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

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

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:

• life
• stories
• running
• dogs

Something New Video Review

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:

• movies
• critique
• funny

Jake Gets Pooped

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:

• life
• funny
• dogs

"There's No Fixin' Things These Days"

"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:

• life
• consumerism
• ant-consumerism
• plastic
• landfills

Clickity-Clack Attack

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:

• life
• apartments
• living

The Short, Sad Life of my Little Basil Plant

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:

• life
• gardening
• basil

Mother Bugger

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:

• mosquito
• life
• avoid

I Did It!!!!

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:

• welcome
• to
• the
• morning
• earlybirds
• life
• goals

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

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:

• rockstar
• supernova
• stormlarge

Forgive Me Father...

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:

• life
• funny
• personal
• penance

Update on Evidence Gathering

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

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:

• nutrition
• charlie
• rose
• warren
• buffet
• marion
• nestle

Ride, Gertie, Ride

"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:

• biking
• hiking
• horseflies
• bloodtypes

Basic Camping vs. Gertie Camping

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:

• funny
• life
• camping
• vanity

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

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

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

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

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:

• shopping
• "san
• francisco"

Why I Hate the Bus

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:

• lfie
• crimelogs
• sf