest list was reminiscent of a collegiate reunion of the coolest kind. Friends descended on San Francisco from Singapore, Australia, DC, New York, Chicago, Denver, and a variety of other places. My parents were also guests, and the officiant of the wedding was a close friend of my parents' whom my best friend and her fiance had grown close to over years of holidays together.

My friend WR was also invited, and she got a comped room at Le Meridien in downtown S.F. for the night, to which, she invited me and our friend NC to share for pre-wedding-prep and after party/crash pad. Excellent!

Le Merid is awesome and high-end, with beds you never want to leave once you lay down in them, sound-proof walls (you'll see why this is important later) and uber-hip decor. WR, NC and I all met there, got ready and had some pre-festivity cocktails. Woo-hoo. My flat-iron crapped out and I had a serious meltdown. Think very cranky 5 year old child - that was me. WR and NC had to avoid me for a long time. I had to walk the halls and cool off. You don't know, people! You don't know what it's like to have thin hair that frizzes like it's all full-bodied! I was crushed!!!!

Looking as fabulous as one can without her flat-iron (although a bit macabre for a wedding - all black), we headed out to the wedding at City Club, an art deco building with an amazing mural by Diego Rivera scaling two levels. It was a beautiful wedding, and although my dear family friend The Officiant was charming, he wasn't exactly smooth; but the ceremony got done and we all started to party.

There was a smoking room at the Club, complete with bourbon, scotch (still almost full! I had to take it with me!), cigars and ashtrays for all. This was a blessing and then also not: many of us CU Buffs huddled in the stinky room to reminisce and so the dance floor was left less than full most the time. I heard several times that my mother was wondering wear I was and was cursing this smoking room under her breath. Damn it. Why was she invited again?

Although I wasn't an official Bridesmaid, I did have some significant responsibilities, which, after executed, left me a bit schizophrenic and displaced. First job: secure food plates for Bride and Groom from buffet and place at their seats. This meant that I had to cut the line on more than one occasion to get to the good stuff, lest my best friend not eat and get drunk too quickly (which she did anyway, but at least I did what I could). I tried not to cut the Old People, as they think all young women who use "it's for the bride and groom" as an excuse are liars.

I was also designated as the "alien consoler." OK, I just made that term up, but that exactly describes it. I was in charge of discovering shy, timid guests who couldn't start their own conversations, and pulling them into the mix. I did this quite well considering I'm a total tool. (The unfortunate fall-out from this job was multiple calls the next day from these "insociables" asking me to join them for tourism - fyi - never give your cell # to an insociable). And yes, this is why the majority of my photos from the night are of grey haireds.

3..2..1.. Happy New Year. We all celebrate, but then we are getting kicked out. We know it. All us cool kids suck up to the bar to get 2-fers before we are shut out. No dice. I fall down in front of the entire cool kid crowd and show everyone my panties. My male college buddies thank me. The girls pretend they didn't just see the most awesome pair of legs spread in front of their husbands,boyfriends and fiances. Shit. I make a mental note to go to the doctor and check my balance and the possibility of having MS.

Things are winding down. Aparantly, I am only on the fringes of "cool," because I notice most of them hitting the elevator. "We're all going to Cito's place at the Clift." Ding. Doors close. I check in with WR and NC and they have attached at the hip one French Man who is quite cool but a little odd at the same time. Not one of the cool kids. I say we are invited to Cito's room at the Clift, but we all take that as a gracious "you're not totally cool but you're allowed" invite and we decide to head back to Le Merid as a 4-some (ha ha ha!) and drink like the fishes. Because we can.

Back at the room, I start snapping photos. I also start falling down again. Really. Go to the doctor! Because I'm not drunk; I just can't seem to catch my balance. Anyhoo. It feels like a really long time since I've had a cigarette, even though there was that smoking room (in which I left my full pack and came back to 2 cigarettes left - bastards), I co-erce all 3 non-smokers up to the roof to smoke with me and look at the skyline. Up to the 24th floor. Doors to the roof are locked. No dice.

But! What do we see happening here on the 24th floor? A big ass party. Sweet. I knock.
"Yes?"
"Uh, hi. Can we come in?"
Bouncer guy looks us up and down.
"Do you have an invitation?
"Well, we just heard about it."
"Lemme ask."
Door closes. I get excited! Big party at Le Merid! It's really big, it's a suite. But outside you hear nothing.

The door opens. A thin, ugly guy comes out in his silk boxer shorts. They are... tenting. I don't look down. Much.

Big smile from Gertie: "Hi! Can we come in?"
"You want to come in to the orgy?"
"Orgy!?"
"Yeah, we're having a fucking orgy in here. You gonna take off all those clothes? Then you can come in."
er...

NC butts into the conversation: "is that really your erection" she asks Ugly Guy. She's known to be bold.
"Hell yeah, this is my real erection!" And he pulls on the elastic waist band to show me a vary bald and very erect 10". Yes, 10". Right. In. Front. of. Me.
"This is an orgy! Goddamnit!" He licks the side of his lip as he smiles. We all just stand there a little grossed out. What the?!

I am staring at the 10". Holy cow. Why are my friends so far away? Anyway, he doesn't take any of us seriously, mumbles something, caresses his cock and closes the door.

WR gets all mad that we are left out of the action. At this point, I throw my calf-length wool coat and my scarf on the floor. I hand Monsieur Nightcap Le Frenchy my iPod Shuffle for safe keeping. WC hands over her coat and cell phone. And we are there, like at a starting line, ready to run in.

The door finally opens and a couple comes out. WR and I charge in. Big Music. Lights Out. Full floor suite. We navigate through the dark. There are naked people everywhere. If they aren't busy having sex, they are busy watching and stroking their own person. Every piece of furniture is filled with a form of fornitcation. Oh. My. God. I walk briskly through. I quickly exit with flushed cheeks. I am worried that, if I look too closely, I might actually see someone I know and get REALLY grossed out.

WR follows me out. She slaps me on the shoulder. "Why'd you walk so fucking fast?! I couldn't see anything!"
"Exactly," I replied. She was bummed. Uh. OK, now I am seeing how my friends are?

I found out the next day that the party really was an organized orgy via The Pleasure Zone. Holy Mother of God. Welcome to the shadows of San Francisco. In the fanciest of places, of all things. Geez. Never know what's under your nose in a sound-proof hotel, I guess.

Later I took an elevator down to the lobby and had my own smoke in my own space. Not because I didn't want anyone's company, but I had lost all of them on one of the four elevators. Finally Monsieur Nightcap Le Frenchy came down, found me, and gave me my stolen Scotch bottle. Which I proceeded take a sip from and then walk a mere few feet before falling down and losing a good portion of it. I really need to get this clumsiness checked out.

Monsieur Nightcap Le Frenchy left around 4am and I think WR and NC and I dove into the luxurious beds of Le Merid. Actually, I know now that WR and NC did another dive into the orgy, and found a lot fewer people but a lot crazier sex going on.

I was awakened the next day bright and early by calls from the "insociables," invitations to coffee and brunch, a walk on the beach, or a stroll over to the Golden Gate Bridge. Jesus, why did I have to tell everyone all the good stuff to do, and then say I'd come with them? Must be I'm retarded.

We called in for a late check out, finally got out at about 2:30pm and went to brunch, where again Gertie was cranky (probably still pining for her destroyed flat-iron), and I complained that the egg portion of the menu was over, and that the sandwiches came with salads not fries, and that I really wanted to get the onion soup and a side of fries but that was more expensive than anything else on the menu. Then I didn't believe that, after my two friends ordered decaf coffees that mine was actually caffinated. And then I ordered a fucking hamburger and anticipated it would come with a goddamn salad because the menu and our waiter were both assholes.

But what really happened was that my friends were erroneously given caffinated coffee and my burger, which was excellent, came with fries. And this, my friends, indicates to me that 2007 will be a very good year!

Consensus

2006-12-31T13:33:00.000-08:00

Does running 7 miles yesterday morning cancel out the fact that I had three candy bars for dinner last night at 1am?

Joe vs. The Volcano

2006-12-31T13:06:00.000-08:00

Coming off of my recent 3 month stint dating Mr. Beef Jerky, and having nothing happen with the email guy, I've just recently been on the best date of my life. This guy just did everything right:

1. He called me earlier in the day to confirm and set the time.
2. He picked me up. Not only did he pick me up, but he got himself a cab and took it to my house to get me. I wasn't quite ready, so he made the cab wait and he came upstairs to escort me down.
3. He helped me with my coat. All night. Every on an off he was there.
4. He opened every door.
5. He complimented me without without those lusty tiger eyes that say "I want to rip your clothes off later."
6. He talked about a large variety of topics throughout the night, not all revolving around himself.

So. Joe is an ace when it comes to navigating a lady through nice evening. Unlike Beef Jerky, who over 3 months made me feel special, oh maybe once (but probably pissed me off 10 minutes later), I felt special the whole entire date. And then comes the small problem of... as always in the life of dating... someone (him) is more interested than the other person is (Gertie). There's just something missing; it's not necessarily attraction. I don't know what it is. But he's a very cool guy. So, like a pair of shoes I'm just not sure about, I'll try him on for a while and see if anything fits.

These Are A Few of My Favorite Things

2006-12-24T22:38:00.000-08:00

I'l admit I have many favorite things. But the 2 most important are probably my parents.

Today was the most mellow Christmas Eve ever. No siblings, in-laws, friends, no orphans this year - just me hanging out with my folks. Which in theory might be nice.

I was destined however to a myriad of household chores. Like, for exampe, pulling the refrigerator away from the wall to vacuum the floor, walls, and clean the coils. My mom hates nothing more than inefficiency, especially if it costs her. In the interim, I experienced extreme boredom. By late afternoon, my mom was still holding down the kitchen, my dad was finally cleaning out his Roledexes (yes, PLURAL) from the business he dissolved 8 years ago, and I was watching a movie.

The movie wasn't holding my attention and I took a break to check in on the kitchen action. For the first time on a holiday, my mom looked out of sorts. She started bitching about the fact that we were all singularly putzing about, and her eyes welled with tears. She was seeing this Eve as very solitary holiday indeed.

We sat to a wonderful dinner, with a wonderful 1993 Stagsleap wine, and enjoyed the threesome, in the only way perhaps, that a family which has never been just a threesome for the past 34 years could.... and it is hard to describe. Comfortable, familiar, pleasant, and lacking anything new or interesting except the fact that here we were, just the three of us.

And then the burden of The Night of Just Three broke, as some neighbors stopped by. And my mother lit up because she could talk about the meal she just made and knew someone would appreciate it, and my dad lit up as the neighbor talked about upgrading to a flatscreen TV. And everyone had an excellent moment when our family bird, who loves me and my mom and tolerates my father, went to the neighbors shoulder and was quite happy there if she didn't look at him and remind him that he really hates her.

And this is one of my favorite things: to see my parents in their comfort, in their element, in their natural habit of entertaining, in the place where 60+ year old men revert to the topics of 20 year olds and the women continute the time resistent traditionof neighborly gossip and beaming with pride about their children. And I can sit there, at the fireplace, with my back warm and my heart filled completely.

Merry Christmas!

Crazy Mom Makes French Breakfast Plans

2006-12-22T22:56:00.000-08:00

Preface: To any French speakers out there - please excuse my absence of proper accents in this post. I know where they should be but I am too lazy to get them accurately placed. My sincere apologies!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was speaking with my mom earlier today and she told me she was meeting my dad and some friends at "The Club" (i.e. the yacht club where they are members but don't have a boat - ha!) and she invited me to join them. I declined the invite because I have way too many dvd's to watch and I am a bit of a geek who would prefer to be the geek who DOESN'T spend every Friday night out with her parents (one in a month is acceptable, if they're cool, right?).

At 9:10 PM I get a call from my very tipsty mother...
"Gertz..." Uh-oh, that's what she calls me when she's 2.8 sheets to the wind...
"Yeah, mom?"
"We've got a change of plans."
Uh-oh. Please Dear God Do Not Mean a Change of Plans TONITE.
"Oh yeah?"
"Gertz, there is a French woman here, and she and I are going to come to the City tomorrow and walk..."
Shit. I was already planning on spending 2pm and on Saturday at my folks' house, preparing for the holidays and whatnot. Now my mom was altering the plan.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Her name is Anne. Here she is."
What????
Anne: "Oui, bonjour?"
Gertie: "Bonjour, Anne. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer. Vous allez faire une petite promenade avec ma mere demain a San Francisco, c'est ca? (translation: Nice to meet you. I understand you are doing a walk with my mom in SF tomorrow?"
Anne: "Oui, tout a fait." [Yes, that's correct]
Gertie: "Superbe! [ not.] Et j'ai entendue qu'on va nous nous rencontrer apres pour un petit dejeuner?" [Fantastic! And I understand we'll meet afterward for breakfast?]
Anne: "Oui!"
Great. There go my morning plans. Plus, I don't know if I'm in the mood to meet a 70 year old French woman, no matter what time it is on a Saturday. But then, I tell myself it is better to practice than not to. But then, I think of sitting at a table with my mom who barely speaks a lick of French (how she got the French lady to understand what they will be doing tomorrow morning I will never know) and some 70 year old French lady and I wonder how on earth my mother is going to enjoy listening to Anne and I rattle off En Francais. Because, if I know my mother at all (and I know her to the core), she will ask me at the end of the lunch, if I don't speak French with the French woman "what is wrong with you?! You didn't use your French at all! How are you supposed to remember it if you never use it?" And I also know that we speak French the entire time, my mom will sit there politely in oblivian and afterward say "well, since I made the plans and introduced you and paid for your breakfast, it would have been nice if you included me just a little bit."

Litter Bugger

2006-12-22T22:25:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was walking home and in front of my building, a cabbie was taking a break (in an illegal parking spot), smoking a ciggie and talking on his Bluetooth. I really didn't mind that the cabbie had found a this calm place to have a smoke and catch up with some pals on the phone. What I did mind was that he stood there smoking and chatting with an empty cigarette box at his feet.

I interrupted his invisible conversation on the Bluetooth: "is that your cigarette box?"
Cabbie: "Sorry?" He's so interrupted.
Gertie: "That cigarette box. Is it yours?"
.... from the Cabbie.
As Gertie enters the building: "Because, if it's yours, you should pick it up." And then she goes in. She hopes the pronouncement was loud enough and filled with enough guilt to move the Cabbie to act appropriately.

a few hours later, Gertie left the building to fetch booze for some reason or another (any excuse will do). And you know what? No heinous cigarette package where it had previously been seen. Hmm. So guilt works REALLY REALLY well.

Fully Dressed

2006-12-21T23:40:00.000-08:00

Earlier this month I was taking the bus home from downtown. I showed my transfer and boarded the bus. As soon as I looked up for a seat I knew I was in trouble. It was an accordion bus: after a long day, Gertie doesn't want to walk an extra inch. And what the accordion bus is at 8:10pm, is the "half-assed Express." That means that it is the tail end of the express bus, so it DOES make all the stops - - except the last TEN stops. And Gertie gets off somewhere in the TEN. I sat down and awaited my fate: I'd be told the last stop is 8 shorter than where I wanna be, and I'd have to wait for a "non-accordion" regular bus to venture along the route and pick me up.

As predicted, the bus announced its last stop would be North Point and Van Ness. My brain grumbled, but something in my heart screamed "opportunity!"

I didn't understand my heart, but as a human, guess what I did? I followed the heart and not the head. So, instead of waiting for the short bus, or walking the short bus route until I could get on, I walked as close to San Francisco Bay as I could.

It was dark. It was sketchy. My head imagined a wild-eyed cracked up homeless guy jumping me from the dark bushes along the barely-there sidewalk next to one of the fastest streets in the City. My heart, on the other hand, told me to open all my senses. I took out my camera so I could take pictures of the place where I hear my most favorite sound: the clang of ropes and pulleys on the bare masts of sailboats. The Marina.

Things started to look brighter, not for lack of street lights. I was walking behind a big group by the Gaurdsmen Christmas Tree Lot at Ft. Mason. There were two young girls from the families hanging out together, and it reminded me of being 11 years old and fascinated with just about everything. It became apparant that the girls were in a drama class together, as they danced a little number together and sang "...because you're never fully dressed without a smile!" I can't for the life of me remember which musical that song is from, but I know that chorus like I know the red freckle between my left thumb and forefinger.

After the group was out of my path, I was able to focus my concentration and my lens on the sleeping boats under Alcatraz's watchful eye in the middle of the Bay. It was glorious. And then, after being completely refreshed from a long day, with the clang of aspiring masts waiting for their stoic call to duty: epiphany.

I haven't been fully dressed a lot of the time. I let the selfishness of urban life get in the way, and no matter how I doll myself up, if I'm not closing the door of my apartment with a friendly face, well, I'm just not fully dressed.

The funny part is, that evening not too long ago, where I encountered the most sporadic dance ensemble yet, was December 8th. Two little girls, 11 years old, with stork legs and skinny limbs all around changed my outlook. I can't get the chorus of that song out of my head. And when I'm grumpy and in a line somewhere, I sing it to myself. And then I relax.

Because Inquiring Minds Want to Know

2006-12-19T23:27:00.000-08:00

OK, my newly discovered male fan club wants an update on the e-mail I wrote last week. Let's just say I'm firing my flirting consultant.

It didn't work. Or, maybe it worked too well and I scared the crap out of him because he had never intended to be floofy or so curious about me. See, Outlook allows you to receive "read receipts" on e-mails you've sent. I have this function on to cover my ass in business, not to spy, but I received a read receipt 10 minutes after sending the message. And I haven't heard back. So there you go.

Tell it Like it is

2006-12-19T12:59:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday night I went to Microsoft's holiday party. There weren't as many Bill Gates-types as I anticipated (I only saw one, really). The space was too big for the crowd but the food was delicious and they had really fun stuff to do: foozball, oragami (with an instructor, otherwise...?), henna, temporary tattoos, chocolate sampling and la piece de resistence... having your tea leaves read!

So WR and I waited and waited and waited to get our tea leaves read. Now, WR has always had problems with her ankles, so even if she dolls up she always wears comfortable shoes. Unlike Gertie. Gertie, who had lived in France a while, somehow got brainwashed that a true lady wears 3" heels until she is 68, then she moves down to the 2's. By the time it was my turn, I wasn't really into it anymore.

I was asked to hold the tea cup, close my eyes and think of three things I wanted to know. Duh, who doesn't put down that they want to guage their wealth, love life and health? I already suspect a scam, but it's free so I guess it can't be a scam, and even if it is a scam at least Microsoft is the one paying for it. Wait, did I just ruin my three questions now? Turn the cup three times. Give it back.

The woman with long wavy hair down past her patoushki tossed the tea in an OXO bowl and started to examine the remaining leaves.

"Do you have siblings?"
"Yes, an older brother." She stares curiously into the cup.
"I see you as being very independent as a child. I see tomboy. Were you a tomboy?"
"Yes!" This was maybe not a scam after all.
More curious staring into the cup.
"I see a rift with your mother."
"Uh. In the past? No." Scam.
"Really? I see that you challenged her, but that could mean mentally, like she couldn't keep up with your youthful brain, or that you were rebellious."
I'm perplexed. I was the farthest thing from rebellious as a child. I was 10 minutes past curfew once. Since I think this is a scam, I don't respond because I don't want to give her hints on where to take this. Gertie can be a b*tch sometimes.

I don't remember where she went from there. At some point she asked me if my ex-boyfriend wasn't able to commit. I said, yes, that was the problem although in reality my last beau and I mutually realized we weren't a good fit. There was a lot more curiously staring into the cup, some talk about my past life in a snowy place where my husband worked in the train yard and I journaled about my [ed insert: miserable] life. She said I was good at writing and I liked it, but I'm not sure if she meant now or back then when I was that woman. And then this:

Sudden shock upon looking even deeper into the leaves.
"Is there a child in your household?"
"No."
"Hmm. Someone watches too much TV."

Busted.

WR had a totally different experience. Her tea reader asked her upfront what she wanted to know about, and desparately seeking love, WR asked where the hell was her man. The woman said that probably WR's head was ready for love but her heart was not. I don't think WR liked this answer at all. Then the woman read WR's face, and they stopped looking into the cup and discussed personal paths and psychotherapy, and WR walked away with the contact info of a "good" therapist. Now, WR is one of the sweetest girls on the west coast, but I have always thought she is a little lost. Apparantly so much so that one doesn't need to take a look at the bottom of a teacup to know it.

Drenched

2006-12-14T01:37:00.000-08:00

It's been spitting rain today. Better than yesterday - yesterday I got drenched because I thought the rain at 6:45 am would be less spiteful than the rain later that day. I was wrong.

Funny word, drenched. Does it derive from drown? So it means being so overcome by something that, in your full capacity, it is still too much? I think so, but only from life experience.

Don't you hate it when you're home sick from work (because you got drenched in the rain that wasn't worse later in the day than when you were out) and all that is on TV is a variety of types of pseudo-court-tv crap, and all these people tell the Judge: "Your Honor, I had had a vehicle, but he had told me I couldn't have it, 'cuz he had co-signed the loan, but I had told him I didn't want to pay him back, and he had said 'it's fine by me.'"

And then you remember from your English classes that "had + past tense verb" is no so common in modern English communication so, by the third use of this form, you got really pissed off, and then you switched channels and heard a whole other run-through of the same crap? Well, then, I hope you turned it off. Because you were drenched.

But then you lie there, feeling like The Definition of "Sick" in Webster's Dictionary, and wonder what you are going to do with your very fertile mind and very unwillful, ill-feeling body. You think of the items in the house you have which you can read, but realize your arms are too heavy and your will is weak.

The pre-holiday list runs through your head. Your head realizes that, in reality, if you didn't work or have a life, these are very simple, easily conquered things to do. But again, your over-germified body has you beat; you don't possess the stamina, and this list gets added to the "make-up work" list that is already consuming a small portion of your brian.

And again. You are drenched. Happy holidays. L'Chiam!

The E-Mail That Took a Million Hours to Write

2006-12-12T09:39:00.000-08:00

A girl like me is lucky to have girlfriends who can officially be called flirting experts. I received an e-mail last night at 5:35pm. It was from a guy I met and hit it off with last Thursday. He didn't ask me out or anything, but there were hints he is interested, so I wanted to make sure that when I wrote back I was also clear. But not psycho-clear.

I am so retarded in the flirting arena that I didn't respond right away. I figured if I thought about it long enough I'd come up with a perfectly cute reply. By the time I went to bed I had run several responses through my head. Nothing good. Up at 6:45, I thought more about it while running. Nothing good. Shower. Nothing good. Finally at 8 am I made a phone call to my flirting consultant. 30 seconds later I finished the goddamn email.

Waiting for the Fix

2006-12-10T01:28:00.000-08:00

Mmm. MP3=Love. Especially when running. All the motivational music I want!

But. Then, there's itunes and ipod... and then there's the "other stuff."

Which really sucks, cuz one song I really wanted to buy and download online wasn't avail on my pc-based music program (i.e., Windows Media Player and it's associated Download site, Urge). So I went to itunes and bought that song and the few others I want to put on my running track.

All good, all downloaded. Oops. NOT all good! Itunes won't Convert to play the songs on Windows Media Player. Bastard. How can I make a my dream playlist for running now? How? How? Guess what. I can't.

Study Group. Yuk yuk. Soap Box.

2006-12-09T23:48:00.000-08:00

There is an "Iraq Study Group" finally in place to come up with recommendayions for stabilizing the situation in Iraq. I was curious who was included in this elite team:

Former Secretary of State, Former Member of Congress, Former U.S Secretary of State, Former Advisor to President Clinton, Former Attorney General, Associate Justice, U.S. Supreme Court, Former White House Chief of Staff, Former Secretary of Defense, Former Governor of Virginia.

A little surprised that there aren't any scholars who have spent their careers studying the region, its people, etc. But hey, I guess that's just me.

At First I Was Intruiged....

2006-12-08T00:39:00.000-08:00

At first, I was indeed intrigued. The Evite announced "A Very Special Evening With Two Couches." Hmm. Ends up, the host had just moved into a new place, and there was not much more furniture than "two couches." My first reaction was "how old are we?" And then I did the math, and thought it impossible, at this age, to move into (1) a room-mate situation, and (2) only have 2 couches as your total sum of communal furniture.

And so I went. Mainly to see the virtual make-up of this modern 30-something clan. That part was weird. I won't digress here, other than to say... office style carpet in a HOME, and well, odd jobs and what-not. The end.

I was told this was a party that started at 7pm. I arrived at 7:45 (casually late, of course). Umm, everyone (all 6 of them) was sitting at the dinner table eating a MAIN COURSE. Whoops, a little too late for the first half, not enough late for the second half. But wait... apparantly, I was the ONLY late one. And, there really wasn't a second half. No other guests coming.

Looking at half-eaten fish carcasses on every plate with a few potatoe skins and some crazy zucchini-tomato mix immediately quelched any hunger I may have had. And, oh to find a chair, and where to place it, and what do drink... all would be nice issues to resolve. Do I want some fish? No, no thank you. Just a beer. Oh, PBR or some home-type brew? PBR please.

The saving grace of this disgraceful incident? I was placed, in a random chair, next to Mark. Yum. Now some talk about him being involved with FEMA. What? He's a fireman? I wouldn't have guessed. But no, he's not a fireman. He is an art director. Yeah! Yeah for Gertie!

A few more PBR's and the awkwardness of intruding on Dinner For Six started to disolve. A little. It was freezing in there. Mark let me use his scarf, because even though the thermostat said 75 degrees, it felt like 58. Mark and I connected, I thought. The dog growled at anyone who didn't resemble his owner.

Anyway, I was 35 mins outside the City, which I don't usually do unless I'm visiting my parents or seeing a guy who has taken me to at least 10 dinners in San Francisco proper, so I got ready to leave. In the car I wished and wished and wished that Mark would leave the party before my car warmed up and he did. And he got in the car and we chatted while the car warmed up (but it never did because I had the air on cool. Woops). Oh well. I also didn't do anything other than give him real estate advice, so he'll probably never contact me. But you know what? The night outside of San Francisco, was indeed a "special evening with two couches."

Despot

2006-12-05T01:16:00.000-08:00

Ok, ok. I know I've been a bit remiss. But my statcounter has told me that NOBODY is hangin' in the house AT ALL. Hrmph.

Would it excite you to know that I have FOUND MY FIRST GREY HAIR? On the head, of course, but still. Look at the picture, y'all... it's not from 10 years ago - it's very recent. So what in the name of Whoozit is a grey hair doing on this young head? It was indeed a bit jarring to say the least. I always thought that my first grey hair would come from the insanity of living my fabulous life WHILST raising some fabulous kids who were ultimately the cause of said hair.

But no, it's just genetics and the whole life cycle thing. Which did, quite honestly, throw me for a loop for about 36 hours. I needed to adjust. Then I realized the smallness of the grey hair in the vast world that is offered to me, and I moved on. Of course, I plucked that sucker. THEN I moved on.

Random Access. Random Events.

2006-12-03T23:57:00.000-08:00

I have a laptop, but I just can't seem to be in the right place at the perfect time for all the posts I have in my head. By the time I start up the old compu, the thought has fleeted.

Here I recap some random thoughts and visuals from the last couple weeks:

1. Pedestrian encounter. Was walking to meet a girlfriend at a close wine bar and walked past a building with scaffolding and a large, lifelike orange man at the the top of the stairway. Correction: real live orange man. Orange headress, orange face paint, orange robes. Hari Krishna's, eat your heart out - you've met your match!

2. Very non-helpful helpful advice. On the afore-mentioned occasion, my friend was running late. Since I need a "holiday event dress," I stopped in a small women's fashion boutique to peruse the wares.
Me to owner: Hi, I'm looking for a fabulous dress for a New Year's Eve wedding. What is the trend this year?
Eastern European Older Gent Owner: Brown is very fashionanable right now. Also, black. Also, this very blue blue. And green, not army green but more like a Christmas green. Red, of course, and...

So basically he named every color in the rainbow and more. Thanks. Very helpful.

3. Score New Client. High End. 'Nuf said.

4. Cute kid scene/Pedestrian encounter. For once after a year of living in my new neighborhood, I walk down Lombard Street ("The Busy Street"), which is on this occasion the most express. It is lined with motels. As I pass the last one, there is a Chinese grandmother outside the "lobby" holding her grandson up to the glass. He is trying to touch the Christmas lights on the inside. The grandmother's face is brimming over with joy. So is the toddler's. As I walk past, I see that the toddler's joy comes from looking at his mother's reaction while she is inside the lobby, taking care of his younger sister, who has some crazy medical-related helmut on her head. I wonder if they are in San Francisco to see a top notch doctor. Then, I don't care. The little girl is oblivious to any sort of condition, and the family is beaming with family togetherness, whether they feel it pouring over me or not.

5. 12 Hour Work Days x 3. Grmph but thanks to the "positive life" books, feeling accomplished.

6. Pedestrian Encounter. After work on Sunday I was fired up and went on a run to tackle the Lyon Street Steps. Four blocks all up a stair set that varies on height and distance level. The downside: it's grueling. The upside: you feel rad afterwards. Especially if you run all four levels twice. Even more if you pass an UBER HOT man several times through the process, and he smiles at you. Smiles at you! Dude! What are you doing to me not bothering me while I am running with headphones on so I appear quadrupally unavoidable? Talk to me. Bump into me. Hell, shove me down the stairs. Now I have to check Craigslist for a missed connection for the next several days.

7. Obligatory Parental Time. There are always pro's and con's to living so close to your parents. Luckily for me, the pro's outweigh the con's all day and all night. I have fantastic parents. They may very well be too good. This past Saturday I had a "girl day" with my mom. In this small big city, as we ventured near and far throughout it's 7x7 sq miles, I ran into 3 people I know. My mom thinks I'm famous. For what, I don't know.

I love spending time with my mom. She's goofy. She's sensitive. She's sincere. She'd give me the shirt off her back and her socks that have holes in them because she's already saving to give me something else. She'd give me her retirement money if she felt I needed it. On this day, we went shopping together for a dress for me to wear to a wedding. She has some very strong opinions about dresses, but she doesn't dress too well herself so sometimes I wonder. The green dress I loved she agreed looked fantastic on me.

Mom: It's very flattering.
Me: Yeah, out of all the dresses so far, my butt looks best in this one.
Mom: It would be great... if you were going on a cruise.
Me: Wouldn't it be great if I were going to a wedding?
Mom: No. That's a cruise dress.
Me: Really? You think so?
Mom. That's a great dress for a cruise; why do you think it's on sale?

We settled on a black, halter top, Marilyn Monroe-type dress. To my mother's glee, the dress was on sale.

8. Pest infestation. Last night I met the Kamakazi Mosquito. Not your normal mosquito... instead he's one who doesn't mind dry, cold temperatures and doesn't waste time ho-humming in your ear. Instead, he is a huge, loud monster that comes screaming by ready to suck your blood and make you suffer. I didn't even think he was a mosquito, until I had 3 bites on my arm in 1:45 flat. I opened the window to freeze down the barracks and hunkered down under the faux-feather duvet. I woke up at 3:30 am sweating like a Scandanavian in a Swedish sauna. I lost several pounds last night, I'm sure of it. Man, those faux-feather comforters really work!

That son-of-a-bitch Kamakazi Mosquito is so obsessed with me that he came into the shower. Bad choice, Kamakazi-san. I kill you with water. Ha!

Later that morning while rinsing the coffee caraffe I noticed a few ants scrummaging around my relatively messy kitchen counter. I killed them with Clorox-infused cleaner. I removed everything from the counter and turned "relatively messy" into "impeccably sterile." I went to work. Upon return, an infantry of ants ignored the previous kills and were coming down the frame of my kitchen window to settle on a few crumbs in the sink. Clorox again. The battle with the pests seems to be won.

9. Party preparation. I am in charge of hors d'oeuvres for a party Monday night. After hours of online, familial and friend referencing, I settled on two appies: endive leaves stuffed with lemon-pepper-infused goat cheese topped with fresh chives and artichoke-parmesian crudites.

I went to the store and they only had 3 endives left. I asked the produce guy if the weak-looking endives would "produce" a tray of stuffed endives. He was honest and said "come back tomorrow morning." F**K that. I changed to baby red peppers stuffed with goat cheese. Out of goat cheese. What the hell kind of grocery store do you call this? I found one packet of goat cheese which I hope is enough. If not, I'll cut the peppers to fit. My Lord; when did making hors d'oeuvres get so hard?

Thanksgiving and Other Things - I Always Seem to be the White Meat

2006-11-23T23:22:00.000-08:00

SIDE NOTE: The first portion of this post is completely bizarre and unassociated to Thanksgiving Day… sort of:

For the past 8 years or so people [whom I know, thank God] can't help but spank my rear on occasion, like at bachelorette parties, or when I'm in a grocery store on the phone, or when I lean over to talk to someone. Or Thanksgiving Day. Yes; I said spank. It lends itself, unfortunately. I’m so used to it by now that I don't really react except for a look and a roll of the eyes. Unless I'm drunk, then who knows what I'll do.

One Halloween a few years ago, a colleague of mine recognized me in my costume at a street fair - from behind. And I had a big platinum ~~hillbilly~~ Dolly Parton wig on! And! I wasn’t even wearing the company jeans! She recognized my butt. Take that, J-Lo.

This Thanksgiving, I got spanked again. Twice. I’m tired of getting the old hand to the caboose. Seriously folks, can we look past the physical for a bit? I’m really, really tired of being a piece of ass meat.

THE REAL THANKSGIVING RECAP IS HERE.

Thanksgiving Day overall was a very good day. I woke up at 8:30 because Clickity Clack upstairs was away for the holiday so I got to sleep in. I went for a 4 mile run. Came back and found out my best friend (and Thanksgiving guest at my ‘rents’ place) had no hot water in her apartment and wanted to bail on Phase One of The Day, which was to visit my colleague’s house for a quick drink and appies.

As I have often come into the path of my best friend’s “universe denies my partaking in the occasion I already agreed to partake in” scenario, I didn’t fully believe that THE BOILER BLEW in her building, and went into a slight depressive mode. Seeing how I’ve been using some books to influence my positivity in life lately, I couldn’t fully believe it but I really wanted to.

I didn’t call her back right away; instead I went for coffee, relaxed, breathed, dealt internally with my issues, breathed again and then called. We created a mutual agreement on timing, as my parents were dealing with an electrical blackout and most likely needed all hands on deck [ed note: turkey OK! We do it on the bbq here in California] and decided we could complete Phase One and still be on time for Phase Two (being at my folks’ house before the rest of their guests).

Phase One was awesome and enjoyable. Special house cocktail was Guiness with sparkling wine. Believe it or not: very good. On the way back to the car my friend complimented me on my recent fitness campaign then spanked my butt for acknowledgement. Geez. Pleez.

Onto Phase Two, where, after several emergency last minute smokes in the car before the drought of not smoking at my parents’ house, we anticipated a disaster because of the electrical malfunction. No such misfortune. They were done cooking everything and the turkey was resting! Unbelievable! The only calamity is my mom wasn’t dressed yet.

The guests arrived, much wine was consumed, a photo journal of my parents’ most recent int’l journey was reviewed. I changed into jeans. I got spanked again. Damn-it! If it was a boyfriend I wouldn’t be so uptight about it.

We all got the leftovers and left woozy but not drunk. We said our goodbyes with hugs, etc. and now I smell like one of the guests’ horrendous perfume. It outsmells my own, outsmells the one my best friend and I put on in the car to cover up our smoking, and outsmells anything otherwise not covered. It stinks; I can’t get rid of it.

I got home and watched the end of Grey’s Anatomy in my p.j.’s at my own place in peace and calm quiet. I will dream of the stuffing, turkey and gravy all night till I can eat it for breakfast and run it off after lunch. YUM!

Check Status

2006-11-22T00:40:00.000-08:00

I don't know if you all know about Statcounter, but it's the bomb for checking all glories that come to your blog (er, yeah, which is why I know for a FACT that there aren't many more than a handful of you, but whatevs).

Anywho, um, there's one very comedic statistic that is listed for each recorded "project" [ed note: yes, I am a PROJECT], and that is the category of ............ Keyword Analysis! Yes, that's right, folks! This fun fun post will list the Top 10 Recent keywords that have lead you dear readers to this most thankful blog. Please note that I am only listing the searches that ended up here; I have no idea where in the blog they landed, nor wherefore (er, that's Shakespearean for WHY WHY WHY ME GOD???):

1. Boyfriend doesn't smoke
2. Selfish parking (ok, I know where this one went)
3. Sis in Law Bathing (what????)
4. Second of all (geez, I must say that a lot)
5. Thumbsucker liquid (ha ha ha!)
6. Stung boob (I know where this one went, too)
7. 2006 Bush speaches (ok, I know where this went, but I'm too ashamed to link it)
8. Partyclub in Jamaika
9. Step into the mystic song (man, you are worse than me at lyrics, dude. No wonder you couldn't find it.)
10. Jewish guy face plant (ha ha ha. I really wish I had that story to tell!)

So that's the most recent 10. Isn't it fun?

Where? When?

2006-11-22T00:11:00.000-08:00

Not only do I admit to being funny sometimes, I will also admit that I am a Flickr addict. I have a Flickr account, but I also have certain other members that I watch like a hawk - with the determination of someone who has a new puppy. I click often, I refresh. But most decidedly, I am obsessed with my own photos... particularly how often they are viewed.

See, Flickr lets you know how many times each photo you post online has been viewed by the world. This can be very flattering or very deflating. I posted a photo on October 17th and it has only been viewed once (er, by Gertie herself) so I deleted it. No sense in keeping what the WORLD says is an uninteresting photo around for other people to confirm its uninterestingness, so I say.

But here's the strange thing, and it really makes the non-technological Gertie think she is extremely ahead of the pack here.... sometimes a photo goes from 14 views to 77 views overnight. OVER. NIGHT. Or, it goes from 23 views one day to 55 views 3 weeks later, and THEN from 55 to 77 in mere hours. HOURS! Even though the photos I have online are COPYRIGHTED - yes, I'm no idiot (and thank you to the one online journal who wanted to use one of my shots for asking before publishing rights).... but I can only assume that someone talking about something searched tags on Flickr and came to a few, proud, innocent Gertie shots and has used them SOMEWHERE without PERMISSION in a public setting!! Is all propriety lost? How else can one account for such assanine hikes in views? Seriously.

And here's where Gertie is thinking ahead of the pack... in my curiosity, I was assured in my head that whomever referenced my photo did so online... so I did a Google Image search hoping to find the title of my images somewhere other than on my Flickr account. No such luck. BUT! DEE DEE DEEEEEEE! Wouldn't it be awesome to be able to TRACK an image that has LEFT an online photo sharing site! Hoo Ha! Lemme tell ya, my Ex Tech BF had all sorts of tricks up his sleeve to find out who had been where for how long, where they came from and where they went after, and I think this would be a phenomenal boon to the online photosharing society [Dawn, please note date and time of pronouncement, as if any such tool comes into fruition in the future I will certainly need an attorney to proclaim my patent-like rights].

Damn. I can't wait for my current career to provide me the funds for all the real shit I'm gonna bring to this world. Hoo ha!

And 3 Lbs. More - 3 Lbs. Live Blogging

2006-11-21T22:05:00.000-08:00

Preface: I will be the first to admit that I think I am funny. Sometimes I think this and I am actually NOT funny. But lemme tell you... this post I just wrote had me laughing out loud... almost thought I didn't write it for a moment... so please, skim or whatever, but I assure you, you'll enjoy it even if you haven't watched the show...

[Note, this is my first attempt at live TV blogging, and I'm already woozy. And, I'm watching a movie during commercials. Right, and baking banana bread.]

OK, so far on tonite's episode of 3 Lbs., we venture into the concept of the Left and Right sides of the brain. Oh, and "mind control;" i.e., manipulation of another's mind. Oh, and when and when not to use a cell phone in a hospital. Man, this is going to be difficult. I'm such a serial notetaker....

GSW: Gun Shot Wound by illegal guy. Illegal guy has shot himself in the head amidst other things [ed note: stupid]. Wait! There's something MORE intriguing in his brain than a bullet! A subdermal hematoma, oh no. And I guess there is an important other guy as a victim.

Pheromones. Mating. To resist is futile. Whoa. Now ~~people~~ strangers are having sex. What's going on?

A pregnant woman has had a seizure. Never had'em before, so what up? Well, whatevs, the Dox decide she needs one-sided brain surgery and now is doing stuff she has no control over. Like zipping up her sweater. Oooooh, that's horrible! Girl's make-up is too dark for her skin [oh! sorry! that's the movie...]

Kiss kiss, bad big hair. We had sex, does anybody care? Pheromones don't! But maybe a particular lawyer for a particular victim of a particular crime got some medical info no one was supposed to know...

The Indian Doc chick wants to know what the double brained lady is actually doing w/her right brain. So she does some tests and finds out that the right brain hates the impending baby. Poor baby. Baby definitely likes left brain better.

Back to sex. Lawyer woman, trying to deceive the Doc w/the whole pheromone thing while taking advantage for her client as well. Wow, I don't think I'd retain her over Dawn. But Dawn better not tell the tales she does on her site or we're all in trouble.

Double brained chick can't do anything on the left side (meaning right). Ha ha. Right. Oh, ok, some side of the brain is telling her to choose her baby over her life. Yikes. That sucks. Baby doesn't know who to like now. Baby very confused because Baby is inside the womb and can't see which side is right or left, or which it prefers. I'm guessing at the end of the day, Baby will go with whatever side is LIFE. Uh, wouldn't you? Duh. [ed note: most of this was discussed inside the Gertie's head, and not in the actual episode. Oh my God, I am cracking myself up right now.]

Scrubbing in; for what I don't know. But apparantly it was an interlude to some deeper discussion of the characters thus so far discussed so I should never have typed any of this. Oh well.

Right brain is apparantly "over-rated" in double brained lady (uh, need I mention here that all of us are double brained? No? OK). One hemisphere is now the boss of her. But! Both sides share emotions. Doi? Talk about leaving the choice to the patient...

In the victim of GSW Guy, a blood clot pushing on his lobe. Lawyer used the Doc to get an answer [with her pheromones, not her brain, of course]. Doc is in big trouble. By the way, I have noticed this episode that Espresso is the new black apparantly; everyone is wearing CHOCOLATE. [Switch focus.] Seeing drowning ghost girl from first episode. Dear God, will Doug Doc's conscience come into EVERY episode??

Contemplation [in espresso colored room - told you]. Brown suit. See theme. Too lazy to actually hear what they are discussing. My RIGHT arm is itchy (must mean my left brain is pissed). So in reality, I shouldn't have typed any of this, either. Sigh.

Oh stop, everybody, stop! You're believing things that are implied! Or! Vice versa! Or! Even better - - chocolate!! Espresso! The new black! Everybody think cho-co-lad-e and all is grand....

Except. You might not be able to speak;what? Oh, double brain is out of surgery, and everyone is wondering if she has a viable baby and if she can speak. She has a viable baby and can flail her arms. That's kind of happy and sad, really. Appealing to both sides of my brain, if I must admit.

[insert: poor little kids in the movie]

Bullet out. All good. Who's the GSW again? Uh oh. Dream scape with ghost girl. Rip artery in GSW. What does this have to do w/GSW's brain again? Oh right. Nothing. It has to do with the Doc's state of mind. Ooh, mind! Brain! Illusion! 3 Lbs! Wait, now we're back to the double brained mute, who was mutilated in the head and now she also cannot move. But don't forget! She has a viable baby.

GSW is a prisoner, but he's thankful and speaking. Could he perhaps, have traded brains w/another patient? HMMMM. creepy. Who cares? We've seen him for 2.5 minutes in a 60 minute show. Whatevs.

Double sided brain chick is MOVING. Woo hoo. BUT... can she talk? Well, I don't know, because I had to take the damned banana bread out of the oven. Oh well, at least she has a viable baby.

Hey! You know what? That was totally fun. For both sides of my brain.

"Priceless..."

2006-11-21T20:25:00.000-08:00

Going to an Italian wine tasting with your father? Priceless. (AND - awesome wine, grazie!)

Going immediately after to a crab-a-thon at your office? Additionally Priceless.

Having cheap American wine and that lingering garlic breath and crab-smelling-y fingers (not to mention the crab-o-lisious-smelling conference room...) for, uh, how long after? Deliciously disgusting.

Inquiring Minds

2006-11-20T17:28:00.000-08:00

Yes, I look for entertainment in the oddest of places... this was a Craigslist posting
"Do you suffer from any of the following symptom:

Bad Breath
Athlete's Foot
Gingivitis
Sweaty Palms
Chronic Shoe Odor
Dry Skin
Toenail Fungus
Itchy Red Eyes?"

If so, they’d like to get you together with a bunch of other people who have the same ~~problems~~ symptoms, and talk about them! Even better, they’ll pay you $100. I'm sorry, if you're not my doctor, my date, or my shoe, I won't be discussing any of these.

3 Lbs. - I get it already

2006-11-14T22:47:00.000-08:00

Apparantly, every network has to have a medical show, thus CBS has launched 3 Lbs. Ok. After a few minutes, I got it already.

The show is less medical and more mind game (yes, Gertie puns!), as the focus of the show is a neurology department, and all they do outside of brain surgery and sexual innuendos is talk about the mutually inclusive complexity (self-inflicted emotions) and simplicity ("wires in a box") of the human brain and review all the arguments about science vs. soul/spirituality. Interesting for a show or two, enough material to go on forever, but ultimately one must ask how long they can stand to listen. If you are like me and don't have cable, TiVo, or Netflix, this is the best you are going to get on a Tuesday night. But, there aren't a lot of people out there like me.

Blue Skies

2006-11-14T08:11:00.000-08:00

The skies were dry when I woke up. On the foot path I run by the bay the small puddles reflected the rising sun and two pelicans flew slow and low along the orange glassy water of the bird sanctuary. After reaching the Warming Hut and blowing my usual kiss to the Golden Gate Bridge, I couldn't decide if the run back toward the skyline was more incredibly beautiful than the run out. The hazy morning yellow of the unequivocal skyline, the tempestuous little waves smacking the shore, the blackened silhouette of a stoic egret against the brightly awakening city.

And people think I'm crazy to get up early to run.

Go Away, Rain

2006-11-13T22:12:00.000-08:00

We're having our first official rain of the season. We've had some rain in the past, but this one has been all green and yellow blobs on the news forecasts - blobs that aren't going away anytime soon.

Although I've fallen a bit off my early-to-bed, early-to-rise routine, and I've also taken a running break since the half marathon, tomorrow morning will be my first morning run... in the rain. Not really looking forward to it, but thinking about what possible outfit will allow me ease of limb use and proper water resistance. I am most happy to have received a free running hat as a promo for the last race, because getting pelted in the face at 6:45 am doesn't sound the least bit appetizing. Nor does soggy socks and an oversized windbreaker with a blinking light on it, but hey - you gotta look bad to look good, right?

On that note, I just received the 3 "professional" photos of me running my half marathon. No wonder I never meet guys while I'm running. Note to self: that face I give when I'm very focused and determined ends up looking like I have really bad gas. Stop focusing.

I Had A Dream...

2006-11-11T23:24:00.000-08:00

Last night I had a dream, of which I don't remember the magority, but I do remember one very poignant part.

I do remember the part where I was in a movie theater, or rather, one of those stadium-style college classes, you know the kind - where you and 449 other students are obligated to listening to a drone on the stage, and I was in the front row. I was talking incessantly to the gay guy next to me. He rolled his eyes at one point, and, apparantly speaking to the instructor on stage said, "SHE has got the worst breath ever!"

In the dream, I cowered deep into my theater chair, very embarrassed about my breath. In real life, I woke up at 4:12 am with a severe pain in my left jaw. I started freaking out that I needed a root canal, and then let the fear subside into a resolution to no longer eat frozen chocolate chips and then go to bed without brushing my teeth... all in fear of having a second root canal.

So this morning I woke up and FLOSSED. Yes, I flossed. Can you believe it?

Last Woman Standing - Two Nights in a Row!

2006-11-11T23:17:00.000-08:00

Yup, you guessed it. Gertie is bored again. I already did my "day;" not to mention the 5 journals/magazines/local publications I read through. And then another bit of another book. I never thought I'd say it, but I'm getting tired of reading. Luckily tomorrow is Excercise Day and a Work Day. Woo. Hoo. When are my girls gonna get dumped so I have stuff to do??

OK. That was a little selfish. Well, maybe a lot. Whatevs! I don't want my girls to get dumped. Ever. Cuz my girls are super cool (even though they don't read my blog).

Last Woman Standing

2006-11-10T23:40:00.000-08:00

Now that I've dumped Beef Jerkey, I'm free on a Friday night! Only problem is, all my girls are in still in their relationships. Bummer. I'm totally bored.

What the...? Part II

2006-11-10T22:09:00.000-08:00

I guess I've titled something "What the...?" before. To be honest, it is so tedious to search archives with Blogger that I don't have the patience or interest to figure out what I was so confused about prior to this. The "this" now being the new Blogger Beta, which is supposed to be an improved Blogger.

It's still no WordPress, which I would prefer to have but, hey, Blogger is free and WordPress is not. So, Blogger it is.

And Blogger has a new version! I was so excited to hear that when I logged in! And then, in order to get all beta'd, I had to do a few (yes, TEDIOUS) things. Like pick a new template. [As you can see, my new template is my old template - only I painted it a little shade of blue. Gertie is SO artistic!] Then I was able to add a "signature" photo (which, aparantly, I could have done before, but it's easier now). I will probably regret it, but I updated AN ACTUAL PICTURE of me (most likely soon to be replaced by just some undetectable BODY PART of me). There are a few other things I can add now, but to be honest, they seem boring and I am too lazy and uninterested to figure out if they would be cool additions to my post. Finally, with keeping with my Template, they changed the way my old posts show up (read: made my previous posts look like a boring historical timeline), so I made the utmost attempt to make them look interesting... to no avail. How the hell is anyone gonna wanna see my prev posts if they are all a Star Trek Star Date Time Log? Well, I might at least get some Trekkies on board.

OK. Done ranting on the new beta Blogger. Thanks for listening. More interesting stuff to come, but how would you know, since they are all archived by date? Hrrmph.

Official Results

2006-11-05T18:14:00.000-08:00

This morning I ran the US Half Marathon here in San Francisco. About this time last year I ran the Nike Women's Half Marathon, and finished it in 02:13:47. I could barely move the remainder of the day. I think I was horizontal for most of it. Needless to say, it was a brutal initiation to real racing (unlike the 12k Bay to Breakers, which most people do drunk and in costume).

This year, the Nike Women's Half Marathon was sold out in 2 weeks. So the next race was the one I did today, the US Half. I trained with the Nike group, and I trained a lot more than last year, and here are the results!

Official finish time: 02:02:24
Fastest mile: mile 1 - 8:36 mins
Average min/mile: 9.31
Age group place: 70th
Overall place: 274th
Total runners: 3,000 (I was in the top 10%!)
Hrs laying horizontal afterward - only 1 hour!

Gertie sore, but Gertie happy : )

Boo

2006-10-31T19:37:00.000-08:00

I hate Halloween. Always have. My parents are out of the country so I've been staying at their house watching the PET. Having to be here to hand out candy has been a nice excuse not to go to Halloween parties, or the ever-famous Castro Street, or any other SF Halloween-bizarro event.

The conversation of the night:

Ding Dong. I go to the door.
The next door neighbors' kid and 2 of his 7 year-old pals are there. I wait a moment for Those Words. They don't come. No kids say trick or treat anymore!
Me: "Wow! Look at YOU guys!"
One of the Kids: "Your parents are in Madagascar?"
Me: "No, they're in Casablanca."
OOTK: " What's Casablanca?"
Me: " You'll find out when a girl makes you watch the movie."

How Greens and Dems Listen to Bush Speaches - They Talk About Dating, Dining, and Dating.

2006-10-11T23:12:00.000-07:00

So, I wake up this morning to a droning traffic report from some area into the City, and I don't care cuz I'm in the City already and I'm darned tired, so I set snooze for 6 minutes.

The alarm goes off again... droning from another area into the City... should get up and run... hit snooze for 12 minutes.

Alarm goes of again (and again, and again!) and it is this annoying, incessant and stupid sound, kind of like a mosquito in my ear... oh, crap, it's the 'Prez speaching. Bleck. Turn off alarm and get up. Start getting ready for my meeting since I snoozed through a run. That's what the Green does. There, I said it. I'm Green, and have been for years (go fig, Cali Girl Gertie is All About Trees and Stuff - hey - Save Trestles! and all that jazz).

Greens and Dems Part 1

Not more than 2 minutes into my getting ready, my phone rings. It's 8:15am. "Grandma's dead!" I instantly assume, cuz why the hell else does someone call that early? Oh yeah, it's just a Democrat, who's morning walk with the radio got interrupted with 156 channels of Bush pontificating like a mosquito in the ear.

Gertie: Good morning, Mom.
Mom: I was walking, and then Bush came on, so I took my headphones off, and I thought of a GREAT PLAN for how to confirm your cooking over dinner date with New Guy!
Gertie: You did, huh, surprise.
Mom: Yes, first of all, when you're confirming he will actually show up, don't say "you'll be disappointed" if he doesn't.
Gertie: Mom, trust me. I would never use the word "disappointed" with a man, I'm not that stupid.
Mom: Well, you told me you'd be disappointed if he doesn't keep the date.
Gertie: Right, I will. But you should know that I'm very well schooled in "Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus..."
Mom: I've never heard of that book
Gertie: ...and I've also read "Mars and Venus on a Date," "The Rules," and "He's Just Not That Into You," etc., etc., etc. So believe me, what I say to you is by no means literal to what I will say to him. What I'm telling you is Woman to Woman.
(Somewhere inside, my mom gets excited about the fact that we speak woman-to-woman, but she doesn't say it. It's the .2 second pause between her unstoppable conversing that indicates this joy. Correction: overjoyment. Or whatever.)
Mom: So I bought a book to bring to your Nephew....

There was way more to the conversation, including some menu and meal prep tips, which I didn't hang too heavily on since I'm not sure the "having dinner at Gertie's" date is actually going to happen Thursday. Since I'm sparing myself from over-anticipation, I'll spare you, too.

Greens and Dems Part 2

This is the e-mail subject line I received from my Dem Best Friend at 9:15 (was Bush was still talking or were people just talking about Bush talking?): "Major JUNK FOOD consumption alert." This e-mail contained a long list of crap my friend and soon bride-to-be had thus far consumed during the day (which apparantly had only started 15 minutes ago), then finally curtailed, after a diatribe of side-splitting laughables, to ask me to confirm a certain restaurant was "still good" so she and her fiance could dine there tonight. I replied I had last been there when our local Fox anchorman had no grey hairs, and recommended instead the newer place down the street.

Best Friend: YEah? Why do you like Houston's? From the outside, it always reminded me of a post frat Taylor's [in Boulder, CO] with steak? But it's okay?
Gertie: Your description of Houstons is spot on. However, you have to remember that I am a little more ON the beaten path than you are... I actually like places that give me the opportunity to meet people of a [educational/career] caliber which I would like in a mate. Unfortunately, a lot of these places also offer the post-collegic riff raff that you and I love to abhor. It's the sorting that I have to do, and don't mind doing, that is no longer in your to-do list, that may inhibit you from further investigation of such places.
---
So you see? There were a couple of people today who weren't listening. Charlie Brown's Teachers, that's what it sounds like, and for some of us, it's enough annoyance to turn it off. And tonight at dinner with some friends, I was surprised to hear about an upcoming Supreme Court ruling on abortion. Wha? With all this "Foley is a Gay Previously Molested Pedophile!" crap I didn't hear BOO about an abortion ruling. Geez. If people would just ever ask me anything, like say, "hey, you worked for corporate Gap, do you think this guy Foley is gay?" then we wouldn't have these issues taking our precious newshour time. Because if someone woulda just asked me, I could've told you in a Gap Second that YES, he's friggin' gay. Obvious and of little importance considering NO ONE is talking about what the Supreme Court is changing about abortion rights. Which, by the way, I would link to here, except I am totally unaware. And a little bit frightened about, to be honest.

Beef Jerky

2006-10-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

He's such an asshole, er, jerk, er both. Ugh. Opposable thumbs, we should have stopped at opposable thumbs. This man is driving me crazy.

I told you before that my mom loves this guy, but OH, if she knew, if she knew how he so easily ruffles my feathers, ooh! OK, you're right. She'd say I'm taking everything absolutely too seriously. And she's probably right. That ass. Stupid ass. To think how many times I've wanted to... uh. OK. We'll leave it at he's a stupid ass.

But it would be nice if Beef Jerky would stop being such a jerk and make me feel special once in a while.

Love,
Gertie

Tags:

Loose Change

2006-10-03T20:35:00.000-07:00

For some reason it feels like forever since I've posted anything. Maybe that's because in early August I decided to start leading life by the reigns instead of letting it pull me hither and nither. And so, for the past few months, I've been trying to pick up, organize, and be productive. What I did was eliminate (in half-assed sorta way) effectiveless use of time, and for some reason, staying up till 2a having a few drinks chez moi and pontificating ridiculous thoughts on a blog seemed a perfect thing to eradicate from the routine.

I miss giving some dish, or comments or insights, despite my frequent lapses of judgement for which I regret sharing some outbursts here, and I've found that writing is an important aspect of being a productive person. It clears the pipes, organizes loose change, and let's me rest my brain when my head actually hits the pillow.

The challenge now is to find the time. Since I don't stay up till 2 anymore, it's not as easy to fit in. I've often wished for something that you can just plug into the side of your head and it would translate the thoughts onto a harddrive for editing later. I especially need this now as most of my free-flow thinking time is when I run in the morning. Hey when is iPod gonna add this feature? Then I'll definitely buy one.

The "New Gertie" comes and goes these days. It's pretty hard to make a dramatic life change and stick with it. I'm not getting up at 6:15 anymore, because I'm a big baby and I don't want to run in the dark. Or work before it's light. But I'm still running 2 work mornings a week and the long distance runs on Saturdays. This past Saturday I decided to run over the Golden Gate Bridge and back. I love the Golden Gate Bridge. Something about it's quiet stoicism, I guess.

Another area that has been quiet the past week or so has been work. After a huge rush of activity for 3 straight weeks, I've only got one client right now, and stomping the pavement to drum up new business just plain sucks when nothing comes of it. It gets hard to keep it up. The Bloomingdales and its "premier" mall just opened, and it takes a lot of things on the to-do list to keep me from playing hooky one day to look at stuff I can't afford.

Hey did Gertie tell you she met a guy? Well, I'm still playing this one out. Tough call on this guy, who has met my parents but none of my [close] friends. I have heard him referred to [from my not close friends] as "a dickhead" and "an ass." I concur that he can be these things sometimes, I've seen it in action. Mom is gaga over him. When she met him she pulled me aside...
Mom: I like him, you can just tell he's a good man.
Gertie: You're just sensing the Tribe Vibe, Mom.
Mom: The what?
Gertie: The Tribe Vibe... he's Jewish.
Which probably gave an additional little warm spot to him in her heart. Before the Jewish holiday she suggested I bake him a honey cake. I said "if he ever decides to call me then maybe I would." Basically, I have never been so pulled around by someone I'm dating before. I cannot tell you how many times my best friend has heard "it's over!" and "he called!" in the past six weeks. Ridiculous. Nature should have just stopped with the opposable thumb - it'd be easier on us all.

And that's the weekend update, folks.

I Kill Myself With My Own Humor - er, maybe not.

2006-09-21T00:38:00.000-07:00

Oh, you, dear Reader, have always wondered, I'm sure, what it is to be me. Yes. Yes. A crazy, fear-filled inquisition, to be sure. So, if you want to know what it is to be me, and be me at 12:33pm after 3 16-hour work days, in my goofy goof goof state of mind, well... here it is:

This is taken from a self-appropriated e-mail just minutes ago, an e-mail which I unsolicitatatiously (er, Dawn? Help me out here with the legal?) delivered to a fine friend who happens to be "challenging herself" to learn Chinese (with absolutely no significance to her blonde WASP-y - slash - Catholic-y lineage, and purely for her own "mental entertainment"): woops. What's going on here? I'm feeling some CENSORSHIP in the blog-o-sphere - I'm getting a link when I try to post the text. OK. Re-arrange. Sorry folks, for the minor interruption. Actually, it's more than an interruption... it's a censorship block!

OK. Maybe this is a Big Sign. A Big Sign that I shouldn't be pushing any envelopes right now, like I normally do. I get it. I get it! I KNOW Rosh Shashana is Friday! I Know! OK! Relax, G-man, relax. Breathe. But you have to admit... the " chi chiii choo chung ha ha ho nim fao suk " part [of the original text] was really funny!

Ok then, ok. Yes, yes, Big G, I am going about thinking about my sins of the year, and my pure-hearted goals of next year. Yes, I am observing , thanks for asking. The only problem this year is that Yom Kippur falls on a training day, 12 miles in fact, and I think it will be a bit difficult to run 12 miles and not eat till Sunset. But yes, Sir, that's the plan, and all the time refreshing for a new year, yes, it looks to be a delightful new year, I'm very excited, except for the Yom Kippur part where I run 12 miles and then have to not eat until sundown. No, I'm not complaining at all, no; I'm simply saying it will be a true test for both my body and spirit - and yes, that's what it's all about , I suppose. Right, no, I'm not forgetting being a good person with that, of course not. I don't like to "brag" in front of others so let's just keep my good (and my bad /improvement areas) to Ourselves here and work it out next year. Good plan, Sir, er G-man, er? Yeah, great. Thanks. Yes, I know I need to work on my elegance at every level. Right, well, I'd like to blame it on my older brother and his influence on my tomboy-ish-ness, but that would be passing the buck, now, wouldn't it?

OK, then. Who else is tired of my free-flowing discussion with the G-O-D? Me too. Buone notte a tutti!

Bruised But Not Broken

2006-09-09T22:46:00.000-07:00

Interesting how that title can refer to so many aspects of life. Unfortunatley for you, Reader, it only has to do with me running. Me running with a dog on a leash.

Jake. Jake Jake Jake! That damn sweet adorable Labrador Retriever with the fuzzy golden face that absolutely glows with delight and is full of all of the best intentions to love one could possibly have in the world. Who could get mad at that face, that excitement, that pure pleasure of being out and about?! I can.

Yesterday I took Jake running with me [again]. He's such a great companion. Most of the time. For a 3 year old (i.e., teenager) Lab, he's really well behaved. Except when you bring him outside. No specific outside... ANY form of outside.

I bought him a lovely designer leather (fake LV) choke collar the third day I was watching him. Because, yes, not only is he a beautiful Labrador but he is also a bit on his teenager-over-the-top-exctited side, so I needed something hip to reign him in, and it had to look hella good like a kick ass dog should. Reign him in I did! He was so mallable! I was so proud! Good boy, Jake!

Good boy until yesterday, that is. Because yesterday we went for a morning 5 mile run, which was only as enjoyable as running can be when you have to look out for some creature else who is so wrapped up in their own excitement that THEY FORGET THEY ARE ATTACHED TO YOU BY A MERE ROPE. So, 2 plus miles in we have passed the footpath and are running on the sidewalk on a most distinguishly expensive road in a most distinguishly expensive locale in Northern California, when good 'ole Jake gets ahead of himself, and ahead of his Master (i.e. ME) and TRIPS ME. And there I am, in my distinguished stride on a distinguished street in a most distinguishly expensive locale, pummeling to the ground because SOMEONE FORGOT WHAT HEEL MEANS, and I am falling, and my knees hit the pavement, and then my hands (barely enough skin enclosed meat to type now), and then my left thigh and then my stomach, which happened to skid at least 2" in a very "slide into home base" manner, accross the asphalt to a not so soft landing of my chin hitting the road. Mother Bugger! That not only sucked, it was embarrassing to face plant whether a tony area or not. Ne'er a Mercedes did stop to see if I was okay. But I got up, brushed off, and started jogging again. With a "grmmph" in my stride of course.

Physically a battering day for me, but I can tell you, Jake heeled perfectly thereafter. He felt really bad, it was apparant. Well, at least he behaved until the next outing. As for me, I dismissed myself from the 12 mile run this morning because I think I bruised my ribs. Or maybe I didn't, but it feels like I have spent the last 6 months like the chick from Terminator II (that means in a jail cell doing sit-ups and getting pysically fit for the end of the world) and my neck is sore and sensitive (that means I need a jacuzzi - right now)! And the road rash on my tumtum ain't so perty either. But who's lookin'? Oh right, that Jewish producer guy. More on him later. I hope. But fyi Aunt Di - my mom luvs him - I told her she was getting the Tribe Vibe - ; )

Anyhoo, I am back in SF after 2 long weeks in Magestic Marin, bruises and all. I'm hoping the bod will be up to snuff tomorrow, since I JUST SIGNED UP FOR THE US HALF MARATHON taking place in November!!!! and I have to contiunue my training. I'm gonna kick ass. I promise! No screwing around this year; I'm already running 20+ miles/week. EZ PZ. And brunch after! Woo hoo. 11/5/06. Save the Date.

Tags:

Something New Video Review

2006-09-09T22:36:00.000-07:00

OK, back in the day, I said I wanted to see this movie, Something New. It's finally out on video, and being the cheap and not-so-movie-going-ish person that I am, I rented it. I have two things to say about it: 1 - it is good, so rent it! and 2- I have never seen so many black people in a Starbucks before. If this is a true L.A. reality, please advise. Note this doesn't mean I won't go in, it's just that the scene was a little too contrite for me.

Anyway, all in all a better than expected film. It only has a few extras on the dvd, and they're not mind blowing, but they're definitely worth watching - even if the second one is only worth it in order to hear Simon Baker speak in his natural tongue (which he had always done such a good job of hiding for us Yanks).

Tags:

Jake Gets Pooped

2006-09-01T11:06:00.000-07:00

I'm taking care of a friend's pets yet again. It hasn't been all roses like I had anticipated: having a happy-go-lucky yellow lab obediently by my side for all adventures, having the cats curled up on the couch next to me for an evening of reading or boob tube. There must be something in the water out there in Tiburon because one or both of the cats has diarrhea and, since Wednesday, so does the dog.

Yesterday I took the dog on a hike, which he loves because he gets to be off leash, smell around and frolick behind me and then sprint up ahead to lead the way again. About 15 minutes into the trail I hesitated to continue: not only was there a new trail I could go down, but I also smelled the faint hint of smoke. Is there a fire smuldering somewhere down the path? If so, which path? What if I take this path straight back but the fire is starting on the path to the left, and by the time I come back the exit will be cut off by flames... I'll perish like a trapped rabbit! But, what if the fire is on the trail straight ahead? Can I run fast enough to outpace a forest fire? And then I sniffed the air again, and couldn't smell fire anymore, so continued on my way.

After feeling comfortable walking with little probability of encountering flames, I noticed that everytime Jake ran in front of me he seemed to have really bad gas. Geez, dog, what the hell have you been eating? We trudged along him gassing away and me exhaling the fumes away from me, and I thought I heard a mountain bike coming. The dog is pretty good about sticking to one side of the trail or another... until a person approaches either running or biking, so upon thinking a biker was coming I ordered Jake to stop so I could catch up and hold him out of the way. As he stopped and turned I freaked out.

Jake was bleeding from his neck! Oh no! What did he catch himself on? Poor puppy! As I ran closer I began to see... see exactly why the dog was emitting such foul odors - it wasn't blood smeared from his jawbone down his chest, it was shit. He must have slipped in his own poop earlier on the trail. Poopy faced Jake and I finished our walk, I tried to clean him up as much as possible before putting him in my car (unroll all windows, open sunroof!), taking him home and then having to give him a bath (which he despised). By the time I finished that, discovered ants covering the cats' food bowl and dealing with that, it was 9:00pm.

Ah... another day in paradise!

Tags:

"There's No Fixin' Things These Days"

2006-08-25T23:20:00.000-07:00

"There's no fixin' things these days" is a quote from the British movie "On a Clear Day." And it's so right. It probably doesn't have a lot to do with the plot (I just paused the film, so maybe it does tie in somewhere). Don't get me going on my anti-consumerism mumbo-jumbo, just know that I despise the [consumerist, not health and sciencey-types of] disposable plastics that surround us and fill our all-too-small-for-marketing-forced-consumer-appetited landfills. So there.

OK. Carry on then! Right-o.

Tags:

Clickity-Clack Attack

2006-08-25T22:23:00.000-07:00

My old building was built in 1910 (4 years after the Big One - er, earthquake, that is). It was built on solid bedrock (I'd say 77% of SF is) and has wonderful period details, like rounded bay windows, 14' ceilings and a fabulous decorative fireplace (that took me HOURS to repaint, by the way). It also has some not-so-period details invented by my old landlord, like a '70's style kitchen and super ugly light brown carpeting.

My new building is a re-constructed 1940's gem with mohogany-stained hardwood floors, 12' ceilings, lovely crown molding and Old World charm. With east and west facing windows, my "Bone"-colored walls get the most elegant light all through the day. The negative here is the "re-constructed" part: this building was part of the 23% NOT built on solid bedrock, and, in pictures from 1989, could have been anyone of the absolutely destroyed buildings lying flat on the ground after Jr. Big One.

I love my new apartment. I love the location. I love the windows and the light pouring through them. I love the floors and the crown moldings. BUT. What I don't like, is the CLICKITY-CLACK of the new neighbor upstairs who has OBVIOUSLY never been anything but a top-floor renter (if a renter at all). The ordinance in SF is to have 70% of hardwood floors covered, but I think it should be altered to "70% of traffic areas on the hardwood floors covered." She must have been a gymnist growing up. I mean seriously. This little girl of 5'2" IF THAT, really lands her feet. Lands them! Really. Forget the 6:45 am traipsing around in her work heels (which happens like clockword M-F,which is only somewhat bothersome now that I'm early to bed, early to rise), I'm talking her general barefoot traipses. Girl! There are people living down here! Under your thinly and cheaply laid hardwood floor with barely a subfloor and ceiling in between. Let's all trollip gently through the tulips now, shall we? OK. OK then. Good. Sheesh. Now we can all just get along.

Tags:

The Short, Sad Life of my Little Basil Plant

2006-08-25T11:47:00.001-07:00

One bummer in moving from my old place is that I had to get rid of my potted plants. I only had one indoor plant, but I had a lemon tree and some potted flowers on my huge fire escape. There's just not enough space in the new place.

I had been wanting to grow some herbs on the kitchen window sill, but it's so narrow that I never figured I could find a small enough pot that was big enough for herbs. Last weekend my mom surprised me with a teeny tiny pot with a teeny tiny basil plant! I was in love.

Well, it's been a rough road for little Basil! First everything I watered him with was too forceful/fast and the water would run right off the soil, so he was thirsty. Then I found the perfect watering can - a milk creamer - and all was well and he was on the road to health, enjoying the open window in the kitchen... until yesterday. A big wind came through and when I got home little Basil was all over the floor surrounded by a broken pot and the few ounces of soil that surrounded his teeny tiny roots. He's sitting in a little candle holder w/some water now, but who knows how long he will hold out?

: ( Sorry little guy.

Tags:

Mother Bugger

2006-08-21T23:33:00.000-07:00

Oh crap. Did you see that? Crap! A mosquito just flew by! Looks like another night of trying to figure out how to sleep and still breathe while being completely blocked from mostquitoes. By the way, if you don't live in SF, mosquitoes here are rare, and NO, we don't have screens on the windows. Sheesh.

Tags:

I Did It!!!!

2006-08-21T23:06:00.000-07:00

Hell Yeah! I'm so proud, People. I did it. I actually made a Life Goal and ACHIEVED IT. For now. I am officially.... Early to Bed, Early to Rise. Hoo ha!

Now, you may ask why this is so awesome. Well, for one, I am by creature of nature, a night owl. But all I did was flip it. It wasn't easy, but I did. And you know what? It's not all bad.

The Good: I get up and, er, cuh-phrump, hack hack, clear nasals, clear nasals, R U N. Yes, I run. Just about 3 mi., maybe up to 4.5 mi if I'm feeling groovy and my mp3 inspires. Cuz it's certainly not the crap in my head inspiring. Anyway, the coolest thing is, that if I run the same pace for the same distance, I end up walking off the run (cool down) to this crazy Brazilian tango-esque song that is altogether completely uplifting and positive. I mean, who can be a Bi-atch on a day where they end up salsa-ing home? IMPOSSIBLE.

Anyway, that's the news. In a nutshell. Yes, Auntie Di, I know you are standing up clapping. I've always strived... I'm getting there. And PS Auntie Di, disregard my mom's email to you. For God's sake I only got a mosquito bite on my eyelid, and granted it was a really big vanity issue with the swelling and all, but it certainly wasn't a medical issue that would require your attention.

Funny to say, but it's 23:22 and it's LATE, and I'm TIRED. Good night.

Tags:

They Beat me to it (Damn Firefox+Blogger)!!!

2006-08-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

Well, they didn't really. I wrote an AWESOME - AWESOME! blog post about being born to be a Rock Star and someone I particularly know, the Rock Star Supernova's contestant, Storm Large, but for some reason the Firefox/Blogger (i.e., Fifo/Bloggo) combo didn't like my preamble about meeting an opera major I ineterrogated at my former university, (Go Buffs - hoo-rah!) so, oh well. I'd like to add, however, that the preamble was also AWESOME. If you were ever curious about why/how people decide to be opera singers, email me: I know!

Let me tell you, it was a really good lead-in/post. Seriously. I'm so sad that I didn't beat them to the proverbial punch. Seriously. Because not only do I share the same birthday as Storm, but I really, really did do all the backstage and pre-post-non pre/post just- party party stuff with her. She's a really swell gal. All about the artists, or so it seems (she is really supportive of other chicks trying to Make It). But is she Supernova's rock star? I dunno. What I can tell you, which I DID tell you in my farked post, is that she is a person-magnet and will get far in the fame field regardless of being on the Supernova bandwagon. Cuz' I am being totally honest here... whether you are a randy hetero man or a any sort of girl who has seen Storm live, well, you just want to be close to her. And THAT, my friends, is a Rock Star. Period. *Please FiFo/Bloggo accept this damn admission.* And I won't charge you for the new refs. Cheers. But seriously. Storm live is a most amazing thing. If you have the chance, go see that s****. Period.

Tags:

Forgive Me Father...

2006-08-16T14:52:00.000-07:00

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I chewed out the customer service person who was trying to not help me fix the problem with my cellular phone plan being more than I need. I know it is only his job to keep telling me no you can't, that's the rule, no, my supervisor is not here, no there is no one else who can help you, would you like to leave a callback number? Actually Father, saying I "chewed him out" doesn't quite describe it. I talked over him because he wouldn't shut up about policy, and I raised my voice at him, and I used his name and the "F" word in the same sentence. Twice. While screaming and holding the phone a foot from my face. Twice.

Well, Father, I don't think I need to do any penance for that because he already gave me what I deserved.... he hung up on me. So then I did something worse, Father: I called back and falsely threatened to cancel my service. And the lady, well, you must have sent her to me, because she made the changes to my plan like an angel. But I do feel guilty. What's that? Oh, right. Next time I'll call my rabbi. Sorry about that.

Tags:

Update on Evidence Gathering

2006-07-14T03:29:00.000-07:00

In vain! In vain!

Bugger; lazy, pre-occupied Gertie missed the contestation deadline for her $75 ticket. I have all the photos and everything. I wrote the most eloquent and unobtrusive-but-give-me-my-$$-back letter one could write. But I did it 2 days too late. Hrmmph. That could've been a nice pair of shoes.

Another Charlie Rose Interview Riles Me Up and I Send an Email to An Interviewee

2006-07-14T01:18:00.000-07:00

OK People. I know I should give you [two or three] a break from my love affair with Charlie Rose. But I can't help it! Especially since he and I have spent the last 3 nights staying up worthily past my bedtime in an intriguing round of conversations with Warren Buffett, finding out what makes him tick and why he gave a gazillion dollars to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation (and what they're going to do with all of that generosity). Don't get me wrong; I am bowled over by the philanthropic endeavors of both of the aforementioned and I hope it can do a world of good - in a magnitude that they may not imagine. Such a cool guy, that Warren Buffett; I wish he was my grandpa (for more than the obviou$ reason). But tonight, after barely listening to some flatly fascinating diatribe on the Iraq War situation (mainly because in these times there is simply too much information for one to absorb and still be happily functioning in society), my ears perked when Charlie completely switched topics to.... nutrition. Nutrition.

Enter Marion Nestle (pronounced ness-el, not ness-lee). [ed note: Ironic, the same name as candy.] Don't know her? Well, I really hope that she becomes a household name. Because why? First, let me tell you about the practically mandatory nutrition course I had to take at Universtiy of Colorado.

As an International Affairs major, I had significant credit requirements to overcome. As a transfer from a Jr. College in the far far West, I had even more to overcome, like fulfilling a missing science credit. Apparantly, my AWESOME biology class at the Marin JCC got discarded, even though that class actually taught me that, yes, I do like science very much, as long as math isn't too involved (we did life science I guess, because we did O2 analyses and spinning/balancing stuff and got to inspect a cadaver who was a 64 year-old smoker-man with a pace-maker named Walter). So with a minimal selection of non-mathical science stuff, I chose a nutrition class. I learned a myriad of things that are good for you, and and equal amount of what was bad for you, and although I got an "A" in the class, I ultimately walked away thinking that one good here brings in five bads there and vice-versa, so in my mind it was all, at the end of the day, a life-long crap shoot as long as you tried to balance things out.

Immediately after college I lived in France for a year. Food is treated incredibly different there and I don't even think they discuss nutrition (it's basically a non- issue). In France (ten years ago), there was no "snack food" aisle. The chips section was on a 3 foot wide rack and held a measley selection. I didn't care; I don't like chips much anyway. The meat section was extremely "raw" in comparison to American standards: you could actually tell that meat and poultry come from recently killed animals. I didn't have much problem with any of this. What I did have a problem with was all of the French people asking me why Americans were fat, and the fact that I had to come up with a real answer in a foreign language that I was just getting used to. And, after so many times being questioned, and really thinking about it, and then translating it (often times incorrectly, note: the word "preservative" in English does NOT translate to "preservatif" in French. "Un preservatif" in French is a condom, woops), I really looked the issue hard in the face.

This, among other things, is what Marion Nestle does. She points out the obvious (eat healthier, be more active, blah blah), but then BLAM! She blasts American culture, marketing and politics on how Americans are being trained to become fat. Boo-ya! THIS is an NYU professa'. Kick-ass.

Now, why am I so excited about this? Well, if you, dear reader, lived close enough to me so that we could go to coffee some time (Marion says coffee's OK and it has anti-oxidants [woo-hoo], not to mention the diuritic aspect of things), then you would perchance be one day bored to tears with my very aggrevated attacks on the status of the American supermarket, it's "coupon-o-rama" of crap food rather than healthy food, how big companies like General Mills and Coca-Cola are pushing our tri-glycerides one "buy one get one free" at a time. This, after my French Inquistion, is what I ended up with: a long hard look at what Americans eat and why they eat it. And to tell you the truth, Americans eat what they eat because the government and big business tell us to.

Since the few of my companions whom I've ventured to dispell the myth to have looked blankly at me in white-eyed wonder of what the heck I'm going on about, I've really had no good outlet or sense of solidarity in my viewpoint, except for with the few international new arrivals I've met here...and now, Marion Nestle! NYU Professor! Thank you! Think about it: the politics and marketing culture of America are pushing certain foods like drugs. And I say this because tomorrow they could decide to push it an entirely differnt way. Why? Because we listen to marketing. And Big Business influences American policy. And American policy gives to Big Businesses that support their Parties. And in return, to give all of those Parties and Big Businesses involved more money and more opportunity, Big Businesses market crap to us. And enough Americans buy in to this marketing because they are keeping up with the Jones', who are the people who think they know what the next big thing is and try to get there first, when all "the next big thing" is is the Big Business Marketing Team telling you that you "have to have this." And yes, I do buy $150 dollar jeans, but not because they're what's "in," but because they make my ass look great, thank you very much. Now go eat some broccolli.

Whew. You see why everyone gets wide-eyed and dazed when I talk about it? And that, dear People, is why I head-nodded and exclaimed "Hell yeah!" all the way through the Marion Nestle interview tonight. And it's why I ended up, just prior to this, writing Marion an e-mail thanking her for bringing this notion of why and how America is endangering lives and entrenching itself in anti-prevention, post-prognosis medical care, which is ultimately leading the least able of us down a trechorous path of illness and debt. OK. I know I am looking at the worst case scenario. And I am not a nutrition angel by any means. But People, please look at the reality of how we eat, and who, besides ourselves, makes us eat this way. I will not go into the depths that I could here: about the layers of awareness that come, with countries and individuals alike, with wealth and "idle" time. The similarities of theory in world economics and within this singular country are too great for me to explore and expound upon with you here tonight.

Tags:

Ride, Gertie, Ride

2006-07-04T00:02:00.000-07:00

"And all she wants to do is ride [Gertie] ride..." is the perception from my camping commerades this weekend! And they are so wrong (and to my surprise, so right).

It's not really true that I love to ride [mountain bikes], but that is the way it appeared to my fellow campers as we ended my first mountain bike ride in about 12 years yesterday. Believe me, the reason wasn't that I was determined that I finished the ride first. It's obviously not because I ride all the time, or that I'm anything close to "in shape," that I finished the ride first. It's because of my blood type. No joke.

As a kid, back in the days before the easily applicable Advantage flea deterent for pets, my pets had flea collars. Are you old enough to remember those? Or cheap enough to think they can miraculously banish the plague of fleas from your pets? Well, let me tell you: flea collars don't work. Because some blood is better than others, and I know this because I am the better blood, I am O+, and the fleas, in fact all blood sucking bugs, LOVE ME. As a kid I had rings of flea bites at the base of my socks, and in other various parts of my body, all the way up until the pets died. My parents and I breathed a sigh of relief (for different reasons: they because an extra duty was gone, me because the flea bites were).

Back to the camping/hiking/riding/kick Gertie's ass 4th of July trip: The fact that I finished a 2 and a half hour uphill, undeniably technical (i.e. big, loose rocks and steep steep inclines for a long long time, for you novices) ride, with an undenialble heavy and out-of-date mountain bike (fewer gears than they have now!), on an undeniably hot hot day, AND after 13 years of NOT being on a bike OR a mountain or any combination thereof, is NOT because I am a pro. It's because every time I stopped I was bombarded by Horseflies, who continued to stick to me, bite my skin, pinch me, suck my blood, and swarm around me some more to find an even juicier point of entry. Even as I rode on they bombarded me. It felt worse than being a slow-moving human circled by vultures (which, yes, has happened to me as well... I don't know why I don't avoid nature altogether....)

Anyway, I was identified as a mountain biking shark: similar to the nature of a pool shark; I faked being a smoker and out of shaper with a fake heavy bike with fake non-shock-absorbing forks and fake fatigue at all the right places and ended up first because I was faking it all the way. But if they knew, oh if they knew how bugs bug the essence of my soul, they would have understood that all of that hilly torture was NOTHING compared to Horseflies wanting a piece of me.

The funny thing is this. It is the fact that, despite the soreness in the cooch area due to "unusual sitting on a bike seat," the fact that I finished first over many experienced riders this weekend got me all pumped to go riding again. So, instead of leaving camp and going back to the boring foggy City, I went to my parents place up north, hosed everything down, returned the borrowed camping gear, and! hopped! on! the out of date mountain bike! for a quick trip to Pheonix Lake! Holy Crap! What has happened to Gertie? There were no Horseflies today, and my legs were jello from yesterday's ride, so I took a few breaks. BUT. I finished. And I loved it, and I can't wait to get in the saddle again. Hoo-ha!

...
Post Script: I CANNOT WAIT TO SLEEP IN MY BED TONIGHT! Screw that blow-up mat crap...

Tags:

Basic Camping vs. Gertie Camping

2006-06-30T18:23:00.000-07:00

Most may not know it to look at me, but I am an expert camper. Sure, I haven't been camping in... oh, about 12 years... but don't let that, my 2" sandals or my perfectly straightened hair fool you.

So when I was invited to go camping over 4th of July weekend on short notice, I only gave a moment's pause to remember if I had the basic requirements in my little apartment on hand: sleeping bag? Check. Matches? Check. Gas grill? Check. Flashlight? Check. Some formation of grubby clothes? Check. The ability to go a couple days without a shower? Wha? Uh. Really? Hmm. Well, OK. I was in.

But that night, like most other nights, when my head hit the pillow my brain turned on. Wouldn't it be great to have grilled marinated flank steak, little white potatoes and roasted tomatoes one night? And pankakes for breakfast! And don't forget to bring: cutting board, garbage bags, plates, aluminum foil, ziplock bags for marinating, a wine opener, a can opener, knives, a spatula, salt and pepper, olive oil, Jamaican jerk sauce, use the frozen chicken breasts as ice blocks in the cooler, bug repellent, anti-itch cream for when you completely forget about the bug repellent, spf 4, 8, 15 and 30 sunblock, a water bottle for the bike ride, gatorade, paper towels, nail file, bandaids, and above all else, don't forget to take The Pill, well, just because you're not supposed to skip a day.

So it is 6:17PM on the day we are leaving, and Super Camper here has been ready since 5. Although, I will admit that last night, when the head hit the pillow and the brain turned on, I was overwhelmed and embarassed by my narcissism when I realized that these people would probably be the first friends of mine (I am substracting family and ex's) to see the raw, un-made-up Gertie, probably since the last time I went camping (which was when I was in college and there wasn't much disparity between raw Gertie and made-up Gertie, an issue that was promptly corrected when I moved to France). It frightened me that I might frighten them. I got nervous about the fact that the way I sleep makes me have a bald spot when I wake up that a brush just cannot overcome, and the fact that my hair gets greasy after just one day of no shampoo, and how my blonde eyebrows all but disappear if I don't "enhance" them with chocolate brown powder. This list went on and on and then I told myself to shut-up; it's mostly girls anyway and who the hell gives a damn. Don't forget to bring a hat.

Tags:

Dont' Mess With... er, San Francisco?

2006-06-29T00:07:00.000-07:00

Because we we are trying to be beautiful over here. It's even funnier when one of my favorite local blogs writes about it. Because, well, they're funny over there.

Tags:

trash

I've Been Very Busy Gathering Evidence

2006-06-28T22:23:00.000-07:00

It is generally easy to park in my new neighborhood, as far as "easy to park" is defined in San Francisco.

But sometimes, late at night, one has to settle for a less than perfect parking spot, like one where your bumpers are sneekily intruding upon the two different homeowners' driveways at either end and you think, "yeah, they can definitely still get out. It'll take some maneouvering, but I'm sure they're skilled enough...as long as there's not a Hummer in there." And then of course, the rule is to set your alarm for 6:30 am and run to move the car before some ass with a $3 Million dollar home calls the Department of Parking and Traffic because he can't get out to make more money.

There are other times, late at night, when you barely have to circle at all before yelling "sweeet!" and sliding the auto into a most excellent spot. Which was what happened on Sunday night. And I totally thought it was a sweet spot, until I got closer and saw the white envelope on my windshield Monday morning. Wha? WTF?! That's a totally legal spot! But aparantly, the DPT thinks it's a sweet spot too, sweet enough to garnish the trolling ticket prick with a $75 fine ticket to Yours Truly. And for what, for what? For parking a weensy bit into the white line of the world's widest crosswalk!

So if I've been a little remiss in posting, it's because I have been taking photos of Every Other Car that has parked there (sans ticket) since Monday morning. 18 in all. Take that you assholes. And give me my $75 back. I've got shoes to buy.

Another New York Tribute

2006-06-28T22:18:00.000-07:00

I'll blatantly admit that I love "Sex and the City." The writing is awefully good, and even though I've probably seen many of the episodes multiple times, there are still a few lines that are just spot on perfect. For instance, this made me laugh out loud (again):

Steve: "What's wrong with cordoroy?"
Miranda: "'What's wrong with cordoroy?' I don't have enough time to answer that question."

Tags:

quotes

Barney's is Coming! Barney's is Coming

2006-06-28T22:11:00.000-07:00

We may have more gays here, but the shopping is definitely inferior to New York (which is, of course, inferior to most of Europe's cosmopolitan cities). Luckily this little sister to the Big Apple is finally starting to mature in that department: first Zara, then H&M and now Barney's!

Tags:

Why I Hate the Bus

2006-06-20T17:55:00.000-07:00

Other than the fact that there is nary a schedule, that sometimes you Wait 3 minutes and other times 30 minutes for our lovely public transportation system, there are other fun things about riding the bus, like this:

Battery, Lewd Acts

Wednesday, June 7, 2006; 3:16 p.m.; Masonic and Geary

The incidents occurred aboard MUNI. Six suspects (described as 5-6 black male juveniles) got aboard the bus at Masonic and Oak Streets. One of the guys (black male 13-16 years, 5'6", with short blond twisties, wearing a white t-shirt, khaki pants, with a diamond stud in his right ear) was acting crazy and once on the bus let his pants drop to his ankles and attempted to sit on a woman's lap. When a man (53-year-old victim) attempted to intervene, the suspect and friends knocked him to the ground and hit him several times before jumping off the bus. The victim received minor injuries, the suspects were not located.

-from the monthly SF Park Station Crime Log Newsletter (yes, an email newsletter!)

Man I love reading crime logs.

Tags:

I Closed The Lid But I Didn't Flush

2006-06-11T23:44:00.000-07:00

So last night, I was out at a party. It was a nice party, where I got very well close to inebriated.

I realize now that often, when I look back at moments like last night, that the term "well close to inebriated" actually means "completely inebriated," point blank. But I digress.

And I digress again, by adding the fact that I was wearing my new White Pants (uh, yeah.... in 30 years, if their are archives of old blog posts admitting such things as "I wore White Pants" they will be just as bad those movies we currently watch of the '70's childhood videos of ourselves and parents - oy), for which, unbeknowenst to me, were the talk of the [ladies of the] party ( i.e., my ass looked hot in them, phew).

[Hey. Don't you love love love my excessive use of English grammatical stuff like this:;"[] ( )? I'm really good at it. Or bad. I can't tell anymore (should I have used a semicolon there)?]

OK, Back to The Story. Now that we've got my hot white-ass White Pants out of the way, I'll get to the point. I had a little epiphany last night about the ex-boyfriend. And that epiphany is just like the title: I closed the lid but I didn't flush.

It was me who called it off. And you know what? From the view over here, it seems that I am the only one who still smells the stink of it. I didn't flush. He oozes in somehow to every fucking day of my life. I miss him, I hate him, I empathize for him. Repeat. He flushed me the minute I gave the execution order. But here I am, still holding on to the relationship and cursing what it had and what it lacked everytime I think about it. Every day still. Granted, it's less and less everyday, but it is everyday nonetheless.

I've been telling myself to flush it for months. Months! I know this post is not really Gertie-style; I'm a pretty strong woman, after all. But often times the strongest of women are weak in the most unexpected ways. And to not be able to flush, just flush! this last relationship is a really surprising thing for me to realize I cannot accomplish.

Hrrmph. That F**ker. Sticks like glue. Off! Off!

Tags:

Shhh!

2006-06-08T00:18:00.000-07:00

Psst! Gertie! Shhh!

Now is not the time to be going into your diatribes. Let the People rest.

Yes, I know you have plenty to say right now. Yes, the oddities and the common humanities you butt around ARE of importance... but - shhh! Shhh! shhhh... not right now. OK?

It's quiet time now. Shhh!

Enter Gertie: OK! I'm Shush-ing! Geez. But can I just say one more thing, before I go? The letter "n" on my computer is worn off. WTF?? OK. Thank you very much for allowing me to notify the world of that. Thank you for the time. I'm shush-ing! Geez. Goodnight.

Tags:

Ghost of My Christmas Past: A Very Foul-Mouthed Tribute

2006-06-07T23:31:00.000-07:00

I feel sick, People, I do. In a "stupid girl" sort of way:

At this very moment, someone who was quite precious to me for over a year (ok, ok, I'll call him a past boyfriend, but I'm trying not to get sappy here) is flying over the Atlantic Ocean to San Francisco. Again!

He was here to visit me over this past Christmas. And it was... well, pleasant... okay... quiet. December in San Francisco is a very quiet time. But! It was mellow and good, and he was sweet, gentlemanly, charming; he took care of business, and me; he held my hand in almost all the right public places, and altogether I thought things were moving along swimmingly. Over the Big Pond. Stupid girl.

Shortly after his return to his country, he dropped off the Western Hemisphere, and as much as I tried to rationalize in a very Dr. Phil-way, it was still tough. And! Just as my emotions, which went from relief to rage to compassion (actually I think they went in reverse order), were starting to subside altogether (just recently really; this friggin' MONTH for Chrissakes), I caught wind that he was coming to My City. This. Weekend. This weekend!!

Upon hearing this, the 3 guys I have been intermittently and very casually dating for the past several weeks disappeared into the shadows. The EX's encroaching arrival has pushed all others out of sensory perception. That [H]ucker.

The irony is, in my still "fragile" state, that he is damned if he does and damned if he don't. Call me, that is, while he's here. Because honestly, if he doesn't call me this weekend to let me know he's here, he's an ASSHOLE. And if he does call me while he's here this weekend, he's STILL AN ASSHOLE. Pardon my French.

I guess the good news is, that in my "cub reporter" kinda way, I know what most of his footsteps will be while he's here this weekend, so I can avoid him best a girl can. And I'm lucky enough to be having a windsurfing lesson (!) this Saturday (he'll be nowhere near there!), but man oh man: if you ever wanted to meet Gertie, this is THE weekend to do it - because she will look SUPER HOT every time she steps outsider her door. Sha-Boom! I see you there, shakin that ass, shakin that ass...

Tags:

A Six Degree Carey-Grey Connection!

2006-06-07T23:21:00.000-07:00

Hey Y'all. Well! I thought that chick looked familiar! REALLY familiar. I'm talking about Addison from "Grey's Anatomy" (yes, we're in re-run stage now, so if you don't know what I'm talking about and are bored on a Sunday night, she'll visit you on ABC at 10PM). Where the hell have I seen her before? I've been racking my brain since her eyebrows and green eyes and smirks entered the show, stage left.

And here she is, right now! On an old re-run of "The Drew Carey Show." Here she is! Well, I cannot remember the character's name, but she is the chick that Drew married (or tried to marry but, I don't remember, she went off on some cruise and he was left on the dock, or something like that - I'm not the Biggest DC fan but so WTF) when she was fat, then they divorced (or broke up or something), and then she got thin and came back on the show and Drew married both her and Kate at the same time! (So Ohio, dude. And don't rape me for saying that.) Anyway, that's Dr. Addison McDreamy. Helluva ride, Honey, helluva a ride *up!*

Tags:

What are They Looking at?

2006-06-07T00:40:00.000-07:00

I am pondering my Flickr site, because, well, what are people looking at? I only have slightly upwards of 400 photos on my site (sorry, you two, but linking it here would give me away), yet I have over 4300 hits to my photos.

No, I'm not a moron and I have reviewed my "Most Viewed" photos, but the numbers don't translate. My proposal? Well, something like Statcounter.com that gives you statistics on things. Things like entry page (for Flickr it could be the photo that drew the viewer in) and then where the person went from there. Hey, why am I all the sudden set to "center font?"

Whatever. All I am asking is, at approximately 100 hits per photo, and the photos telling me there are less than 100 hits per photo (with the exception of 3), what is everyone gawking at over there? Inquiring aspiring photographers want to know!

Tags:

Into the Mystic

2006-05-31T23:51:00.000-07:00

I have always loved Van Morrison's 1970's song "Into the Mystic."

One time not too long ago, I heard the song on the radio on my drive up to Napa. As usual, I thoroughly enjoyed it; and as my parents and I leaned over burdened vines picking grapes for winemaking, I flippantly mentioned my love of the song. In fact, I added something way too serious, like: "if I were to die before you guys, I'd want it played at my 'ceremony.'" My dad's reaction: a hearty one-chuckle, shoulder-raising laugh to himself with his back hunched over some grapes. My mom's reaction: "Well then, I guess I better figure out what song that is."

Maybe the song resonates with me simply because it was created in the era in which I was born. More likely, it resonates because I've lived in places for which the lifelines of people and industry - at some point at least - depended upon local waterways. And when you live and breathe that kind of history, and you sail those kinds of waters, it simply seeps into your soul.

For my first 19 years, I lived exactly the same distance from the Pacific Ocean as I did from San Francisco Bay. My high school years were splattered with frequent visits to the ocean, in all kinds of weather, and for all kinds of reasons. Soccer training runs on the wet sand (stamina and strength building). BBQ's (stamina and strength building). First dates (stamina and strength building). Prom after-parties (stamina and strength - well, you get the picture). Ha ha ha! OK, I'm kidding about some of that. Nevertheless, who the hell could complain? I digress... Onto more mature revelations....

There is a taste there, at the ocean, and at other waterways. There is a smell. A feel. And for those like me, there is something centralizingly home-like. It's risk, liberty and calm all in one. It's like a secondary heartbeat. Or it's your circadian rhythm. It's. Just. There. You cannot ignore it. It draws you in. You absolutely transform with the presence of The Water.

I remember the hot August night where the sand illuminated green with every phosphorescent step of our feet, or maybe it lingered in the hope of a virgin kiss. I remember the horrible night when we all decided that, in our grand, huge 17 years of Life Experience and our 1 short year (uh, cumulative) of driving experience, it was a great idea! to drive up Highway 1 (reference: the crookedest, cliff-hanging-est, crazy-ass-iest death-highway EVER, peering over 300-foot drops to rock cliff ocean deaths...) to camp under the ocean cliffs while cozying up around bonfires at Drake's Beach... Only to be ushered fervently to the parking lot (and into our cars' back seats) by the super-high tides, fog, and bitter bitter cold. Ah, those blissful nights full of nature's education! Don't get too comfortable, because, you might get too comfortable.

Then I moved to the suffocatingly landlocked state of Colorado for university. Every chance I got, I went to lakes and glaciers. Forget snow and skiing. The warm stillness of a pontoon boat on Horsetooth Lake (with multiple kegs - stamina and strenght build- oh you know my drill...), and the cold aqua fury of a glacier in Estes Park... Both brought the same revitalizing energy. Oh, how I loved the seasons in Colorado.

Then, to the Seine. My little countryside town in Normandy hugged The Seine on both sides. Though it may have been an ugly industrial town to some, for me the concrete walls hugging the river were a breath of fresh air. It was one of the few places I could go, before mastering French, where I really felt at home. Later I figured out the people; amiable at worst, and really agreable at best were my relationships with the locals. I had some Irish friends from the only local Irish pub, and a French boyfriend who has the best fake American accent I had ever heard (and to this day the tightest buns I have ever known; woops, digressing again). I went back often, to my dirty cargo-embedded Siene river, where I would peacefully smoke disgustingly Red Marlboro Reds while my listless hair moved in time with the under-current of the river. And as I walked home, past the spot where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake, I also crossed the stone-paved square where Picasso studied sunlight on the city's church spires. I would feel complete and disappear in the bliss of history. And then I'd negotiate a decent price for broccoli to have with dinner that night, from the open-air market where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake, and I'd forget absolutely every sense of calm derived from the past hour.

Almost a decade now since The Seine, and since then I've been in San Francisco. I don't know when I first heard Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic." But I've been back here for that long and never before, although I have always felt connected to the song, have I felt as connected to "Into the Mystic" as I do now.

I moved recently, as you [2 readers] know, from the historically historic land of psychodellia in the Haight-Ashbury (think Summer Love of '69 - uh, some of those guys are still there, by the way - I'll be happy to introduce you if you visit) to The Marina. Correction: The. Marina. Epitome of Pretention. Home of Tony Ridiculousness and Un-Necessary Fanfare About Your Little Annoying Dog. And Also Your Anorexia and Your Stupid Platinum Hair. But wait, I'm eventually trying to bring y'all back around to a song, right? OK.

OK, so. Here I am. Yes, me, Gertie,sitting in my semi-more-luxe-but-smaller-and-equally
-expensive pad in The Marina. And for hours now, and not just now, but for hours and hours that total up to days since I moved here... I hear foghorns. My new place is literally 2 faint blocks from the rocky reef of San Francisco Bay. If you do not live near a lighthouse, or a foghorn, or if you have not grown up a water-baby like myself, you cannot possibly ascertain the comfort of the foghorns. They are long, easy, deep quotation marks into the black sky, and the gentle blows envelop you like a down comforter on a cold night. Just like your sleeping bag when you were 17, in the back of your '84 Jetta, which was burrowing against the salty cold air at Drake's Beach while you huddled in the backseat, and both of you were cursing the high tide and the whipping wet wind. And then, back in the mesmorizing calm of the foghorn, in that slow and constant warning of caution which is always the same in tempo and urgence, you can close your eyes, knowing that no one, no one who hears it tonight, will perish on the rocks.

Tags:

And The Wind Died

2006-05-27T04:12:00.000-07:00

Isn't that funny, that expression: "the wind just died down?" Well for one, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that's proper English. But it's a saying, and so the saying goes...

So the wind here, which has been tempestuous as of late, has just died down. My curtains are not blowing and billowing onto the hot radiator anymore. Just now. Complete and total calm. And with that, I believe it is time for my brain to do the same. So much thinking. Oh! The thinking! I look quite stable, to be sure, but the wheels are ever cranking. Good night.

Tags:

If Oprah is SO GREAT... Then Let's Set This Up

2006-05-27T00:48:00.000-07:00

OK People. I swear to "God" or some other power or spiritual humanity, that Oprah is a true positive in our time. Some may agree, others may not, but the plain truth is that she moves people. Masses of people in fact; at the very least for only an hour at a time, and at most in a life-changing way. And that's good stuff.

And by now, my readers (yes, again, BOTH of you. Oh, are there more now? Golly!), you know I have some bizarro fascination with Charlie Rose. And if you have been reading lately, you also know how I lament [and praise the fact] that "The Charlie Rose Show" continues minus its main attraction. Indeed, whether Mr. CR is there in person or whether he is replaced by someone of almost equal caliber, it's a really good show interviewing really interesting people from all varieties of passion: current affairs, politics, history, science, the arts...

Now Oprah, Oprah has yet to be on "The Charlie Rose Show." And, well, frankly, I think she is an fascinating character to enter into discourse with. Yes, yes, she has opened her secrect halls of Oprah to all of America, so some might think "what more could we possibly learn about Oprah?" But in my opinion, if you can put friggin' Barbara Streisand in front of Mike Wallace on "60 Minutes" and still get her to open new views of herself, then putting Oprah in front of Charlie Rose may not only take her achievements of "almost" saintliness to new heights, but it may also show us a side of Oprah that is thrice-times-over more dynamic than the one we already think we know.

So. Charlie, Oprah.... Listen to me, here. I know your teams are fielding tags, so don't be so coy. Don't worry; I won't sue you for "taking my idea" of putting you two together for an interview; no, I won't ask for rights (because it is a damn good idea), but I will ask you to give me both personal and ample notice of the airing date! Or, sitting in the live audience as your guest wouldn't be too bad either. Ha ha! And! If you want! Just give me a topic of discussion and I will sit at the table with you - ready, willing and able to give some of my own insights as well. Er, no, I'm not published on any specific issue... why do you ask? Oh really? Ok. No, no problem. I totally understand that you'd want to do the interview without me. Ok. Uh. Yeah....

And a P.S. to Oprah!! - Oprah, here's a funny thing: you don't know, but after I graduated university and then doing a little job stint in France, I came back to the US and started looking for "real" work. While I was searching, I took a temporary job at one of those "paint-it-yourself" pottery places. In my downtime at the pottery job, do you know what I did, Oprah? Among other creative and decorative things, I painted my resume for you on a plate! And it was geared toward getting a job at Harpo Studios. And I was going to send it to Harpo (addressed to you, of course) with some freshly baked cookies on it! How's that for a resume? Oozing with creativity, eh? Handmade; handwritten; completely truly my resume. But I didn't send it. For a couple of reasons, now that I think about it: probably because I hadn't seen your show enough so I didn't have enough confidence in myself at the time that you'd actually a)receive it and b) appreciate the strength of its ambition; and c) because I knew enough about you to know that you like to offer people without other possibilities the opportunity to succeed, and I knew, deep down inside, that I have that opportunity, but I was just not taking advantage to it, and that all I would get from you for knowing that fact is a scowl of dissapointment greater than my mother's. The End.

Tags:

Echos of the Past

2006-05-25T02:46:00.000-07:00

I'm at it again! Reading Brit Lit from 1893. Here's a quote, from Oscar Wilde's play "A Woman of No Importance," for which, if you remove the word "English" and replace it with "American," you can feel today. Er, at least, I can feel today:

"Oh, your English society seems to me shallow, selfish, foolish. It has blinded its eyes, and stopped its ears. It lies like a leper in purple. It sits like a dead thing smeared with gold. It is all wrong, all wrong."
- A Woman of No Importance, Act II.

If I were not reading this play online, I'd be underlining several bits of text and getting ready to transfer them to a post for modern day comparisons. Because many literary plots transcend time. But I'm American, and I'm lazy, and I'm not in school anymore, and apparantly I am "a leper in purple" whatever that means. [ed note: yes, I know what it means. Geez, give me some credit] So. There it is.

I will leave you with a warning: If I somehow happen to bookmark this online edition of Wilde's play, and go back and actually finish it, I'm afraid there will be some very dramatic, 19th Century whimsical writing going on over here. I can't help it! In fact, it's a good thing you're not sitting in my apartment... because I'm reading the play... OUT LOUD. I love pretending to be British!!

Tags:

Where the hell is Charlie Rose?

2006-05-24T00:51:00.000-07:00

I admit fully to being a night owl. It's something I'm working on, because I'd really like to start up a morning running routine. Ha ha ha ha! I am laughing out loud because I know I can think this all I want and then still wake up too late to make it happen.

Anyway, I think I have said many times that I love love love Charlie Rose. His midnight program on PBS is one of those things that, if I'm up, I will automatically put on.

Lately late at night I will flip the TV to PBS to watch my Charlie, and he is not there. His show is there, with guest interviewers (who are good, as are the guests, don't get me wrong). But I can't help but wonder where Charlie Rose is? I mean, this guest interviewing has been going on for a while now. Is he okay? He looks pretty healthy. I want my Charlie back.

Tags:

"Start Rip"

2006-05-23T00:56:00.000-07:00

I am entering the 21st Century and burning all my CD's to the computer. Well, I had a few CD's burned already, but then I heard about the new Microsoft Media Player Version 11 (Beta) and immediately decided it was time to create "a library."

Rip? Create a library? I am utterly awed by the new language that is created with the evolution - I'm sorry, no - the meshing of computers into our lives. It is neverending and constant and always changing. The necessity of the computer, the efficiency of it, and the wasting of time of it [reading blogs that have absolutely no pertinence to one's immediate life or interests]. etc., etc, is all so overwhelming and so required at the same time. The realism of it, the escapism of it, all needed.

At this very moment, I am in the middle of "ripping" a Radiohead CD to the compu. Oops, I mean, just finished. Damn, that was fast. Please hold for a second while I go retrieve and insert the next CD into the drive for "ripping." Oh goody, Stephen Malkmus! Oh I remember the time I saw him live at the Fillmore....

"Start Rip." These are words which, to my grandmother, woud have had absolutely no significance. I am absolutely fascinated by the evolution of All Things Computer. And also fascinated with the steadfastness of things that endure time and the "meshing."

When I was in high school, one of my electives was Humanities. On the first day of class, the teacher asked the collective of absent minded students: What is "Humanities?" And we were all like, huh? A form of English maybe? And then he answered his own question: "Humanities are the arts that stand the test of time. Certain poetry. Certain sculptures. Certain writing. Certain ideas." We were introduced to these "certain" things throughout the course. In that class we learned Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, in their original Olde English, and were forced not only to translate the texts to mondern English, but also to recite them in their origninal form. To this day I can still remember the first 2 verses of the recital flawlessly; but I truly don't know whether I remember because I have the memory of an elephant or because the verses actually moved me (er, when translated. Er, well, maybe when pronounced and spoken in proper Olde English and knowing the translation at the same time. I have a thing about languauges; I'm simply very good at them).

"Burn." On to a classic album from The Black Crowes. Anyway, back to the original underscore of the post; am I the only one that has noticed the the velocity of change in recent times? I doubt it. (On to U2.) Am I the only one who still clings to crap like The Canterbury Tales, 20th Century novels and 19th Century art? I doubt that, too. In fact, I could probably go online right now and search out a hundred groups who have created online homes for their respective old school passions. Chat rooms. Discussion groups. Nerds. Hipsters. And all the oblivions of people in between. Google search, go. Then on to the next CD. Start Rip.

Tags:

Momma

2006-05-22T00:21:00.000-07:00

This is an e-mail I wrote to my mom this evening, in regards to a few things, including a book she recently passed to me, Billy Crystal's "700 Sundays." The e-mail went deeper than I ever intended it to go, and I thought it a rather poingnant post. You should know (only because I'm quite proud of myself) that my mom was a "non-reader" for decades and decades. In fact, she used to ostracize me for lying in bed on weekends as a pre-teen absorbed in a book and "wasting my day away." It was only when I read aloud to her from "Angela's Ashes," while we took the long drive up to Napa to make wine, that she got hooked on books. That was about 8 years ago... all I can say is, if you are moved by the e-mail below, then you will also be moved by the book that is mentioned, and you should definitely read it. Because life is ultimately about family:

Momma,

I have been up and down my stairs today at least 5 times, and let me tell you, I think I know your pain! Today at the house I didn't really want you to go upstairs to the top floor because I was already empathetic about your knee, but man oh man! After those stairs and my stairs thrice times over, I can really feel it! So from now on, even though you love my apartment, don't come up and down unnecissarily! OK? Ok.

And, I just want you to know that I also know about a lot of your other pains and worries. And I don't like to be one of them. (Please don't worry about me! A non-point because I know you will). I finished "700 Sundays" yesterday, and then re-read what your sister wrote on the note to you when giving you the book, and with that I could really see what she was talking about. Because really, you only had about "700 Sundays" with your dad, too. And your mom had to be so strong. And so did both of you (beyond some rebellion), in a way. And luckily for all of you, you had a strong family pulling together for the sake of all. And looking at today, the smaller families who are dispersed all over the world, those days are pretty much gone, unless the strong bonds of the previous generation are continued and emphasized. And I really do think that you and dad, and both your families, instilled that sense of togetherness in me and M, and you shouldn't worry about us supporting each other and both of you guys, no matter what comes. There is so much more I could digress into here but I won't. Just know that you have been (intro to belated Mother's Day recital) an amazing force in my life, and I appreciate having you as my mom every day and everything that you do for me and all the sleepless nights you spend worrying about your almost 34 year-old baby.

Oh, and by the way, I HATED and LOVED the last bit of the book. It was so sad and so prolific at the same time; how his mother, who was so strong (like all the women on your side) was fighting every bit to maintain the integrity and possession of her own body because it was her identity (like Rif at the end, putting her make-up on and fixing her hair for the MD) , and the fact that Billy C. knew and respected and admired every thread of his mother's being and intention throughout all her good and bad years. Anyway, thanks for passing the book along; I laughed out loud at parts (Aunt Sheila chapter) and cried at parts (mom aging chapter) and then laughed again. I love you!

Gertie...XX
Daughter (!)

Tags:

A Running Irony

2006-05-21T21:13:00.000-07:00

My longtime visitors to this blog (yes, both of you) may recall my many frustrated posts about training for the Nike half marathon last October. I actually didn't have that many posts, because I didn't train as much as one probably should for running 13.1 miles, which in turn was what made everything about writing about the training so frustrating. Er, still with me?

Ok. Since October, I have been a very lazy girl. I have maybe, maybe run 8 times since then - about once a month - and nothing to the length or degree of difficulty in training for the half. So isn't it ironic, with my last run having been 3 weeks ago for about 45 minutes, that this morning I got up at 5:45am (that alone is a miracle) and ran a 12k race (7.4 mi) before heading home, hopping in the shower, and heading off to work?! I dare say it is. Especially since I drank some wine last night and went to bed at midnight.

My knee did give me some trouble starting at mile 4, and it was pretty much agony to keep pace for the next 3.4 miles, but my running partner and I finished faster than we had expected either of us to be able to manage in our respective physical shapes (she is in her late 50's and has never run that far).

So maybe I won't train for the San Francisco Half Marathon in July either. It seems to work pretty well.

Tags:

And Another Thing...

2006-05-16T23:03:00.000-07:00

Don't date your clients. Hrmmph. Then why do my clients have to be so irresistable?? Damn you, D.

Update: Long, Bitter... Blah blah blah Day (And thank you, bro!)

2006-05-16T22:48:00.000-07:00

Sorry, Y'all, about that post. Please be POST-post-warned that I had recently watched "Pride & Prejudice" (twice!) before writing that, so it was a bit pre-20th Century, and definitely overdramatic, type of reaction to such a 2006 30-something dilemma. Suffice it to say that I have weathered the storm and taken action. Even better, I somehow avoided the dreaded "tell Mom" scenario. This is one time in my life where I am thankful that my brother (i.e. The Prodigal Son) is taking center stage. Thanks, Bro. You totally diminished Mom's concerns, even for a moment. At the most 2 weeks. Cool.

If You're Anything Like Me: Issue Four

2006-05-16T22:33:00.000-07:00

If you're anything like me, you decided that steamed mini artichokes would be an excellent side dish tonight. So we buy a dozen of them, and spend some precious happy time cutting off the stem, and peeling off the petals, throwing them into the disposal, until we hit the yellow ones, and then, as directed, we cut of the top 1/3 of the leaves and set the yummies in an acid-based water solution to wait for the sautee. Yum! We are pleased with ourselves for this time devotion and the deliciousness to come...

And then, we spent an hour and a half trying to dislodge bits of shredded-to-infinity raw artichoke petals from the clogged garbage disposal, had to waste many minutes filing our ripped up nails ravaged by a million dives into the (yes, unplugged!) stomach of the drain, and only realized very late in the game that a few pumps of a plunger (that we don't own ourselves) would have cleared that shit up in the first place. Aargh. So, if you're anything like me, we don't want to see our favorite vegetable EVER again.

Flickr Yuck, Bleck & a Raspberry

2006-05-16T22:02:00.000-07:00

Hey! Who decided that Flickr should have a new format? I don't like it. And worst of all, my Firefox add-on (to view recent comments without searching or clicking) doesn't work anymore! Yuck. Bleck. And a raspberry (and I can't believe that is how one spells raspberry, but Microsoft Word says so. Hrrmph).

Oh, Long, Bitter, Nasty Sunny Day

2006-05-11T01:22:00.000-07:00

Oh, curse this day! This day of UNfortune; this day on which the only goodness was the sun and lack of wind (for once, sheesh) and the so unfortunate was The Taxman (albe-him a nice old guy as far as the 1-800-1040 is concerned) confirming that, yes, indeed, I did make a VERY negative ($$) mistake on my tax return. Hrmpph. There goes a couple grand.

And so, with Mother's Day upon me, I face the biggest of single daughterly challenges: convincing my already over-concerned mother that YES, Ye of No Faith in Anything and Especially This, there is a brighter future than the Almost Bankrupt and Nowhere Near Married, which appears to be your only possible conclusion to any of my ventures. It just takes time (colleagues - and in the case of husbands, friends then - confirm). And a little credit. Yes, CREDIT! I know it's a concept overly believed in by my generation, generally not received at all in your generation, but it will have to do. Or, mother, would you rather I take all of your retirement now for a new Mercedes later? See, you don't believe me. So just pretend I'm not your child for a year. It will be better for both of us. And yes, you'll still get the 'Benz. What's that? Oh, you want a pristine '52 Benz with a canvas automatic top? Well, then... you'll have to wait a little longer. OK, a lot longer. But for you, ma, for you! I'll do it.

Er, Happy Mother's Day. Hope I don't die of almost penniless shame beforehand. Luv u mum!

Tags:

Gertie Goes to Washington... Street ...Too!

2006-05-08T23:11:00.000-07:00

The "too" refers to a certain other blogger dealing with "Washington Street." Although she made absolutely no reference the street in the post. So maybe the cabbie never took Washington? Or took it instead of a faster route? Or maybe, just maybe, she meant that she went and got her game on w/the "system." I'm thinking the latter, but we'll never know (er, unless she comments).

Anyhow, tonight was the Decorator's Showcase Preview for my company. A nice little chateau on Washington St. at Spruce St. (and I am not joking on the "chateau" part, because it held every essence of the word) in Presidio Heights. Valets as usual, due to the ordinance of the neighborhood for any parties over 20 guest. Ha ha ha. So snippety up there.

Unlike last year's showcase, this home's infinite rooms actually seemed to meld together cohesively. Last year, each room was like walking into a whole new environment. This year, I think the owners had final say (thank goodness!) on what the designers laid out in each room, so the linen closet made sense, and the the colors of each room blended seemlessly, and one almost forgot that the 3-tier staircase was covered in a leopard-skin carpet. Hrmmph.

I mostly liked the outside, which originates from the late 1900's anyway so wasn't designed exclusively for the show, and the gardens with the Grecian statues. Mostly I liked the view of San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge as you peeped out of oval windows on the 3rd floor. But hey - I wouldn't spend $14.4M just for that.

Tags:

life

Social Studies

2006-05-06T00:14:00.000-07:00

I've always been intrigued by social behavior. I don't usually admit that, as I child, I didn't have the grandest of aspirations at first. I'm pretty sure the first job I ever verbally annouced that I wanted to do was "Bridge Toll Collector" on the Golden Gate Bridge. My parents' first reaction was to laugh (most likely the reason why my second career announcement was stand-up comedian), and then my mom said: "well, I think they get paid pretty well."

My interest in the position derived from some sort of freeze-frame thing that happened in my mind every time my family stopped to pay toll on our way to the City. As the car slowed to stop and pay, also in my head the activity in the car would become slow, and by the time we stopped I would imagine a freeze-frame image of what the toll collector saw in the slice of family life that was in our car: My dad unstrapping his seat belt, lifting the right side of his body up to pull out his wallet, and sorting through the cash in the billfold; my mom retreating the visor after having checked her lipstick in the visor mirror; and my brother and I fighting violently as usual. And, as we would drive away from the toll booth, I would wonder what the collector saw in the car following us, and the one after that, and after that, and how the activity in the cars changed with morning commute or Friday night commute, and thus my social studies had begun.

Shortly after my short-sighted career aspiration of bridge toll collector, I aspired to things much greater: I decided that I would be the young voice that would end The Cold War. However, my pontificating on why we should all just "get along" got no further than speeches in the bathtub (I still wonder why; they were fantastic speeches). But I digress.

What I mean to say is, that interest in the social interaction (or lack thereof, or the interaction that takes place minus the social part - i.e. - people in who are talking to themselves or some fictional character in a public place) is still very prominent in my life. I am deeply affected by random comments made to me or anyone else by randoms on the streets; most often in a negative way, and equally intrigued by neighbors bumping into one another and their dialogues; most often in a smile-to-myself kind of way. But I am ever curious about people whose jobs require being affected by "strangers and regulars." Bartenders. Cashiers at corner markets. Bus drivers.

These people deal with strangers and regulars intermittently throughout their days and careers. Well, I suppose, in a way, we all deal with that, no matter the career. But my senses heighten to their interactions.

This evening, after a long work week, I strolled to the corner market (which is 6 blocks away, luckily my new neighborhood doesn't have hills - but still the journey to and fro takes a solid 20 minutes - which is truly too much time to take to go to the "corner" market) to get wine for a pleasant evening of unwinding. As I got closer to the store, I worried more and more that I would see the same cashier as the last few times. And of course, I did. And when I went up to the counter, he just gave me a look. A look I didn't like.

Why? Because of social pattern. There are only 3 places to buy alcohol near my apartment. Inevitably, after a while people remember you. I am sure that I discovered via pattern that there are only 3 night shift guys at one market before any of them discovered that I come in all the friggin time. After 5 months, they are beginning to recognize me as a neighborhood regular. And my purchase pattern does not waver. Wine. Wine. Wine. Wine.

I like to notice other people's social patterns, but I don't ever want mine figured out. By becoming a regular anywhere, people can assume too much about my life based on a singular activity. I know I shouldn't care, but I do. I guess that, because I try to figure others out so much (albeit probably more dynamically that most), I think they are trying figuring me out, too. I'll never really know if I am giving too much credit or not enough. Regardless, I hope those 3 guys don't think I am a 30-something solo home drinker, because that is rarely (well, okay, bi-monthly perhaps) the case.

Tags:

Bad Date "Whoops" Update

2006-05-01T00:11:00.000-07:00

Uh... for some strange reason... that guy called again. So. Maybe I didn't hurt egos that night after all. No, I'm sure that's not it. Either he likes unintentional abuse or I'm off my compass on the "good vs. evil" as date thing. Me be nice now. Promise. Smarty pants - and yes, I will correct - they have always been flat-front pants - not pleated! HOT HOT HOT.

Tags:

If You're Anything Like Me: Issue Three

2006-04-30T23:54:00.000-07:00

If you're anything like me, you've had a hard time welcoming wrinkles while still having some very adolescent acne. I mean, WTF about that?? Isn't it hard enough to have one or the other? Come on!

So, again, if you're anything like me, you've tried to figure out how to minimize both at the same time. And, you've ended up with some product that claims: "warning: may cause sensitivity to the sun."

Hmm. What the heck does "sensitivity to the sun" mean? What the hell does that mean?! A rash? More easily sunburn? Wear SPF 192? Give me something, people, give me something. Don't just say "may cause... blah" and then not tell me how to avoid what it actually causes.

Well. YOU, my friend, need no longer wonder. Because I have found out, from my own science experiment of ignoring the warning altogether, that "sensitivity to the sun" means that, if you go out there with a nekked face, you're gonna get sunspots. RIGHT. AROUND. YOUR. EYES. At first, you will wonder, "hmm, is that a freckle I never noticed?" And then, you'll feel like "holy crap! That is a big mother f'r sunspot that will grow and grow and is a permanent fixture just below the right side of my goddamn pupil. Mother of God! I'm scarred! I'm scarred for life!!!"

And that, my friends, is how to answer THAT question. Damnit. So my advice: wear suncreen. For. Ever. Amen.

Tags:

Eyes Wide What

2006-04-30T22:54:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I was watching a movie, and having a few sips of wine... and then I pause the movie for None Other Than (drumroll)... Grey's Anatomy. Yes, I admit: I'm a bit hooked. So much so, in fact, that I can tell you last week's ep was not worth watching. Not because I watched it, but because I read the TV Guide preview of it and found it was just a recap of what's gone on all season. Considering I've only missed one episode , I didn't bother to watch last week.

Anyhoo. Tonight, I pleasantly absorbed myself in the velvet candy of G.A. "Velvet" meaning the process of the show's finely vague yet focused "plot." Candy, obviously, is that everyone on the cast is yummy in one way or another to look at.

During the commercial segment, between the last bit and the end of the show, I realized something. Did you ever see the second or third episode of "Lord of the Rings?" The ones in which Froto becomes all wide-eyed and dazed over "Precious?" The ones where his face looks proportionally smaller than what best suits the size of his eyes? Well, hello. Tonight, that was me. I sat here, on my floral couch with my pink blanket covering me... and googled and awed at the waves on the screen. They were incomprehinsible, yet I couldn't turn away. A day of exhausting lacrosse and a couple of beers and WHAMMO, welcome Gertie the Zombie with Big Glossy Eyes. And now that the eyes are trying to focus on turning these words into tiny letters, I go. I go. I go to bed.

Hopefully I won't have any Froto in me tomorrow. But right now, let me tell you - BIG. EYES. (my precious...)

Tags:

Big Date "Whoops"

2006-04-27T00:47:00.000-07:00

Ah, to be dating again... isn't it absolutely splendid? The rain (for now) and the floods (for now) are gone, it is staying light out later, and LOVE is in the air.

And the coolest thing is, I ACTUALLY was excited about going on a date with this guy who I went out with last Saturday night. I've been in situations before where I have met a top-notch fellow, without the attraction, but some sort of connection was there - and I went out with him "just to see..." And see I did; I saw that the guy was a decent first impression and a very lousy second one. And third. And even, if I held on that long to the "top-notch fellow without the attraction" idea, the fourth. Let's just say that I didn't let one poor impression ruin a possible good thing. I waited for a couple of them (er, as I hope he would?). That's good, right?

So! As I was saying, spring is in the air and the opportunity for LOVE looks good - how can it not? Except, of course, when Gertie unconsciously (yet apparently consciously) sabotages a perfectly good date.

Recipe: take a nice gentleman (yes! in this day and age AND in San Francisco I was surprised to find one too!) who majored in the same subject as you at University (but give him multiple bonus points for still being interested in said subject), and add other ingredients such as: generally sociable, tall enough to be taller than you, a nice smile and shining eyes; and you have a great date.

Recipe for disaster: take the ingredients above and throw it at least two, if not more, comments which you personally find highly ironic or comical, yet somehow they come off as insensitive, man-ego injuiries. Whoops. That's not what I meant!

Result: Nice gentleman is nice enough to finish the date, man enough to try to take any sexual advantage he can before he leaves, but not stupid enough to call you again.

Damn. I tell you. I am 33 and STILL learning. This coming off of a year-plus long relationship! Note to self: don't drink more sake than he does (especially when he is the one offering) and keep your mouth shut, even when in deep conversation about the situation on Darfur. Another note to self: commenting on the current situation in Darfur is okay, but making comments about the pleats in pants or telling him you doubt he'll actually call you again while he's TALKING about the situation in Darfur, is a big No-No.

Okay; it didn't quite go down like that. We talked about Darfur at 2 am, and at 3 am I think I let out something like a "ha," when he said, and I quote "I'll call you;" but you get the drift. Sabotage. Sabotage. Sabotage. So, if he ends up being self-depricating enough to actually call me again (which, in opposition to my defiant behaviour, I would like very much), I'll let you know. But you know what? I doubt he'll call, and I don't blame him. I was sub-consciously yes conciuously mean. Lesson learned (again). Oy, Rifka! You see what I do with your passed-on strong genes? Sheesh. Sabotage.

PS - he wasn' t really wearing pleated pants. Please! They were really hot jeans. Regardless, I probably made some "ass-a-nine" comment for the complete idiot package. Ha ha.

Tags:

She Found Me!

2006-04-24T02:59:00.000-07:00

[Ed note: all the links go to the same old post, so don't get too excited]

Don't know why the first post about this didn't post. Actually, I do. Thanks, Rifka. Yes, Rifka, even though you are now a big bumbling fly, you are right - I do spend too much time on the internet....

At my old place, in "The Haight" in San Francisco, there was this big, black bumbling fly that used to come in and a-buzz-buzz-bumble all over the place. Even my friends noticed it. At the time, I had named her "Big Bertha The Fly." She most liked to hang out with me late at night while watching TV or early in the morning, in the bathroom (!), while getting ready for the day.

One day, I told one of my friends who had noticed her "distinguished" presence, that this fly liked to hang out at my apartment quite often. So often, in fact, that not only did I name her, but I started to contemplate the lifespan of flies, and wondered if this was just ONE fly the whole time, or a variety of similar flies who happened to like the space, or, if the lifespan of a fly were quite short, were these all multiple flies who were the offspring of the original fly (Big Bertha) who had created a home for herself in the confines of my same space?

Just before I considered myself 100% crazy, said friend suggested that the fly was my Deceased Grandmother. And, in a strange way, it made sense. So I accepted the fly as the conscious efforts of my Deceased Grandmother to pass judgement on my every life move, and renamed it "Rifka," Hebrew for Rebecca (which was the name of my Grandmother - original nomiker Jayne, or Rebecca... who knows at this point, as she was very vague on both this subject as well as The Great Depression). Imagine the power that [stupid- in parentheses in case the fly can read. Well, if the fly can read, then I'm in big trouble anyway] bumbling fly had.

Yet apparantly, she, the omnipresent Rifka The Fly, continues to wield her power. Just 3 measley months after moving, here She is. A-buzz-buzzing (in her opinion "hanging out"), out of nowhere!, with me in the bathroom here in my new place in the Marina, while I have my head upside down in a very lame attempt to tame some of the most untamably thin hair known to man. And this fly, Rifka, while buzz-buzzing around, is complimenting me on my interior decorating, but is also issuing blasphomes to my father's side regarding the genetically deficiant hair situation. Not only that, but Rifka is telling me to stop staying up so late, that successful people in this world have always been early risers, and that brownies are not a good breakfast and losing 12 pounds just because you had a rough time breaking up with an idiot man is no excuse for being thinner. Also, she is only partially accepting of the man I just had a date with, because he is Persian in origin, which means he is from Iran. Additionally he is leaning very strongly toward a nomadic life, which is not acceptable at all for a woman such as myself, according to Rifka The Fly, and why should I give him some milk before he leaves on his next adventure without me? Well, the Fly is a-buzz-buzzing way ahead of herself, but that's not the point, I guess.

As you can clearly see, this fly is not at all me superimposing internal concerns on an immaterial yet possibly omnipresent and naturally appearing insignificant insect. This is obviously Jewish Guil---er -- I mean--- Jewish SENSIBILITY --gone haywire and disguising itself as a bumbling foolish insect. Right? Right??

Tags:

It's a Good Thing I Sometimes Read the News

2006-04-17T21:14:00.000-07:00

I've been so busy lately, that one of my quirky SF news blogs has sat patiently waiting for me to read its feeds. To be honest, I've purposely been tuning out on local news because it is laden with The 1906 Earthquake Anniversary(!) crap and I've already seen that PBS special - at least 3 times. The first 2 times it was really interesting.

So I happened to finally give the blog feed some attention, and Thank God! Because I just found out something very important. If I hadn't known about it - trust me... I'd be first very freaked out, and then VERY PISSED OFF.

"San Francisco residents are being warned not to be alarmed by bells and sirens that are scheduled to sound at 5:14 a.m. Tuesday in commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the 1906 earthquake and fire.

San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom has directed fire departments and places of worship across the city to sound their bells and sirens immediately following the traditional moment of silence observed at a ceremony at Lotta's Fountain on Market Street at the junction of Kearny, Third and Geary Streets."

- San Jose Mercury News

Tags:

If You're Anything Like Me: Issue Two

2006-04-05T23:39:00.000-07:00

If you're anything like me, you'll absolutely laugh the next time you are in Safeway or some other big conglomerate grocery store, and all of the sudden realize the store is playing "I've got a Ticket to Ride" while you're on your way to the milk aisle. Come on, have you ever heard '80's hard rock amplified throughout a Vons or a Safeway or a Cala or whatever? You better laugh.

Tags: