Fun Facts, Anecdotes, and at Best, Stories

Kings of Grocery

2009-12-11T14:39:00.000-08:00

At work yesterday, I had to do meeting pre-work that involved going to a grocery store. I won’t get into the details of what I had to do there, b/c it wouldn’t interest you, given that it didn’t really interest me, but I do have some commentary re: the grocery store itself.

First, I shall point out that I’ve had this assignment due for a week, but I forgot to go over the weekend, and then I procrastinated and had excuses for not going on Mon, Tues, and Wed nights of this week. So it was suddenly 11am on the day of the 1pm meeting, and I wanted to do my homework, b/c I’m generally a good girl. I pulled up the AroundMe app on the old iPhone, searched for grocery stores. Here is what pulled up:
o Khanh Phong Supermarket
o Sam Yick Market
o New Tin's Market
o Cho Lon Moi Market
o Lucky Star Store
o King of Grocery
o New Dick Market
o Long Pat Market
o Both Side Convenience
o Good Time Market
o Big Dish
o Hung Wan Supermarket

I have a few observations about this list. 1) Where is the Safeway? Lucky’s? 2) Why do so many of these sound so sexual (New Dick? Long Pat? Good Time?)? 3) I don’t know what the observation is, but “King of Grocery?” “Both Side Convenience?” à really?

In the end I stalked my colleagues until I found someone with a car and drove to a Safeway. No offense to the China Town community, but I needed a full salad dressing shelf set which requires a population of fat American shoppers. But I’m glad I tried to locate a walking-distance market in the first place, b/c I otherwise would never have discovered this fantastic list of options.

The New Kids in My Life

2009-08-25T19:40:00.000-07:00

Funny to think it’s been two years, more than two years, since I’ve stepped foot onto a college campus, for the purposes of academic pursuit (there have been recruiting events…). Tonight, I did it. Decided that I miss blogging and that I should take a writing course. Yes, I could just blog, but the issue is that my idea well runneth dry. Life just isn’t as zany as it used to be. That, or corporate American has sucked out all the creative juices that used to help me formulate more offbeat or entertaining observations . Either way, blogging is considerably difficult when you find you have no material.

Fortunately, between now and next Wed night, I will not only be forced to write a three page short-story (Note: I’m having trouble selecting my topic: it’s between a young boy learning that his family eats his pet chicken’s eggs and then discovering they eat more than the eggs when the chicken one day disappears; the discovery process around Thai food and Thai food traditions; or flow charts as the inspiration for organizational skill development within the context of modern life… Best not to get into the details of the source of these ideas.)….

…Continuing on…but I also have a new source of inspiration for blogging: Classroom (mostly classmates) of Room 266 at the Ocean Campus of City College of San Francisco. I think Wake may be one of the preppiest college campuses, running amuck with future yuppies of America…and then I went to business school…which largely speaks for itself if you’re speculating on your character types.

City College in SF: very different scene. I am clad in skinny jeans, orange flats, white tea, long grey cardigan, colorful scarf, and layered jewelry…and I looked the picture of whitebread, suburban, clean-cut, normalcy in terms of dress code within the confines of this classroom. That is just a visual descriptor for you to absorb.

My fellow classmates…where to start. I think w/ the oddball talkazoid (yep, that guy has already revealed himself and he simply won’t shut up). Dressed in gothic apparel, boots crumpling down over his black jeans. I fortunately connected myself to him personally, as during our introductions (given by newly-met partners, stand-up style) it was noted that I care for the literature of Gregory McGuire. Old talky nodded my way and later on made reference to a McGuire novel. Awesome.

There is one guy who absolutely fascinates me. Scrawny little hipster, with long, side-swept hair covered by a vintage fedora, wearing a Goodwill purchased Smithsonian t-shirt from 1983. In his introduction, I learned that he writes and produces hip-hop (apparently has worked w/ Del the Funky Homosapien), has ghostwritten for Comedy Central, and is a freelancing restaurant consultant. Either all of this, or, he made it all up. But, impressive sounding.

There is “that girl” as well, potentially the dullest in class to behold visually, and the dullest to behold when she speaks as well. I think that she was one of the few that indicated she somehow made some sort of living via the written word. I guess maybe she writes like manuals for power tools or something. She at one point asked “how many pages does it have to be again?” It’s an f’in creative writing class.

One final character to paint out… The scared-of-the-world. She could barely make eye contact with anyone in the class, the only one who refused to stand up for her intro. I don’t begrudge her this as there is nothing wrong w/ shyness. I am only pointing out that JR (only name that I remember) had a subtle creepiness. She is apparently working on a novel, but her partner was unable to “do the novel justice” via any description, and I’m not sure how that bodes for the novel. Anyway, she reminded me of Aly Sheedy in the Breakfast Club.

So for now that should give a moderately detailed portrait of this classroom. It’s definitely one that enables me to be excited to attend the next class not only for the writing, but also for the chance to continue observing my fellow writing peoples.

Acting Your Age

2009-08-09T20:23:00.000-07:00

On Fri night, we didn’t head out to dinner until nearly 10pm. Which meant a few things…1) I couldn’t put the boiled peanuts and pickled vegetables that we ordered to start into my mouth fast enough (yes, you read correctly, our starters at Magnolia included boiled peanuts and pickled veggies, and they both absolutely correct so stop making faces) due to my extreme hunger by that point. 2) We didn’t have to wait for a table which NEVER happens. 3) It was bound to be a bit more rambunctious than usual given the later hour.

Ok maybe it’s really pretty lame that I’m using 10pm, Friday, and later hour all in the same line of thought, but these days I’m gearing up to turn 29, thinking it really means I’m pretty much 30, and feeling like I frequently spend my weekends in the manner that bests suits someone who is a suburban 40. I think I’m mostly ok with that. But anyway, the debauchery was eventually brought, right around bite 2 of my delicious bleu cheese and bacon burger when a group of raucous 50 year olds walked into the bar.

The event: a man’s 50^th birthday. The crowd: weird (sorry, can’t really come up with any better adjectives to describe the assortment of individuals). The mode of transportation: an SF cable-car style party bus. The attire: large balloon hats. Ok, so there was really only one balloon hat. It was on the head of the birthday boy. But it counts anyway.

And it really started to count when the wearer of the hat decided it hilarious to pop one of the balloons. I startle easily. So pop number 1 nearly caused me to spit out a bite of my food. Or maybe choke on it. I don’t know. It scared me. I was certainly not amused.

The birthday crowd on the other hand certainly was amused. The balloon popping continued, picking up pace. I remember when I was little, spending the night at my cousin heather’s house, and during summer thunderstorms, we’d count the seconds b/t thunder claps (the closer the storm got, the less time b/t the claps). I liken the balloon situation to the storm: time b/t pops quickened, laughter of the 50 year old party grew, silence among the other patrons deepened, stares raged, and the storm gathered force. The downpour I suppose then was when a staff member actually took the balloon hat away. The storm didn’t last long, however, as it was returned, and not less than a minute later, Mr. Happy 50 was at his antics again. Very soon, they departed, hopping into their classy cable car and taking off for greener pastures where they could pop balloons until their hearts’ content, or at least until the hat was no longer a hat but simply a mass of sad deflated rubber pieces.

My emotions were mixed as the crowd departed, and I finished up my burger. I was certainly sated, but that is neither here nor there as it’s a feeling related to my food consumption rather than the birthday antics. I was relieved, as I’d been startled so many times I was on the verge of needing a xanax. But I suppose I was also a little wistful, wondering, will I grow down by the time I’m 50? Is there hope that I, too, can someday be a little debaucherous at a riper age? I invite you, if you’re reading, and you’re still around me by that point, to remember this post, and to help me reach that goal – even if it only means crafting me a balloon hat and encouraging some bad behavior on my part in public…

Don't worry -- no one got hurt!

2009-07-30T22:16:00.000-07:00

Last night, returning home from Rehana's something...not so good happened. I will preface this by remarking that this drive must be in some way cursed, as I've been pulled over on that same drive before, the same night when I chopped a piece of my finger off while cutting bell peppers, which reallllly made for an excellent night. Anyway, so I was driving home, and pulling up to a red light on Masonic, when a little dude on a motorcycle came up on my left, crossing over the double yellows into the oncoming traffic lane (is that legal?) and coming to rest by the upper left side of my car.

The light turned, and he went, and I went, but then...he stalled, and it was like slow motion and then before I could really tell what was happening, I had, I suppose, hit him. And then, down he went. I slammed the car in park, ran out, threw up my hands, apologized profusely, and fell to checking out if he was ok. A minute passed where he really said not much of anything, just continued to check his bike and ponder his ok-ness, and then he crossed to the side of the street and I pulled my car over. He kinda pulled up his pant legs, checked his legs, his arms, checked his bike (it worked, no damage) -- and he was totally fine, and then mumbled he was fine...and off he drove. And that was it. The luck Gods were certainly smiling down on me...

I came home, and raced into the living room, and was like, "Stu! You won't even believe what happened to me! I hit a guy on a motorcycle! It was the scariest moment of my life!"

Her response (unexpected to say in the least): "Oh my G_d! Did I tell you what I did last week?! I hit a guy on a bicycle!"

"Umm...But, you don't own a car!"

I guess she hit the guy getting out of a taxi, with the cab door...The cyclist flipped his shit, the cyclist behind him bitched her out, and the cyclist behind HIM pounded on the cab. She then encountered a homeless guy who told her to spread the word to all the white people that he hated white people. I know that's unrelated, but what a sequence of events. Sheesh.

So there you have it: two girls, living in same house, hitting two guys, on two two-wheeled vehicles, less than a week apart. With no injuries, no damage. What are the odds?

Yes, actually, it was pretty weird...

2009-07-28T22:01:00.000-07:00

I recently received an email from a male friend, who shall rename nameless in an effort to protect his, well I’m not sure what it’s protecting, I don’t think it’s necessarily masculinity, or reputation, but I do think the element of anonymity will end up serving as a benefit to this fellow.

At any rate, the email was entirely devoted to questions regarding female eye make usage and application habits. I suppose this email was directed my way as at one time I was pretty handy with a couple of eye shadow application devices and several pots of color – my evening looks for a while could be described as colorful, perhaps over the top, certainly dramatic. But I like to think, still tasteful. I still do remember one of my first interactions with Doempke, which involved him complimenting my eye makeup. So I that respect, I guess I have some expertise in the area of eye makeup knowhow given that I don’t wear it so badly myself.

I still found it a super bizarre experience to write an entire email back to a dude concerning my opinions and perspectives on good eye makeup application. It was clear that the questions were being asked as the dude in question had encountered a lady friend whose taste in eye makeup bordered on the what can only be called bad – apparently pink eye makeup taken all the way up to the brow bone (which reminds me of pink eye in a major way).

But what I’m wondering, is what is the recipient of my thoughts going to DO with the opinions I provided back to him. I don’t think that most women would take kindly to a male friend giving them advice re: their makeup habits – it would be like telling a girl that her recent bangs-inclusive haircut doesn’t look good (something that another guy friend wanted to tell a colleague recently – I strongly recommended against this course of action…) – and both comments I’m sure would not go over well with the woman. I’m just wondering what kind of girl lets her friend go around looking like she has a terrible case of conjunctivitis? And apparently this is a daytime look, no less. This is a reason we have girl friends – they give you the honest advice that strangers, and typically, male acquaintances, won’t provide. Although perhaps in some cases…they apparently will.

It does make you wonder though how many guys have seen you and passed some sort of judgment on an aspect of your grooming that you as a woman would’ve guessed no man would ever notice… and if they then sent off an email to a lady friend inquiring about the proper course of action to take…which inevitably was nothing. An odd thought… In closing – anonymous male, I think I told you on the weird scale it was only like a 5 out of 10, now that I’m getting more thoughtful on the whole episode, I’m thinking it might’ve been more a 7 or 8. Readers (if there are any of you left given how delinquent I’ve been), feel free to share your own thoughts re: weirdness level.

Hickies at work.

2009-04-28T15:26:00.000-07:00

This coming weekend, I'm heading down south to somewhere near King City, CA, not that I've ever heard of King City or that I expect you to know where it is either, but that's the best point of reference I can provide. I'll be swimming in the Wildflower race -- yes, just swimming -- doing one leg of a triathlon relay.

In prep for my very first time swimming in open water, I've hit up Aquatic Park here in SF a couple times recently. It's just a roped off area in the frigid, dirty, mucky, cloudy, choppy, possibly shark-infested, definitely sea lion-infested waters of the SF bay. They even say there's this one sea lion that ate radioactive materials, went nuts, and subsequently occasionally attacks swimmers that lurks there. But given my extreme toughness, I brave it all. Yep, that's me.

As the water temp is about 52 degrees, I'm in a wet suit. And beneath my wet suit, I rub on this layer of stuff to help prevent chafing. I focus particular on the neck, shoulders, and back region. Although I apparently did a mediocre job w/ the stick yesterday evening, as I appear to have a giant hickey on the left side of my neck today from wet suit chafing.

I examined in the mirror this morning and thought it not so bad. So, I didn't take any steps to cover it up. I also though, well, if I don't try to cover it up, then no one, if they even notice it, will think it's a hickey, b/c naturally, if you HAD a real HICKEY, you'd try to cover it up. So me, I thought, I'll wear it proudly, and then, everyone will just assume it's like, a...burn...or something.

Except when I went for coffee w/ my friends Robyn and Steph this morning, it took them all of 3 seconds to notice it and call it out. And now all day today, I have been incredibly paranoid. I feel like everyone's staring at me. Or rather, at my neck. And they're thinking, "wow, that girl has a hickey! A big one! And she didn't even cover it up!"

And it makes me feel ridiculous. And there is nothing I can really do. And my VP noted that if I tried to cover it up w/ makeup, it'd likely only look worse, so I'm pretty much stuck. Here, at work. With a giant hickey. On my neck.

2009-04-09T15:04:00.000-07:00

I've been playing online for well over 1.5 hours. I don't actually know if that's true, b/c I'm so utterly bored that what feels like 1.5 hours may in reality only be 30 minutes. I have on-line shopped (mostly was investigating the best deal on this B&W BCBG long chiffon gown for summer weddings that I've coveted since I saw it worn at a wedding last May), I have read the Onion (I recommend the editorial by the Dog asking humans to stop treating him like a human), I have searched PetFinder 94117 for medium sized baby dogs (my fav was named Radish, which I must say is keen dog name and the whole Muppet thing may finally be over), I searched SwimOutlet.com (for waterproof Shuffle cases). And I can do no more. The Internet has like, unlimited options and you could occupy your entire life on it, I'm sure, but I'm over it right now.
Outside, is New York. It is 60 degrees and it's perfectly sunny. I don't think weather gets much better for walking around and exploring, and here I am, inside somewhere in the Meat Packing district, eating enough food to lead to a one-week, five-pound weight gain (thanks Kraft service assholes), sitting on a darkened set watching a woman make HV chicken in a fake kitchen, and waiting for Dylan, the set dog, to come around every 15 minutes and provide me a brief interval of entertainment (the entertainment defined by me holding out my hand and calling for the dog and the dog being largely responsive for 2 seconds until he walks away again).

For two weeks I've been looking forward to this trip. A glimpse into the exciting world of ad shoots, I thought. A glimpse, yes, exciting world, no. A moment of glamour in a largely un-glamorous job, I thought. Glamorous, no; end sentence. What it is, is a 12-hour day confined to a single black-leather couch, gathered around a monitor that shows the 19th time they've shot Mom #2 executing the correct shaking moment of our powered product into the hamburger meat. It is knowing that the highlight of your working day was the omelette made for you by the Kraft service woman at 8am when you arrived on set. It is realizing that your agency counterparts have to look to you for approvals on mundane details a consumer will never notice and that they know you know you don't know anything about, anyway.

So there is it, the world of ad shoots, unveiled. Ta-dah!!!!

The good news, my hotel room is "suite" -- they upgraded me -- corner room, 14th floor, floor to ceiling windows, phenom view of the city. And I LOVES the bathroom -- one big room w/ a tub and a rainshower head in the corner. Although I did have a little oopsies on the wet tiles this morning... And, I get to eat fabulous meals w/ all the girls every night while here, and I have a play date w/ Rainer on Fri and Meliss over the weekend, so while life here on set may be quite rough...life off the set: not so bad. So if you were feeling bad for me, briefly, it's ok, don't -- but let's also be realistic and own up to the fact that you never really felt sorry b/c you're hardhearted and relish in my boredom. Anyway, I think we're not only an hour from the end, which is glorious and delightful all at the same time b/c I will soon be headed out for playtime...

Do you "follow" me?

2009-04-02T17:05:00.000-07:00

Does anyone subscribe to Daily Candy? That was somewhat rhetorical I suppose I already know that many of you in fact, do subscribe. But for some it may be news that the April 1 edition contained information re: a new iPhone application. Do examine:

"Upgrade your hardware (and lend yourself a hand) with miVibe. Jimmyjane — the self-pleasure masters known for premium gadgets — just launched its first iPhone application. Download the tickle-your-fancy program and your cellie becomes an instant vibrator (gasp!) with adjustable settings. You’ll never have to fake it again: With three speeds (soft and subtle, gradual buildup, and fast and furious) and ten preset modes, the nifty (and naughty) app will give your lover a run for his money."

I read this and promptly forwarded, and it disgustingly received for a while until it was finally noted that this was indeed an April Fools joke. I don't ever really think about much on April 1. I've never really seen the point of having a day devoted to pranks. I do remember that it's Katie's bday though. So I'm sure she appreciates that. Anyway, so while this did seem like quite possibly the last thing on earth I'd ever want to do with MY iPhone, there are some krazy kinks out there, I'm sure, and I figured, well they developed applications that enable you to create and light your own Zippo...and fill and empty an imaginary beer...so, why not?

In other news...I got stalked today in Oakland. I was walking with a friend to lunch, and this woman came up and told my friend to turn around. She proceeded with a profanity-laced message of which the exact wording I cannot quite recall, haranguing my friend for nearly running her over. Funny that we nearly ran this woman over and we didn't even notice. So we calmly apologized, and moved on. She was moving faster than us, so at a point we caught up with her paused on the sidewalk...it would seem, waiting for us. And then she followed closely behind us...for a good 3 blocks.

It was a little frightening, b/c who knows what crazies keep in their backpacks, and it IS Oakland, epicenter of violence. But it was also a little thrilling. I think we all know I like a bit of excitement. Anyway, we arrived at the restaurant, where we commenced filling out our sandwich ordering forms, and then, she was behind us, inside. We got to have a little confrontation after asking her why she was following us. She said it was b/c we were bitches and we almost ran her over. When I tried to respond she told me she wasn't talking to ME, so clearly I was just a lowly secondary target of her craziness. My friend disappeared to the counter, and she didn't follow, and then...she magically vanished. And so that was that. But I still got followed. And that's not your everyday Thursday lunch outing, friend!

Cake for Nancy

2009-03-30T15:01:00.000-07:00

For the following account, we owe Rehana a note of gratitude for turning 29, for if it hadn't been her bday yesterday, then we wouldn't have taken her out for dinner, and we wouldn't have been at Jackson Fillmore restaurant for some classic Italian east on the eve of Sun March 29, graced by the presence of Nancy Pelosi.

From the beginning... Whilst waiting for our table, a rather large gentleman wearing a little wire doohickey running up his neck. Hearing aid? Or wire... A second gentleman, this one even larger, walked past, also wired... So at this point it was safe to conclude they were wires, indeed. I announced my sighting and we did a quick scan of the restaurant until we located Nancy Pelosi seated at a table in the back. A quick burst excitement by us until Katie joined us, who had her own burst of excitement (shock-er).

Dinner ended, and was naturally preceded by a chocolately confection topped w/ candles (of the twisted variety, which we don't actually recommend after three uses of them this past weekend, as they are given to 1) extreme leaning, and 2) heavy drippage). We ate our 6 slices (well one us ate 2 as I'm not a cake-eater, myself) and were left with a hefty chunk unfinished. I declared that it'd only be proper to offer Nancy a slice. The idea wasn't as quickly glommed onto as one might've thought, so I took the initiative, and when the waiter came to take our check, and nabbed him and informed him we wanted to send a slice of birthday goodness over to the guest of the hour.

His response was a squinted-eye "really??" followed by my wide-eyed "Yes!" followed by a squintier-eyed "Are you sure?" followed by an enthusiastic "definitely!" He returned with a plate, fork, and cutting knife. So much for accommodating service staff. So I sliced a slab myself, which was ensued by a moment of silence at the table, with gazes fixed dubiously on the cake slice. Rehana informed Katie that it was her job to do the deed. Katied asked why, but really, the response of "b/c you're the only one who will do it" was not a surprise to anyone. I wasn't going to leave her alone, mostly b/c I couldn't pass up the option of having the story to relay. We gently interrupted Nancy's conversation and explained that we wanted to offer her a slice of our friend's bday cake.

Her answer was at first speechlessness followed by a very rapid succession of facial expressions that moved from annoyance to disbelief to skepticism and finally to something that neared friendless, although "near" might be the operative word. Her friends giggled and she responded with the blatant lie that they had just eaten dessert. I bet you they totally didn't eat dessert. I am not really a dessert eater and I like to think I can spot other non-dessert eaters. She instead invited us to give the slice to the Secret Service gentleman seated behind her table. He accepted enthusiastically, but I wondered if before he dug in, he wondered if he was plunging to his death via chocolate turtle cake. Because that was what that was all about: a protectionary measure, right?

Funny to think that this could be your job... eating cake for your manager and whatnot.
Anyway, overall, I'm fairly certain we irritated Nancy at least a little bit, but the way I see it, we are her constituents, so she owes us, right? And at the end of the day, which is really more important: respecting your congress members? Or, finding good story material?

Practicing for Bigger Things

2009-03-13T10:44:00.000-07:00

At dinner the other night, Katie F revealed that she has an extensive collection of books directed at a male audience, on the topic of how to effectively pursue women. She also revealed that she feared visiting friends might mistake her, then, for a lesbian... In actuality, she does not have this reading material so she can get some from her female friends, but rather for research purposes. At one point she had resolved to write a book from the female perspective re: the right way to date -- if you want to date women as charming, intelligent, successful, and of course, ravishing as are we. Friends, I've never claimed modesty as a trait.

Anyway, I naturally was interested in this concept and proposed we write said guide jointly. So, that I'm thinking I want to write this little book, I figure I need to practice my writing again...and now, here we are, merrily typing away.

Not that I have much in the way of scintillating material, esp. given that I spend the past two days on a "photo shoot" for work... We're updating our packaging and need photos of dips with their various accoutrements and splendid looking salads. So from 9 to 6:30, on both Wed and Thurs, I worked w/ a food styling and photography team to finalize 4 dips photos, 3 salad photos, and 1 product glamour shot.

I think to be honest they would've preferred me not to be there. I mostly crept around the studio, nibbling cheese and crackers, draining their bottles of Perrier, requesting crudites after their purpose in life was done, and generally wreaking havoc. Actually, I didn't really wreak any havoc. But I wanted to use that phrase b/c I thought it complemented the crudites munching. Oh, I was also the person in charge of saying "approved!" after each shot was finalized.

I like to think I did add some value. For instance, we almost had this crazy large glob of Ranch on the upper left corner of one of the salad-garnishing tomato slices. I requested they wipe it off. I also re-angled some bottles in the glamour shot, and instructed the stylist my preferred method of cutting the green onion for one of the dip garnishes. Of course, there is no way to validate this, but I'm **guessing** that these adjustments likely will lead to our volume being **about** 30% than it would've otherwise have been.

I also learned some things. Do you know what chervil is? Bet you don't. It's a lacy, delicate looking herb that tastes like anise and is typically used for garnish. Did you know that they often used mashed potatoes as a base materials for arranging other food items to keep them firmly in place and allow for beatific arranging? Yep, true! Did you know...that there are people on this earth who, for HOURS, EVERY DAY, painstakingly arrange various consumables into photograph-conducive arrangements? M indicated that there are very few jobs on earth that would prevent him from dating me -- and this job would be one of them. I guess he wasn't as curious about things like chervil and mashed potato use as me, even though he does love food...
Anyway, I supposed I've gained a sufficient amount of writing practice for the day. Plus, I've spread the art of food styling just a little bit broader. If that's not productive, I don't know what is!! Spread the word that I'm bogging again. And try to restrain your excitement...

The Internet is Magic

2008-08-03T14:10:00.000-07:00

Winnie (who drunk dialed me last night around midnight -- and btw -- I was NOT asleep -- I simply was avoiding antics, sorry, love you --- and another btw, the content of the message was pretty much limited to informing me about various post-drinking activities, so umm, thanks) -- told me I needed to blog. And I told him I had no good material. Not really true, b/c, if you read the majority of my posts, I wouldn't say that lack of good material has really ever stopped me before... But anyway, then he started babbling about "I wonder what life was like before computers..." and I thought, "hmm, so I do I. That's it! A blog entry." And then someone in reference to something or other was like, "the Internet is magic," and I had a name for it and everything.

So if you step back and take a look at what you do one any given day that relates to computers, it becomes apparent that your life would indeed be a much different entity sans Internet. For me, I think of it in different terms.

First, I'd def be more productive net/net, sans Internet:

-- I wouldn't have spent 15 minutes examining information re: this girl Margaret that I was friends in high school but haven't talked to in about 10 years. You see, she found me on Facebook. And that becomes grounds to let your curiosity run wild: What HAS she been doing for 10 years? I'm DYING to know! What is her relationship status? This is very important! How does she look in pictures? Can't spend another minute not knowing! And btw, if you're judging? Stop. I know you all do it. I left a housewarming party this afternoon, and a girl I met who wants to drinks sometime didn't ask for my number...but rather confirmed my last name...so she too can waste time...on Facebook.

In other ways, it would be, less flavorful:

-- I spent another 10-15 min this evening looking up the recipe for Benihana salad dressing. Yes, I said Benihana. Although some people, indeed some quite close to me, might call this a trashy restaurant destination, I did grow up in Indianapolis where pickin's are slim, and for some people, such as say, my brother, this was as good as eatin' got. And hence every March 22nd in my youth, you could find me there, celebrating Greggy's birthday. Anyway, point being, Google Benihana salad dressing and you pull up an extensive list of copycat recipes. I went w/ the one sourced from the Chicago Sun-Times. And I'll be making it very, very soon! Thank you, Internet, for enhancing my culinary life!

It would also be less connected and more laborious from a social standpoint:

-- I wrote an email to SV this morning that in my book was a bit overdue, just to catch her up on life including our recently discovered mutual connections, and in 10 min was able to write down what would've taken probably three times as much time on the phone. Of course, it's undoubtedly less personal...yes, I'll give it that. But hey, efficiency! me? Also got in touch w/ Rainer and Mari re: dinner this week -- Raine lives in NYC and Mari is somewhere in Europe I think, in fact, I don't even know, so this whole email think really expedited the planning process here and I'd say, enriched my social planning abilities. Thank you, Internet!

It would be less musical, and less 'teen:

In days of yonder, to obtain the latest and greatest pop hit, I'd have to make a trip ALL the WAY to Target or Best Buy to purchase a CD. Now, if I have the urge to listen to say, Bleeding Love, 7 times in a row, all I have to do is head to iTunes and pick up a copy. Quick quick quick! And I lost both the car ride and the plastic case that will eventually end up in landfill and turn into methane gas, so....I reduced my carbon footprint. Don't say I don't think about the environment!

I think from here the next logical point to move onto would involve work. But, that bores me, so I think, I'll just go w/ what I've got here. Oh! And btw -- pre-Internet, you never would've been able to even READ this! Hmm. You can interpret that, its benefits, its drawbacks, as you wish... But hey, just another piece of hay on the haystack... Who even says that anyway? As far as I see it? Quality of life: improved! Plus my MacBook sure is pretty. I conclude that indeed, the Internet sure is magic, and I'll stick w/ a computer-filled life.

My Rolls Are Famous!

2008-06-30T17:00:00.000-07:00

Here at work, we're currently playing with our legal team on getting the right permissions/edits/etc. to get these videos posted up to our TMcgraw site that we created for our sponsorship. It's a long story, and one that is not very interesting -- but it is most definitely a pain in the ass.

Really what I've learned is something that I guess I could've probably figured out or just kind of knew anyway in these times where people just like to sue the pants of everyone -- that's it's next to impossible to use the images you capture at a random event without cutting through ~38 rolls of red tape. So I was pretty curious when I came across this article in Ad Age about people backing off Weight Watchers and the like b/c the tough economy makes the programs hard to afford: http://adage.com/article?article_id=128036

Not b/c of the article itself -- but b/c of the accompanying image of this woman's fat rolls.

I wondered what the release process looked like. So first there is a man out there who is following fat people around with a camera angling for shots. Is he like, "oh, yeah, that's great! turn to the left a little more! I'm really capturing that love handle!!" Or maybe, "oh, that's good! Those low rise jeans -- they're accentuating all the right things!!" I don't know, something like that.

So then he has to approach the subject, and he's all, "excuse me, can you sign this photo release? I want to use your image in Ad Age!" And the subject might be momentarily excited, you know, 15 min and all that, until she realizes how she's actually being featured. Or...then...is she still excited, b/c even 15 min of infamy beats no 15 min at all? I feel like these are all good questions to ask oneself over the course of a day. Although I might be a bit paranoid moving forward that there is some photog out there waiting to capture some super unflattering image of me for use in some random publication about something...unflattering. Although, I guess he'll have to get my release...so then...I can put that worry to rest. Phew.

Nipples and stuff.

2008-06-18T15:42:00.000-07:00

I never did go to Cancun when I was in college, for spring break. Umm, I did go to Panama City, Daytona Beach, Key West, and Jamaica, so, I def had my share of trashiness, but I think maybe it's always been in my destiny to really do it, you know, like, DO the Senior Frogs thing.
So perhaps I should've seen it as reclaiming a bit of lost youth when I went to two illustrious bars (The Zoo, and then something next door, name forgotten) in Puerto Vallarta last week and got to umm, do it. What I'm now reflecting on is, why would anyone ever WANT to do it? This is what I witnessed:

1/2 of our party was on the dance floor, and 1/2 of us were sitting around sipping cervezas, and well me, I was sipping tequilas. With lime. One of those shot chicks comes over, right, and she has this bottle of something pink. When you were little, did you ever take amoxacillin (antibiotic)? I did. I often had ear infections when I was young young. It was delicious. Think and milky and pink, tasted like bubble gum. Anyway so her shot stuff looks pretty much like that. But while I thought "moxy" tasted delish, I predict this shit tasted disturbingly bad. I wouldn't know.

So she's really fierce-looking, this shot chick, right? She has long hair, she reminded me of Lara Croft a bit for some reason. Her lips were tightly locked around her whistle, and she didn't stop blowing that thing for a millisecond. Lungs of steel I tell you -- that woman should get a gig doing the Shofar at HHDs!!

Her little routine is something like this. She approaches a table of 4 guys. And does her routine (whistle of course going the whole time):
Guy 1: Approximately 4 shots of non-moxy down this throat. Shirt pulled up. Nipples tweaked.
Guy 2: Approximately 6 shots of non-moxy down his throat. Shirt pulled up. Nipples tweaked. LIT LIGHTER fanned over his nipples.
Guy 3: Approximately 10 shots of non-moxy. Nipples tweaked. Lighter trick.
Guy 4: Approximately 15 shots. Tweak. Lighter. ICE CUBES OVER NIPPLES!!!

The scary quotient was upped by the fact that shot girl had this what I interpreted as a really grim, dark look on her face. I think she might have been into S&M or something and she uses her job as an outlet. Perhaps she should consider employment at some other sort of "club." There were other less scary shot girls, too. There was one out on the dance floor, and I did mention that some of our crew was out on the dance floor as well. And a couple of them may or may not have had the pink shots. No nipple pinching or shirts lifted, but they did get their boobs jiggled. No other way to describe it other than boob-jiggling. Luckily I don't think my boobs are jiggle-able.

I must note, that I received a lot of slack from my ladies in PV for my lack of blogging. It has come to my attention that I have been usurped by anther blogging friend. I don't like that much. So that is why I decided to make this come back. Whether or not this comeback lasts...I couldn't say. I think I'll take it one day at a time. I'll leave you with a couple photos from Mehico. One as a shout-out to my ladies, and another just for general consumption, with a note that my mom informed me that she really liked this one and is printing it out for household display. I would like to point out that my mom insists on only showcasing pics of me in our house where I look 1) huge; 2) stupid; or 3) just plain really bad. So, gracias maman...and adios amigos.

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!

2008-04-22T09:35:00.000-07:00

I know it’s been like 40 days and 40 nights in the desert since I’ve written or actually like much more than that, but in honor of Passover I’m going to go with that simile. Anyway this is the first time since I can recall as of late that I don’t have meetings starting at 9am and given that work these days is nuts and I just need a break, I’m going to do what I’ve not done in so long, and blog.

Let me begin by giving a shout-out to Tully’s Coffee, who in honor of Earth Day and in partnership w/ SF BART is giving out free cups of coffee or free lattes to the masses. I don’t ever go to Tully’s, but free stuff is good, so I gave it a gamble. Hey, Tully’s: word of advice, if I may – you will NOT get repeat customers if you give them free coffee that tastes like absolute shit in a cup. I actually threw the coffee out. I couldn’t even muster taking one actual full sip for fear of barfing on my cube. Happy Earth Day.

Segueing into topic 2, let’s discuss what prevented me from having to take the 7 instead of 6 this morning as I ran a couple minutes late. I sat down to eat my egg and cottage cheese for breakfast and turned on the tv. My roommates were indulging in some Hills last night (I was working…), so when I turned it on, MTV’s morning top 10 videos were on. BTW, MTV ONLY plays videos before 8am on weekdays, in case you were curious if they every actually feature music on the MUSIC television station. So that said, the new Little Wayne video was on: Lollipop. It’s quite catchy. That’s why I was late. Had to watch it all. Then when I got in this morning I Googled the lyrics out of curiosity. I knew the song was rife w/ sexual innuendo given its title, but I had no idea. I blushed profusely and then cleared my Internet history.

Anyway, finally, topic 3: crack pipes. On Sunday morning, I opened the front door to clean off my shoe (had gotten some pebbles caked in from Golden Gate on Saturday) and Eliz walked out w/ me as we were chatting. There was a crazy man, complete with eye patch and brightly colored clothing, at the top of our stoop, organizing his…stuff. I saw paper clips, some rocks, I don’t know, other stuff. He looked up, made eye contact, said “good morning.” We said “good morning…” He apologized for the intrusion and then I walked back in and was like “Eliz! (harsh whisper) Shut the door!!” Five minutes later we went back out, and he was gone. But, he had left a crack pipe on our door step (small, clear glass tube, open at one end, stuffed w/ cottony looking stuff). Would’ve saved it, but Mana picked it up and chucked it into the street.

So that was very urban.

Anyway, now I actually do need to start doing work. So I bid you all adieu. Hope you haven’t forgotten about this blog and that someone actually does read this content, otherwise, I guess I just wrote a whole page of nonsense to myself.

A good crack.

2008-02-27T12:44:00.001-08:00

I’m presently sitting at work working toward back-crack number 3. Is it odd to have a certain love-affair with cracking your back? I’m kind of obsessed. I actually have a specific standing routine which involves standing up very straight, bending fully over, then coming up and stretching into a standing back bend to help get a good crack. Although at work I just sit in my chair and reach my arms up and back. Then I typically say something like “Ruchers! You hear that?!” Or maybe, “Wowee! That was a good one!! A great crack!”

Anyway so this morning I was watching CNN while eating my eggs, a piece of which I dropped on my favorite pants, which sucked, but, I digress. Anyway. So there was this feature story about a woman who is a mayor of some small town, and on her MySpace page (yes, this mayor has a MySpace page…) she has a photo of herself wearing an (ugly) bathing suit (but looking pretty good) posing alongside a red pickup truck (reserve judgment! Reserve judgment!)

I guess her constituents discovered the picture and then outsed her from office. Seriously. So CNN is interviewing this woman, and they’re like, “So, are you regretting placing the picture up on your site?” Her response, “No, I don’t regret it at all. I can do what I want there, it’s ‘my space.’ That’s why they call it, “MySpace.” Really?? Is that why they call it that? What a profound statement.

This woman doesn’t need her mayoral career anymore anyway, given that she’s taken to selling people posters of the famed picture on the Internet.

I had an odd urge to write about 1) back cracking and 2) the CNN story. It could be disappointing that I’ve not posted in sometime and that I have again I’m posting mundane gibberish, but I think that I typically mostly post mundane gibberish, so I guess maybe it’s not surprising or a let-down after all.

A brief 2 weeks in review...

2008-02-13T23:13:00.000-08:00

I am typing my very first entry from my own brand new MacBook. It's a stunning, delicious work of art that, as I told Saujin earlier tonight (sorry I cut out; was figuring stuff out on this little toy), makes me want to weep.

But, you ask, why do I have a new computer?

The answer lies somewhere in three life-altering events that all happened within the past 1.5 weeks:

1) I got robbed

2) 2 days later my car got hit (while parked)

3) I went to Mideivel Times

I'll leave it to you to figure out which of those events (and for the record, they weren't really all that life-altering, not at all actually, and particularly number 3, it def wasn't life-altering...well I don't know, maybe just a little bit it was) was the one that leads me typing on a new MacBook.

Ok, fine, I'll help! It was #1.

See, ever since that whole failure on my part to pay it forward in a timely enough manner, my karmic balance has been totally out of whack. That at least is my theory. I encourage you all to do what you can to keep your own karma in check, b/c it's a powerful thing, and a bitch, clearly.

As far as the robbery goes, I discovered it two Fridays ago...came home from work and had been home for 1/2 hour or so before I went to turn on my old iPod and discovered that she wasn't there. After verifying with Eliz that she did not borrow it, nor did I borrow hers, and then noticing my shitty old computer's absence, and then the absence of several necklaces, it became quite clear that some shithead invaded our sanctuary and took our stuff. Bastard. If I ever find that guy, I will bash him. And, to answer your question: he got in through the back door that leads out of our kitchen and down to our fenced-in patio, and likely, through an unlocked door, b/c we are occasionally idiots.

The good news is that I had renter's insurance and voila! New computer, new iPod, easy peasy.

Anyway just really wanted to try out this keyboard here. It's pretty much my bedtime now.

The end.

The Holy Land, Resumed

2008-01-28T21:12:00.000-08:00

Israel Part II starts right here, right now. Get excited. Winnie: I'm writing this for you. Don't forget that.

Anyway, so after an overall mostly lame Day 2, I kicked off Day 3 with a lecture at 8:30am. Gee, that was fun. We heard three different speakers who were pretty much all across the board in terms of their topic and their ability to hold my interest. Speaker #1: Rabbi Asher Wade. Born a Methodist, he holds about 87 different degrees in higher education from esteemed schools, was once on staff at Cambridge, and was a Methodist Minister. Yes, Rabbi Wade was once a minister. How's that for a change of pace? Excellent speaking aside, I must focus on the truly important details here, and that includes the fact that Asher looked astonishingly like Santa Claus (it's his doppleganger I swear) and that he talked with an intonation like I've never heard before. I want you to hear how this guy would say "really?" b/c he did it drawn out over a 5-second stretch starting in a really low pitch and ending v. high. All I know is that across the remainder of the trip, everyone would say an Asher-style "really" on avg. 5 x/day. That was irritating. But, oh so fun.

Speaker #2: he sucked. Who cares.

#3: An Arab Muslim Jew living in Israel and a reporter for the Jerusalem Post. With loyalty to absolutely no side at all and highly inflammatory views of the government, I still am to this day trying to figure out how he's still alive. Insert shoulder shrug here.

Post-speakers, we headed out to Tel Aviv for the afternoon. Our destination was the Israeli Microsoft HQs, where we heard the head of the division speak. Personally, although I am an MBA who went on an MBA trip to Israel, I really had no desire to talk business over there. I have a job. And that is quite enough biz-nass for me. So the highlight of that trip was a visit to Coffee Bean. You travel to a country that speaks a language that is incomprehensibly ancient, and you can still get a damn 2% latte. Oh, and the highlight of the CBean trip was the highlight of the Tel Aviv trip was when my friend Mike tried to pay with money that had been printed so long ago that it was out of circulation. Upon handing it to the cashier, he was asked, "What [the hell] is this, [dude]?" (brackets indicate the tone communicated through facial expression alone) That was funny.

Of course we heard another speaker after this, but a nice change of venue - went to the home of one our trip mate's uncle's (Israeli dude). Good speaker; involved in Israeli TV industry. Told a story about prank-calling Ariel Sharon's wife and broadcasting it on network television. Didn't go over so well w/ his producer, but sure did entertain me.

Dinner was an all you can eat steak house. I don't know. I really like steak. But it's def not one of those foods I can eat in giant quantities. Especially when it's overcooked. And totally mediocre. But who needs good food when you have a little story time over dinner? Especially when you have a guy whose bright idea of "share something no one knows about you" prompts him to discuss the time he hooked up with some Australian chick in the bushes while away at boy scout camp. Hi friend, your audience? Contains a Rabbi and his family. Great choice of story.

Anyway. Can I mention what happened when were en route to go out post-dinner? Great, awesome. We're traipsing through the rain and mud along the Tel Aviv beaches, and we pass this one little shack-like bar, and this dude wearing a motorcycle helmet comes sprinting out and he's screaming, "help me!!! help me help me help me!" But he also like, waving a gun. So it's dark and this guy has a weapon and is dangerously close to us. We didn't so much help me. We kind of ran away. I think you would've too.

That set the theme for the night. Eventually we ended up at Whiskey a-go-go which is all red leather and banquettes and chandeliers and old Russian men. No sightings of all the beautiful people my friend Sumona promised me. Nope, def not, unless you count Winnie, who has gone totally Euro all the way, down to this diet which must consist of cigarettes and vodka given his skinniness. Joe, it works for you - but please don't stop eating altogether. Food: good!

So clearly seeing Winnie was a highlight; highlight #2 came with my cab ride, where our story-telling extraordaire friend told some story about dressing up like Zoro-ski, that's Zoro, but Jewish, as pointed out by Abe - hence making it funny... I really can't do this little vignette justice. Apologies.

So then, I am now through Day 3 and onto Day 4. I think that good things come to those who wait. You want good things, don't you? Don't you? You do. So wait for the next entry to see what Day 4 has in store...

On Karmic Energy, and Facebook.

2008-01-27T22:04:00.000-08:00

So I guess it's been sometime since I've blogged. And wow now that I'm trying to right now I almost feel like I'm speaking in some sort of foreign language. I'm rusty! Gee golly, am I.

Ok so last Friday I was sitting waiting for Bart when this homeless dude approached me very hesitantly and finally got around to asking me for what he'd initially approached me about: needing $1.80 to get out of the rain and cold and go take a shower. I told him that I had no cash, but I totally lied as I really did have $1 on me. But I never give $$ on the street b/c I don't know there are one million people asking for it and it just becomes this inconvenience and you become this street-hardened quasi bitch. So after this particular incident I felt bizarrely terrible and was like "shit, I really should've helped that guy out."

And then it dawned on me that it was totally my turn to pay it forward and I didn't do it. That was it. You see, several days previous to that, I was leaving the Oakland APort (coming home from Sundance) at 1:30am on a disgusting, cold, rainy night. I realized I had $4 left from the weekend. As I went to pay my parking bill (CCard), I asked the parking attendant if she knew if the Oakland to SF toll was $4 or $5. She thought $5. I asked her if I could charge an extra $1 onto my parking bill and have $1 in exchange. She responded, no, but that she could just give me $1. I thanked her profusely. Turned out I only needed $4 not $5 so I am carrying around that donated $1.

It has since become imperative for me to pay forward that $1. But at this rate, I think the interest has compounded as it can only do on a Karmic $1, so now it's likely something like $5 at least that I need to pay forward. And I on this MISSION to get it done. Naturally, no opps presented themselves this weekend. Fortunately, I am sure that on my commute tomorrow I'll be able to get it done so I don't risk throwing off my Karmic balance. I think that's a very delicate thing in this world. Anyway, here's to good Karma to you all.

In other news, I would like to say a few words about how shittin' crazy this whole FBook ordeal has become lately. The other night, I logged onto FB to accept a few invites, and decided to play a bit and update my relationship "status" to "in a relationship." I was careful to click the little "x" on the box beside that status update on my news feed page. I can change it just to accurately reflect my personal state of being via the WWW, but I don't need to send it out like the Daily Candy to my 216 (right....) "friends," eh?

But, apparently I needed to go in and actually change security settings or something to prevent it from showing on other peoples' feeds... So the next morning I received no less than 15 emails, IMs, and/or FB messages inquiring about or noting my status change. It was crazy. My friend Katie R who lives in London and who I've not talked to in at LEAST 2 mos IMed me as soon as I logged in. Man alive. That is some kind of phenom. I now know that if there is any sort of news that I actually NEED to broadcast? FB is def the way to go...

Anyway, I do need to finish my Israel blog, but in the mean time I thought this would do. OH BTW, my little brother has decided to start blogging. Mine of course is much better than his. I will post the link in sometime, but right now I'm frankly too lazy to go find it in my email, so it will just have to wait. As will blogging any further cuz for now I think it's about to end this and wrap up my weekend. Sunday nights are the WORST!

Israel, Part I

2008-01-03T20:19:00.000-08:00

Another trip, another dreadfully long blog entry. I can't help it. It's my own permanent record of my travels. I'll post in pieces so you can take it slow. Too lazy to post pictures in, so instead I have included a link to allllllllllllllll my pictures which are online - here you go:

http://picasaweb.google.com/linderms/IsraelDec2007

On that note...

Traveling

I took three flights and endured approximately 30 hours worth of travel to get the holy land. I did use the word endured and you would too if you spent over an entire day just getting somewhere. That borders on the ridiculous. Anyway, on my flight from LA to Zurich, I was asked shortly into my fight if I’d like to move to a back row by one of the stewardesses as I’d have access to two seats. Actually the stewardess cared little for my comfort and mostly wanted me to move so the family I had been sitting with could have an extra seat for their little munchkins. In fact, the row of seats she moved me to had non-working overheard lights and a busted tv monitor in the aisle seat (the preferred, clearly). That non-withstanding, I thought I was getting a sweet deal as when I sat down the 3rd seat in the row appeared unoccupied save for a lone sweatshirt. 1.5 hours later the seat still had no passenger. I continued watching my movie and dreaming about how awesome it’d be when I stretched out across the entire row. The movie ended; I finished off my red wine and took several Tylenol PMs in prep for sleep and just as I was about lay my head down, an Italian dude returned to the sweat-shirted seat and after a non-sensical exchange of words I confirmed that indeed he was there for the remainder of the flight. Foiled! Asshole.

Zurich

Zurich must be the most expensive city in the entire universe. A parking ticket in SF costs you $40. I bet in Zurich it costs you $240. We had a 5 or so hour layover in this incredibly cold city which warranted a trip out of the airport, enough time to wander the streets (and be cold) and eat dinner. We examined at least 7 menus and could not find a single damn restaurant in Zurich where one could eat a meal for less than around $30. In the end we ate at an Italian place where I consumed a bowl of soup and a plate of pasta that was essentially a chunk of carbs drowning in cream spiced up with some black truffles (if you’re going to eat in the most expensive city on earth, you might as well indulge). Aside from the fact that I have probably never eaten a single plate of food containing that many calories, I spent about $70 on my meal. I think I spent more on that one single dinner in my layover city than I did on the sum total of all meals I purchased in Israel.

Day 1

We arrived at the King Solomon Hotel in Jerusalem, most def not to be confused with the luxurious government-official-haven King David Hotel, at approximately 5am and I went straight to bed. After sleeping for a few hours we headed to breakfast (are you sensing this theme of sleep/eat/sleep/eat that I lived by for about 2 days straight) which for me on Day 1 as well as Days 2-10 consisted of large amounts of smoked fishes and Bulgarian Feta (my newest cheese of choice). I *think* I overate but I *know* for sure that Jocelyn liked it when I announced in the elevator that I was on the verge of exploding fish and cheese. The first activity of the day was an Orientation session. Game 1: that name thing where you sit in a circle and then recite the name and nickname of all the people that went before as well as your own. My favorite nicknames included:

1) “Just Dave:” Dave announced he has no nickname and therefore we sighed and agreed that we’d *just* call him *just* dave, which while I think is somewhat sad, is also quite entertaining.

2) “Kabob:” This kid Bobby told us that one of his nicknames is Kabob. And that he hates it. So what happens when you tell someone that? They call you that the rest of the trip. In fact, no other nickname was used as profusely as was Kabob. And after you called him Kabob, you’d giggle.

3) “Butterscotch:” Nickname of Layla, the soft-spoken, highly observant Orthodox girl on our trip. No explanation provided. I think that the contrast b/t person and name sans explanation is explanation enough for why that name is just so good.

Anyway. After our little get acquainted session, we departed for the Knesset - the Israeli Parliament – with this guy Ken who was our guide for a few days. He was terrible. I want to here make note of part of the dress code for the Knesset: “’Crocs’ shoes are not permitted unless they are black or navy.” Really??? Is that REALLY part of the dress code??? We met w/ a Knesset membr – Yoel Hasson – pretty cool stuff. He addressed his perspectives on Iran, the Annapolis Summit, keeping Jerusalem whole, refusing a Palestinian state, and Israel’s pro-Bush/pro-America sentiments. I love that Israel loves Bush when his own country has pretty much fallen completely out of love with him.

Daylight ended shortly after the Knesset and we headed to dinner in the Ben Yehuda district at Café Rimon. In my opinion, the meal consisted of Chinese food, Italian food, and Mexican food, all served with lots of hummus. I didn’t so much understand it. Anyway I lost my appetite sitting next to Ken, the atrocious tour guide with an ego the size of Masada who has not and likely will never learn how to shut the f up.

Dinner was followed by a lecture. I can’t remember who lectured or what he lectured on b/c I was falling asleep. So it must’ve been super great.

Luckily the day closed with our fist visit to the Western Wall, or the Kotel. There is really nothing on this earth like it. Visiting that wall makes Rome feel new. The Wall abuts land that pretty much was not the birthplace of Judaism but of humanity – how can you describe what you feel when you’re touching something so ancient? You also, while in the excavation tunnels of the Kotel, get as close as religiously permitted to the stone that marks the place where Abraham nearly sacrificed Isaac and the cornerstone of the oldest temple. The Holiest of Holies. Deeply moving and something that everyone must experience for herself.

Day 2

Day 2: Not fun. I ask you this: if you travel half way around the world to see one of the most historic lands on earth – do you hope to engage in team building activities while there? Do you want to do things like relay races on giant wooden stilts across a field specked with dog shit, or play pick-up games of red rover? No? Me neither. The rest of the day was filled with lectures. I knew that I’d have to attend said lectures, I knew that – but it’s still no easier to stomach. There were two highlights to the day:

Visit to Yad va Shem – The Holocaust Museum, strikingly done. Just not enough time. And I got lost getting back to the bus. Yes, I got lost finding my way out of a museum. Are we really that surprised?
Dinner – Went out for AJ’s bday. Best meal of the trip. Grilled meat and a great salad. And wine. Lots and lots of Israeli wine.

My dog emails.

2007-12-06T21:25:00.000-08:00

I got this email from my dad, I mean, my dog the other day. You can't make this stuff up. BTW, my dog is a rotten speller and gramatically weak. Enjoy:

Dear Brother and Sister,
I enjoyed having you home for Thanksgiving and hanging out with
some younger hiper people. Things are back to normal and I enjoy be
the center of mom and dads attention. i have them wrapped around my
paw. On Sunday, Dad was sleeping in so i decided to run up stairs and
jump on the bed like I did with you guys. He is more fun than mom
who does not like me up on things. Stayed at Best Friends Friday
night and hung out with some cool dudes. Did get an email of this
nice lookin bitch. Today I hung with DAD. he took me for a ride to
run some errands and went to his office. Dont understand this
cosmetic surgery thing for you humans. Glad that USC won but thought
the game was a little boring. Dad went to apple today for a computer
lesson. he is very slow and I occasionlly have to help him out. Mom
has been making cookies for everyone but me. I dont get it. I would
really like some peanut brittle. Dad says his is the best. mom and
dad are going to Thurstons farm this weekend and will leave me all
alone. Not fair. would like to go to. How is everything with you
guys. supposed to get some snow tonight and I am excited. any bites
on your car bro. whats new in the bay area sis? thats it for now. I
attached a photo of me in the leaves. i think I am quite handsome.
Dad says I get my looks from him and mom says I have her eyes. Miss
you both. your little brother Jack

I make no promises.

2007-12-03T21:04:00.000-08:00

Around 3pm today I kind of wanted to cry. I have two weeks of work left before I leave for Israel and about 58 projects, 1/2 of which I really have no idea how to do. I feel like the dumb kid and I'm starting to question how I got hired in the first place.

I went over to Rucher's cube to bitch and whine a little bit given that bitching and whining tends to produce excellent business results. About 1/2 way through my rant Pav says, "well, I really like your vest." (was dressed casual today, long story, wearing my favorite pink puffy vest) Thanks much. That really helps the fact that I have no idea how to do my job at this time. Then I kept whining. Then he told me he liked my vest again. Helpful.

I stayed at work until 6:30 which for me might as well be midnight and was lucky enough to get on a super packed bus where one guy who smelled super bad was taking up three seats and some guy out on the street was ranting all sorts of crazy stuff at the bus driver through the door to the point that Aly, who I was talking to on the phone, got scared. And then when I got off the bus there was a whole pack of street kids blocking the sidewalk.

So you see, this has been my day. And I got home too late to go to the dry cleaners!

These are the days that I despise corporate America. When I take a step back and I look at my job and I'm like, what exactly do I do here? I have to present a case on Friday to get some $$ to do a project and we have to prove it will pay out...even though we don't know what we're even going for the project yet...What do you think about that? I have to look at all these numbers and numbers are scary. Don't they know that? Should I tell them? Do you think I'd still have a job if I went to my boss and told him that numbers are scary and he please maybe make them go away?

BTW, I can see your face. You're reading this post, and a) you don't like it b/c I'm bitching and b) you're wondering where I'm really going with it anyway. Well I blame Warren. he complained I hadn't written in a while and so I told him I would. Thing is when I told him I actually had a story in mind to tell you, but then when I sat down tonight I just went in a completely opposite direction and kind of like when that Siggy chic used her blog as a personal diary I am now using this to rant for a little bit.

Ok then...so...I have that all off my chest. And this is what I promise: I got screamed out last week by a guy on the bus and it was so frightening that i thought he might knife me or something. I bet you'd like to hear about that! So I promise that b/c you listened to me talk about THIS stuff tonight, in exchanged, next time I'll tell you that very fun story! Ok? Great.

Oopsies.

2007-11-20T20:11:00.000-08:00

Last night while waiting for the bus I was perusing this Web site sent to me by Winnie:
http://www.jamphat.com/rap/???/

And so I blame him for the events that occurred thereafter.

I waited and waited and waited and finally a bus came by and since I'd been waiting for an eternity I got on. And continued to visually examine mathematical interpretations of rap lyrics. And it's just the site was just really, really long and I kept on reading. And on the buses they shout out the stops right? So I'm reading and riding and then I hear, "Harrison." And I never hear Harrison on my way home... So I turn to the guy next to me, and I'm like, "Umm, am I on the 9 or something?"

And he laughed, and yes, and I was on the 9. But here's the thing: I totally take the 6, 7, or 71 - I don't take the 9. So I totally didn't know where I was at all. I was half freaking out and half giggling a lot b/c it was all of a sudden really funny that I had absolutely gotten on the wrong bus. Who even does that? So the guy is like, "where are you going?" And I tell him the Haight. And he tells me I'm somewhere totally not close at all like Portrero Hall or something. And heading farther. But we were by a Costco. I didn't even know there was a Costco in SF. So he's like "you should get off here and grab a cab." And I giggle again and I check my wallet and I'm like "Shit! I have like $5!" And I giggle.

And then he offered me $$. No shit. Totally. And I'm like, "I can't take your money!" And we go back and forth. And then, I took $5 from a total stranger b/c he did have a point, I did need to get home safe, and $5 just wasn't going to do it. And then I got off the bus. In the middle of nowhere. Where there were no cabs in sight. And I had no idea where I was.

I looked it up on my phone, but really all that did was prove that I was nowhere near my house and I couldn't find a form of transportation. So I just picked a direction and kept walking. And a while later I ran straight into a bus that was heading for Filmore. I got on and then took that for a while, and got out somewhere around the Castro eventually and then took a cab from there.

So that is how it came to be that I took the Bart, and then the 9, and then the something else, and then a cab - exactly 4 modes of transportation - to get home last night. Boy oh boy, I felt some kinda smart by the time I arrived at my house. Real, real smart.

My Night at the SF General: An Essay

2007-11-11T19:10:00.000-08:00

On Friday night, I went to dinner w/ little Greggy, and then we opted to see a late movie down at the AMC at the Westfield Mall. We departed the theater around 1:30am, and when we were about to cross over Market, I spotted the 71 heading for the stop. "Run! That's our bus!" So me and my Jimmy Choos started the run across 6 lanes of traffic, until about 5 lanes in, we fell. Left foot Choo stuck itself in a rail track, and I caught, and went down. Not a little, but a lot. It was a fantastical fall. Actually it was quite scary - contents of my bag went rolling out as I struggled to pick myself up w/ Greggy's help after every single point of my body had made contact w/ the asphalt. When I got up, and calmed down, Greggy asked me if I still had the blog. Yep. He noted that the fall would most def be making it onto the blog. He was correct, b/c, here it is.

On Sat morning I woke up with a very, very sore left foot. No swelling really, just a dark bruise on the outer left side of my foot. Dr. B, resident medical expert, advised that I should go get it checked out. So on Sat night, me and Stu accompanied EB into the hospital to have a look-see.

It's good to have dr. friends. I knew this from growing up in a dr. family - expedites everything. I met some docs who informed me to head to the front room to get registered, get a yellow wristband, and then to return to be taken up for x-ray.

EB told me that the simple fact that I have medical insurance would set me apart at the General, but it wasn't until I saw the waiting room that this really made sense. Many years ago, in Kentucky, in Cumberland on an annual summer boating trip, Dick gashed open his shin and we traveled to the local med clinic in Russel County where he eneded up sewing himself up. Greggy and I, ever the mature children, were forced out of the waiting room and back into the car b/c we couldn't behave ourselves; the country folk in the waiting room were too much, really. Bad, I know, but we were young.

Anyway, the waiting room there: no match for SF general. A doc came in at one point when I was being registered, asking who had wrist bands and was waiting to be called. The first guy she checked was dozing in the corner. Def drunk, maybe on other things...the nurse asked for his wrist band which he held up drowsily, she goes, "sir, that is not for this hospital. you need to leave now." And he stumbled out. He was one of three homeless guys in the waiting rooms mostly just there for someplace to go. Then a hooker came in with white netting pulled over her head, screaming profanities at the two officers restraining her. The clientele was rough around the edges at best...and I have no urge to hang out at the general again anytime soon.

As for me, I zipped right through registration, was told to skip the waiting room and head straight back to Zone 3, and then was sent right over for the x-ray, and within 1.5 hours of entering the SFG, I was sent out of the SFG. I did feel some guilt over this, considering I heard people in the waiting room muttering over how long they'd been waiting, but at the same time, I had these conflicting feelings, given that I was sober and gainfully employed and not just looking for a place to place my wasted rear. wow, this sounds mean, and I know, callus, and I do feel bad...but it's been a long weekend of no exercise and painful walking and that makes me grumpy :(

BTW, nothing wrong w/ my damn foot. I think I must've sprained it, but no broken bones...therefore I felt like a total whiny bitch for having had an x-ray. Oh well, I blame my in-house dr. who told me it'd be smart to go ahead and get it checked out. It's funny like that - you almost WANT there to be something wrong so you don't feel like a tool. Anyway, I just felt like a tool. Oh, I also got a little velcro-on shoe to wear. My roomates find it hysterical that I have to wear that thing for four or five days. You know, I guess it's not really my style.

Upon returning home, in the cold, dark, rainy SF night, we ordered in Indian and watched a movie. So, it was some kinda night. Hospital trip followed by take-out and a movie. CRAZY. Anyway, I have to be honest, many many of my LP entries are devoted to tales of debaucherous, fun-filled nights...but last night, was not one of those nights. Please think of my poor little left foot, if you please. She hurts!

The night I wore no shoes

2007-10-27T00:36:00.001-07:00

Tonight, I walked home barefoot. In San Francisco. I haven’t walked home barefoot in a city since New Years Eve in NYC, 2004, when I ended up sleeping on the couch of Johnny Blaze, which is clearly a whole other story, in fact, one I think I’ve recounted before.

Anyway, the point is, I try to keep my footwear on when I’m walking the sidewalks of large metropolitan areas, and shockingly enough, I actually prefer to keep them on pretty much in any public venue. BSpears may have tried to make going barefoot in public spaces look chic, or at least, public gas station bathrooms, but I prefer to march to the beat of my own drummer.

So then, me, barefoot tonight. I arrived home from dinner around 11:30 and drove around for a full ½ hour before finally exploring a whole new corner of the parking world, Buena Vista Heights. It’s called “BV HEIGHTS” for a reason, namely that it presides at the crest of this fair city. Anyway, I practically forgot where I lived I was so high up in the atmosphere. After a lovely game of bumper kissing, which I practice now on a regular basis, I exited my car and started to head on home.

As I headed home, down hill toward Haight Street, it dawned on me that the street was so steep that I could not in fact see below the crest of the approaching hill. When I reached the top of said hill, two blocks due south of the 1-3-7, I had a feeling that I have thus far reserved for the Rockies. That is the feeling I get when I reach the top of a black diamond covered in waist-high moguls that are entirely above my competency level, but I know I need to get down the hill.

Except, in this case, I was wearing shoes, and there was no snow, and it was midnight, and dark, and not a sporting quest. So you see, pretty much no similarities saved for the panicked feeling of staring down a hill and wondering how I’d make it down.

I looked down at my heels, towering creations of wooden platform spike heels and peep-toed caramel-colored calf skin, and frowned. I started a tentative step and faltered. I started a sideways step and faltered. I reached to my right and gripped the stucco of the building and thought about walking down whilst holding on. It was then that I realized I could never feasibly make it down. It was simply too steep. So I had no choice but to remove my heels and walk barefoot.

I actually consider myself lucky, as I managed to make it all two blocks home without stepping on a contaminated hypodermic, you know, as I was walking at midnight by myself barefoot adjacent to Buena Vista Park, which as far as I can tell, is pretty much the only crack den with a panoramic view of one of the most beautiful cities on earth. Hey man. If I did the crack? I’d be all over the BV Park. As it happens, I don’t, but it’s nice to have an aspirational location to take on if I ever do decide to take up the cheapest form of cocaine as a nice little side hobby.

So then, I guess I’ve had my adrenaline rush for the evening so can go to bed happy and satisfied. Phew, those hills! Who knew.

As Kokko the Wise told me, you always miss some place, no matter where you are

2007-10-19T10:39:00.000-07:00

It's 75, there isn't a cloud in the sky, I have run through 1/2 a tank of gas in less than 2 days, and the woman in front of me at Peet's this morning (at 10:30am...) was donning 3 inch black patent peep-toe pumps, fitted black lace, mammoth blond hair extensions, and fierce calf implants (she was in desperate need of some facial work though...or perhaps that was a result of botched facial work...): ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, it's great to be back in LA.

I should be in a stellar mood, but I have a couple sticking points: 1) the woman at Peets did a shitty job on my latte; it's all foam, no milk at all, leaving me with a 1/2 cup of very strong coffee and no calcium for osteoporosis prevention; 2) my manager just sent me an email w/ feedback on how to essentially rewrite a document; thank you, kind sir, for the excellent guidance AFTER I have completed the project - to note, this level of detail should have come BEFORE I wrote the damn thing. Your management skills are truly stellar; I salute you.

But, buoyed by the excellent weekend that lies ahead of me, I still have a nice little smile on my face.

Anyway, so it's weird to be living in my old house again. When I woke up, I proceeded to go through the same motions that I used to when I was preparing for a day of work (used to be homework, now it's real work): open up all the curtains to let in the sunny sunshine, open up the porch door to let in the fresh air, turn the tv on for background noise, hop in the shower and giggle at the bathroom set-up that enables you or forces you to watch yourself in the mirror as you shower.

Although now, I woke up on the new daybed that is in the living room, versus a real bed. And my furniture is all gone, replaced by Ritu's, and set up in a completely different way. Her clothes, not my clothes, fill the closets. But, it was quite nice to see a tube of Khiel's Nourishing Olive Oil conditioner in the shower, as that is what I use :) (Ritu - have we talked about that product? Or is it pure coincidence that you too love the delightful results?)

I am also happy to see that there is a picture of me, Mare, Moe, and Rainer on the baker's rack in the kitchen (the picture cannot be removed from the frame cuz it got wet and it's permanently affixed to the glass) that I left behind - and that Ritu re-set up the wireless in the house, and the network name is Lindy. I kind of get to haunt the house in a way. My guess is that Veeve and Ritu would roll their eyes at this, but hey, I can see it how I want to.

Anyway, this apt still kicks ass. And San Mon is still pretty much the best place on earth so far as I'm concerned. Even more now that a Pink Berry lies at the corner of 17th and Montana (door is padlocked - but it looks all ready to go - will be open so soon!!!). Leaving me to know that I will achieve my goal of finding a wealthy mate that also wants to move back to SoCal. So then, back to work for me, I need to go make some of my statements more "pithy." I hate that gd word. The end.

Priceless as Diamonds

2007-10-18T11:56:00.000-07:00

Let me start by saying that the title here really has very little to do with what I plan to write about. But I really like that phrase, so thank you Mr. Greg B. for sharing it whilst describing how you feel about that link you sent me that combines Chowhound's Top 100 Restaurants with Google Maps. Priceless as Diamonds indeed.

Actually...maybe I CAN make a feasible connection with my life to this fun turn of words... In an ironic sort of way. You see, I'm in LA right now (Yes! I am in LA! Thank you for the texts and IMs that make me feel guilty for being here and not broadcasting broadly enough). I arrived yday, to do recruiting stuff. Umm, yeah, the tables have turned. No longer do I have to kiss all sorts of corporate ass at lame networking events - now, the kiddies get to kiss MY ass at cheesy networking events! Oh, btw - when you're at one? And you're talking to a company representative at a place where you apparently have interest otherwise why did you come - I don't recommend typing away on your BBerry. You see, you have no job, so I know that your emails really aren't that important. I mean, I do have a job, and really, my emails aren't that important. So what are you doing: talking about the free drinks you're scoring at the W with your first quarter study group members? Douche move.

Anyway, that sidetracked me. I think what I was going for was why I'm here. That said, ever since I arrived here, my life has been one logistical nightmare, mostly due to me making it that way. Which, are kind of, as I said, in an ironic way, priceless as diamonds.

Ok, so for starters, we arrive into LAX around 3 yday, plenty of time to make a 6pm Happy Hour in Westwood. You think. So I wearing a great outfit - cute gray sweater dress, high black suede boots, black tights. And my tights were totally malfunctioning, all day - they have that design deal on the top that looks all lingerie-y, and they were too big and kept falling down, hence revealing the pattern a bit near the hem of my dress. So that won't work for a professional event, so I'm all, "kids: I'm going to hunt down some new tights - see you at the dub later."

So I get my little Mazda and hit the road by around 3:45ish. I can't drive this thing. The gear shift is weird. I end up in "M" mode v. "D" mode. I notice that I'm at like 5rpm and my engine is like revving itself. Try to get to drive, only after throwing it into reverse and neutral before getting there. As adjusted to my vehicle, I get on Lincoln to head North. Lincoln: under construction. 10 min wasted. Turn around to head to 405. Little Greggy used to call the 405 the Parking Lot. Yday at 4ish? Totally applicable name. A wreck. I was pulling out my hair. So I decide I'll take the 10 and just head over on surface streets.

Dumb idea. I lost my LA bearings. I'm kind of turned around. Make fun of me, I'll hit u - so shut it. Anyway, so I get off at Bundy and head to Pico, and pretty soon I'm at Nordstrom, so I'm all perfect - tights! I go in. In my hurry I decide I'll just valet and waste some money. But then I pull in and decide that is ridiculous. So I head out but the parking lot is all one-ways and stuff, so I have to exit before re-entering. I at last find parking, after nearly getting out of my car to force the 85-year-old Olds driver whose spot I'm waiting on to physically start her car and get the hell on with it, and dash into Nordy's for some Spanx. It's now like 5:15 by the time I'm back on the road, and I'm all, shit, I need to hurry. I initially head the wrong way on Pico, go 5 blocks past Westwood, turn around. I'm in terrible, shitty, frustrating LA traffic, and I'm removing my knee-high boots and tights and trying to pull on my Spanx. Which are tight, given their purpose. So I'm flashing traffic, sweater dressed hiked, strategically switching feet between the pedals, trying to stay in drive, cursing as I watch the minutes pass in stagnant traffic. I arrived at 5:45, so no worries, but DAMN, are you serious?

Post event, I head over to Century City to meet up some ladies for drinks at the Pink Taco (name still makes this one blush). I opt to go visit a friend in Hollywood after drinks, and naturally it's another issue, b/c my phone which I was relying on for directions is currently geeking out. It's killing me. IPhone: I heart you - but you're killing me. Apple: wtf. The applications keep crashing and then exiting, so no go on directions ability. Anyway, so there was that.

This morning I was stuck with a shitty hair drier a la y friend and hence my hair was dampish and got a ponytail. Then I had to navigate for an Israel-trip-related interview over at Doheny and Pico, and that was also messy, naturally, and traffic-y. So, I was 10 min late. Awesome. Late. To an interview thing. But so was the interviewer...who spend 10 min with me and pretty much I don't get why I was there in the first place...but that is a whole other issue. When I left I went to go grab a bagel thingy. I say thingy b/c it was this giant flat bagel deal, and tasty! Also got coffee, which was so brutally terrible that I tossed it and grabbed a Peets.

I eventually made it to school, and lot 4 is all different now - you have to do pay stations. So I'm lugging my lap top which is tremendously heavy only to find that I had to go to the pay station, get the ticket, then lug the lap top back to the car to put the ticket on the dash, then go back. And then finally I arrived on campus, thank the lord. By then my hair was dry so I could take my hot iron the the bathroom and straighten my locks. The only other logistical issue was taking my lunch date (Ang K from the P Center) to Bebe to pick up a new shirt b/c I didn't like the one I packed, and it was right across from our restaurant anyway. So I put it on and then pulled off the tags so they could ring it up and I could wear it out. That also involved me squatting awkwardly behind the counter to take off the security tag. The saleswoman said it "happens all the time." My ass it does.

So, I'm now thinking that I have had enough logistical issues for one weekend so I must be all good from here. But of course, when I think that way it tends to bite me in the big old butt. *Sigh*

Anyway... I am currently being pressured to attend Beer Bust, and I"m deciding if I want to be "that girl." This is going to take a bit of thought on my part, so I must go attend to this difficult situation. Until next time...

Ribs and Beer in America's Heartland

2007-10-07T13:13:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Gate 37 of the KSI, Kansas City International, where I sit eating enjoying a healthy and delicious breakfast of Chex Mix and bad airport coffee w/ creamer that comes out of small single-serving cups and requires no refrigeration. To my left: the Iron Man competitor doing his morning calithenics. Directly in front of me: the 6 foot tall Hari Krisna decked in head to toe orange-sherbert rags, pacing the length of the terminal while talking to himself. And slightly to my right: the business man first in queue at Southwest Line B, who is pretty old and continues to stare creepily at me. This, is my life at present. The only thing missing is little brother Greggy, telling me how mean I am when I make fun of people in airport terminals. Oh, the simple pleasures that a little bit of snarkiness affords us.

Anyway. Why, you ask, am I in Kansas City? I’m returning from the American Royal BBQ festival, one of the top 4 BBQ fests in the US. I bet you had no idea that there were so many of these things so as to warrant a “top 4” list. If I were to describe the experience in one picture, this would be it:

All-American, over-fed, slightly offensive, and quite unfortunate.

We sent a whole crew of brandies, an agency chick, a couple PR kids, and some sales friends to this thing, as one of our illustrious brands (I won’t say what one, but it’s pretty much the only name-branded charcoal that matters) sponsors a famous competitor on the BBQ circuit and we needed to go connect w/ our consumers a little bit. After a morning of retail investigation, we headed to a famous BBQ restaurant where I indulged in my first of many slabs of hot meat for the day. Pulled pork and hush puppies (or sweet corn fritters as they call them in KC). I know there are lots of starving kids in Africa, I always keep that in mind actually – it’s pretty much the only reason I make sure to clean my plate – so with that v. humanitarian mantra ringing in my head, I made sure to eat each of my 28 corn fritters and finish each morsel of my incredibly fatty meat.

(Wait: interjection –don’t you love it when people sitting 5 feet away from you talk about you like you can’t hear them? Currently the two women to my left are talking about my laptop and the fact that I’m a fast typer (indeed!) as if I don’t have ears. I do).

Anyway. Oh, and I ate my coleslaw. So, satiated, we took a quick trip back to the hotel to freshen up before hitting the festival. For the record, it’s October, and in KC yday, it was 90 degrees with about 90% humidity, so why we even bothered to freshen I’m not quite sure, b/c within about 2 minutes of exiting the air-conditioned car and entering the giant fair grounds area I was sweating and sticking to my jeans, which were a poor choice of clothing anyway – but then again I guess I thought the event was indoors or something so I really didn’t know any better.

The BBQ festival: two-sided. On one side: the serious competitors, with team names that convey a def serious tone, you know, names like “Bob’s Butt Rub.” These teams haul giant smokers (exorbitantly-sized grills that cook shit tons of meat for very long periods of time) ½ way across the country and then spend 24+ hours at work on their meats. On the other side, the “party teams” that aren’t entered into the invitational segment of the contest, with much LESS serious team names, like “Lazy Ass BBQ.” Clearly, quite differentiated.

Essentially, all I did yesterday was stroll around a food festival drinking beer, tasting BBQ sauces, while sweating and allowing my clothes and hair to smell more and more like slabs of smoked meat. I got tired, cranky, and considerably more irritated by my manager, who clearly never goes out and thus enjoys these work functions where he can let loose and focus on drinking free alcohol, while making uncomfortable comments about how all the girls he was with (including myself) should work on getting him into the “private parties” (or, access to different BBQ team booths where the Beast, err, pardon, Milwaukee’s Best, flows freely and fat women wearing halter tops shake it on the dirt “dance floor.”).

At 4:30, he reminded us it was time to hit the lau, like 28 times, an “exclusive” event for sponsors. Allow me to set the scene: free food (BBQ, including an entire roasted hog), free drinks (including Kendall J chard and the newest fruit-flavors in the Zima product lineup), girls in hula skirts/cowboy hats and boots/wife-beaters distributing leighs, and a white-jumpsuit clad Elvis impersonator providing the entertainment. My kinda party? Yes, please…

So, after my second pile of meat for the day, we returned back to our BBQ man’s tent. Let me say here that of all I experienced at this thing, our man may have been the only true joy. An adorable man with beautiful blue eyes, a fantastic personality, an intense focus, and ability to cook what is probably the most amazing BBQ I’ve ever tasted, this guy, was amazing. Dude, my friend Steph hasn’t eaten red meat or pork in well over 10 years, and she ate one of his ribs. Seriously. Anyway, so he made like 10 huge slabs of ribs for us. The meat dropped off the bones. These ribs were like food for the gods. So, pile of meat number three.

After tossing back yet another can of watery American light beer, we decided it was time to go get something for our sweet tooths: an elephant ear. Fried dough. Similar to a funnel cake but with no funnels. A giant deep-fried pancake liberally sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. Fresh from the frier and truly the size of a real elephant’s ear, 4 of us shared an ear and made it about ½ way through until I found a giant strand of hair in one of my pieces and deemed the EE party over.

Soon thereafter by manager called to find out where we were in order to meet back out. Thusly grouped, we hit up a little Hawaiin-themed party (what’s the deal w/ Hawaiin-themes???). I stood stiffly and awkwardly as my manager danced lightly to “My Humps.” Call me prude…but I just can’t gyrate to “My Humps” in front of the man that I otherwise discuss sampling opportunities, volume shifts, and PR press releases with. I know, I know, I so have a stick up my ass…

After we headed to the booth next door, whose party included a giant stipper pole in the middle, Jen McB, who happened to be in town (long story, ask her, although I tell it better) asked permission to whisk me off to another booth party (thank the f’in lord). I think I might have thrown up in my mouth or maybe actually on my shoes if I had to watch my manager do anything with a stripper pole in the near vicinity.

Around 10:30, having been in the middle of America’s heartland festival for over 10 hours, exhausted, grumpy, and completely dirty and gross, we left. Friends: please give me at least a few months before you send me back. I need some recovery time. I need to first let my body recover from the shit I put into it, I am contemplating carrots sticks, water, and some sort of flushing mechanism for a week. I need to wash the contents of my luggage, not once, but twice. And I need to let my eyes rest after viewing so many stomachs that actually hung out from beneath the hems of t-shirts emblazoned with such tasteful logos as Abercrombie and Fitch, oh wait, I meant, “Grababoody and Pinch.” Yep, after having thusly detoxed, I may be ready to go back and do it all over again. I don't know. Or maybe, not.

Please lord get me some cable.

2007-10-01T22:01:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned ever that we still have no cable at our house (we've only been here for three months) and that all we watch are old episodes of Sex and the City?

I have officially determined that I have watched too much S&tC. I was in the kitchen ruminating about my personal life and made a comment which doesn't bear repeating here in this semi-public forum and Eliz was like, "wow. You just made up a title for an episode of Sex and the City. I think you need to take a break from watching for a while." Indeed.

But you know what? I tried last weekend to get cable. I stayed home for 4 hours of my Sunday eating breakfast and explaining the former points of Entourage to my friend that was over (yes, we moved on to a new tv show), only to have the cable man come and inform me that we had to get a written letter from our building owner in order to install the cable as it would be a three hour process that would entail no less than:
--Installing a box on the telephone pole across the street from our house
--Installing a box on our house
--Dropping a line across the street and to our house
--Drilling holes into our house

Oh, and they would require one of those bucket truck deals to get the work done. Why does everything here have to be so hard? Would anyone else like to come babysit my house while I wait again for the cable man? I hate Comcast. I hate Comcast more than any entity in the whole wide world, including Kraft, and that is saying a lot, b/c they, for my company, are rather the enemy, no doubt.

So, in conclusion, and connecting two completely random and unrelated topics, I went to the Bat Mitzvah of a "cousin" (third cousin, 8 times removed or something of that nature) this weekend up in Marin county. I took Mikey B with me so that I could have someone to keep me entertained. Do you know what these kids do these day? They do the dance to Crank That by Soulja Boy. Do you know that dance? I didn't either, but now I've seen it twice: once performed in Marin by a whole lot of really white, well-off, Jewish kids, and once on the Number 6 by a bunch of 7 year old hoodlums disembarking at Western Addition. They were jumping around like little Mexican jumping beans. And before you accuse me of making an off-color racist remark, the kids were NOT Mexican! I just really like the term Mexican jumping beans. Remember when you could buy those at like grocery store counters and stuff? What a novelty! So anyway, I don't know which group was more entertaining. But that song is terrible! And yet...so addicting.

Ok then. I think I am going to retire.

You've been waiting with baited breath...

2007-09-23T16:14:00.000-07:00

And now...here she is! The long-awaited Wake Weekend entry. In all her glory. Problem is, now a full week has passed, and my 27-year old mind just doesn't hold detail like it used to. So I while I hope to entertain, I can make no promises. So with that caveat, where do we begin?

I flew into the shitty old Greensboro airport with Freds and Veeve via Texas; it's just as shitty and old as I'd remembered. Roo picked us up in her rental, which was of course a PT Cruiser, b/c all good weekends must involve a PTC hearse-mobile. We were delivered to the lap of luxury, our Embassy Suites palace, my my has Winston-Salem, or "The Dash" as I hear the young kids are calling it these days, changed. No longer a mecca of Girls, Girls, Girls, cigarettes, and scary townies, it's now home to sheik restaurants and fun little bars. Of course this has all happened since I left, but is that really a surprise to anyone?

Anyway, we had 5 in our room and only 3 keys and no way of getting more, so not everyone got a key. Naturally, being the 'Teen, I was not entrusted w/ a key. It's funny, I feel I've grown up into such a big girl, but when I'm back with you people, I'm still like your kid. Your weird little kid. Frou gave me a book for my bday upon our arrival. Her accompanying words: "Teen, this book is really, really weird. But I need someone to discuss it with. And, you're pretty weird, so I figured you might like it." Thanks Frou: may I remind you, you are are 27 and you devoted the last two weeks to paint-penning plastic cups AND plastic shot glasses in honor of this weekend. Now, some might call THAT weird. Ok?

The first arrival event, speaking of those paint-penned cups, was reception of the "gift bags," the "surprise" that has been kept from me for over 3 months. Frou and Freds made each suite a bag filled w/ individual paint-penned cup. The contents? Customized picture collages, and candy. And Advil, Pepto, and Alka-Selzer Morning After. Oh, and of course, lube and condoms. You know, the essentials.

The first visitor to our suite is 3 months old and bald.

Baby James, dubbed "little Leroy" by his mommy. I might insert here that "Leroy" is the name of daddy's drunk alter-ego. My opinion on this topic is as of now uninformed. Check back. I need some time on this. ANyway, baby James is nearly as big as Moe, but just as beautiful. I like to see that despite the fact that she's had a baby, Moe has not changed in the least. She is possibly the only mother that, when her baby spits up (that is puke, mind you) on your shoulder, she says, "Oh look! He's decorating your shoulder." Yes, decorating...right. She also is still fond of taking pictures of everyone's cleave when we're out drinking. Oh, the stories I'll have for my little James when he grows up :) Just kidding, I'll make you out as a saint...

Friday night was spent at the Filling Station, which I have to be honest, brought back many memories of The Shoe, as I ate countless filets w/ blue-cheese butter on dates at that classy little joint. The food was not as delish as I had remember, but they still make a great stiff drink.

Drinks out afterward were interesting. I want to thank Rainer and Nikkie for including me on their very exclusive "list" of people they actually had an interest in seeing. I still relish being called Slammerkin. Thank you, no really, seriously. So let's see. I guess most of Wake Forest has gotten married...to other WakeForesters. It's seriously incestuous. On a gross level. Of course...then again...our friends are also big on inter-marriage, so what are you going to do. I saw plenty of old faces, but naturally was on the look-out for classmates that I might like to smooch. J and I decided that one old KA (who shall remain nameless, but I will say that a picture involving him got me into a slight bit o' trouble on Pledge Night way back when), would be fitting. The next night he was seen w/ two skanky blond townies on his arm. I guess we made prudent decisions going hook-upless for the weekend. Oh btw, not of all us did go hook-upless...but I'll keep the involved parties on the DL b/c I'm nice like that.

As Friday night drew to a close, I started to whine to Freds, the weekend nazi, about having to wake up on Sat morning to collect the bagels and mimosas, the job that I stupidly volunteered for like 2 months ago. I was promptly put in my place and basically told that my lazy ass better get the job done. So on Sat morn, I dragged J and Frou w/ me to the old Harris Teeter and Chesapeake. Chesapeake is now some dumb generic name, but it's the same stuff. At the Harry T, ran into Dix and P. Of course, I was unshowered in my sweats...and they were fully dressed for Tailgate. We're the messes, aren't we? I had to drive a minivan for the run, Rik and Rach's rental, which was hellish. I believe remarking on how puke-y minivants are, at which point a passenger informed me that I shouldn't mention the word puke again as she might puke in the vehicle. Anyway, I repeat, I will NEVER own one of those things.

Anyway, fast-forwarding, tailgating: still the same. We still dress up for football games.

I love the South. I mean, how QB is it to wear Lily Pulizter (look alikes) to sit in the scorching 90 degree weather guzzling Miller Light and watching college football???? I suppose it's just one of the things that makes Wake Wake. At half-time, everyone still leaves anyway to hit up Freddie B's and drink pitchers. We're just so...spirited.

Sunday was our big old reminiccing day. We kicked off at the Tavern.

The Tavern for me holds such special memories. I will say that the most vivid was the afternoon we hit it up post-Breakfast Club and managed to break no less than three glasses before we were essentially booted out the doors. No class, us kids back then, no class. Anyway, everyone from Wake still goes there. At least, everyone I grad'ed with. And Minkus, of course. Their chips are still wicked good and addictive. As for the campus, much has changed. The Pit has a fancy name now and fancy food to accompany that name. Veeve: "You should've seen it! They were cutting fresh pineapple for the salad bar! Fresh! Right there in front of you!" They have wedding cakes on display...what the f? They have a sundries shop. The Mag Quad is not longer the Mag Quad, and North now also has some stupid name. Sig Ep is gone, and the big scary skull and crossbones has been replaced w/ Kappa Sig letters. Colins C 109 is alive and well, I'm happy to report, and we're still the damn same kids; taking pyramid pictures on the Quad in front of the Chapel.

We then nearly missed our flights as we were hell bent on bbq (well, I was) as well as Cookout. You leave a place that you lived for 4 great years, and what do you want most when you go back? Milkshakes and hush puppies from a shitty fast food joint. But, I guess, I have memories of being w/ J and pounding on the glass door begging them to serve us at the drive through at 2:30am, so, perhaps there is more emotional value attached to CO than I'm giving it credit.

Pretty much the whole tripped reeked of emotional value. I'm all done recounting, and if you'll humor me, I'd like to take a few lines to be sappy and pay tribute to my beautiful friends who have been my best support network and entertainment source for nearly 10 years running now. You crazy bitches are helluva good friends and I love you to death. Smooches and hugs to you kids. Thanks for making the cross-country worth every minute.

City adventure #2,068

2007-09-09T13:20:00.000-07:00

Well not really, that would be insane. But it's starting to feel like, just a little bit. Yesterday I was heading to my car from the corner store, so I was walking down Central and past my house. I happened to notice, just 3 stoops down from my own, a character with his pants down, relieving himself on the wall of the doorstoop. I was unsure if he was #1ing or #2ing (like it would really make the situation any better).

Today, returning to my home after running an errand, I confirmed that he had indeed been #2ing. So basically what I'm saying is that at 11:30am on a Saturday, a man was defecating in broad daylight on a busy city block. I also happened to be on the phone w/ my Dad back in the sweet old Midwest yesterday when said event occurred, so I was like, "oh, hey dad! guess what! some guy is going to the bathroom on my next door neighbor's house! neat." It didn't really phase him. I guess by now my dad is pretty like, well, you picked your house. You live in a city...such is life.

The day before, at my bus stop downtown, there were hair extensions all over the ground, a guy waiting for my bus was wearing one of those anklets they give you when you're on parole. You know, those electronic monitoring devices. My friend Meg was talking yday about how she does fairly well financially, but for her zip code she likely is on the low end. She indicated that I probably was too. I told her I begged to differ.

To end this: I have one completley unrelated question: don't you think it's weird if you're one girl out w/ 5 other single girls and two older, married men come over and chat you up for over an hour? And wouldn't you be pissed if you were the wives of said dude? Just a casual observation related to my night last night. To answer my own question, I, would be pissed if I were one of said wives.

Anyhoo, I hope no one shits on your house today! The end.

Pretty little toy.

2007-09-05T22:18:00.000-07:00

When I got my first iPod, which was a green mini, I thought it was the absolutely hands down coolest thing ever. It was a mini jukebox in my pocket. It was sleek, tiny, green, shiny, and most musical. It went everywhere with me.

Then the battery died, and I upgraded to a video iPod, which of course, was even cooler. Still thin, still sleek, still beautiful, but it holds a limitless amount of music, and plays tv shows! Movies! Videos! In perfect color. On its huge screen.

The Razor hit, and after months of resistance, I succumbed to another toy. It was just too fun and flippy to resist. After a dry spell of no gadgets, I started to have another craving for something fun to play with. The iPhone came out, but I was like, no way, don't need it. Even though I didn't technically need it though, I wanted it. Desperately.

So over the weekend, I finally bought it. I now play wit every chance again and haven't even begun to get over the fantastic-ness that is my new phone. It looks up any and everything, the texts shoot back and forth in colorful little bubbles, the screen is like an HD flat screen in your pocket. The reception is crystal clear, and at the push of a button I have access to the weather, stocks, the muni schedule, my inboxes, and directions anywhere. Anything you want to do it, it predicts how you want to do it. It is the smartest little block of shining technology everywhere.

And in a sheer burst of luck, the price went down by $200 only 5 days after I bought it. I have another 5 left to return it and get nearly 1/2 of what I paid? Back. How amazing is that.

I do avoid being that girl who whips it out in very public places to play. In fact I shy away from that public show and kinda keep it in my bag and play with it covered up. But then again with my friends it's a diff story and I'm TOTALLY that girl who is all, "and it does this!!! and watch this!! then, you can do this!!" It's likely that STu wanted to kill me on Sat night given that pretty much all I talked about was the capabilities of the thing in my purse. I'm kind of like a five year old.

You know what? I'm not writing about experiences on public transportation! That's not to say that I haven't had any recent little run-ins, oh, don't worry, I have, but I'm changing it up. And you know what? This was really boring to read wasn't it. There you go. San Fran has had this effect on me wheras I can no longer write about anything except riding the bus and be happy with what I've written. What exactly does that say about my life? At this time I'm unsure. I might Google it. ON MY PHONE!!! Ha. That was not even funny. The. End.

Poke poke. Poke.

2007-08-27T22:56:00.001-07:00

I think I'm starting to sound really super repetative b/c pretty much all I want to write about is riding the damn bus. But I can't help if the most bizarre and strangely entertaining bits of my life take place b/t the hours of 7:45-8:15am and 6-6:30pm M-F (oh, 2-3ish on Fridays), can I? I can't.

So last Fri the bus is off the hook! It's mobbed. I can barely board the 71 there are so many f'in people. All the tourists in their shorts freezing their asses off, reading their maps, the punks with their sullen faces, and the drunks. And me. There is no room to stand...and oddly...one seat left empty. I'm all, "um, does anyone want that?" They don't, so I graciously take it, b/c hey, there are way too many people on the bus to leave a seat open. There is nowhere to even stand!

So I sit. And then the dude to my right starts babbling to a group of three teenaged girls standing in front of us. I guess he works at some cafeteria where they go to school and after eavesdropping made this connection and started to bug them with this question and that comment. Eventually he goes silent. Then, someone pokes me. Him.

"Did you know...that...the transit authority...(he talks VERY slowly)...now has GPS tracking...on all their buses?" Me: "No, I didn't, that's very interesting." Him: "Yes! They do...It's great....You can see when buses...are going to arrive...It's very useful....You should definitely use it." Me: "Yes! That sounds very fantastic! I should use it." Quiet.

Poke.

"So yes...the buses...they all have GPS tracking. Will save you a lot of time. You should try it."

Me: "Oh yes! I will. Thanks." I turn my head left and turn up my volume.

Poke.

"Excuse me....You just touched me."

(oh really fuck face?? you just touched me too. like 8 million times. you poked me.) "Oh, really, did I? Sorry."

Poke.

"Usually, when you touch someone, you say I'm sorry or something."

Me: "Umm, yes, I did say I'm sorry." Him: "Oh? Did you? I guess I didn't hear you." Silence.

Poke.

"You just...you just went like...this (demonstrate the brushing motion for me)."

Me, exasperated, but still calm. "Oh wow. I guess my stop is coming up. I better get up now."
Which is a complete lie b/c my stop is 5 stops and over 5 min away, but for the sake of sanity, I had to move.

Anyway, the moral of this story is this: if a solitary seat is open, and the bus is filled to the gills, chances are, it's open for a reason. So, don't sit in it. The. End.

Turning point.

2007-08-22T22:29:00.000-07:00

I think I'm starting to get mean. All the crazies, all the irritating masses that populate my bus lines? Still funny, but now, at times, less funny and more f'in annoying.

I grabbed drinks down by the Embarcadero post-work tonight, so I boarded my line pretty much at its starting point, hence, it was totally 100% empty save for me. Three stops later, it was still pretty empty - like well over 20 open seats. This dude of course beelines for the seat directly next to me and sits as close to me as possible, practically leaning on me.

I was waiting for him to ask to hold my hand like the airplane dude. Didn't happen.

But he did just talk and talk and talk. He wanted to kick it. In Oakland. He wanted to take me to breakfast...at Burger King. He wanted to grab a drink. He found out that I was from LA. He asked if I was a Blood or a Crip. He told me that he was the real OG. And on. And on. When I refused to give him my number, he pulled the race card. I told him actually it had nothing to do w/ the fact that he was black, but that I really just didn't want to kick it with him. I didn't tell him that I prefer that the men I date have a full set of teeth and don't reek solidly of cigarette smoke and dress in head to toe black velvet. But hey, that's just me.

Mind you, I had like a 30 min bus ride left when this dude sat down next to me. That is a long ass time. At some point, I just absolutely really didn't want to talk to this guy at all. So, I turned the volume on my iPod up to nearly full volume and turned my head to look out the window. And then I just started to completely ignore the guy. He continued talking for a good three minutes before he finally shut the f up.

And that, for me, was a turning point. I sometimes feel like a magnet for these weirdos up here, and damn it, I am not doing it anymore. I will not discuss your AIDs with you, I will not let you breath your putrid into my face as you invite me to Burger King, and no, for the f'in 50th time, I do NOT have $0.50 for you.

So there you go. The end.

Tomorrow is my birthday.

2007-08-20T22:06:00.000-07:00

Again, I repeat, tomorrow, Aug 21st, is my birthday. I'll be 27. 27 is one of my fav numbers. As such, this is a really big deal.

In this world, there are two types of people: 1) Those who like to quietly downplay their birthdays and refuse to take any kind of spotlight for themselves; and 2) Those who do quite the opposite. I, in case you hadn't yet guessed it, am in camp #2.

There is no other day during the year where it's virtually a holiday for you. No one else shares it. Except for like 20 thousand million other people but hey, chances are you only know like 1 or 2 of them, and who cares, it's your day, that is what really matters. So then, if you feel inclined to wish me a happy birthday, I'm not going to blush shyly and mumble something like "umm...thanks...you didn't have to say anything." Nope, not me. In fact, I won't be embarrassed if you choose to send a big ass bouquet of flowers to the office, either. I am guessing that is not going to happen...but hey, like I said, 27, fav/lucky number, you never know.

I am going to see Avenue Q tomo, btw. I am most excited. Do you know what that is about? I think it's something like muppets having sex. Or like, Sesame Street meets Rent. Something like that. Either way, I always think of being drunk in Vegas and disgustingly excited w/ Doempke over the fuzzy cabs they designed to promote the show. V. neat.

Ok then, something in my house is beeping and it's freaking me out. Time to go hunt down the source. Tomo is my bday. The end.

Floor 17, demystified.

2007-08-16T22:14:00.000-07:00

Stu is constantly ragging on me to start wearing more practical shoes. I of course refuse, shoes aren't worth wearing if they're practical. Pain and beauty go hand in hand. I think that after a little incident I had today I might need to rethink it. I pretty much was walking off the bus and then just, fell. Totally twisted my ankle. Went down. On my knees. And I know that the bus driver didn't like me b/c I was talking on my cell when I got on and tried to hand her money b/c the box was broken and she was all "just keep your money, you're on your cell so of course you ain't thinkin' or payin' no attention." So I know that I went down like a retard on the sidewalk she was totally laughing at me. I don't blame her. I would've laughed at me too. But, anyway, since writing this, I've reconsidered again - I think I'll keep wearing ridiculous shoes.

Anyway. So today I was introduced to the 17th floor. Had a meeting there. I walked up to this dinky little conference room that already had 10 people in it and no more chairs for myself and my boss (who is back after his 2.5 weeks of being gone, in my first, 2.5 weeks), so we had to get another chair.

This floor: the carpet is brown, the chairs are orange, and it clearly has not been renovated since 1971. As for who works there? I have no idea. I mean, they work at my company, but what do they DO? As far as I could tell, Floor 17 is where they tuck away everyone that they don't want anyone to see. How can I be delicate about this? This is hearkening back to my summer intern days at B&D, when I was told that it'd be unlucky to sit on floor 1 b/c floor 2 is where customer service sits and you KNOW those customer service folks, they eat all the donuts and are all chubby and might someday...well...you know. Anyway, that is what my colleagues would say. Hey then! I think I just figured it out! Floor 17 must be customer service.
Anyway, so, I was looking for a chair, right? Half the offices were empty, and locked. So we couldn't get in to access the chairs. So we go off to other cubes, and I find a chair in this one cube, and I drag it into the conference room. But then like 3 min into the meeting, this v. angry looking receptionist is all banging on the door, and she's all, "Umm, you can't take that chair! someone sits in that cube!" And we're all, "really???" Because honestly, if I sat in that particular cube from which said chair emanated, I would cry every day. And then, I would quit. It was the saddest, most depressing piece of corporate real estate in the world. Shitty desk, view of nothing but walls, shitty chair, no decorations, sad looking old decks. And someone sits there!!!! Tear :(

Furthermore, Floor 17, is stifling hot. I was in the meeting, wearing a very cozy cashmere wrap-py sweater over a very skimpy tank top, and I'm starting to overheat. First a little bit of heat in the legs. Then a heated torso. Then I have to pull my hair up and off my neck. Then a flush creeps into my face. And then I think a hint of perspiration on my lip. I look at my watch. 9:30. Meeting ends at 10:30. Shit. 10:40. I'm virtually dying. So I take the plunge and just take off the sweater. Office appropriateness, be damned. Get some f'in AC in that shit!

So folks, there you have it, Floor 17. The myth dispelled. And speaking of numbers w/ the number 7 in them, yours truly turns 27 next week, just in case you wanted to mark your calendar. All forms of salutations, greetings, best wishes, and of course, presies, accepted.

Useless teen factoids.

2007-08-14T17:16:00.000-07:00

Since my life is not mostly composed of working, I'll be transitioning back to last summer where I ramble aimlessly, frequently, about work-related thingies. So I'm reading this deck about getting people to eat more meals as a family, at home, more often, and it has these stats that tie together frequency of meals eaten together with teen behaviors. I find it rather interesting, b/c, I'm a huge dork:

--45% of kids who eat only 0-2 meals/week get As and Bs in school vs. 57% of kids who eat 5-7
--51% of kids 0-2 would go to parents w/ a problem v. 72% of 5-7 kids
--Only 30% of 5-7 kids claim to drink the alchy v. 52% of 0-2 kids
--Only 14% of 5-7 kids claim to smoke cigs v. 34% of 0-2 kids
--Only 12% of 5-7 kids claim to smoke the week v. 35% of 0-2 kids

My kids will be eating 7 meals a week with me in my household. Then I'll lock them up in the house to listen to classical music and do homework.

A study in contrasts.

2007-08-13T10:49:00.001-07:00

On Saturday night, I was standing out on what I still refer to as "my" balcony in SanMon, although, it really is no longer "mine," with Ritu. She shivered and noted how cold out it was. Meanwhile I was still marveling over the fact that it was nighttime, and I was outside in a sundress and sandals, and was not cold in the least. I kind of wanted to punch her at that point, knowing that back in SF it was likely 45 degrees out and I would've been wearing jeans likely paired with my puffy black North Face parka despite the fact that it's Aug, b/c it's just that cold here.
LA v. SF: a study in contrasts. Whereas the individuals populating Cobras and Mats on Friday night were trendily dressed, and good-looking (including Kristin Cavallari who I'm mostly sure was sitting at the table behind us), an SF restaurant would've been filled with kind of ill-dressed people, and umm, not attractive, people. But granted, they would've had actually functioning brains in their heads and real, paying, steady jobs. So, it's a trade-off.
LA: sunny. SF: foggy. LA: warm. SF: f'in cold. LA: flaky. SF: sensible. LA homeless: sleep drowsily under the palm trees along Ocean blvd. SF homeless: rant noisily until they disturb the bus driver enough to put the 71 out of service. LA restaurants: generally over-hyped and over-priced. SF restaurants: ridiculously good and nearly under-priced. My old LA neighborhood: lovely and suburban, preppy and sleepy. My new SF neighborhood: eclectic and colorful, and umm, kind of scary to walk by yourself in after dark. I know it's wrong, but over-piecing and under-grooming kind of set off my alarms.
I alternated my state of mind throughout the weekend. On Friday night when I skipped out of the airport and into the balmy air, I totally missed LA. Then on Saturday, when it took us 45 min to get to the Rosecrantz exit and we actually had to turn back around without ever making it to the beach, and I kind of wanted to kill myself, I sighed relief that I don't live their anymore. When I was strolling down Montana past all the sane, safe people on my way to Khiel's, I missed LA. When I was sitting at NailSpaLane watching all the men that came in to get waxed or pedi'ed, I chuckled and was happy I'd left it behind. When I first got to Les Deux and surveyed the outrageousness of everyone around me, I was like, "wow, this is so entertaining. I miss these weirdos." After a couple hours of watching countless bleach blonds wearing bandaids gyrate drunkenly and drape themselves over the bouncers to gain VIP access, I was happy to be gone.
So it was like that. It reminds me that there really is no perfect place to live. I've had this chat w/ Aly many times. You can live in SF or LA West coast where everything seems more interesting and fabulous, and a "cold" day in the winter (even in the North) is 45 degrees...and maybe when you're 43 you can afford a one bedroom house for $1.5M. Or you can you can be 26 and living in a 5 bedroom custom-built home on a 1 acre that cost <$5K, and be surrounded by Olive Gardens, bad shopping, and Christian Values.
Conundrum, right? I'll close by saying this, and it's completely unrelated to anything. Don't fly Virgin America yet. The planes kick ass, but they clearly don't know how to operate domestically yet. Oh, and if you were curious, no, no hand-holding for me on my most recent voyage. So that's good. Okie dokie, the end.

Head to toe fav color, just like a 5 year old.

2007-08-03T16:01:00.000-07:00

So, in the summer months we have 1/2 day Fridays. AND we get to wear jeans. Wonders never cease. But seriously, leaving work at 12:30 in my jeans and Pumas did rather rule.

After a lunch w/ a bunch of peers that talked mostly about stuff that made little to no sense to me, I arrived home. I'm now changed for yoga and about to head out.

I just had to say though, in getting dressed, I:
--Put on my favorite yoga pants, which have a stripe of green around the hips.
--Put on my fav yoga top, which is, green.
--Filled my water bottle, which is GREEN...
--And placed it into a GREEN bag from work that says "green works" on it.

I'm now going to grab my yoga mat (blue!), and my yogitoes towel...which is...green. I thought I might look pretty freak-ish, but then I remember where it is that I live.

Happy weekends!

No shortage of crazies here.

2007-08-02T19:37:00.000-07:00

I started work, so I have, of course, much to report on that front. I remember those crazy days when I was just a little intern last summer, and I started off every morning quite methodically: heat my milk in the little work kitchen, add my coffee, make my little English muffin...then check my email for a bit...then blog...and about 40 min after arriving at work, start...doing work.

Not so much anymore. I am not even a week old as an employee...and I have not a second of spare time. Not a second.

But, umm, work is great - aside from their tremendous stinginess with the office supplies which is putting me in the anger-inspiring situation of making an Office Depot trip to buy my OWN supplies (seriously, i can't even get a damn collection of pens and some f'in push pins).

I can't even talk about work b/c I'm still fully fixated on the public transportation experiences that I have pretty much daily. Funny, b/c just one day after I wrote an entry about the buses, I actually got kicked off a bus. Well it went out of service. There was a crazy dude in the front playing his harmonica and a crazy dude in the back talking shit to some young chicks and making them run their mouths about "yo mama" which escalated into a screaming match, and then the bus driver pulled over and told us if we didn't quiet down she was going to take the bus out of service. And they didn't shut up. So, we got all kicked off. That really happened.

Yesterday morning I happened to sit next to a guy who told me, in no particular order, about:
--The battle of Baryshonokov (spelling is wrong, I know) v. other ballerinas who are clearly 10 times better
--His own life as a ballerina
--His 16-year long bout with AIDS. Of course, he didn't have the disease until they administered him drugs. It was the treatment that gave him AIDS.
--And...how he cured himself of AIDS through a cleansing diet.
--And...how he wants to go on Oprah to tell his story.
--And finally, about some dude on the album he was carrying around who was a: "black guy who dresses up like a white guy who imitates black guys"

I then got hit on while filling my Bart card by some dude who insisted on my number b/c he just really wanted to take me out to dinner. I think he might also have been crazy.

Today, on my commute home, there was a self-proclaimed "Prophet" on my bus. He was trying to turn people off the bus. He was furious at the crowding on the bus. He hated "the White problem," the "Asian Problem," and hated "having all the sick people and the gay people and all them other people on this here bus mixing their space" into his space. He hated each and every one of us on that bus. He was miserable. I said a small prayer when he got off. I laughed, too, when he flicked us off through the window after exiting. Twice as great considering he told us "I wouldn't swear, I'm a Christian man." Gesturing "f u" is so Christian, don't you think?

Anyway. It's after 10, and it's nearing my new bed time, as I have to drag myself out of bed at the unGodly hour of 6:45am every day now. So, I'm going to bed.

My new urban life.

2007-07-26T15:21:00.000-07:00

In DC I could've opted to live downtown, in an old rowhouse somewhere in Cap Hill or GTown or perhaps DuPont. But I lived in Northern VA which had a nice little city feel to it what w/ the highrises and Metro stops and buses and walk-ability. But, it wasn't really urban, at the end of the day. The population was solid yuppy, there was a very low amount of crazy, it was...clean. I could've lived in downtown LA, but, then again, why would you ever do that. So pretty much, SF is my first real stab at living as a true urbanite. And I'm gradually questioning if I'm really cut out for it.

So I have to take the bus right? Our strategy is public transportation on the way there, cab on the way back (for evening events) or walk the way there, cab home (for daytime walking excursions). I've been using the bus for a total of like 4 days and so far I've:
--Gotten kicked off because b/t the two of us we had $20s and $2, not $3. The driver said get off the bus and get change. Then he left.
--Missed the bus. Twice.
--Gotten stared down b/c I couldn't get the machine to take my dollars.
--Sat in a puddle of some sort of liquid. I bet it was pee.
So it's basically a delightful exploration period.

I have also learned, via the bus, that SF does indeed have a very unique sense of style. It involves piercing and tatooing as much of one's body as possible and cutting hair and washing as little as possible. The result is simply stunning. I am curious if I've yet contracted scabies or maybe lice from the delightful human specimans I get to sit next to on the bus. On the plus side, due to my impeccable grooming skills, I receive compliments on my appearance every block or so. Then again, the extremely high amount of crazy in this city probably contributes to that as well.

I am also learning that living in an old house, even in one that has been fully remodeled, still means you live in, an old house. I have long wanted to live in a place with hardwood floors and period architectural details, you know, character. When you add modern conveniences to character, you get:
--A washing machine that moves 10+ feet across the floor and threatens to bash in your windshield. When bolted down w/ 4x4s it still hops insistently. Then it locks your clothes in inside itself until it's replaced. With another washer that hops across the floor.
--A garage that is supposed to fit 4 cars but can safely accommodate 3. Not even Danica Patrick could park a Honda Civic in our hole of a garage.
--A dishwasher that doesn't actually incorporate water into the process.
--Electrical wiring that shorts out 3 times in one hairdrying session (no other appliances involved).
--A kitchen that has no ventilation and thus steams up like the Amazon after a single pot of water is boiled.
--No phone jack. Because it was covered over during remodel.
But...what can I say: "she's pretty!!"

Anyway, now that I've unleashed a little bitterness, I'm feeling better. I'm going to go outside and enjoy the sunshine. Oh, that's right, I CAN'T! I forgot. We get no sun here. My bad.

No, seriously now. I do like this city. I am having much fun exploring, and now that our washer, and dishwasher have been fixed up I'm pretty happy w/ the apt which is actually 100% beautiful. And Stu and I have been playing house and pretty much acting like an old married couple or a parent/child duo (depending on the day), enjoying the last of our freedom. So, I'm adjusting. Just enjoying lots of Sweet 16 episodes (which I may or may not own) and adjusting. Until my next appliance breaks down... ta-ta.

4:43am and the room is shaking

2007-07-20T10:04:00.001-07:00

So in case you haven't yet heard, I've lived through my first earth quake. Here is my anecdotal version:

I'm in bed. (My curtains and duvet cover have come, pictures are hung, so my dream room is nearly complete; just awaiting arrival of the rug and lamp.) I'm having the weirdest dream. I'm not really in it - it's a movie or tv show at the very beginning and the set-up is visually a bunch of newspaper clippings with a narrator saying: "Mona McDuffy [no, I don't know a Mona McDuffy] would've been my mother's best friend. But she married an idiot." Come on, you can't make this shit up. That's really what was being said.

This weirdness gets interrupted when I jolt awake, cuz I swear that my room is shaking. It's slight, but it's rattly, and I'm like, this is totally an earthquake. I've been living in this city for a matter of days and have already gotten 3+ lectures from Jane on assembling my "earth quake preparedness kit" and taken them not to heart, and I just got woken up, by an earth quake.

My window faces another building, and while I'm lying in the dark taking this in, I see a light snap on on an upstairs window across the way. She felt it too!

I grab my phone. It's 4:43am. I text myself so I remember this and don't chalk it up to a dream and then go back to bedsies.

I woke up around 10 this morning and I run into the kitchen and I'm all "Stu! Did you feel the earth quake last night?? I swear we had an earth quake! 4:43am!! I felt it!!" It was like Christmas. Umm, we used to have Xmas when I was a little kid cuz Jane was born a goyem. Anyway, so I googled "July 20 San Francisco earth quake" and sure enough headlines pulled. Surprisingly Jane hadn't yet called, but I called to tell the exciting news (I love how this potentially life-threatening event was like a virtual present to me), guess she'd assumed I was ok since I hadn't yet called.

Anyway, so, yeah. First earth quake! Nothing even moved out of place, btw. Not even little tiny trinkets on my dresser. Nope. It just shook me awake. Well then, safe and sound I am, and ready to go do stuff. Ciao ciao.

Holding hands is for boyfriends and other important thoughts.

2007-07-18T22:31:00.000-07:00

Let’s talk about Kevin. Kevin was on the plane with me from Indy to Phoenix (oh? My direct flight? Not so direct. Stopped not once but twice. Hence why I left at 3pm East coast time and got home at 7pm West coast. ) So anyway. I sat in the window, and the woman on the isle had a little girl in her lap that I assumed would take the middle seat. Then very close to take off Kevin, who I think weighed in the neighborhood of 250, comes and takes the middle. I HATE sitting next to big people on the plane. I’m small! By airplane people standards I’m nearly tiny! I take up my seat and mine only. I don’t spill over and I don’t take kindly to spillover by others, all touching my arm and shit.

Plus the guy was a talker. On planes, I roll like this: I read my books, I listen to my iPod, I sleep. Only if you seem exceptionally cool or are exceptionally good looking and male do I want to talk to you. If you’re 250+, loud, obnoxious, and less than scholarly and by less than scholarly I mean that speaking proper English seems to be a challenge to you, I’m the little bitch that doesn’t want to listen to you blabber.

Kevin starts out the flight by squealing about he hates take off. “Can I hold your hand?” What the hell do you say to that?! No? I’m a bitch and I refuse to hold your hand? You clearly can’t do that. All you can do is hope he didn’t involve his palm when he last wiped his ass and take the plunge. When we reached cruising altitude he ordered number 1 of 4 double Jack and cokes. Which reeked. And thus he initiated conversation that I desperately wanted no part of. But I was cordial! You have to be when you know you’re spending the next 5 hours together.

I put my iPod on. That means I want to listen to my music, not talk about iPods with you. I start to read my book. That means I want to read my book, not discuss the title of the book and how you’re heading to Vegas for your mom’s vow renewal. I finish my book and attempt to sleep. THAT means that my eyes are shut and I’m about to drift into my subconscious, it isn’t a cue for you to reiterate information about myself that I’ve already told you. You don’t have to remember anything about me. Such as, “What’s your name again? Lindy?” It’s my eyes are fucking closed, you douche.

B/c he continuously jostles my arm and b/c his drinks smell so bad he then has to ask repeatedly if I’m alright. B/c I’m clearly not getting any sleep I return to awake mode long enough for him to tell me that I have beautiful eyes before full on staring at me and telling me that I’m beautiful.

At this point he’s not only irritating, but slightly creepy since I know his wife is on the plane rows behind us and b/c he’s told me all about his daughter. (If you want to know, she’s 18. She has a tiny waist but huge hips and a big old ass. But no stomach. She wore short shorts once. Kevin told her she couldn’t be wearing those unless she lost some weight. This was a most awesome conversation).

So I go to sleep again. After I do successfully fall asleep, I’m woken up by Kevin nudging me. He hands me a card with his name, address and phone number and asks me if I’d mind sending him a note b/c he’d love to come visit San Fran and he’d love to see me. I asked if he had email (no) so I guess I’ll just be sending that post card. I’ll be sending it tomorrow I’m sure. If not tomorrow, then the next day. If not the next day, then never. And I’ll be washing my hair for the next 48 hours so I guess that post card won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

I can give you his address though if you’d like to drop him a note.

He asked again when takeover prep started if I’d hold his hand. He asked about 15 min in advance of actual touch-down which meant my delicate phalanges (is that the word?) got to be held in his sweaty vice grip for 15 min longer than I ever wanted them there. When I get really angry or really irritated I kind of start to shake a little, kind of vibrate-like. I think that I was practically levitating by the time Kevin de-planed. Truly delightful flight.

Oh, hold on, I hear rustling outside and want to go see if a vagrant is sleeping on my doorstep. Be right back. Umm, no, no vagrant.

Anyway. So in other news, what happened when I was home? Aside from getting “little brown bear” tan of my childhood, purchasing several amazing pairs of shoes on sale from Saks (including completely ridiculous pink suede Prada platforms), taking advantage of Jane’s generosity in helping my furnish the new pad, hanging out w/ my childhood friends, ensuring that Greggy didn’t to share beds with his girlfriend, spending an evening with my relatives who some reason are all over the age of 70, eating yummy and delicious foods, drinking at least one glass of wine per night…Jack got a new left hip!

Yes. Jack got a total hip replacement in his left hip. Goldens can be prone to hip displaysia and little Jackie B, who Jane has taken to calling “Misty” (I call him Mister and then sometimes insist on calling him “Mistaaaaaaaa” in a rowdy little voice but then my mom took it a step further by calling him what is honestly a bad GIRL’S name from 1983), has it bad. So we took him to Ohio State Univ Vet Hosp and they fixed him right up. Dick and Jane have the fun task of keeping the dog, who now has great hips and the same puppy energy level he had pre-op, “quiet” and “still” for 3 months. Much luck.

Maybe I can send Kevin to visit and it’ll scare the hell and energy out of my dog into a point of non-movement for three months. I’ll ponder that. In the meantime, I think I’m going to take a shower and get into my new 450 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Ta-ta kiddos. Sayonara.

Indiana is very green, and I'm very tan.

2007-07-08T17:35:00.000-07:00

Aside from the wholesome family values and warm, lovely personas, that you clearly need no evidence of beyond knowing me, produced here, I’d also to point to point out that the Midwest also produces the greenest, tree-iest summers you’ve ever seen. I’m looking out at our backyard, which is nearly 2 acres, something you would NEVER find in SoCal, or NorCal, for that matter, unless you’re a bajillionaire, and it’s like more green than I’ve seen since I guess the last time I was here. Amazing. It’s also 8pm and 90 degrees outside, still. Wow.

So I got home on Friday night. Greg was already in Canada – Dick left on Sat morning to meet him to go fishing. But as I said he was still home on Fri night. So after dinner my bf and her husband and fam came over for dessert. We were sitting all fresco and my phone was chilling on the patio table. I went in to grab some apple frangipan which is fancy-ass apple pie. When I came back out Dick was like, “Is there more than one Greg in your phone?” Yes. There are 2. Greg my friend and Greggy Cel, my brother. “Oh. I think I just called your friend Greg.” What did you say? “I told him that I was going to catch more fish than him. Than I realized it wasn’t Greg your brother. So, I hung up.” Awesome. You called my friend, babbled gibberish about competitive fishing, and then without explanation, hung up. Dad, your phone skills are wicked good.

Anyway. That’s about as exciting as my stories get around here.

Yesterday I rose around 11am, went to the country club, laid out for about 4 hours, and then swam laps. Came home. Cooked dinner w/ Jane. Walked Jack B (he has a new trick, btw – he can roll over on his back. Next up: peek-a-boo. No. I’m not kidding). Watched movie. Today: brunch w/ Aunt J. At the Marriot. I drove to a mall hotel to eat brunch. I could lie and pretend I’m not a total food snob and say it was good, but, like I said, that’d be lying, and I don’t like to lie. Went to pool. Laid out. Swam laps. Cooked dinner with Jane. Am about to watch a movie.

I am monitoring my blood pressure and other vitals around the clock as I’m afraid I might get too worked up over all the excitement in my life. Don’t worry though cuz so far everything is looking normal. But…I AM about to watch Hugh Grant’s “Music and Lyrics,” which could potentially be kinda dangerous. Who knows.

Anyway, on a side note, I am getting the tan that I used to have in my youth from spending every single day at the pool. That, I love. So, I may have left LA, but I’m not pale yet.

Airport Security: still sucking.

2007-07-06T10:45:00.001-07:00

I just spent $0.54 on a single Ziplock bag. It’s $0.54, so it’s not a super big deal, but I think a box of like 30 Ziplocks costs maybe $2.50 so I have this sneaking suspicion that I just overpaid.

Having just moved here I kind of forgot that I wouldn’t be flying out of LAX this morning, which is very forgiving in terms of their liquid policy, in that they really don’t give a shit what liquids and how many/much you bring on. But this, is Oakland, and they have a myriad of signs posted warning you to bag it up. I have since cut back the number of lip glosses I carry in my bag, so it’s not the 12 or 13 that I think I was carrying last summer when this policy first came into being. Instead I have 5 glosses, 1 lipstick, and 2 chapsticks, in addition to a tube of hand cream.

SWest flies out of terminal 2 which is a trek from terminal 1. I went to term 2 and asked if they had any baggies. Nope – but they directed me back to terminal 1. I rolled up at the little security table expecting a free cheap-o plastic bag and was then directed to a store where I could buy one single, lonely little plastic bag for, yes, $0.54. So, I did.

Anyway, so I left our new house in only slight disarray, having taken about 20 boxes out to the trash dump area last night. An ungodly expensive trip to BB&B and many hours of arranging later, I kind of fit all my crap into my bedroom. I have piles of shoeboxes tucked into the closet, 2 8-hook bars on each door in my room holding about 20+ handbags, and an exposed metal rack holding clothes (like they use on like, movie sets, or at a fashion shoot, in other words, not typically in someone’s home I suspect) against one wall. It looks fairly uncluttered save for the clothes rack, but upon closer but still casual inspection it becomes quite obvious that mine is a room where the contents are in actuality far too great for the space holding them.

Oh let me tell you this one thing though. Our neighborhood is great. We have incredible access to any sort of smoking paraphernalia at any time of day (it’s the Haight, dude) that makes is almost ludicrous that none of us smoke, we have limitless restaurants, mad places selling clothes one wears when following Phish…and tucked in, many places selling stylish, overpriced great clothes and handbags that are a better fit with my own personal tastes. Such the perfect blend.

And one particular storefront that sells every sundry under the sun. The food and drinks are stacked on shelves and in coolers as expected. But the other more obscure items: power strips, wrenches, laundry bags, etc., are hanging on peg boars that soar 20 feet up the walls. The other night we were determined to watch our new tv and required an extension cord, so we walked to this particular shop. We scanned the peg board for one but my neck really doesn’t crane that effectively. We asked for help. They said they’d help…but never came. We went back and I asked again for help. “So did you find one?,” the guy asked. “Umm, I don’t know exactly. I think maybe, but it’s like 28 feet in the air…” -- “Oh, you can’t reach that high? Ha ha!” He then went back and started scrounging. He disappeared behind stacks of toilet paper packages and refrigerators. He emerged carrying 4 extension cords that he had apparently ripped out of his own sockets.

“These work for me, so should be fine for you!” He then tossed them into a bag and gave us, for free, like 60 feet of extension cord. How awesome is that? Totally makes it ok that I spent $0.54 on a single Ziplock.

That is just how nice people in SF are. I guess I’ll just fit right on it. Alright then, time to board…home to IN…for TWO weeks…I go.

Greetings from the 1-3-7

2007-07-03T22:23:00.000-07:00

Totally writing from my new house. Sitting on the floor as we have no furniture. It's funny. B/c in LA I was sleeping on the couch b/c I had no bed. But at least we had a couch I could sit on when we watched tv. Here, I'm sleeping in a bed (Eliz's), b/c there is no couch to sleep on. Or a tv to watch. Or, tables to eat off of. So that's kind of conundrum-ish right? But I guess that tomorrow our furniture is arriving so this is allllllll about to change.

It's also conundrum-ish, I might add, that our movers are coming on the 4th of July. It's like the birthday of America. And yet, no break for those moving men. If I were them, I'd revolt. But then again, I revolt frequently, at least frequently enough to develop nemeses, that's plural for nemesis, but actually I don't really have multiple, just one, recently developed - I just wanted to use the plural form as it's kind of more fun in ways I can't explain. BTW, if you're reading this there's an estimated 25-30% chance that you've heard about this development of my, I'll say it one more time, nemesis. I'll spare rehashing the story for the 83rd time (yes, I'm pretty much telling everyone simply b/c I can and b/c I want to), I just pretty much wanted to sneak in the fact that I have a nemesis somewhere on this blog.

So my apt is pretty much amazing. It's rather empty and barren right now save for Eliz's room as she's lived here a couple weeks, but that's soon to change. It's huge, and it's beautiful, and it's on the cutest little street ever. I'm in love with it and can't wait to start decorating.

As for the ride up here, it blew. Nothing but hot, barren, creepy desert and mountains that reminded me of The Hills Have Eyes. I was waiting for my car to break down and for mutant things to come out and try to eat my face. Or something. Not really. It was the middle of the day, but what harm does a little drama do? Thanks to those who entertained me via the Cingular/AT&T network. It kept me alive. Literally. I have like a 5 hour tolerance for driving alone and then I start to fall asleep and I had to go over 6 hours.

It would've been right at six hours except I got lost when I got into the city. This city is a rotten
mess down in the Southeast area. The streets don't damn connect or go through and you can't make left turns when you need to or right turns when you need to and it's all damn hills. Huge hills. Huge frightening hills. Do you know what I had to do? Call some kid that is friends w/ Eliz that I don't know and have him navigate me via his GPS system. Wow. I have this sinking feeling that I'm liable to get lost at least 103 more times in the next several months alone, and kids, I have a two year lease so I'm locked into this city for at least that long.

Anyhoo...so that is that. I just had to write from new locale. And, for the record, haters, it's like so not cold here. This evening weather is just slightly below LA's evening weather, and it was marvelously sunny when I drove in this evening. So, HA! I win.

I'm just looking at my pictures and wondering if it gets any classier

2007-07-02T00:48:00.000-07:00

BSchool wedding number three last night. I’d like to extend a warm welcome to Clif and Wai Mei for selecting such excellent timing for their wedding as it made for a most wonderful au revoir celebration for all. Of course, I’m sure that this was the number one criteria for selecting a wedding date.

I think there would be several other thank yous in order from our friends to the couple:

--Jen Y would like to say thanks for the cute little place card holder deals. She was fortunately able to collect all 12. Congratulations.

--Sauj would probably give a hearty thanks for the lottery ticket as she won either another lottery ticket, or $23. Either way she won, so it’s a good deal. Then she snuck out the back door to go do some stuff with some people some where.

--Nate says thanks for the wine. He chugged, in all, I’d estimate somewhere b/t 37 and 42 glasses.

--SV says thanks a lot too. Not at all sarcastically.

--Me, personally, I say thank you for the In and Out burgers served late night. There is nothing like spending a day at the beach in a new bikini after eating a steak in addition to 2 entire In and Outs.

I’d like to say that my favorite part of weddings is the beautiful union, or the fact that you get to chill for hours with your friends. Maybe the dancing. Perhaps the open bar. Unfortunately, I frequently side with the food. The ceremony last night, which overlooked the ocean and was virtually perfect, was awesome. But my thoughts were mostly focused on the post-ceremony, pre-dinner hour that is dominated by cocktail foods. After several rounds of the best hors d’oeuvres bypassed us (including the mini crab cakes and lobster tacos), we strategically positioned ourselves at the front of the stairs so the waiters would have to pass us first. This only backfired when the waiters began to bypass us. Not joking. They seriously carried the tuna tartars through the bushes to avoid the likes of us.

It was ok in the end. We turned to conversation as entertainment as Tracy enlightened us with tales of weddings where bathmats mark the altar and a lone buck of KFC supports the reception.

At the evening’s end a bunch of us had a big old fashioned sleepover party at Ritu’s apt. There was drawing on people’s faces and I believe some puking, which clearly demonstrates maturity. Stu and I were delighted when the slumber party ended around 7:30am with the arrival of Ritu’s movers. Darling, thank you for the heads up. Kidding. Anything that gets me off of my couch and into a bed works for me.

Unfortunately, I think that I’m on the couch once again tonight. It’s ok though, I’m at least going to bed really, really tan thanks to beach day w/ the Veeve in Malibu today, which is more than I can say I’ll be doing when I go to bed in an actual bed in SF as a pasty little hippie chick. Just kidding. I’ll never turn hippie.

Anyway, I love weddings!!!!

Clif and Wai Mei: congrats J

I HATE SLEEPING ON THE COUCH

2007-06-28T23:23:00.000-07:00

I desperately miss my bed.

I'm staring at my couch in contempt right now. I'm exhausted and about to go to sleep on it. But I hate it. I really, really miss my bed.

And, I might add, I'm stuck on some form of couch until July 5th. I'm just putting it out there so you know. And I'm not saying that I'd sleep in just anyone's bed, but I'm kind of saying, that I'd sleep in most forms of bed. Just, you know, so you know. Ok then. Good night.

My apt. is sad :(

2007-06-26T11:27:00.000-07:00

11:27am. Movers have been hear nearly 2 hours doing their thing. And they be done. Just took the last of it, my bed frame, down the stairs. So now I'm trying to figure out where I'll be sleeping. It's looking like I'm on our couch for like 5 nights which really sux and is bad for my neck and back.
So then, if you're reading this and you want to give up your bed for me, I'll take it.

And thus the countdown begins. I have several days of fun in the sun left here and then on Sunday afternoon I'm heading north. It promises to be a miserable drive, too, considering that I have a wedding here on Sat night and thus will likely be all hung-over and sleepy for my drive. I will also likely be in sappy-mode starting to miss LA and my friends so if you have a heart call me on Sunday and keep me entertained during my drive ok?

You know what's funny? You may have noticed that I totally sold out. I put ads on my blog. Don't hate. But the funny thing. I guess they kind of put up ads that are semi-relevant to your content right? The first day, the first ad that popped up was for steel cut oats, which as you may know I steel-cut-apart b/c I think they're totally stupid. So then naturally they're advertising their stuff on my blog. Oh, the irony.

So anyway, the movers just left. It's all dusty in here now. I think all the moving kicked dust up and stuff. Anyway. Just remember to let me know if you have a bed for me. I'm out.

Fun with numbers: my weekend in SDiego

2007-06-25T23:54:00.001-07:00

I went down to SD just for the weekend to visit Liz, of delicious cookie fame, and as an added bonus Beebs was in town visiting her sister so Veeve and Freds drove up as well for one special Saturday night. Unrelated, Liz and I were discussing the James Frey novels yesterday, he’s that dude that got in trouble for exaggerating in his non-fiction works. Liz and I decided we could care less and in my opinion all he was doing was using a little hyperbole to spice things up and make a better story. B/c which gets more pity if I’m telling you how cold it is during a DC winter “Shit, it’s like 34 here!” Or: “Damn, it’s seriously negative one thousand degrees!” And which makes you hurry out to the curb faster when I’m coming to pick up you: me being 8 blocks away, or me being 1 block away? Right. You see now don’t you. Not that hyperbole has anything to do with SDiego. Anyway, so some numbers from the weekend:

10: Number of vodka rocks it would’ve taken me to get me to stay at Shout House, God-awful piano bar filled with smelly, overweight Red Sox fans for >20 minutes.

23ish: Number of men standing around the dance floor looking very creepy and not dancing at bar #2.

1: Number of certified pedophiles looking VERY creepy and not dancing at bar #2.

17: Number of times Veeve talked to herself about how fantastic it was to have her camera with her.

98: Number of pics Veeve took on Sat night.

2: Number of pics of Freds’ ass we have, after Fred mooned the Gaslamp District.

1: Number of times Freds lifted up my dress to expose my ass to the Gaslamp Distict.

13: Number of profanities that Freds’ lifting up my dress elicited from my mouth.

23: Number of times I tripped over said dress, my own dress.

2: Number of times a guy told me: “That’s a great dress. I’m NOT hitting on you. I just really like your dress.” Thanks for the honesty.

5: Number of girls we tried to fit into a rickshaw. Denied.

1 million: Number of times someone made fun of my voice in SDiego.

Only 1: Number of times Veeve got so mad at someone for making fun of my voice that she screamed at them about my nodules.

4: Number of disgusting jalepeno poppers I ate at the end of the evening.

65: Number of times Liz and I whined about missing Pizza Mart.

38: Number of times I said “what it is?” or “what it do?” I laughed every time. I’m still laughing. I’m laughing right now. What it do?

16: Number of numbers I did before I got bored of this game.

So then. I watched Goodfellas tonight. As Soprano’s is done and I needed some final Jason and Warren tv-watching time so that was our pick. On my way out we discussed what was going on this week. Pretty much nothing is going on. We discussed brunching one day. It must be later than 11 or so b/c that is about when I wake up these days but can’t start any later than noon b/c that would throw Warren off of his napping schedule.

That is pretty much pathetic.

Congratulations on Graduating...Again.

2007-06-18T11:45:00.001-07:00

That's what the robe-people told a friend when she went to pick up her gown.

Anyway. Well there you have it. That is me there, in the MASTER'S robe. It's fancier than your avg Bachelor's robe. It has these wingy-style sleeves and stuff. Also got to wear a hood. That was neat I suppose. Want to know the history behind this photo? I apparently told Dick and Jane to wait for me in the audience section and that I'd come get them after the ceremony, but I forgot, I guess. So I headed up to the reception, held at my school, and went to drop off my robe b/c it sucked to wear. Then I waited for D&J to follow the huge mass of people to the reception. And I waited. Waited some more. Then I got a little nervous for them so I went back.

Jane was sitting shivering in her dress looking about to cry. Dick had run off to find me. He was up the Jaans (sp?) Steps with all the undergrads. Why the hell he went up there to find me, instead of following the entire MBA population, I have no idea. But I was in t-r-o-u-b-l-e. I had left Jane, she was almost in tears. I had removed my robe. Didn't I know they'd want a pic with me in my robe? Not a good scene. So eventually I found a kind classmate, who happens to be a 6 foot tall boy, and borrowed his costume, and dressed quickly for this lovely pic. And that, my dears, is the story of this pic.

The rest of the weekend, I served as a concierge, social director, and chauffeur. I feel bad saying it, but it was rather nice not having the little Greggy around. That trek out to south central really is unpleasant. We got to cut down our car time a bit w/out him around. Although the drive to my friend's parents' house in Encino, of Encino Man fame, kind of made up for that. BTW, I want to thank my friends for pointing out that they, too, are unable to hear me on the phone as I talk too quickly, and that I have no sense of direction and am prone to getting lost. You guys are really great friends. I'll be sure to hype up your faults to your parents next time we're all together.

I do have to say, I picked great restaurants for the weekend. Melisse and Cobra's both went over tremendously well. I have a question: when I'm really enjoying food, do I kind of make an orgasmic face where my eyes are half closed and almost roll back a bit? B/c I think my mom does. And it really concerned me. B/c we're related, you know, and you can pick up tendencies. Sort of reminds me about that time I emailed the FEMBA listserv about food v. sex. Anyway.

Now it's Monday. I woke up at 10, well really I woke up at 9 but as I had nothing to do, really, I stayed in bed another hour. I then looked through approximately 8 years of photos as I decided which albums will be moving to SF with me and which are headed home to Indy. I currently have accumulated 5 bags of clothing headed for Goodwill, and I have stack of shoes and bags covering my floor that will go as well. My calendar is empty save for the evenings which are blocked off for various dinners.

Well then, I'm off to run errands. I actually do need to start packing this place up :( If anyone has seen my past two years, please let them know I said hello, and that I wonder where they went so fast.

Never before have I needed 2 solid days of recovery.

2007-06-14T16:21:00.000-07:00

So I got back from Vegas on what, Monday? Yes, Monday. And it’s now Thursday. And I think it’s safe to say that I am at last recovered. This past weekend was what we fondly refer to as Dis-O, where all the second years gather in Vegas to consume vast quantities of tasty drinks, gamble away the government loan money we still have remaining, shake our asses all over each other, and generally enjoy the desert sun. Since a weekend is a long time I’ll do this highlight style. So keep in mind that these highlights are purely my own and you may find them highlight-like at all. If you don’t like them I invite you to create and post your own set of highlights. Or just get over yourself.

Highlight #1 (O reveals disgusting information): Sat night was spent dining at Fix and then dancing at Caramel and Light at the Bellag in honor of XTina’s bach party + the fact that I met Sauj’s MIT friends who are pretty much awesome. I don’t know who is adopting who, but someone is adopting someone. Anyway. So at dinner a certain section mate’s sig-o sat beside me. Champagne apparently makes her talk about how great her honey’s ass is. She also discussed other assets. Use your imagination. I think I barely avoided throwing up in my mouth. I will never, ever let her drink champagne in my presence again.

Highlight #2 (worst pick-up line ever): Don’t ever say this to a girl: “I mean, not that we’re going to have sex, but, if we did have sex, I have this feeling that it’s pretty much amazing. I’m talking, you’d be moaning and screaming.” Wow, please, take me home. That was so classy. That’s what I love most about Vegas.

Highlight #3 (I think I’m over strip clubs): Around 1:30 we were danced out and headed to the Crazy Horse II, which, no lies here, I’ve enjoyed before. There was actually much discussion in Vegas about how most women actually prefer to watch female strippers over male strippers. I guess it’s b/c men’s bodies can be hot but aren’t all that theoretically sexy to begin with and then when you put them in gross little man thongs and make them gyrate in ways that are essentially feminine they really aren’t sexy. Thank you Fins for enlightening me with this theory. I finally have a plausible explanation. At any rate, so I’m at the Crazy Horse. And I think it’s when I’m in the bathroom watching a gross stripper have a heart to heart with the gross bathroom attendant, or maybe when I see the worst boob job ever up on stage at one point, or maybe when I see what some me will welcome into their faces by women who smell mostly like Victoria’s Secret Sparkling Pear with a touch o’ vag that I realized that stripping is not all that I’d cracked it up to be. Time to give up on that career. Good thing I have something with bleach lined up. So anyway, we were about to leave when Sauj was dragged (and when I say dragged I mean literally, Brle) back in, and being nice, didn’t want to leave her, so followed. I ordered a RedBullV and lazily watched the boobies, and it hit me how badly I didn’t want to be there. According to Jason I turned incredibly cunty at that point and went home. And hence the epiphany: I guess I’m over strip clubs.

Highlight #4 (I recover from the SC through food): I arrived home shortly after 3. Last McDonald’s call at the Monte Carlo: 3. And I’m minutes late. I let them announce at least 10 times that they are C-L-O-S-E-D and then literally threw myself onto the counter and begged for food. Them: “Umm, again, we’re CLOSED.” Me: “No, oh no, you don’t understand. I think I might die tomorrow if you don’t give me food and it will be mostly your fault. Seriously I’m going to vomit everywhere if you don’t give me…those fries, those ones right there. And a sandwich?” Them: “We have one burger.” Me: “Yes, ok, great, one burger. And the fries.” [which are size massive super fat thighs large] I have a credit card.” Them: “WHAT? Credit card machine is closed.” Me: “I have $2.” Them: “No, you have $3.” Me: “I have $3.” Them: “Your food is $3. Miraculous. Goodbye.” The fries were gone within less than 3 min is my guess. Meliss was about to ask for some when I returned to the room but she was too late. I was one hungry lady.

Highlight #5 (ReHab in its entirety): I think we had 2 or 3 alarms set for the morning so we could wake up and grab chairs at ReHab. Someone new got angry every time a new alarm went off. I was trying to be the motivator. We rolled into Rehab by 10:30ish. Not a chair in sight. Shoulda listened, bitches. So I don’t know how to describe Rehab, but I think I have found my latest obsession.

If I lived the jet-set life, and I’m totally open to finding a rich husband who would allow me and encourage me to do so, then I totally would, then I would do Rehab like every single Sunday. It’s hot, it’s sunny, it’s a massive pool, and you get to dance in the pool with your drink in hand. I kissed a gay boy who’s incredibly hot and I won’t put his name on here but you might be able to guess if you use your best ESP powers, and I also danced in my swimsuit up on a pole. This was all caught on video which at the time I was very entertained by so I hammed it up. Now in retrospect I guess that will kill my political career. Which is ok, b/c you know, I have no political career, nor do I want one. Roberto was highly entertaining.

If I ever have to see him wearing that damn t-shirt again I might kill myself. Confirmations of fake breasts within the Ander community were made. Check. And Mark: I’m so glad to see that the water does not prevent you from twirling your dancing partners with wild abandon. You are most lucky that I didn’t puke club sandwich up all over you. Speaking of club sandwiches, so at one point I braked for lunch and upon returning was ridiculously cold. I guess I was having some sort of withdrawl from LIT’s. So I’m like “Aly! Let’s find a hot tub!” we find one and she’s all, “I really don’t think you want to go in that.” And I’m all, “yes, I totally do.” And she tells me, “No, Lindy, I really don’t think you do. There are definitely people having sex in that hot tub, right now, in front of us.” And you know what? She was right. So that about sums up Rehab.

Highlight #6 (Bouchon): Speaks for itself. Oysters and steak frites. Life does not get better.

Highlight #7 (Alexandra): I never know you could dance like that. Well done.

Highlight #8 (Mikey): Hey, there, friend. Are you sure you’re into dudes? B/c that attempted hand up skirts? And that dancing? Potentially says otherwise.

Highlight #9 (mystery escort): Some dude approached me on the dance floor. He knew my name. Asked me to come with me. Said he had to “take me to someone. Someone I’d left behind.” Took me up to the VIP area. The mystery guest was Kim, who I from this point onward will refer to as Captain Subtle, given that she is not subtle whatsoever, and my escort was her friend Dick, even though she prefers to call him David. Captain Subtle: I appreciate you interrupting my innocent makeout session not once (when you crammed a drink into my hand), but twice (when you screamed at me from 20 feet down the hall). I do heart you, you little twit.

Highlight #10 (insert stuff here): Aly, I love you. I am forever indebted to you for putting up with my shenanigans. Stan: go f’ yourself for not wanting to endure a lunch and hearing about “Lindy’s weekend in Vegas.”

Highlight #11 (glorious food): Pizza, poolside, at “Relax,” the Monday-sister of Rehab. Does a body good. Actually does parts of the body good. Some bad. Who cares. Oh. For the record. Hard Rock: when you say “relax,” I’m thinking quiet music played at a reasonable volume. Apparently you don’t. I guess you think that house played at a ridiculously gross volume is relaxing. I think more people agree with me than you, just you know, an FYO.

Highlight #12. No. Lowlight #12 (terrible food): J – I think the milkshake idea was yours. I blame you for my awful, dreadful stomach ache and take no personal account for my own actions.

Wow, well, I guess I’m all out of highlights. I’d really like one more b/c I prefer odd numbers to even numbers and thus hate ending on 12, but you can’t force it. Plus, I guess that 13 is an unlucky number so maybe I’m lucky after all. I am considering combining or losing a highlight to have 11, but that really isn’t happening. So then, I have spent the afternoon with my parents at the Design Center out on Melrose looking at fabrics and rugs and really that took a lot out of me. Even the Pinkberry I had can’t fix the damage done there. So I think I need an hour of rest before I return to their hotel to pick them out. So, don’t be cunty (except for you Jason b/c we all know it’s unavoidable for you), wish me a happy graduation, and the end.

Make it stop, please make it stop!!!

2007-06-03T19:26:00.001-07:00

Yo bitches. So my left eye has been twitching since Santa Barbara last weekend. A whole week, my eye has been twitching. You can't see it, but I can feel it, and it's totally and completely annoying. It has twitched every this past week for like 3-4 minute intervals, at least 4 times daily. I can't tell you how much it pains me. I think I'm dying.

Apparently it's due to 1) lack of sleep, or 2) a potassium deficiency. I went out on Tuesday night and Wed night. And Thurs night, oh, and Friday. And Saturday. I think Veeve is going to kill me over the discrepancy b/t our current lifestyles. And I can't sleep in b/c even if I try those trash-diggers are really getting to me lately. I wake up at 7:30am typically, and then have to spend the rest of my morning hours sleeping (poorly) with a pillow over my head. I'm worried that I'm going to suffocate myself one of these days. I need to sleep with ear plugs. And a sleeping mask. In Kitson today I saw on that said "skinny bitch" on it. What do you think? Oh, ps, I saw a chick that was likely around 10 years old today in Kitson (and I think she was getting stuff bought for her, bleh, skinny bitch) and I think she had just gotten a rinoplasty. Considering Dick is a boob doctor, I know rino recovery when I see it. I'm pretty much an expert. Again, seriously, I so need to leave LA.

Anyway, where were we. Oh yes, eye twitch. So aside from the lack of sleep, I also think I've not eaten a piece of fruit let alone a banana in about two weeks. Yep, I'm finishing up school in a reallllll healthy styl-o. So tonight folks, post-Sops/Entourage gathering, I'll be going home, sleeping my ass off, and then eating like 5 bananas tomorrow. I did actually buy the 5 bananas today.

In other grocery shopping news, I'm happy to announce that my favorite Gatorade flavor ever, Fierce Lime, which was sadly taken OFF the market years ago, is back on shelves. It's lighter in color and they now call it Lime Rain or something, but it's the same shit and I'm H-A-P-P-Y. Woo. Hoo.

BTW, what's up with name changes? Do you know T.I. changed his name to T.I.P.? Why the f' did he do that? Does that even make sense? T.I. was dumb anyway. Adding a P does nothing for the dude. I'll give him credit - Big Things Poppin is a kickin' track but really, the name change, not so much Poppin'. I am at Warren and Jason's ps. I think they just made fun of me. I'm not entirely sure why or how, but I think it happened. Bastards. Alright then. I'm out.

Awkward times three. Wow.

2007-06-02T16:44:00.000-07:00

Guess what guess what! I never have celeb sightings. Well I do sometimes, but very rarely, and they usually suck anyway. Or when they're good, like Brucey W, I f them up by acting a fool.

Well, well, well. I had a good one today! Was at Polish, my nail salon of choice, getting the little guys painted pink, and in walked Kristin Davis, everyone's fav Sex and the City character (Charlotte). Yes, she is as pretty in person as she is on tv. She was also carrying the cutest little bag, it was a bright violet suede w/ a chain strap. I tried to see the designer but couldn't make it out. Her voice is quite distinctive, and this is coming from me, so mind you I KNOW distinctive voices. She kept her sunglasses on the whole time. This I find slightly off. I guess they have to do it for some reason or another...whatever...but sunglasses or not it totally does nothing to disguise her. In fact, it makes her stand out more.

But anyway. Before my sighting and after my yoga, I had awkward moment #3 of the weekend. I was just saying the other day how bad things come in threes, so thank G_d that was #3, but honestly, I feel cursed. The first was Thursday night. I won't go into the details, but rest assured, it was tremendously awkward. Awkward moment #2 was last night. It was cute. We both ignored each other for like 30 minutes. Finally I said hi. Response: "Oh, hey there!" Said in a way of surprise, like, oh, hey, didn't see you there! Really? We've been with our friends and within 10 feet of one another for the past 30 minutes, and I also noticed you eyeing me down earlier, but yes, sure, if you'd like to otherwise pretend you just now noticed my presence, you do that kiddo. As for #3, too much effort to go into that for now.

As for how I manage to create situations that eventually lead to awkwardness...well, I'm not sure how it reflects on me. I'd prefer just to ignore it and pretend it actually is not consequences to any actions I've done, but rather just some sort of bad luck or something. And that makes me feel better.

Our chance to relive elementary school talent shows. Except don't recall hangovers in those days.

2007-06-01T18:07:00.000-07:00

Boy do I feel great today. Real super great. It was probably the whiskey, as I decided the other night while Karaoke-ing that sipping whiskey on the rocks would be my new drink. Could've also been the vodka sodas, or perhaps the beer, or I don't, the lemon drop shot that was more like 8 shots in one glass. Can't really pinpoint it, but when my phone rang at 10:30am and I got up to turn it off, stuff was spinning, namely, every little bit of stuff in my room.

So then when I got up and needed to eat, I thought, oh, I'm going to eat Taco Bell, b/c I've been craving it for like 3 weeks now. Don't worry, I ate it, so I got that craving out of my system and won't need it again for a while I'm guessing. Especially since after I ate it I kind of wanted to throw up everywhere. I am mostly full of good ideas today.

I think I'm recovered now, which is good given that it's 6pm and I've accomplished pretty much nothing at all this entire day. Oh Cabaret was last night. I believe that I blogged about Cabaret last year...which means I've been blogging for over a year, which is weird. Anyway. We did the whole Bollywood Dance thing again. Different costumes, different moves, same old deal. I think we messed up a lot. But, we did it with big happy smiles on our faces, and I personally enjoyed every minute of my bad dancing up there, so good times, good times.

I still find the entire concept of Cabaret just weird. My parents called this morning, they were very impressed I'm sure that their graduate student was rolling out of bed around 11:15am on a Friday, and I had to explain what last night was. Granted, I love Cabaret, but I think when I tell my friends and fam that I performed in what is essentially a talent show, at the age of 26, they probably get a little miffed. It just doesn't seem normal. But then again, I do live in a country where we, by choice, watch washed-up D-list celebs learn ballroom dancing, so...I don't know. Maybe it's really not so weird.

Whatever. All I know, is that I think that come next May, I'm going to be rather sad that I don't get to go to dance practices multiple times per week to ishka-iskha-turn-the-page-ishka-ishka-scoop-the-baby and wear a bindi and play dancer on a stage. I might just have to host my own talent show or something.

Well then, I promised myself I'd write at least two pages of my negotiations paper before dinner and, here we are, on the couch, and I'm definitely not writing about my abilities to negotiate. Nope, not at all. So I'll just go do that now.

I love it. Every minute of it.

2007-05-28T22:43:00.000-07:00

So I’m watching The Simple Life, the new season, Paris and Nicole are at camp. I believe they are at fat camp. And I think they’re currently administering high colonics, which is gross. But I’m personally still stuck on one of the opening dialogues:

Nicole: So, do you love it?

Male Counselor? It?

Nicole: Yeah, it.

Male Counselor: I don’t know. Do you love it?

Nicole: Yeah, every minute of it.

What the f does that mean?? At first I thought she was talking about sex b/c she mostly talks about sex on every other Simple Life thing I’ve ever seen. But I don’t think that was it. So then I thought maybe she meant life. But I think that would be way beyond her mental capacities, too deep. So I’m just at a loss.

High colonics are over – they’re now showing the campers pooping while N&P watch them. I think I’d rather die than take a shit in front of complete strangers, let alone bitchy little whorey celeb strangers. But that’s just me.

Oh also, I watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre last night w/ Warren and Winnie. Warren and I picked it cuz we like scary movies. Winnie kind of cried and winced throughout the movie. He was kind of a little bitch. I guess in a special sort of way it was cute. I winced too, but I slept fine.

But the thing is, last night I was cool, but tonight is slightly different. I’m doing laundry which involves going out to the laundry room by myself in the dark and also Veeve is still at work so I’m all alone, and I keep thinking whenever I turn around that I’m going to see some kind of crazy dude wearing someone else’s face and wielding a chain saw. Dude, creeeeeep-yyyy.

And, to wrap up, I’m viciously sunburned. I rode my bike down to Manhattan B yday for Newman’s bbq and roo-hoo’s friend’s Danny’s bbq. I wore my bikini top in an effort to disperse my Speedo tan lines and then kind of burnt up my back. oh for the record, I’m pretty sure I witnessed the wedding b/t one very drunk man and a blow-up goat dressed as a bride. Don’t have too much too say about that. That there, is about 2 burritos short of a fiesta.

Oh, break, I’m watching a show about tanning salons in LA. Reality show about a tanning salon. No joke. And this chick just brought in her 7 year old and spent $1300 on a tanning package for her little girl, b/c “last year she was pale in her school pictures. I want her to stand out this year.” I think I just threw up in my mouth. Perhaps a good thing I’m leaving this city.

So then, back to my own personal tan. Today after brunch I laid out chez KT. So that makes for two full days of tanning and one very tan slightly red little back and set of shoulders. Again, perhaps a good thing I’m leaving this city.

Chateau myButt

2007-05-22T23:29:00.000-07:00

So my muscles are super super sore. I’m full on recovering from a massage. Swear to G_d I just wrote that. Rehana was in town for the weekend; we went to get some massages b/c the weather, as it always is when people fly across the damn country to visit me out here, was shitty, and there is little else in LA to do aside from shopping, eating, or…grooming…if it’s crappy out. So that is what we did. Anyway, this morning, I woke up with a crazy sore back that I didn’t have yesterday pre-massage. My face hurts. My skull hurts. Places where I didn’t even realize I had muscles, but sure enough recall getting rubbed out yesterday, are hurting.

Did you know that massages I guess break up all the lactic acid in your muscles that can cause knots, and that’s what makes it hurt afterward – all the lactic acid being released? Did you know? I didn’t. Now I do. I guess that’s why you’re supposed to drinks lots of water post-massage; to flush out all the toxins.

Well then. Getting to the point here. Last night we were forced to drive to HWood. KT and Eve (little Freddy) had driven over to the West side all weekend so we humored them and hit up the SSet Strip post dinner. We decided to go all out and do something totally HWood, as it was a long journey for a Monday night. Ended up at Chateau Marmont.

So it’s a well known fact that I read UsWeekly and all that shit from time to time with the “to” being a fairly brief time so I read it kinda somewhat often enough. And more importantly I am avid reader of thesuperficial.com, etc. etc. so I know my celeb gossip and as importantly, my celeb hotspots. Not that I ever see damn celebrities. This is only LA after all, where they ALL LIVE. Continuing on. So it’s known that the Chateau is this place where skanky red-head hoes like the infamous LLohan hang out on a frequent basis. I figure she’s fairly picky, at least when it comes to what she puts in her mouth versus her. Wow. I really did almost say that but I held back.

Therefore, I figured that the Chateau would be all neat and great and v. hot and stuff. Instead, it’s: 1) impossible to find the entrance as the hotel and the bar are in two diff buildings (I say weird); 2) frequented by a lot of not very hot people at least on Monday nights; 3) decked out in weird décor including stuffed peacocks, fake butterflies, and ancient looking red fabrics; 4) possessed of neglectful and cross-eyed (yes, actually, not metaphorically) bartenders; 5) smelly. Like what I’m not so sure, but I think it smells.

I don’t get it. I really don’t. What’s the hype all about kids? I had a late afternoon drink at The Wilshire yesterday as well, and I must say, that place is so way better. And it’s on the West Side. And has outdoor fireplaces. And open air. And pretty furniture. And lovely flora all around. What’s not to like? Why would celebs pick such weirdo places to be hotspots? I’m at a loss here. Ideas are welcome.

On that note, I’m going to go to bed. I will likely continue to ponder this question as I fall asleep. Hopefully you won’t, as in all honestly it’s not realllllly worth pondering, but someone has to do it.

no more pins, no more spray, and don't touch me

2007-05-19T16:38:00.000-07:00

So there is a sidewalk store on Montana today; Roo just got into town so post bridal shower I met her and the Veeve down there in all that madness. I figured it’d be nearly impossible for me to walk down 10 blocks, double-sided, of racks of clothes, piles of shoes, and stacks of handbags without buying a single damn thing. But in fact it did happen, mostly b/c I am fairly certain that the majority of the stores took their good stuff, packed it into a warehouse somewhere in Ventura, and then pulled all the shit they have not been able to sell for the past decade and stuck it out for 50% off. Even Planet Blue was a total letdown pretty much cuz it was like a turkey carcass, all bones, no meat, picked clean. And so crowded that I wanted to vomit. I also discovered a variety of stores that I never realized even existed. They sell things like raincoats for chihuahuas and shell-covered turtles for your door steps. You know. The daily essentials. The practical things in life.

Anyway. So I pretty much made my modeling debut on Thursday night. Look #1: sexy librarian. Look #2: nothing in particular, but v. cute dress. I know that none of you are surprised that I was involved, given the fact that 5’2” stunners with ghetto-sized asses are constantly prancing the runways, but if you were, please wipe the shocked look off your face. It’s not flattering, and I know flattering.

But so part of the deal was that we got our hair and makeup done. They were going with a side ponytail theme. So I had this wave thing going on on top of my head, can really describe, and then we had the side pony teased up into a little rat’s nest that sat right there on my shoulder. It was apparently a real good match with my suit. Personally I do always opt for 4 cans of hairspray, 87 pointless bobby pins, and hooker-style teasing, all thrown together with a touch of 1983 when I am heading into corporate America. Go figure that my choice would be their choice.

So then the hair folks would lurk around the dressing areas and insist on touching you up with meant loading you with more hair lacquer. Or perhaps a dab of pomade. Mostly they just pissed me off. but I guess that’s good for the angry-faced model thing. Which I pull of spectacularly. Or not. Depends on how you look at.

Other fashion show highlights: I did an act w/ Mark and Meliss. We both slapped Mark. While practicing I was kicking ass in the slapping dept but onstage I was weak sauce while Meliss apparently slapped the bad hair off Mark. Not so much. Sorry guys. Love you Mark. So hard though that no one even noticed my slap. What a set-back in my life. What else. I didn’t eat anything really after lunch. So the after party was fantastic, nothing like tequila on an empty stomach. Oh, and, I slept until 12:30 yesterday. That was awesome.

Ok then, veeve says time to go. I’m out love you bye.

Tour de Stupid

2007-05-14T23:51:00.001-07:00

I went to bed on Saturday night with what was possibly the worst headache of my life. You see, at midnight on Sat, I was hungover, actually significantly into my hangover, and usually I think I’m asleep by the time I hit that point of my hangover. But, there I was, awake, kind of like the walking dead, and I know I felt awful, and I’m kind of thinking I looked even worse. I don’t really know. I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to get a glimpse of myself given my severe tiredness.

Anyway so let’s see. Saturday morning I was awake by 8:30am and over at Kokkomonster’s by 9:15am for a mimosa. I was hurried out of Kokko’s less than 15 minutes later by a crazy raging bitch that lived next door. Granted, I was blocking her parking spot, but that is no reason to foam at the mouth while abusing the f* word at 9:30am on a Saturday. And granted, she lives next door to KokkoM who has been on a bender for maybe 8 months straight, throwing little soiress until 4:30am on weeknights, but again, no reason to be so terribly terribly offensively scarily crazy. I think she almost spit in my face.

Btw, Saturday was Tour de Strand. For the uninformed: an annual event that brings current students and alums together for over 13 miles of biking and drinking in no particular order. Apparently you can get arrested for BUIs which is a wonder to me b/c there were like 200 retards let loose on the streets of the SoCal beaches on beach cruisers, with stomachs devoid of any food except yeasty beery goodness, and shark attack buckets which are wicked, venomous buckets of red stuff that come with 4 straws but might be better served by 8 or perhaps 12, and we didn’t get arrested.

There is photographic evidence of the moment when I tipped off my bike and into the sand, there is photographic evidence of me smooching someone that I need not have been smooching. You will see none of these photos posted here, but rest assured that they exist, so I can never run for office as I may be accused of being unstraight, but I do assure you that I most definitely, most definitely, like boys. There was lots of other stuff too, but honestly, at this point, it’s mostly one giant messy swirl. I only see pics that other circulate to let myself that I was in good, or really terrible, depending on your perspective, company.

And at some point, I dropped my bike off and was driven to Redondo Beach. A few things happened here. I began to fall asleep in my food, I called that loser boy who lives in Redondo (have since deleted his number; promise!), and I realized in my sobering up state that I had never wanted to be in my bed so badly. So instead of waiting for Stu and crew to leave, I sought out a cab. But I realized it would be too $$ to get back home, so I went over to Doempke’s to sleep. But there I discovered about 15 jackasses singing karaoke. I am a lover of karaoke, I am, but shit, I think my opinion of this medium might be permanently damaged. I drowsed on the couch before getting Stu, my future roommate and pretty much the sweetest sweetie and punkin-iest punkin in the world, to drive down and get me. And then it was home, and bed, and Jack and Jill in the morning.

I just want to know who ever thought it was a good idea to ride bikes for 10+ miles while drunk in the hot sun. My tanlines, which are a complete mess, my ass, which was sore on Sunday, my head, which wanted to explode – they would all beg to differ with the intelligence of this idea. And yet, here we are, in grad school, coming up with such brilliant little voyages. I guess it’s our spirit of entrepreneurship. It’s like, we can bike…we can drink…but let’s do something novel, we’ll bike – we’ll drink – at the same time! For an entire day! From 9am until past 9pm! It’ll be brilliant! We’ll all risk life and limb and drive on two unprotected wheels in 4 lanes of traffic! With no helmets!

Genius. Anyway, I shall leave you with this. Listen to these bands: 1) The Higher; 2) Shiny Toy Guns

I Am Not for Parents

2007-05-11T17:55:00.001-07:00

It’s been so long, hasn’t it? It really has. Lots has happened since the last entry. I reconnected with a friend from jr. high via mySpace (hey dude, she initiated, I only played along), I found a place to live in San Fran (it’s beautiful!!! Pay my rent!!), and today little greggy graduated from college. Which made me feel old. I suppose it also made his girlfriend feel old, seeing as she graduated from college back in ’02 when I did and got to reminisce about college graduation with me while she watched her boyfriend do it 5 years later. She’s awesome actually, but I just can’t seem to stop joking about the age gap. I get endless amounts of entertainment from harassing my brother about it. Which is ironic considering that I suppose it makes him somewhat of a badass to be dating a girl who’s so much older when he’s not even in the real world yet. But I’m easily entertained anyway, so whatever.

Anyway, was chatting with my friend J the other day. Here we have the transcript:

Jami: lindy! Guess what? You’re famous.

Me: oh really. Do tell.

Jami: so I was telling my mom about Liz’s cookies and when she googled the cookie chew she arrived at a blog. So she called me and was like "Jami, Liz’s website isn't very good because it doesn't come up on Google. Instead I ended up on this random blog of a girl in California. She’s 26 and was writing some funny stuff. She sure used the s- word a lot." To which I replied "that's LINDY!!”

me: oh! She thinks I cuss too much! That’s not good! Make sure she forgets my blog address and doesn’t read it. I am not for parents.

I like this exchange. First it’s funny that your stupid ramblings can become so widely accessible. It’s also fun that J’s mom knows what a blog it. It’s nice to know that she thinks I write some “funny stuff.” It’s a bit concerning that she thinks I use the s- word too much considering J is an old college friend and I’ve met her parents several times and stayed with them, and until now her mom probably thought I was really nice. I guess if she read some of my entries her opinion of me might become slightly sullied. Hence why I hope she forgets my blog address like my dad did after my stupid ass brother revealed it to him.

I’m also a bit concerned for Liz’s Web site. I’ll put it here again just so she gets a little more advertising http://www.thecookiechew.com/ . Because it’s true that the site does not pull when you type it into Google, even variations. It pulls my blog and her mySpace page. We need to do something to make sure that Liz’s site is getting to the top of the search when you try to find it!!! Very important. Put that on my to do list.

Anyway, that pretty much sums up my thoughts regarding this little exchange re: J’s mom reading a blog excerpt or two. I guess I say shit too much. Well, shit. What can you do?

Somewhere in LA...

2007-05-02T23:00:00.000-07:00

…There is a crazy homeless dude, wearing a wet suit that is too short in the legs and generally too small, and he’s pretending to surf the dirt pavement that covers our city. Or, maybe, he’s wearing the wetsuit and sleeping on the surfboard. Maybe he’s humping the board. Who the f cares. It doesn’t really matter what the f he’s doing in the suit or with the board, b/c the important thing is that the board is MINE and the suit is MINE. Little shit.

So, story is, I’m dumb. I moved my board and suit down to my parking garage (which is covered but ungated) and stuck it in front of my vehicle where it’s pretty much hidden. And the only people in our alley are like, homeless people searching for cans, and what would they ever want with a surfboard? I mean, you can’t turn it into the recycling center for change you know?

May is my month to park in the spot (Veeve and I switch off) so I went out to park today, and my board, is gone. I screamed f*** like 98 times really super loud. I mean, when Dorothy wanted to get back to Kansas she just kept saying “there’s no place like home” and it worked. So I guess I figured “f***, f***, f***…” would maybe bring back my surfboard? Not so much.

Funny thing, the board was gone, the wetsuit was gone, yeah, but there was a tv sitting there in their place. Do you think that maybe the thief was actually trying to arrange some sort of barter deal? Like, ok, I’ll take the board, and the wetsuit…but she won’t care! I’ll leave her this tv…that I also stole…and everything will be cool…

I’m thinking maybe so. But I would’ve preferred that they warn me before doing so b/c this barter deal doesn’t really work for me considering that I don’t have any need for a tv. Barter deals usually are like a two-party arrangement you know? No one told this schizo dude who’s surfing the streets of SanMon on my board. I’m pissed. Did I mention that? Can you tell? I’m so pissed.

But I contemplated doing something about it. And I thought about calling the police, but then I wondered how I’d sound if I was like, “so, my surfboard and wetsuit got stolen.” “where was it? Oh, well, it was sitting in my garage.” “gated? No, not really, it’s just open on the ally.” I basically could’ve stored my board out in the middle of the street. So I guess I have nearly given up on the sport anyway and that I’m moving up north where it’s super f’in cold and the waves are super f’in big, I guess the need is kinda dwindling anyway. But it still sux a lot.

Anyway. Again. That sucked. But, if you do happen to be out in LA, and you see some dude dressed to surf and it look slightly suspect, please give a shout.

Little Mucus Monsters

2007-05-01T17:21:00.001-07:00

I have yet another miserable piece of shit cold. Since moving to LA, I think I average like one brutal cold every 1.5-2 months, and to me, that seems like a really high level of frequency, don’t you agree? I feel like the mucus monster on the Mucinex commercials moved into my lungs and then invited his family of 19 from Brooklyn to come stay with him for a couple weeks. And like 2 days into the party, they were like, oh, let’s call our folks from Jersey and see if they want to chill too. So then they called up their family in the Garden State and invited them to rent out the flat about them, otherwise known as my sinuses. Bunch of jerks. And, I’m taking Mucinex, for the record, and it hasn’t kicked them out asap like it does in the commercials. Advertising. So misleading. Kind of like steel-cut oats.

So aside from Mucinex, I’m taking about 13 other drugs. When I get sick, and by sick I mean get a bad cold, my bathroom starts to look like the bathroom of someone who’s dying. Or maybe, like Anna Nicole’s bathroom pre-OD. Or perhaps LLohan’s. Either way. It’s a mess. I have about 3 kinds of cough drops, several nasal decongestants, a couple chest decongestants, a few allergy medications, some cough syrups, various ointments and rubs like Vicks and Vaseline to free up my breathing and soothe my poor, chaffed nosed, and a giant box of Depends. All of that is true save for the Depends.

I wonder if all these drugs are actually doing any good though. I think when I take them at night, the sheer amount of chemicals I’m ingesting sends me into a sleep so deep that I really don’t know if I’m making anything better or not. Could be worse for all I know. And then I question my feeling slightly better during the day and how it relates to the drugs v. how it relates to just being up and getting stuff moving around inside my breathing passages. Can’t ever really be sure.

Anyway, no one cares about my stupid cold or all the drugs I’m taking, that’s my likely guess. But since I have a corporate valuation midterm tomorrow and my motivation to study is like null and void since I don’t ever study really anymore and I rather prefer to keep it that way, I thought I’d write about it anyway b/c there is no one here to stop me, only me stopping myself from working by wasting time writing about my…cold. But I think I’ve run out of things to say about it so I guess this means unless I switch topics all together I’m done. And since I’m too lazy to even think of another topic, I truly am done. I hope you don’t catch what I have, it’s brutal. And I’ve only got Brooklyn and Jersey; I bet the Bronx or maybe Harlem or perhaps Boston muc-i are even worse! On that note, au revoir. I think I need to go re-medicate.

Steel-Cut Oats??? Really??

2007-04-30T20:59:00.000-07:00

So after staring at the leopard print underwear sticking way out above the waistband of the gross guy who smelled like onions all during yoga, I got into my car and listened to a rap song that was exclusively about lip gloss. Catchy, extended jingle for Bonnie Bell Lipsmackers? Not so much. It is honestly an entire song where a girl is singing about how her “lip gloss is poppin’.” Dead. Serious. You can check out the video for this phat and by phat I mean totally and completely reprehensible song here: http://www.kovideo.net/music/video/Lil-Mama---Lip-Gloss/831.html

So both those things were great.

Anyway.

This morning I was making b-fast and noticed a pot on the stove. Took the lid off. It was a pot full of oatmeal that had apparently been sitting there since last night. I was like “yo Veeve, do you know there has been a pot of cooked oatmeal sitting on the stove all night?” Yes, she did. You see, it was “steel-cut” oatmeal and apparently it cooks so slowly (although 20-30 minutes in my book doesn’t qualify really as that long of a time period) that they advise you to cook it overnight if you feel so inclined.

I think this is weird, the whole “steel-cut oatmeal” thing. I first heard about it while walking w/ my friend Ritu on the Promenade, as we’d agreed to be shot for some bullshit weird-ass local tv show thing on “cool people in cool places in Santa Monica.” Mind you I’m not really that cool and we were on the Promenade and hence they could not have been cool places really, so anyway, you’ll never see that show thing.

But I digress. So Ritu is talking about eating brunch at Le Pain Quotidien and saying how they have great steel-cut oatmeal. Whatever I say, oatmeal, is oatmeal. But since then, I’ve noticed it on brunch menus all over town. All over CA for that matter. And on every single one of them, they are charging like $9/bowl b/c the oats are “steel-cut.” I mean come on dude, we’re talking about oats. What does it even mean to be cut by steel? What does one normally cut oats with? Anyone? Anyone? How can you possibly justify charging $9 for a bowl of dusty oaty things that turn into a bowl of clumpy oat things when you add water?

I think it’s a big, giant, steel-cut conspiracy! Anyway, I’m done with that. Just don’t forget I warned you about this conspiracy ok?

Big boobs? Nope. Pretty face? Uh-uh. It's bacon and pearls honey.

2007-04-29T18:36:00.000-07:00

You know what’s going to be awesome? The Affiliates cruise. Way super awesome. Who loves you KK?

Anyway. Today I fell down in yoga. I didn’t fall a little, I fell a lot. Like on my hands, on my knees. It wasn’t my fault. Granted, I am the girl who ran into a trash can while stone sober on spring break. But this fall was unavoidable. For the second time in one week Rudy insisted on approaching me in half moon and “opening” me up. This means he grabs your hip and pulls your hips all stacked on top of one another as far as you can stack them. I am guessing you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about but that’s ok. Anyway then you have to transition poses and usually I do it just fine, granted I’m a little shaky but who’s not when they’re on one leg. But when someone is adjusting you they totally throw you off balance and then your equilibrium is destroyed and then you’re f’ed. And you fall. And it's not funny! But then Rudy explains how typically do fall when he spots them cuz he's over-extending you and then you smile a little and feel slightly better. Phew.

So in other news. I have a casual observation. Guess what accessory I am going to try and incorporate into my outfits as frequently as possible from this point onward: pearls. “Old-fashioned!,” you say. “Ridiculous!,” you claim. But conversation piece? I say yes.

The other night was NA Food Fest and I was pent up inside the dreary halls of school tallying scores for the biz plan comp, and nach I was all dressed up. My preferred biz casz outfit is solid black. So slimming! So sheik! And so it’s my new thing of choice. Anyway, so I rocked all black with two long strands of white pearls to set it off. it’s a very good look I recommend it. Anyway so attired as such, I hit the bars when I realized from hell I mean school. Of course I was dressed all wrong. I was like all Ms. Happy Hour but it was midnight u know?

But all night long guys commented: “Love the pearls!” “Wow, lindy, you’re so Jackie O today.” “Hey there, Connecticut.” “You look all NY.” “Nice peals. So east coast. In a good way.” Etc. etc. Those pearls got me two free Grey Goose and sodas. Thank you pearls! Oh and I must back up. Even before hitting the bars, one of the old white VC men judging the comp complimented my pearls; said his wife would just LOVE them.

Anyway, so that’s fun. Do u think that it’s the whole pearl necklace thing? I was wondering about that. Like do guys just like pearls b/c they think about you know that thing? I am hoping not b/c that is so juvenile and really just so gauche and pearls are not about gauche, guys! But hey, whatever.

I will leave you with final observation about men. If you want them to love you lots, don’t just wear pearls, wear pearls while serving them bacon. You will have them wrapped around your fingers. I had fancy (well fancy in the food at least b/c we all know that my dishes don’t match, my crystal is for shit, and I have no dining room table) grown up dinner party #2 last night (and hello of course it went swimmingly), and the hors d’ouvres, a special recipe a la Jane, involved bacon, and for the rest of the night all I heard about was how everything would’ve been better had it contained bacon as well. I think had I served my strawberry shortcakes w/ bacon they would’ve been happily consumed. And that is like eating a blueberry bagel with sun-dried tomato cream cheese. Gross. Who does that?

A most torrid affair. Or something like that.

2007-04-24T23:14:00.000-07:00

The following story has absolutely nothing to do with me. It's about a totally fictional character. But I'm going to tell it in third person just so it flows more naturally. Ok whatever I'm totally lying. This story is 100% from me, about me, starring me, etc. etc. It's my damn story. And it breaks all of my rules as it's completley linked to my personal life and furthermore, it casts me in a terribly negative light by association. But the thing is, it's so utterly ridiculous, I just can't help it. In fact, it happened a week ago, and I have told it in bits and pieces to friends since then, but it was not until tonight w/ Stu, the V, and Aly v. fine that I at last told it in full detail, to the bitter end, and it just felt so good, that I have to do it again.

I guess I have to start at the beginning right? Well I don't really. I mean really I can do whatever the f I want. But it helps if i provide some context. Here u are: Months ago, I go to a bar. I meet a boy. He's hot. A little sketch, maybe, but he's hot, so whatever. Let's move forward several months. I still have motivation to text/call said hot guy. He' still sketch. In fact, he's fully useless. But again, still hot, and that's all that matters, no?

So this all terminates at last Tuesday night. I'm at dinner, receive a text, and I end up driving down to Redondo Beach. Do you know how taxing that is? He gives shitty directions so I get lost. If you know me you know that I HATE getting lost cuz it totally stresses me out, makes me feel stupid, and then I get all sweaty-palms nervous and freak and my blood pressure goes up. So getting lost in my opinion really is not even healthy. Keep that in mind. Oh for the record I gave up a perfectly good TNDC with my friendsies for this trip down south.

Anyway, I eventually arrive at said guy's house. It's a shit hole. No wait, it's just a hole. But if I took a shit in it, it would then be a shit hole. I am almost afraid of parking in the lot, and I think my face looks like I just smelled a pile of vomit as I climb the stairs. The house is frat house from hell. It smells. I don't do smelly places, let alone places with empty vodka bottles hanging out on the random ass ping-pong table surfaces. I guess this is kid's friends house where kid is living temporarily.

After my tour, which includes more smelly places and stinky things including a bedroom that needs to be disinfected for a year solid until it's fit to live in and said kid's "bed" which I shit you not is a giant bean bag chair, I collapse...on said bean bag chair. What really do I say? I have driven myself to this place voluntarily. So I begin my line of questioning. This kid lives with an older couple in a house that is actually quite nice. Why no more? B/c the couple had a baby and he wanted to give them privacy. That was 1+ months ago. So you're still here why? Are you like one of those Christians who wears the shirts made out of hair and you're killing yourself softly in repentance for the sins you've committed? B/c living in this house has to be the equivalent.

So let me give you more vital stats on this kid:
--He live in this shithole temporarily b/c his normal house is rented from...his boss.
--He lives with...his boss.
--He wants to quit his job...so living w/ boss is awkward.
--His job is...I don't really know. Something to do with soccer. And leagues.
--He's in school part time.
--He's in...college...working on his bachelor's...at age 26.
--He's in...junior college. At age 26.
--He has no job prospects.
--He has no car.
--Because it's at his grandmother.
--Because she paid it out of impoundment after his DUI.

And here I sit. On a beanbag chair. With a 26 year old fairly unemployable jr. college non-grad who really has no house, and no car.

I look at myself. I'm in Michael Kors heels. I'm freshly manicured. I have been employed for over 5 months even though I have yet to graduate...from grad school. And I'm dying to hook up, with, this guy?

Thing is, this is only the cake. The icing comes when after some odd behavior prompts me to inquire if he has a girlfriend. Five minutes of prodding and it comes out that he has something. Not exactly a girlfriend, but a something.

So again. I'm here 20+ miles from home at 1am on a beanbag chair with a 26 year old unemployable jr. college non-grad who has no house and no car. Oh wait! He does have a girlfriend though. So at least he's got that going for him. It just doesn't so much go for me. So I did what I had to do and after a brief stare down I removed myself from the beanbag chair, and the scary house, and headed for greener and less stinky pastures. That is where the story ends.

Ok then. So...maybe...I sound rather like a snotty bitch in this entry. And for that I cross myself, and I'm not even Christian so I don't even cross myself but I'm doing it metaphorically b/c we Jews don't really have an equivalent. We do fast one day a year though. And I feel a liiiiiiiiiiitle bad for this excessive snarkiness, but, yo, dude had a girlfriend.

I got drunk w/ my mom.

2007-04-22T20:22:00.000-07:00

In the airport this morning I saw this shirt:

Haikus are easy

But sometimes they don’t make sense

Refrigerator

Funny!

Anyway, so I woke up with a slight hangover this morning. Guess Jane and I threw back a few too many last night. We ate at the Slanted Door which was amazingly delicious (thanks for recs friends!) and our meal necessitated many drinks. A cocktail while we waited. A bottle of white to go w/ our oysters. Then a glass of red in between finishing the bottle to complement our beef and lamb. Then a glass of wine back at the hotel bar.

Seriously. Who gets hung over from hanging out with their mom? And if I felt hung over, I must have been moderately tipsy, and if I was moderately tipsy, then Jane must have been hammered. So that gave me something to laugh despite the fact that as my town car (I was big pimping you see as my shuttle was 10 minutes late and I was on the verge of missing my flight) lurched through San Fran traffic my oysters were sliding and my shaking beef was shaking in my delicate little stomach. Vo-mit. Oh but I didn’t, don’t worry.

Anyway, so over the weekend I picked up a third roommate. Stu and I were joined by our friends Nikki and Elizabeth on Friday, and we opted to join forces w/ Eliz. We figure we can get more for our money going three bedroom style. Regardless of which of the 27 million different neighborhoods that all pretty much look the same to me that we end up living in.

Looks like I’ll be going back up in 2 weeks on a mission w/ my ladies to find a place and sign a lease. I have one thing I can tell you about my future place: I plan to paint my bedroom pink. Yep, pink. Not like nasty pepto pink, something very soft, pale. I have it all planned out – a pale pink beadspread, lots of bright, fun pillows in corals and golds. This…is what I devote my mind space to. The color of the bedroom I won’t have for another few months. But it’s more fun than thinking about, say, how to do the scoring for the biz plan comp I’m co-chair of. That, is not so much fun.

So then, as my mom is no longer with me, there will be no craziness for me this evening. It’s now time for me to return to Law and Order. It’s very hard to multi-task with such a distractingly good show on in the background. I’m out.

Bitter. Over butterknives.

2007-04-19T11:40:00.000-07:00

While sitting in advertising the other day, my friend Wai Mei, who’s marrying herself off this June, pulled her wedding registry up. Warren was on her left and I’m pretty sure he could’ve cared less. Jen Y was to her right and to my left (ok so did you follow that? Have the seating chart all figured out?) and she on the other hand did care. She turned to me and voiced something that I’ve bitched about several times this past month: what’s the damn deal with this short-ass stick that singles get?

Here I am, 26 and very rapidly approaching 27 (lucky number 7!!!), and although I have a delightful collection of handbags, a decent lineup of shoes, pretty good clothes on my back, and a makeup collection, which, let’s be honest here, is amazing, you know what I gots in terms of apartment goodies? I have a shitty chair from Ikea that is stained with black dye from some black lace gloves Tracy wore to the 80s party, I have a set of FOUR places settings from TARGET, I have mismatched glasses from Bed, Bath and Beyond, and I have silverware from Dick and Jane, circa 1985. I cook my ass off: do I have a gleaming Cuisinart? No, I have Jane’s hand me down from not 1985, but maybe 1992. My cousin Heather, daughter of Nancy, neither of whom can cook anything much beyond Hamburger Helper – want to know what she got from our family for her recent wedding? She got a shining, beautiful KitchenAid mixer that will likely collect dust in a hidden cabinet 10 feet about the countertops for years to come. Which is pretty much a crime against humanity.

This I call the curse of being single. There are plenty of lovely things that accompany singledom, but loads of gifts to furnish your home – from sparking Bacarat vases, shapely Waterford flutes, shimmering Christophe silver, delicate Ginori china to Le Creuset baking dishes and a full set of All Clad cookware – they, do not. None of them. Not one finely turned butter knife, not a single, lonely ramekin.

Nope, for us, it’s crappy kitchen ware and shitty furniture, b/c we’re in a state of transit. Why start buying good kitchen stuff when in a year from now you might be doing up the registry at Bloomie’s? Why bother getting nice furniture when you’re still renting and may be moving into dream home number 1 getting ready to decorate straight big girl style?

Essentially, the fate of my kitchen, the design of my ideal living space, is tied to someone that I likely have not even met… Conundrum, yes. This is further complicated by the fact that every day I become a little bit more convinced that men are mainly shitheads. Or at least, the ones I have been “fortunate” enough to meet are. Ok maybe I’ve met some that are ok, but they are blind to the fact that they are in love with me. And, yes, it’s true, my angst is heightened by the fact that in a very, very short time I have had two encounters with two very big douchefaces. No, actually, make that three. Number three I hate to include here, but recent events call for hard actions. Ok, now that? That was a rule-breaker. That was a brief window into my “personal” life. Sometimes you have to break rules to break ground. That’s what I always say at least. Umm, actually, I never say that. But it sounds good I think. Think I’ll pick it up.

So, there you have it. I am destined to continue cooking with subpar utensils, eating off sub-bar dishes, and chilling on sub-par furniture until someday, I can register. Or, I can pull a Carrie B, and just go register in honor of my single-dom. That is a thought to entertain… Please do let me know: if you received an invitation in the mail for a big party I was throwing (open bar!) to celebrate…being…27 and single…well, I know you would come, b/c it would inevitably be a super sweet party, but, would you bring a gift from my registry? After we talk, then, I can make the decision. In the mean time, I’ll be in San Fran for the weekend, looking at apartments to furnish with my half-ass furnishings. Ciao punkins.

Is it any better if I say pee-pee platter? No. Def not.

2007-04-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

I'm in advertising class right now. We're discussing various techniques used by advertisers to grab attention and break through the noise.
#4: Use of emotions. Typical stimuli include -
--Babies
--Animals
--Sex

Babies. Animals. Sex. Right... A perfectly logical list.

Anyway last night I was at dinner at Canal Club, I like that place. Although the service was so terrible that at one point we called the restaurant and asked them to send our waiter over. We were in plain view of the host and we personally found ourselves absolutely hilarious. I like to think the host did too but I'm not so sure. Also of note was our server, Ivar, who was Bulgarian. His accent was ridiculous. When he came over initially, we simply could not keep our shit together. We couldn't look at him. We couldn't look at each other as we were laughing so hard. I felt so terribly but I couldn't help it. We ordered the pupu platter but it was just too much. Kt couldn't get the words out. With her eyes downcast she pointed to the menu and asked Ivar, "can we get this?" At what age does "pupu platter" stop being funny?

Maturity Disparity

2007-04-15T16:25:00.000-07:00

Holy. Shit. My little friend Moe is preggers, she's due in a couple months. She sadly lives in FL so I have not seen her since she got all with child and I won't see her until Sept when she'll have a little munchkin in tow. Fortunately, as she knows that her girls need some a visual, she just sent all of us a pic of her standing sideways. I think i hyperventilated a little bit. It's pretty weird to see this chick that you've known since you were 18 and used to do some pretty stupid shit with all pregnant.

Anyway, she looks rather adorable. Although I always think pregnant women look kinda adorable. They have that glow thing going on. Plus Moe is super tiny; I think I have an inch on her. And she is one of those pregnant women that other pregnant women hate cuz she totally has gained not an ounce; instead she just has this perky little ball sticking out from her middle. I reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllly want to post the pic of her but I'm not so sure she'd appreciate that so I won't.

Anyway, so my friend Moe is pregnant. Meanwhile, I received a visit from the cops on Friday night. I see some sort of rift in maturity levels here.

But, anyway, so the cops. Post going out Friday night, we wanted to continue our amusements so we came back chez moi. There was a grand total of 5 individuals hanging out on my balcony. I guess Brent was here though, and he kind of laughs like some crazy hyena and he might have the loudness of say 3 individuals, and his friend who was with us is some weird Brent #2. So doing some quick math, we have me=1+tracy=1+az=1+brent=3+brent's friend=3=grand total of 9. Still seems low for a cop to come. My neighborhood is very sedate though.

In retrospect, maybe the stories being told, namely some tale involving bumperpool and bufoonery at some Newport beach dive bar, was actually so retarded that the neighbors called just so they didn't have to listen to it anymore. After all, it made little to no sense and I think it might've made me dumber. Anyway, just something to think about.

So then, Moe is pregnant, and I have the cops at my house for noise violations at 3:30am. I don't really have much to say beyond that.

I've seen a lot of pastries come and go in my day.

2007-04-12T16:59:00.000-07:00

Apparently Frederick is a pastry connoisseur. Who knew? And as such, she has seen many pastries come...and go...in her day. So that's good. Anyway, she was telling Maria and I this over dinner last night - she cooked for us in her new Bev Hills apt (which is in the complex that I'm 99% sure is home to LC and (formerly) Heidi of Hills fame). The food was delicious. The help was delicious too.

You see, little Freds (Eve) lives in NY and has this guy friend who is currently out here in LA for a week to visit a girl, who he met...in a bar. As he got to know her so well given the hours they spent together, he bought a ticket to come see her in her natural habitat and feel their amazing connection again. Except, I guess the connection was gone and his visit sucked. So he bailed. And ended up staying w/ KT (and for the record KT didn't know him previously).

This is weird on many, many levels, so let's just look past that and instead focus on the relevant issues, such as how KT managed to turn this dude (who is hot btw) into her little house bitch for several days. He apparently did her grocery shopping for her meal, made the dessert, served as the sous chef, and was her chauffeur for a day. Again, and we cannot stress this enough, all the while looking most adorable. I sure wish I could rent him for a day or so, but I guess he is heading back to NY, today actually. I'm also not really sure if he's technically for rent. Sad. So then...does anyone know a cute boy who is handy in the kitchen and in need of a couch to stay on? If you're super cute you can be upgraded from the couch perhaps. To Veeve's bed, of course.

Anyway, this has nothing to do with anything, but do you know that the dude at the car wash spent over 5 minutes today trying to convince me to get the special wax deal? I kept trying to explain to him that I"m totally way over my car and don't really care about it hence why would I treat her to a special wax, but he just kept going and going. He really did want to sell that wax. Normally, I would've cut him off a little faster, but thing is, in this lady of leisure life that I lead, I really was in no hurry. I had come from yoga, brunch, and a bit of shopping (peer pressure I say) and really...only had a dentist apt and dinner prep ahead of me. So, I let the dude sell his wax. I guess that this leisure stuff kind of makes me a calmer person. A nice side benefit. Doing nothing sure does pay off. So then kids, that is what I've got. Au revoir and happy pastry watching.

Costa Rica: Let's Finish This Thing

2007-04-08T21:51:00.000-07:00

Day Seven. Human or Sloth? Not Sure. But Sloths Are Cute.

7:30am and we’re scrambling to pack in a ½ hour. We pile in with fruit to go and take a 6 hour bus trip to Manuel Antonio, a giant national park that features the rain forest butted right up next to beaches, pretty damn beautiful. Our hotel (Hotel California, ironically enough) is literally right in the rain forest. You know what? The rain forest is hot, no joke. Did you know sloths move so slowly that mold grows on them?

In fact, their ridiculously slow movements actually are a built-in defense mechanism: b/c they are so crazy slothy, predators can’t even find them in the trees. To boot, btw, they even have these crazy long claws that mean if something disturbs them in their tree (say, a shot from a poacher), they don’t even drop…b/c their claws hold them in place (thanks Ritu!!). I mention these crazy lazy animals (which do in fact live in Manuel Antonio) b/c that is what the heat does to you: it makes you a sloth. I laid down on our bed in our 98 degree room and I didn’t want to move.

But don’t worry, I did. We headed into Quepos (town…) for a Mexican dinner before heading to bed. For the record, the boys spent the evening post-dinner studying their diving books which I must say, was super cute.

Although, for the record, I got a 29/30 on my chap 1-3 quizzes without ever reading the book. Genius.

Day Eight. Wouldn’t It Be Great If…

Got my diving legs today. Do they say that? I guess people talk about sea legs but not really diving legs. Oh well who cares. I said it. So I went w/ the boys and did a couple hours in the pool and then headed out to sea for two dives. There is something I just can’t describe about how incredible it is to be under the ocean’s surface, 40 feet down, for like 25 minutes without needing to come up for air. The fishies are adorable, and there is this “surge” (underwater current) down there that washes you back and forth and the fish just sway right with you. Very cool. I did have one massive and very creepy fish come up right beneath me face to face at one point. It was a Doempke. I also had a very dumb moment when I asked how deep we were. Geoff responded, “wouldn’t it be great if we all had an instrument that actually tells you how deep you are?” In fact, the gauge above your air gauge is a depth gauge. Who knew. Not me apparently. So anyway, I got my ½ cert and am only two book chapters and 2 dives away from being full!

Neat.

We headed back for dinner

(delicious tuna!!) and then picked up a bottle of wine and headed home. Since we’re nearing 30 and highly mature, we played never have I ever. Btw in the Midwest we all say “never have I ever” before we make our statements. Elsewhere they just say “Never…” Lame. Pretty much the game just turned into people saying “never have i…” followed by ten minute stories that no one else possibly could have experienced. Hence, I can now tell you the sexual histories of meliss, trace, geoff, and mark. Awesome.

Day Nine. Monkeys monkeys monkeys

I was sleeping peacefully around 7am on this fine morning when Doempke started tugging on my leg. I was two seconds away from trying to kick him in the face when he shouted something about “monkeys” at which point I leaped up super fast and ran outside. It was literally a barrel of monkeys (titi monkeys, “monos” in Spanish) right outside our jungle-rific door.

Every single movement in the trees was a mono. They were flying through the trees, muching mangos on the logs, rolling down this one small hill (no joke), wrestling, etc. Hands down one of the top 10 coolest things I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Naturally I took a video which was awesome, and then naturally I accidentally deleted it. I took another one, but by then the monkey population had dwindled significantly as they had climbed off through the trees, and it pretty much sucked.

When the monkey excitement died down we headed into the park

to see some more animals (as the non-divers had seen a sloth, ant eater, and monkeys galore the day before). Sadly for us, they weren’t out in full force as much this day. Or maybe we were just too lazy in the heat to walk far enough into the park to see them. Either way, we ended up lazing around on the beach and swimming.

Our swim sessions were devoted to reviewing all the questions we’d come up with across the course of the trip (seven wonders; what are sloths’ enemies; spf scenarios; why do implants make your nipples hard; etc. etc.). For the record, we did indeed research these fantastic queries upon our return… Yes, we’re incredibly dorky.

When we got home that evening, we went to play in the pool and hot tub. At some point it started to sprinkle. Then it was raining. Then it was absolutely pouring down to the point where you could hardly keep your eyes open.

So we weren’t getting out anytime soon, and instead hung out playing “would you rather” (eat a cup full of bat guano or a cup full of sloth sperm; live in the Zullymar for a year or eat only rice and beans for a year; etc. etc. And yes, I am leaving the good ones out.)

At some point we couldn’t take it anymore and we sprinted back to our room to shower. It was then that the lights flickered. Then they went off. Came on. Went off. Came right back on. Went off. Wait for it…wait for it… Nothing. Lights off. We kind of stood there in the pitch black, rain pelting the tin roofs, huddled in uncertainly. We found our way to some candles and lit up the room. Since uncontrollable singing was somewhat a theme on the trip, I soon broke out into an appropriate song of “that’s the night that the lights went out in Georgia” and somehow I guess God didn’t want to hear my sing and hence the lights came on. Miraculous.

Dinner…nap…11:30pm arrives along with our bus (1/2 hour early) to take us to San Jose, and the airport.

Day Ten. Sure Do Love the SJO AP.

Aside from being ½ early to pick us up, the bust driver also drove so f’in fast that we got to l’aeropuerto in 2.5 hours v. the 4 that we had predicted. Which put us in at 2:30am. Do you know what’s up at the San Jose airport at 2:30am? Absolutely nothing. In fact, it’s closed. Doesn’t even open until 3:30. And at 3:30 there is still nothing really happening. We slept outside the airport,

we slept inside the airport by the check-in, we slept at the gate.

The plane was delayed for 2 hours on the tarmac, so I also slept in the plane but on the ground…but at the airport. So that was a long trip.

All in all, I suppose a small price to pay for such an excellent vaca.

So on that note, I’m done. I’m happy to be done, you’re happy I’m done, we’re all happy. If anyone has thoroughly enjoyed, please let me know. Maybe you’d like to sponsor my next trip so that I can post another travel series. Anyone? We can work out a good deal. I’ll throw in a free…hat. Or something. Well, then, on that note, I’m out. Lates!

Eat Liz's cookies!! (a break from CRica)

2007-04-07T18:50:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you a great way to end a long day of animal viewing at the San Diego Zoo: watching 13 Going on 30. Wow this movie is disturbingly good. Anyway so I'm in San Diego - this I think is the only city in the states where the weather is better and sunnier than in LA. So of course, now that I'm here, it's totally not sunny. Anyway, enuf about the weather. Let's talk about how this trip is going to make me fat.

I'm here to visit my friend Liz, who has gone from big 5 accountant to interior design apprentice to cookie baking entrepreneur. I am not a big sweets person right? But these cookies are insane. I wanted to eat one for breakfast. I waited until after breakfast... She does all sorts of fun varieties but the kicker is that each cookie is filled with a chocolate surprise (and she makes all her chocolate fillings as well...). I am personally in love w/ the choc hazelnut, and YES Warren I will bring some back for you). Find these delights at www.thecookiechew.com and I suggest you buy in bulk. She's in the process of getting her PayPal and shipping stuff set up so give it a week or so...and THEN buy in bulk...

So yeah, we went to the zoo today. Fav of the day: flamingos. They are way more entertaining than anything I expected. They do all this weird shit as part of their mating rituals, like this weird pose where they stand on one leg and and then tuck their beaks into their wings. I think that these birds would totally kick my ass in yoga. Lucky for me flamingos don't do yoga, at least I don't think they do, so I'm golden. The monkey trails were pretty sweet, they weren't throwing any poo or anything, and there is something so cute about monkeys picking bugs off each other. I think if I saw any of my friends picking shit out of each others' hair like for an extended session I might throw up in my mouth. But the monkeys make is 100% socially acceptable. The cat canyon sucked big time, the cats were all sleeping and they smelled, and the Burmese python that was a stunning yellow and white pattern was actually genetically engineered, but to make up for that stuff we did a "skyfari" and btw did you know that it's illegal and punishable by fine of $500 or 6 months in jail to spit from a sky tram? I guess that means that they assume you make less than $100 a month? That would suck. Final attraction at the zoo was mostly of the human variety. I could've had a field day doing makeovers but I think there was too much tragic unfortunate-ness to even get started. I wish I had pictures but all I really caught on my camera phone were the peacocks that were roaming free and a good shot of the giraffes.

Anyway I need to go shower. Showering at Liz's is fun cuz she has one of those shower heads you can use as a hand-held and it takes me back to when I studied abroad in France in HS and that was my only showering option and I found it so novel b/c it totally changes the way you shower. You really get those suds off. Ok. So then. Have a great Sat night. Ciao bellas.

Costa Rica: Entry 3

2007-04-05T18:20:00.000-07:00

Day Five. Hey, So, Is the Car Going to Explode or Something?

I believe I have mentioned Greg, the bar dude. Greg is this skinny tan dude from Manhattan Beach who moved down to Costa Rica to smoke pot and own a bar. And snorkel. And hang out with American girls like us. Kidding. Greg was actually a very cool guy and I miss his dog Shadow to death. Anyway, so deal is, Greg took us down to Flamingo Beach which is apparently the “Beverly Hills” of the Guanacoste region. So says Greg. He took us to this white shell beach (Playa Conchal)

which was lovely – the water was way clearer than at Tamarindo. Apparently the reef was manmade. How does one make a reef? Anyone?

So that was cool. We stuck around all day until the sunset, which was beautiful,

and then headed back to Tamarindo. So we’re like 10 minutes into our drive, when we’re like, “umm, hey, Greg, your truck is smoking.” Cuz it was. It was smoking like it was going to explode at any given moment. So Greg starts to freak out a little and we pull over and he dumps a bottle of water in the radiator and he’s ranting about how he just took the car in to get something fixed and why didn’t they check the radiator and the oil? Good question dude.

So we get back going and it is smoking again a second later. But this time it’s smoking even more and we’re all like coughing and gagging on gross exhaust smoke. Someone in the car was like, “umm, it’s not going to blow up or anything is it??” So cursing and swearing we make it back to Greg’s house. This involves driving down really tiny little random roads at like 80 mph in the darkened night time jungle. It’s at this point that I question how intelligent it is that 5 girls are driving around with random Greg. I mean sure he’s great…but is he now going to drive us to a remote jungle location to kill us? We get back to his house now…and he’s like, “yeah, I’ll figure this all out. I’ll get you guys back. I just need to go smoke first.” So he whips out a bong and goes out to smoke up. And now, I don’t want to say anything to my friends, but I’m like, “wow, shit. Are you serious??” Anyway, I bet maybe you thought this story was going somewhere interesting, but it’s not. In fact, about an hour later we had taken cabs which Greg paid for back to our hotel and the episode was over. But prior to dining out w/ Brett, I was rehashing the story to his friends, and it was then that I realized how incredibly sketch it did all sound. They were like, “oh yes, look at that…my car is smoking…and look…there is my house…right there…” Hmm.

Day Six. I’m Trying to Surf…but I Can’t Stop Staring at Your Ass

Today we opted to take advantage of our hotel. We’ve been sleeping there…but there is this is awesome beautiful pool

that we have full on neglected and I sure do hate neglecting a good pool. In the afternoon I got off my butt and headed to the beach w/ Eliz and Kim (new GC) for a surfing lesson. I figured that if I did a lesson, and didn’t get up and stay up for at least a little ride, with a lesson, my surfing days would be officially over. Luckily, while I’m not surfing extraordinaire like Kim, I did get up a few times enough to salvage my future surfing career. And yo! Surfing in warm water is AWESOME.

For the record we couldn’t understand a damn thing our surf instructor said. I do know that we stood on surfboards drawn into the sand and pretended to surf a while before we got in the water (fake surfing is easy!), and I picked up this thing you’re supposed to do, something about “push, push, push” when you need to move faster…but it was pretty much a blur other than that. I was too distracted by the instructor’s tattoo which was in lettering three inches high hovering right over his crack: “Kiss My Ass.” Pure class baby, pure class.

The evening continued on with mojitos right on the sand as we watched the sun set at La Palapa

followed by dinner. We had the restaurant set a table for 20 and then 14 out of 20 departed after determining that they wanted to eat more “authentic” Costa Rican (that rice and beans, just can’t fucking get enough hey guys?) leaving me with Brett, his friends, an attention-hogging Doempke, and Melissa and her South African date, who thought it was sexy to explain he graduated Magna Cum Laude right after asking her what her undergrad GPA was. Awesome.

Costa Rica: Entry 2

2007-04-04T16:35:00.000-07:00

Day Two. Surprisingly, Zip Lines in Costa Rica Are Way Better than Zip Lines in Indiana

Wake up relatively early on our first full day as we’re off for a day of zip lining. Eat breakfast at the hotel where I discover that there is more to life than rice and beans – most importantly, some sort of firm and salty white cheese that is truly the bees’ knees, and Meliss and I became instantly hooked (and obsessed) for the remainder of the trip. We take a tractor to the start of the zip lining course. The tractor sucked. We were thoroughly envious of the other people on the trip who opted to ride horses to get there, the pricier option. The tractor moved approximately 2mph and we were driving over ruts approximately 2 feet deep. Whatever, it was all worth it for the zip lining which was AMAZING.

We did 8 lines in all, some slower, some damn fast, some shorter, some pretty freaking long. And all super high up in the trees.

Now, growing up, my next door neighbors had a “trolley” in their yard – essentially a zip line by the creek that ran about 150 meters or so. Let me tell you kids, no comparison. (really? No comparison b/t the zip line in your Indiana back yard and the zip lines 200 feet in the air of the Costa Rican rainforest? Shocking.)

One of our zip lining guides was also quite hot btw. I would’ve let him adjust my harness for any amount of time. Plus he called me “beautiful dimples.” Oh, and he called Jaime “beautiful eyes.” And I am pretty sure he called every other girl in our group “beautiful” something…I guess that kind of ruins the sincerity of his flattery… Whatever. He was still hot.

Let’s see. So post zipping, we ask if we can walk down instead of riding the tractor. We then discover that you in fact take the tractor b/c the road is such a pain in the ass to walk on. It then begins to pour rain. We have to stop the tractor and get back on with our tails between our legs. Except for Meliss and Dorna. They got hot guide boy to take them on his horse part of the way. Not that I’m jealous…

When we return to our hotels, Tracy, Ritu, Meliss and I begin drinking poolside. Just a long island or two. 4 long islands and about 4 hours later I discover that long islands should be left in college with all the other stupid shit you in your undergrad days. We had planned to hit up the other (Tabacon) hot springs that night, but after everyone came over to our hotel for dinner

(and long islands…) we ended up spending the evening frolicking in our pool and totally spaced Tabacon. Damn you, long islands. Oh, btw, near the end of the night, just before falling asleep, Doempke entered our room, ranted for about 5 minutes, and exited, leaving his flip flops (which smell…great) behind.

Day Three. Please Don’t Ever Call My Legs Stubby Again

Doempke can’t find his flip flops. I tell them they’re in our room; he doesn’t believe me.

Anyway, activity of the day: canyoneering. When you say this you have to do it in a sing-song voice, it’s a little tune. I can’t really sing it for you here since these are words not musical notes, but you’ll just have to imagine it. Canyoneering=rappelling down waterfalls=amazing. We did 5 falls; three on the small side that you just kind of walked down backward and perpendicular and then 2 big ones (an 80 footer and a 180 footer) where you just kind of hang on down. And you play on rocks and in the river in between the falls. And you swing back and forth through a big old waterfall on the big one. Apparently I was swinging my “stubby” (f you geoff) legs wildly through the falls on this and looked silly, but hey, I enjoyed it. Mark chose to go down head first. I am most certain that there is no way in hell that this would’ve been permitted in the US, but the Ticos are cool. I couldn’t watch personally, for fear that Mark’s head would end up slamming into the mountain, but he made it down alright.

Post waterfall trekking we hit up the hot tub at the Volcano Lodge for a “shower” before we board the bus for a 5 hour ride to Tamarindo (in the Guanacaste province on the Pacific coast of CR). We check into the Hotel Shitty I mean Zully Mar around midnight. So, yeah, it was…shitty. One room was rather infested with bugs. It wasn’t the worst I’ve seen, but at the ripe age of 26 I’m done staying in shit holes on my vacation. The boys of course could’ve cared less. For that matter Meg could’ve cared less until her breakfast convo the next morning with Geoff, Mark, and Tyson helped her realize that while she could deal with the Zullymar, she could not deal with them for three nights.

Day Four. I’ll Be in the Pool

The next morning we wake up good and early for the sole purpose of finding new lodging. We head straight to El Jardin de Eden (guys that means Garden of Eden, and wow, what a fantastic and novel hotel name. anyway.) So we go there as Brett is staying there and I have been told by him that it is que phenomenal (you have to say that like Marisol does…). They have literally one room available for the night. But the thing about traveling with 15 people is that you want to ensure that everything is copasetic for everyone with you. In the end, of course, it all worked out and everyone found rooms…at the Flamingo next door…but I have to admit that our hotel room there did rock and was a tremendous score.

I miss it L

We spent the rest of the day enjoying Tamarindo’s finest offerings: the beach. Essentially I swam, tanned, swam, tanned, etc. etc. drank coconut water out of a coconut, swam, tanned, etc. A large chunk of the group went to some bar owned by some dude named Greg who you’ll hear more about later to watch the UCLA game. We won. And they got hammered. Which made for an interesting dinner.

I especially liked the game in which we all had to pick two words to describe ourselves. Meg picked “chill whore” for herself and refused to let anyone pick two words for themselves that didn’t include bitch or whore as one of the two. Anyway. We hit up a really bad bar with really bad (but free for the ladies…) drinks and bad music before moving along to Ray Sol, a discoteque. The smoke machines were in full effect,

and the music was techno circa 1997, which brought me back to my days of Sig Ep formals. The drink: Red Bull and vodka. I mean Maxx and Vodka. Ignore the massive neon Red Bull sign on the wall. They don’t have it.

The night ended at the first years’ house which featured an open air pool in its center. Guess who ended up fully clothed in said pool at the end of the night? I’ll give you a hint. It was me.

I truly relished my long walk home clothed in a sopping wet thin cotton dress.

Costa Rica: Entry 1

2007-04-03T13:33:00.000-07:00

Umm, well, I have started my CR blog entry. In fact I'm nearly finished. But it's like super super long. And Warren told me he wouldn't read it if I put it all in one giant giant entry and hence I'm forced to break it. I'm going to start at the beginning...a very good place to start...(SOM?). Actually I went hog wild on Day 1 and they get much shorter on subsequent days. That said: my ten day trip to CR...in my own words... (am I in fourth grade? am I writing "what i did on my spring break?" I kind of am).

Day One. What Costa Rica Means to Me: Rice and Beans, Walking! Palms, and “Natural” Swim-Up Bars

At an early 8am we arrive in San Jose which is apparently something of a giant shit hole, hence why immediately upon landing we meet our driver and get the truck out to destination number one: the Arenal region (town of La Fortuna) which is in the northern are of the Costa Rican Lowlands. La Fortuna is most well known for its giant active volcano. The volcano is pretty much ever present. It’s the first thing you see when you drive in and no matter where you go…it’s always there looming over you. It’s also continuously covered by thick, dark clouds at its peak for reasons unknown to me. Feel free to research independently and get back to me… Anyway, we have this 5 hour van ride to get here right, and we kind of fade in and out of sleep and it’s our start at getting really good at these really long van rides that take you over seriously awesome roads that are sometimes paved, sometimes not, but always guaranteed to be riddled with road construction, pot-holes, and scary-ass bridges that seem as if they’ll disintegrate before your very eyes.

We stop for breakfast at some point where we eat a “typical” Costa Rican breakfast. It involves fried plantains, some egg, some meat…and rice and beans. Actually, breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all pretty much some meat, some rice, some beans. Now to me, I think this is the most thoroughly unoriginal “typical” food ever. It’s like, “yeah, our typical food is white bread and butter.” Or “iceberg lettuce and carrots.” Whatever. Mark falls in love it and I think if he could he would coat his body in rice and beans in homage to his new favorite food. Anyhoo, our group (me, Meliss, Az, Ritu, Mark, Doempke, Jaime, Kim, Tracy, Dorna) continues on to our hotel(s).

I’m at Volcano Lodge which is pretty adorable, gets the job done for sure, and after some exploration we head into town to figure out our activities.

This is my introduction to what it’s like making decisions copasetic with 10-15 people. I adored my travel group hands down loved them, but wow, tiresome, that is the word. We split into two groups (zip liners and rafters) and try to figure out our plans for the next day as well as the present evening. We are debating, for the night: volcano hike (unguided or guided), hot springs (Tabacon or Baldi) and the various combos you can make with those options. I’d say we squabbled over prices and options for over an hour before heading back with zero plans to our hotels, where we settle on a guided hike and trip to Baldi for a price twice as much as we’d found in town. C’est la vie. It was a good night and a good way to adjust to our discovery that no matter what people tell you, Costa Rica is “NOT” (Mark that was for you, an old school “not” ref) cheap. While we didn’t see any lava, or any toucans, or any howler monkeys (although we heard the latter two), we learned all about walking palms, trees that eat up other trees (at least that is my interpretation) and leaf cutter ants. Our guide, who was very, very hot (Marcos) liked to quiz us. It was like being back in 6^th grade and doing a nature walk to study up on tree rings and shit where your teacher would point at something and be like: explain. Except, guys, I really don’t know anything about rain forest wild life. I was the dumb kid. In fact we all were.

We end the night at Baldi hot springs which are apparently second rate to Tabacon but you could’ve fooled me. It was a dream come tree.

Hot tub after hot tub after tub in any temp you desired (all natural) surrounded by flowers and plants and swim up bars of course. B/c that is quite natural. When we were walking through initially, I got so excited that I turned around to tell everyone, whereupon I ran into a trash can. No joke. I have a totally bad ass scar where I scraped 2 inches of skin off my right shoulder now. I’m awesome.

Some Things You Can Always Count On

2007-03-19T22:13:00.000-07:00

The weekend brought with it a series of revelations for me, revelations about things that you can always count on relative to LA. Like here's my first one. It's warm, sunny, and beautiful in LA about 340 days/year. And I assure you, your East Coast friends who are leaving behind brutally cold temperatures and snow to go to the beach with you will definitely come on one of those remaining 25 days. Let me do some quick math. That is only 7% of the time. But you mark my words, it will happen, here in LA. It's one of those things you can count on. And then you'll spend the weekend taking your friends to "beach" parties where they have to put jeans over their swim suits and bundle up in sweatshirts, which is so NOT beach, so NOT LA. And you'll feel guilty even though you can't do anything about.

Other things you can count on. LA is f'in ridiculously big. Like it goes for miles and miles and miles. You can drive 3 hours and still be within LA county limits. In fact, according to Veeve, this phenom could be called "Disturban Sprawl." She said she MUST be credited. Do you get it? Disturbing...Suburban....you get it. This is more related to the add for "Disturbia" we just saw but never mind that. Anyway, so it's big right? huge. And despite that fact, you run into people you know all the freaking time. I was just out at dinner w/ a bunch of compatriots at Bandera (v. good but it ain't no Houstons even though it does its best, sorry!) and we ran into three friends all out in different groups. That's weird. It might happen in mosquitoville, Mississippi and you'd get that but here it just doesn't add up. And yet it happens.

Also: you will NEVER leave your house and drive more than 2 blocks without seeing at least once Range or Land Rover. And it will be black. It's like THE car. They are everywhere.

What else. You will never go anywhere public without seeing someone who looks so utterly ridiculous that makes you shake your head over how ridiculous they are. I can't really describe what the ridiculousness will be b/c it can take so many forms. But it's there.

Some other small tidbits: there will be traffic on the 405. 8am Saturday? Check. 3am Wednesday? Check. 2pm Thursday? Check. Sucks. There is not room for more than one "hot" club at a time. If it's Le Deux, it's Le Deux. I mean hey, I never even go to these places, but that is what "they" say, and I always listen to "them." I think that applies to restaurants too. But then again, even if a restaurant hasn't been hot for like months or even years, if it ever at one point was THE place, the hostesses will still be super bitchy to you and will not seat you until at least 1/2 hour AFTER your RESERVATION. And that is not even at the hot places. If it's not hot I don't even KNOW what happens after that b/c I don't go to hot places anyway. So I guess that is something else you can count on.

Ok I can't think of anything else right now. I am watching The Hills Cram Session and it's rather distracting. But I do have another odd bit of knowledge for you. Did you know that different kinds of designer jeans apparently are meant for different things? i tried on some Hudson's this weekend. I like them but my shopping companion nixed them. I was then telling Aly that I liked them and she was like "no you don't need Hudsons." Why not? I guess Hudson's are for people with ample rears. Now on this point I disagreed b/c hey i DO have a very ample bottom, but she disagreed (b/c friends will never tell you that your ass is ample but anyway), but I guess I can't wear them anyway b/c then I'd think to myself, "are people like wow that girl has a big butt. I mean, look at her! she is wearing Hudsons. Those are for big butt people!" Weird. I am gonna research what other brands signify about your body at some other point in time.

Not now though. And not tomorrow either, b/c tomorrow my friends, I will be leaving for Costa Rica! Spring Break 2007 here I come. Woo-hooooo. So I won't be blogging for a while. But then when I get back I'll probably do an entry so f'in long that it will lose you 1/4 of the way through. So on that note, happy spring break to you. Safe travels if you're going anywhere and don't do too much or something like that if you are not. Best wishes and sweet dreams.

Family weddings are super fun.

2007-03-13T20:20:00.000-07:00

Family weddings, good times. Since getting back to LA, friends have all been like, "so, how was the wedding?" And you know I have to be honest, cuz that's my stylo and whatnot. This was my first family wedding since I was like 5 or something, so all the weddings I have been to have been for friends, and thus, they are fun. As for family weddings, you tell me how this sounds. Here's a sampling of who I interacted with:

--Uncle Fritz. He's like 85. Great guy. Mostly he bitches about his bad hip, which has been bad for 10+ years as he refused to get a hip replacement. He'd much rather bitch about his hip. It's his convo piece.
--Aunt Lil: She turned 95 yesterday. She is one of my favorite relatives. She is about 4'5" but packs as much life as possible into that tiny body. I love talking to her as she is sweet as pie, but thing is, she has the memory of a dog (I hear their short term loop is like 5 minutes long and that's why they're always so happy). So, pretty much, it was like this: "How long are you home for?" Me: "I go back on Monday!" Lil: "Oh that is great! Your parents are so happy to have you in town!" ... "How long are you home for?" "I go back Monday!" "Great! Your parents love you so much!"..."How long..." You get me here? Awesome.
--Aunt Lynn: She sometimes goes by Jessie. I guess I call her Lynn. Anyway, she reintroduced herself to me. She thought I didn't remember who she was. Weird.
--Brad: Repeat of Aunt Lynn. Guys, 4 years ain't long enough for me to forget you when I've known you for 26 years.
etc. etc.

I entertained myself by requesting Billie Jean etc. etc., and "Hips Don't Lie." I dedicated the latter to "Dickie" (yes, it's STILL his favorite song) and then forced Jane onto the dance floor to dance with my tone-deaf singing, hip-swinging, finger-pointing Dad. It was awesome.

Post-reception, my two cousins and I went to a martini and cigar bar. Dick and Jane dropped us off. 5 minutes later they walked in. Jane was tipsy. Her feet hurt. She took her shoes off. Got in trouble for taking her shoes off. Put her shoes on, and then became indignant, put her nose 5 feet in the air, and sniffed about being forced to wait for a table. Eventually my dad paid off the door dude to get us a table (why that would ever be necessary in Indy I have no clue)...and then promptly took Jane home.

Here's my favorite part of the night, aside from getting late night Steak and Shake patty melt and cheese fries. My cousin Adam, ever the ladies man, goes off and hits on two women. Returns to the table and informs us that Sarah (28) and her sister (26) are coming to hang out with us. Tells us that he is now 25 (he's 23). Whatever Adam. Sarah and sister come to our table. About 5 minutes in, Sarah reveals that she is engaged to be married in a month. Good work Adam. Always check the left hand!!! 10 more minutes pass, and Adam somehow brings up politics, and we discover that Sarah and sister are v. conservative. Adam hates Conservative people. He leaves. Us. With the girls...that he picked up.

I am livid. Sarah and I have bonded by now, and we go to hunt him down. I find him hitting on several bleach blond 40-somethings. Seriously. How old are you now Adam? I put my arm around his neck and play role of angry girlfriend asking him why he left me sitting alone. The old women promptly begin trash talking me behind my back. I mumble to Adam under my breath, asking him why the hell he is hitting on these old women. "They're country. I like 'em country." I did drag him back to our table btw. So this is my cousin: he is actually ballsy enough to hit on women, bring them to our table, decide he doesn't want them after all, and then leaves his brother and cousin with those women.

I do love my family.

Always good to be home.

2007-03-09T14:31:00.000-08:00

So I flew into Indy last night. Currently Dick and Jane are in the islands on the tail end of a two week vaca (and hence I don't like them as they'll be sickly tan when I pick them up tonight at the AP), so as they weren't here...they hired a "driver" to pick me up last night. I don't know what I was expecting. I supposed a taxi. Or maybe a town car. But what I got, was an old woman with bouffant hair and huge glasses in an Oldsmobile. Her name is Dolly. I went for the backseat, after all, it was midnight, 20 degrees out, and I had just completed a 5 hour flight...hence my desire to chat up strangers was minimal at best. But she was like, "Oh you can sit up front if you don't mind Duffy!" And thus I had to sit up there. With Dolly. And Duffy. Her rescue dog. Actually Duffy was quite adorable and I enjoyed his company until he passed gas and was sent to the back seat, and Dolly sure was a trip too. I enjoyed hearing about her stint living in Hollywood (she didn't detail how she ended up there...it was "rough" period of her life...) as well as her travel experiences (loved the Greek Isles, found Bangkok much too hot as she had no idea it was a jungle nation on the equator). Anyway, she was super nice.

And, I guess the point of this story is: Jane, where do you find these people?

So I went to bed at 2:30, and it's really weird going to sleep in this big empty house by yourself. I don't really like it too much. Then I woke up at like noon. My clock is a little off. I cleaned out the fridge for Jane, as she had more blocks of unopened exotic cheeses that should have left the fridge in oh, say, December '06 than I could count. I then hit up Starbucks where the barista told me to "Enjoy the lovely weather!" to which I smiled and nodded but couldn't help shake my head at the irony considering that i come from a land of endless 70 degree sunshine and here is this one day of 55 degree quasi-sun and it's clearly heralded as spring's exultant entrance.

A couple more IN observations. I got my nails did for tomorrow's bridal affair, and couldn't help but notice that every nail salon in Indy is extremely, ridiculously big. That is what happens when you're in a city that currently touts the most reasonable real estate prices in the country. The nail places can seat at least 85 people. For the record, even here in the Midwest they are still run by the Thai. Or Vietnamese. They have a lock on the industry guys.

Observation #2: people drive painfully slow here. The speed limit is 40: we go 35. Speed limit on the interstate is 60...we go 60. Even in the absence of what I'd refer to as "traffic." I think one driver of this phenomenon is the fact that there all these vehicles driving chickens or wood or something on the main roads that can't actually physically drive the speed limit. Or maybe I just drive too fast. After all some dude on the plane yday made fun of me for being in a hurry to get to my seat. That was annoying.

Anyway, Jack B is rolling around the floor making noises. I think he wants to play, so I must jet. For the record, he is now a dog, no longer a puppy. You are welcome to sing that to the tune of BSpear's "Not yet a girl..." or something. He got delivered by the kennel today and he's all bathed and clean and fluffy. He is white as snow (although every time he goes outdoors I have to wipe his paws...cuz he's playing in the snow...which is dirty now...cuz there is still SNOW on the ground...), and he is wearing a most stylish St. Patty's day clover-dec'ed hanky round his neck. What, of course he's fashionable, he's related to me. And he growls like a big boy now when we play tug with common household items like towels...the ones I wipe his paws with... Anyway, so I'm out. The end.

Dontcha Wish Your Daughter Wore No Clothes Like Me...

2007-03-07T19:58:00.000-08:00

So I completely hit up the Christina Aguillera concert last night. Opening acts included Danity Kane (PDiddy's chicks, known for such supa-fly hits as "Showstoppers" where they rap about doing things girls don't do in their rainbow colored Cadillac) and the Pussycat Dolls, who I affectionately refer to as PCDs b/c that's just the kind of terms I'm on with them. We unfortunately missed DK as we were busy doing sake bombs and eating one more sushi roll, but I guess I'll live.

So we got there right when PCDs came on. My concert date was very confused by their performance on the whole - they did not actually have any people playing any sort of instrument on stage. So clearly they are truly great artists. As for their outfits, they pretty much consisted of stretchy little strips of cloth emblazoned with PCDs in rhinestones strategically placed to cover their hoo-has and ta-tas. They certainly are (wow must interrupt, American Idol is on and a) this girl sux big time and b) why the f would you choose a NEW song by Evanescence...or anything by Evanescence anyway...didn't Amy's first album satiate our need for slit your wrist music?) entertaining though and hey when they asked where all their pussycats were I did put my hands up.

But I was slightly disturbed cuz we looked around the audience and ventured to guess that the avg age was somewhere around 30: that's cuz you were mostly either 12 or 47...or you were a lawyer who's boss had given him free tix to the Xtina concert who couldn't think of anyone else that actually wanted to go to the concert (SN: kidding! as for me...not kidding, I mean come on, I am 'teen, why hide my love of all things young and frivolous). So back to my point though - all these little girls and their parents, and on stage are these mostly naked chicks mimicking sex with chairs, singing "Dontcha wish your girl was a freak like me" - what are you thinking?? Are you like, "Sure am glad I brought Susie to see these PCDs - they really teach the value of sexual freedom!" Personally Dick and Jane would've totally been covering my eyes.

As for XTina, btw, she was incredible. Seriously. Her outfits were classy, in a I like to wear underwear, leotards, and heels kind of way, her dance moves were stellar, and the video interludes such as her naked in a tin tub with her legs spread apart kept with the chaste and modest theme of the evening. That woman can sing though. I kind of want to download her most recent album....I am def more of a fan than I was before. Only sad that she didn't play Genie in a Bottle. That was one classic hit. Did I ever mention I dated a guy briefly in high school that really liked that song? He did. He liked it more than me. His name is Peter. Guess what Peter is now: gay. "Dontcha" think I shoulda caught that one?

So, I went to Staples twice in the course of one week. I think I could be on overload at this point so it's good that I'm heading to Indy tomorrow for my cousin's wedding. I'm excited. Personally what I'm looking forward to the most is having all my relatives ask me when I'll be getting married cuz I'm technically "next" or maybe telling me to get married before they die or something great like that. Yep, that should be good times, definitely.