Total Eclipse

On the one hand, it doesn't seem so weird.

I have a friend who is in a band. Her band is playing at a local(ish) venue on a Friday night. You put two and two together, and you have what seems like it would be a very normal evening out.

But you know, it's always the little things.

(I will now break this post into several chapters, as it's quite lengthy. But! Pictures! With my busted-ass, non-focused camera! Yay!)


1. Hmmmm.

It wasn't until Friday came around that I bothered to look up exactly where this "local venue" was. So when I did, I noticed two things. First, that the venue was a "space center."

Hmmmm.

I started to sort of wonder if the venue might be a bit odd, since, you know, I don't get to planetariums (planetaria?) often. But before I got very far down the wary-of-planetaria path, I got distracted by the second key thing: the event was being sponsored by a local brewery.

Excellent!

Suddenly I was no longer wary. I figured hey, cool – I'll bet this place will be all dark and high-tech and hip and have cool lighting and interesting clientele who like to drink and listen to live music in a unique kind of way. Kind of like a rave for grown-ups. I should wear black.


2. Alien Abduction

By the time Friday night rolled around and we – and by "we" I mean me, Ish, MakeOutKate, and Russ – were ready to go, it had started raining really hard (because San Francisco refuses to believe it is actually SPRING now and we don't need to be poured on anymore thank you), which was very concerning. And before you start making fun of me for being all typically Californian and whiney about inclement weather that is merely rain, may I remind you that I grew up in the Northeast where we KNOW from inclement weather, and also rain is not just rain when it is accompanied by dense fog, especially when you discover that your cool, hip venue is located atop what is, essentially, a mountain.

Meaning that when we got off the exit and started climbing our way toward the space center, we happened to notice that Kate's car was um, basically pointed skyward. And while this terrified me, because probably there were steep, treacherous cliffs to either side of the road, I could not actually see the cliffs because the higher we got, the less we could see anything. No city lights. No streetlights. No headlights from other cars.

Just us, with about 5 ft. of visibility – enough to see the reflectors in the middle of the VERY windy road, trees beside us (surely lining the treacherous cliffs) and, well, right – the wall of fog.

And so when we managed to get to what appeared to be a lighted building showing signs (however faint) of human life, we were tremendously relieved. For about a minute.

Because then we got out of the car and started walking towards the building. That looked like a fortress.

Alone.

In the pouring rain.

With much fog.

And no sound.

And eerie, greenish outdoor lighting.

And for what? To see an 80s cover band?

Suddenly it all seemed very suspicious and we came to the only logical conclusion: we were going to die. Clearly, the clever space aliens had successfully lured us to their lair under the guise of "sponsored by a brewery" for purposes of experimentation.* We were all done for.

Of course, once we got inside, we were forced to abandon the alien theory (which was, admittedly, slightly disappointing – we realized if they had merely experimented on us and not actually killed us, it would have made for awesome blog fodder). But no matter, the evening was plenty surreal without the help of extra-terrestrials.


*yes, there was also the guise of "live music" – we thusly concluded that the band was ALSO in on this ruse and that our friend, the lead singer, was clearly an alien in disguise.


3. Getting Through Customs

We arrived and went through quite a long "purchase tickets here" process:
Ticketer: What sort of tickets would you like?

Ish: Um, two adults.

Ticketer: For what?

Ish: We're here to see the band.

Ticketer: But which exhibits are you here to see?

Ish: We just want to see the band.

Ticketer: We don't sell tickets for the band.

Ish: Okay, then do we just go over to where the band is?

Ticketer: No, you need to buy tickets.

Ish: For what?

Ticketer: For the exhibits.

Ish: Which exhibits?

Ticketer: Any of them. Do you want to see the laser show?

Ish: No, we just want to see the band.

Ticketer: Okay, hold on.

[Ticketer confers with two other people behind the ticket counter who are very busy reading a book.]

Ticketer: It will be $15.

Ish: Okay.

Ticketer: I'm also going to need to see some ID. From both of you.

ID?

10 minutes and $30 later, Ish and I were finally allowed to pass through the front and instructed to "go down the hall" towards the music. We were given two exhibit tickets, three drink tickets a piece, and a paper Entrance Bracelet.

To walk about 25 feet.

At which point we arrived in front of a second ticketer, sitting at podium outside a curtained-off area. Thankfully, we'd found P and so we knew that yes, the band is located inside the curtained area (not hard to guess, really, since the band was not behind sound-proof walls) and also the beer. However, before being allowed to enter the area, the second ticketer had to check our tickets, our bracelets, AND our IDs (with much, MUCH scrutiny, because you know, we LOOK like underage kids who would try to SNEAK into a SPACE CENTER to get beer). He reluctantly decided we were of age. And then gave us a hand stamp.

For the record, I do not need as much paperwork to fly across the country.


4. Sponsored By The Beer Nazi

FINALLY we passed through the curtains and discovered that the cordoned-off area was actually the space center's café. And here's what we saw:

• At the front of the area was the band.
  
  
• To one side, there were tables and chairs set up for people to sit and watch the band.
  
  
• Along the other side were vending machines, in case you might want some pre-packaged food like chili or vending-machine cheeseburgers (Mmmm! Yum! Must be what the astronauts eat!)
  
  
• There was space in front of the band to dance.
  
  
• There were LOTS of lights shining on the band and the "dance floor."
  
  
• All the overhead lights were on in the café as well.
  
  
• Behind the café were a few staffers, who were not actually providing any café drinks or food. Though in front of the café, every so often, plates of pizza squares (a la elementary school cafeterias) would appear. And then disappear immediately after as people were hungry and the pizza squares were good and free.
  
  
• A Beer Table.

Now, where I come from, the existence of a Beer Table could make up for just about anything else, such as too much lighting or fear of alien abduction or the uncomfortable-ness of watching Awkward Groping Couple (below).

Alas, 'twas not to be.

We entered the room and waved to Lisa (who was already performing) and got in line for beer. Whereupon we discovered what happens when a planetarium serves beer for the first time.

It orders enough for a roomful of people. Who don't drink.

Atop the Beer Table was one small ice tub, filled with about 10 Coronas. Beside the tub, there was a paper sign that said, "sponsored by the such-and-such brewery."

At which point we realize that "sponsored" means something different to the brewery than it does to us.

- To us, "sponsored" by a brewery evokes images of hordes of people, languishing in the Joy that is bottomless plastic cups of microbrew.

- To them, "sponsored" means "we will give you enough beer to last 15 minutes."

Apparently the planetarium people ran out of beer so quickly that they had to send some volunteers to go get a couple cases at the local grocery store. And when they returned with what was quite clearly STILL not enough for the 30 or so people in attendance, they decided to ration it.

Meaning that one drink ticket got you exactly 1/3 of a small plastic cup of beer. And the woman left in charge of pouring that 1/3 cup was not – NOT – going to give you a single ounce more than that.

[pretend there is a photo of the Beer Nazi here. there is not because it was seriously too damn fuzzy.]


5. Please Stop Doing That

Once we got our cup of beer and got ourselves situated, we were fascinated to discover the sorts of people who venture out in alien-abduction weather to spend their Friday nights at a planetarium with an 80s band and no beer.

Besides us, I mean.

The answer? Well, Whinger summed it up nicely over on her blog. Basically it was us, another table of us-like people who were likewise there for the band (and likewise chagrined at the beer situation); parents and their kids; an inexplicable group of Bears (by which, as Whinger points out, I mean big, gay men) all with shaved heads and tuft-y beards and leather jackets; people related to various members of the band; and couples who dance.

Now. About that last part? Couples who dance?

There are two kinds of Acceptable Couples Who Dance, and then at least one kind of Unacceptable Couples Who Dance.

Acceptable Couple A: both members know how to dance and look good doing it.

We saw at least one young couple (probably in their 20s) out on the floor having a great time, being silly but definitely knowing a few key steps. Later in the evening we saw a couple (probably in their 50s) who just whooped it up like they were teenagers. They had some serious skills, and looked like they were having a ball.



Acceptable Couple B: the couple that does not, really, know how to dance and does not, really, look good trying – but has a great time anyway!

This would be me and Ish. I believe our dance floor antics are acceptable because we are in on the joke, you know? We don't care that we look like awkward middle-schoolers (in fact, we tried to emulate them more than once), because we are in a brightly-lit planetarium having an awesomely hysterical time! Yay! (Please get off my toes.)




Unacceptable Couple: neither member knows how to dance and neither member is aware of that fact.

We could not help but notice Unacceptable Couple, aka Awkward Groping Couple, as they were more than eager to tear up the dance floor. They looked to be in their 40s, and appeared to have wandered out of a Chadwick’s catalogue. Which is to say sort of preppy and very white and VERY stiff and completely, 100% without rhythm. Clapping on neither the down beat NOR the up beat. (And also? Clapping at all.) And trying dance moves. Like, actual moves and getting them very wrong.

But the worst of it wasn’t the bad dancing, it was the inappropriate nature of their dancing. Meaning, we discovered, that they weren’t just dancing, but trying to be sexy.

Sexy. In a brightly lit planetarium café.

Maybe that’s just how they appeared, you say? Maybe I’m being overly critical?

Yes, well. No.

About 20 minutes after we arrived (meaning relatively early in the night), one of this couple’s dance moves involved – rather unexpectedly to those nearby – the female half of the couple leaping up into the arms of the male half, and wrapping her legs around his waist. She then wrapped her arms around his head/neck, and they proceeded to “dance” like that for a few moments.

Let me say that again. LEAPING UP at the man and WRAPPING HER LEGS AROUND the guy and THEN DANCING.

Nothing in life really prepares you for the moment of social awkwardness that comes from being the girl standing next to such a bizarre display.

Um, I am in a curtained-off cafeteria inside a space center covered in fog on the top of a mountain somewhere in the Bay Area listening to my friend’s 80s cover band and drinking 1/3 of a Corona out of a plastic cup and standing next to one of the world’s most sexless couples who seem to want to suggest that they could, at any moment, just up and have sex right next to me.

I am going to go stand over there now.

And when the rhythmless, sexless couple DID retire to the dance floor sidelines, they proceeded to make out.

WHAT is going on there? we wondered. Were they on a date? Were they married and just happy to be out of the house? Were their kids running around and finally giving them a moment of peace? Were they REALLY drunk? Did they just not care what others thought? Or did they care and think they were giving us something of a hot, hot show?


The world may never know.


6. The Exhibits

Remember those exhibits we ended up paying for with our entrance fee since “just here to see the band” wasn’t an option? Well, before leaving for the evening, MakeOutKate asked that we actually USE some of our tickets’ powers to actually see something educational.

So on our way out, we decided to go look at the stars inside the planetarium.

With Kate leading the way, she, Ish and I walked into a very, very dark entrance and then stopped because we didn’t know what to do. It was pitch black.

“I’m scared,” Kate said.

“Let’s wait till our eyes adjust to the dark,” Ish suggested, so we all just stood there for a few moments. But no eye adjustments seemed to be happening.

”Let’s hold hands,” Kate said, as we tried to find each other, “and slowly walk in.”

It was somewhere around this point, as we began slowly walking forward, that Ish realized the reason his eyes weren’t adjusting to the light in the room was because he was standing directly in front of a black wall.

So we figured out we needed to go in a different direction, and slooooooooooowly inched our way through – well, we don’t know exactly. The entrance? A hallway? A room? – until it finally became obvious to all three of us that there were NO lights on because the exhibit was not open.

The solar system was not, in fact, on.

The three of us slinked (slunk?) our way right back out, slightly more adeptly than we ventured in since we were pleased to discover that, in the opposite direction, faint light seeping in from the space center hallway helps a whole lot.


7. Overall

In the end, Friday Night At The Space Center was one of the most fun times I’ve ever had, ever. Sure, it was completely filled with the strange and unexpected, but totally memorable! I got to hang out with my friends, hear Lisa’s band perform –

[Note: the band is REALLY, LIKE TOTALLY AWESOME. Here’s their website. Hire them for some event because EVERYONE loves the 80s and really, they are very good.]

- and drink 3 thirds of a beer ( = 1 whole beer for those of you who have trouble with The Math) IN A SPACE CENTER. With a strange (but friendly) (except for the scary beer Nazi and ID checkers) mix of people and free pizza.

The End

Afterword

As I mentioned, Whinger also posted about this evening (uh, and about a million times more succinctly), whereupon we discovered that one of her reader/commenters was actually at the space center! Just coincidentally. She didn't know we were us (why would she?), and we didn't know she was she (why would we?) but I find this endlessly amusing.

It is a small world -- er, solar system -- after all.

Nevermind. LA Can't Be Crazier Than This.

i do not take a pretty bus line to work on the days i take public transportation to get to my job.

instead, the bus line i take rolls right through the heart of the Tenderloin. now, for those of you who do not know, all of san francisco is divided into various neighborhoods and they each have their own plusses and minuses. except the 'Loin has decidedly more "minuses" than "plusses" in that it's pretty much the slummiest part of the city, and is rife with the smell of urine and drunk. its plusses are mainly the number of good, cheap restaurants (mostly thai*), bars, and apartments (not that you really want to be living there) (though both Ish and i live fairly 'Loin-Adjacent).

anyway. as you might well imagine, the bus i take picks up some very interesting characters in the morning. some are people like me, clearly on their way to their office jobs. then there are those nice folks who clearly aren't going to an "office," but who don't look homeless or deathly ill, so i am appreciative of their presence.

then you have the rest, who -- and don't think i am not sensitive to the plight of the poor -- are just uncomfortable to have to sit near, for many reasons. like the person who coughs and hacks without covering his mouth and then openly spits. or the person who mutters mostly incoherent but very angry things incessantly. or the one who yells at other passengers.

or the guy who gets on the bus and smokes a bowl. just right there. on the bus. with closed windows. this morning.

party people, do not think i am big on harshing anyone's buzz.

but you have to agree that seeing a very large man in a very large coat (that may or may not be housing much of his earthly posessions beneath it) and big winter hat with white hair protruding everywhere, who just gets on the bus reeeeeeeeking of pot is not maybe the wake-up you want on your morning commute.

and then to see him actually smoking?

a couple people opened some bus windows. a couple people moved away from him. otherwise, no one really did anything or said anything, except for the older woman sitting near me, who was incensed.

"THAT MAN IS SMOKING MARIJUANA!" she announced, in case anyone had missed it. "You know, I have been to places where they allow marijuana like HOLLAND but they don't let you just smoke it ON THE BUS. Why doesn't someone tell the bus driver?" she then asked, not realizing that probably no one was doing anything about it for the same reason she wasn't. "Oh my god, we are all going to show up at work a little high today!"

i got off a stop early to try and avoid showing up at work smelling like a bong hit.

and then i descended the escalator to get on the BART and passed my favorite BART station musician, The Voilinist.

most mornings The Violinist is there, poised in front of his music stand, playing complex, up-tempo modernist pieces on his trusty violin.

except.

it is very clear that this man has no idea how to play the violin.

what is not clear, however, is if this man knows he does not know how to play the violin. i mean, i can't tell (and won't be asking) if he is completely crazy, and thinks he is, actually, playing something legitimate...or if he knows he isn't but thinks none of us will notice.

and so goes my morning commute.

at least now i feel like a real city person because i know where the BART station is and don't get lost and actually often travel with an air of superiority since i recently learned that the monthly adult MUNI pass (the "fast pass") ALSO works as a BART ticket when traveling within the city, all the way from the Embarcadero to the Balboa Park station. cool, huh?


*haha, Whinger.

Maybe Not?

The problem with having all my laundry done -- apparently -- is that it's given me new confidence in my homemaking skills.

Not good.

I mean, managing to call a service so that my laundry is done and delivered door-to-door should NOT make me think that I am a domestic goddess. And yet.

It is 3:15 on Sunday and I am writing this from the eye of the storm.

Around 1 p.m. I decided that I would use this plans-free Sunday afternoon to, oh, I dunno, rearrange my entire apartment.

I am not entirely sure why, but I just started. And now, 2 hours later, everything is in a weird new place and I'm pretty sure I don't like it but I'm not the kind of person who will just go ahead and put everything back since I've set off on this path and am determined to finish it.

So yeah. I mean, I finally figured out (part of No Joy In '06) that the main reason* my apartment is messy as often as it is is becuase it is messy at its core. Meaning if all my closets and cabinets are full and disorganized, I have nowhere to put anything I use.

Perhaps not a brilliant deduction, but a correct one nonetheless. Thus, I am reorganizing my closets and cabinets.

Um. How this translates into me moving everything I own into a new place, I'm not exactly sure. But I suspect it has to do with procrastination...

We shall see.



*aside from my not cleaning it, I mean

The Best Part Of Working From Home?

All the help I get!





(um, blurry because it is hard to balance a camera AND a cat...)

Snuffleupagus & My New Boyfriend

i had two -- count 'em, TWO -- dates last night.

(of course i'm still with Ish, just play along, okay?)

:::Date The First:::

remember how when Miranda got TiVo* she referred to him as her new boyfriend? and remember how that made perfect sense? (i mean, she was spending all her free time with him, he was always there for her, he even recommended shows she might like, etc...)

well, everyone, i would like to tell you about MY new boyfriend. his name is...um...well, i actually have no idea what his name is. but he is a sweet man and he came to me directly from heaven.

and alabaster cleaners.

i finally, FINALLY heeded the most brilliant advice EVER from my dear friend ericha, whose last name i do not know because this is the blogworld but who is dear nonetheless, and i called a place called alabaster cleaners here in san francisco.

now, i was hesitant to contact them for two reasons. first of all, i live on the third floor (of three) and there is no elevator. so i always feel guilty with delivery services of any sort because even though that is what i'm paying for, i hate making people walk up three flights of stairs just to, you know, bring me things.

and i always think that by the time the delivery people get to my apartment door, they have a certain "what are you? too lazy to do this yourself?" look in their eye.

and i probably think this because it's accurate. i AM too lazy to do it myself which is precisely WHY i'm paying to have it delivered. but hi, guilt.

[and also i totally WOULD run down the stairs to meet the delivery people if there was any way i could communicate this to them, but i can't because my building doesn't have an intercom.

instead, people who want to be let in just hit a buzzer, which sets off this skin-crawlingly awful MMMNNNNNNNAAAAMMPT buzz sound in my apartment that is surely waking the dead. i probably have all sorts of pissed-off ghost spirits haunting my place now.]

what? how did i get to talking about ghosts? who knows. crazyness. moving on.

the SECOND reason i haven't contacted the alabaster cleaners is that i also assumed that coordinating delivery and pick-up would be a bitch, in that i leave early and often come home very, very late and surely they won't be able to accommodate me.

BUT! FINALLY! faced with the impossibility of soooooooo much laundry to do, i gave in and gave them a call. what could it hurt? and so they said they'd be happy to come pick my stuff up "whenever" i wanted. we picked 8 p.m.

and lo. at 7:50 p.m. on wednesday, my new boyfriend rang my buzzer. while he was making his way up the stairs, PinkJaime helped me lug my six, considerable-sized shopping bags of laundry into the hallway (while trying to stop the cats from escaping).

and then...it was so simple.

this smiling, pleasant, friendly man asked if i had special instructions. (i didn't.) he asked if i had any drycleaning needed. (i didn't.) he then asked me to fill out a client form while HE emptied the contents of the bags into his one, special Cleaners bag. i asked how much it cost and discovered that delivery and pick-up is free with a $15 minimum order, and that laundry is only $1.00 per pound. he asked how i heard about them and i told him about my dear friend ericha (whose last name i couldn't "remember" because i "met" her through my blog and nevermind, i'll let you know later) and he said OH! in THAT case you get a first-time 15% discount and so does she!** meaning the laundry is costing me $0.85 per pound. plus no delivery fees.

is that not amazing? AMAZING. THIS is why i live in a city.

but ohmygod, you want to know the best part? my boyfriend then RETURNED my laundry to me a DAY LATER. LAST NIGHT. and when i called to confirm (and change delivery times) yesterday morning, my boyfriend knew who i was just by my voice.

i am completely in love.

and also? with the clean laundry.

voila!

:::Date The Second:::

almost 5 years ago now -- summer of 2001 -- my marriage had just ended. i was living alone in our house in connecticut, working from home and being very, very lonely. my friends didn't live nearby anymore. my parents and youngest sister were living in new hampshire and my other sister was in boston. my mom was sick.

it was NOT a good summer.

i decided i needed to go somewhere and do something. as you know, i picked SF.

but between when the separation began (mid-June) and selling the house (end of September) and moving to San Francisco (mid-October) there was a whole lot of sitting-around-miserable-blogs-had-not-been-invented-yet-woe-is-me-ing going on. i spent a lot of time online.

one of the things i did online was go in search of people who lived in san francisco so that i might actually KNOW someone when i arrived. it's how i met El_Gallo, in fact.

it's also how i met Snuffleupagus***.

Snuffles and i began with something of a typical online courtship. emails, IMs, photo-sharing, eventual phone calls. he didn't live in SF but visited there regularly, and so we loosely planned that we would sort of date that way. i'd move to SF and we'd see each other once a month or so, when he was in town.

except that by the time i did actually move to SF, his job had changed and landed him in a completely different part of the country. it ended up being 7 months before i ever even met him. and over those months, we'd stayed relatively close. we'd talk when we could -- but it was always random because he travelled so frequently and so far (always off to europe). and by the time we did meet, we were both seeing other people.

so over the last five years, it's been like that. we chat online when we can. we email now and then. we chat on the phone when there's occassion to -- holidays, birthdays, just because. otherwise, we see each other once, twice, maybe three times a year. and every time we meet, it's the same thing: we share mutual respect and admiration, good conversation, excellent meals, and -- sure -- sexual tension. the kind of tension that comes from two people who could have been pretty good together, maybe, if, when, but.

last night i got to see him again, and it always amazes me how meaningful it is to have someone like him in my life. you know? where every time we see each other, we have an opportunity to reflect on where we were in life when we met, where we've been each time we've been together, and where we are now.

among other things, i spoke a lot of Ish and of writing. he spoke a lot of his wife, of how it's been living in europe with her, of his recent job offers. of their trying to get pregnant.

we eventually ended the evening at one of my favorite places in the city -- an ostentatiously gay bar with a very friendly staff and clientele and awesomely good and strong drinks. and, true to form, i definitely drank too much, so indicated by my discovering glitter lotion in my purse and promptly smearing it all over both his cheeks, because what could be more appropriate than a very corporately dressed business guy with glitter all over his cheeks?

this IS san francisco, after all.

perhaps for our next outing i shall ply him with false eyelashes and a boa.




* Carrie: You've traded Steve-o for TiVo

(what? like you can't recite them all? please.)

** hi, Ericha! please tell them you were the one who referred me! you will get 15% off too!! yay!!!

*** i used to call him Snuffleupagus because while i have had this long, personal, and sometimes intense relationship with him, no one i knew had ever spoken to him or seen him. no one in his life knows much about me, either. it's just this funny, quirky digital relationship we have. he did eventually meet a bunch of my friends a while back and that meeting was utterly surreal.

Tax Law? Cheese-Making Documentary? Drying Paint?

No? Not exciting? Well then have I ever got a treat for you!!!

Because here we have a post about my laundry!

Wait, no! Make that ANOTHER post about my laundry!

Am I the most interesting blogger on the planet or WHAT?

YES! I! AM!

so remember back when i first tried to write about LA? and went on about sorting laundry? well, it was an even LONGER entry at first, until i decided to delete the part about what's looming in and around my closet to save for "later."

were you waiting? because i have GREAT news! it is "later" NOW.

(don't ask what's going on with my capitalization. i will tell you right now that i do not know.)

* * * * *
here is what lies in my bedroom/closet area (note that my thoughts on this are FAR more organized than the matter at hand):

Stack A: the top layer of the "hamper." this is comprised of recently worn but now dirty clothes. clothes that must be washed before i wear them again, and i want to wear them again. someday. HOWEVER, this stack is not to be confused with...

Stack B: [note: we use the term "stack" loosely here.] "Stack" B is actually the top-most layer of dirty clothes, generally strewn about my apartment. these are the clothes i wear most regularly, and thus go from being worn to being hung on the backs of chairs, thrown on top of Stack A or D, or thrown elsewhere until eventually i have to clean my apartment. if i'm being lazy, this results in Stack B disguising itself as Stack D. (it is not. more on this later.) if i'm being good, Stack B clothes find their way to a bag which i will, eventually, take across the street to the wash 'n' fold.

Stack C: these are the poor clothes that lay beneath Stack A, and have fallen victim to one of three fates that allow me to, essentially, forget about them:

1. once upon a time i cleaned out my closet and decided to wash all the clothes i wear regularly. because that meant a good 6 - 8 loads, i had to leave some clothes behind. thus, those clothes that are either designated as "gym clothes" or "hanging out" clothes ( i.e., not wearable in public but not worth tossing out), were not needed in the immediate wash. they stayed in the bottom of the "hamper." they have been there for months. quite possibly over a year.
   
2. they are desginated as "linens." mostly "linens" are napkins that i used for a "formal" dinner and then threw into the "hamper," never to be seen again. because when you only use formal napkins for formal dinners, and you only have one guest for formal dinners, and they only happen once every six months or so, there always seem to be clean linens still waiting in the linen closet.
   
3. this is really most unfortunate. see, every time i try and clean out my whole closet and get to the point where ALL the clothes i own are clean and laundered AT THE SAME TIME, i decide to start "fresh." which means actually using the "hamper" as a hamper. on the idea that when the hamper gets full, i will launder those clothes in it EVEN THOUGH I STILL HAVE CLEAN CLOTHES TO WEAR.
   
   to restate: imagine that all my clothes are clean. i start by wearing all my favorite outfits first. then i throw them into the hamper. after a couple weeks, i SHOULD launder those clothes. instead, i just keep going through ALL the clean clothes, until eventually the clothes i like least are the ones on top (becoming Stacks A and B) and the clothes i like best become buried, as Stack C.
   
   the only thing good about sorting through all my closets yet again is that when i get to the layer that is Stack C, i'm always happy to see clothes i love that i forgot i owned.
   

Stack D: stacks of clean clothes. these are neatly folded in the top shelf of my closet and on top of the dresser that i have inside my closet (to save space in my bedroom). much in the way that "strangers are just friends you haven't met," i feel that "Stack D is made of clothes that just haven't gotten lost in the bottomless hamper of doom."

* * * *

see? that was TOTALLY better than paint.

LA Does Still Scare Me

despite that i've lived in california for about four-and-a-half years now, i have never managed to make it down to LA.

this hasn't been a conscious choice exactly, it's just never really come up in a concrete way. true to californian thinking, plans to go to LA usually go something like:

friend who lives in SF: hey, we should go to LA sometime.

me: yeah.

likewise, invitations to come to LA often go:

friend who lives in LA: hey, you should come to LA sometime.

me: yeah.

and then it's four-and-a-half years later.

but now? well, it would seem that the time has come. Ish has friends there, and wanted to go, and right around the time it started to look like we might just go ahead and be crazy and like, make Actual Plans to travel, i discovered that my scared-to-death-of-flying sister HAS to go to LA for a Work Thing, and so whaddya know?

i am going to LA.

YAY!

but.

i will confess, i am very scared of it. because the only things i know about LA i have learned from a handful of specific movies -- LA Story, Boyz N the Hood, Lethal Weapon, Pulp Fiction, Pretty Woman, and Son-In-Law come to mind; tv shows -- 90210, LA Law, Hunter, and that 2-part episode of Sex and the City; and Crazy Aunt Purl.

so the picture i have in my head is, sure, probably somewhat skewed, but it is the picture nonetheless.

i assume that most of the weekend will be spent in traffic. possibly signs on the highway will spell out secret things just for me. it will be sunny. everyone will be thin and blond and tan and be wearing fancy clothes and carrying chic bags and have glossy lips. everyone will also have a gun. and a drug habit. everyone will either be famous or look famous or be a porn star or look like a porn star. everyone will either be an agent or be looking for one. and/or be a waiter. or in a gang. and have headshots and be rollerblading.

probably i will not be caught in gang-related warfare, but the thought has crossed my mind.

i just think of LA as this place where everyone wears their crazy on the outside, all very expensive-looking and pretty-like. which isn't scary in itself, but i also seem to get the impression that being overweight in LA* is like, totally taboo.

you know? like, everyone is suposed to look like they just walked off a set, and me wearing my plain, old Whatever, I'll Dress Better When I'm Thinner clothes isn't going to cut it.

so i'm intimidated. i feel like i'm going to be walking around and everyone will know just from looking at me, just from my appearance, that i do not belong.

my big plan to counter this, of course, is to go shopping. i will do my best to find LA-appropriate duds (suggestions are welcome, of course).

and then if i can't seem to find anything i like enough, i'll just buy a white fanny pack and matching white sneakers and sun visor, walk around with a map and camera circa 1986 and tell everyone i'm from omaha and would they mind getting my picture and does mel gibson live nearby?



*and i mean overweight as in She Walks overweight, not as in Lindsay Lohan thinking she needs to drop 25 lbs overweight...

Everything

For months, my writing here has been stilted. I know it, and it's frustrating me. My entries are inconsistent, and they have become harder and harder for me to write.

I have been blaming it on time. I started a new* job, and since then, I haven't had the "downtime" at work to draft and edit and hone entries like I used to. I'm also busier after work than I used to be. I'm spending lots of time out, writing other things, working on comedy, singing.

But over the weekend, I went back and read a bunch of my archives.

I was shocked.

I had forgotten.

When I first started writing this blog, it was hard. I had trouble finding my voice. Everything was over-edited. I worked hard to make entries seem…oh, I don't even know. They weren't exactly me.

Then I discovered Crazy Aunt Purl and I realized I could, in fact, just be me. Just write like me. Ooh, and maybe not just could, but should.

And you know, when I did that? It became fun. It was easy. It was honest. It really was just me. I was thrilled to have finally – finally! – found an outlet for my running narrative. (You know, the narrative that's been dictating "my book" since I decided I wanted to be an author at the age of 9.)

I found a rhythm.

But a few months ago, it changed. I got tripped up. I lost my footing, and not just because I lost time.

And again, it's Purl who (inadvertently) helped me to realize it.

I don't know if you've been keeping up with her true, hard, great, brave, personal plight, but I have. And over the weekend it hit me like a ton of bricks just why exactly I keep up with her, why I always want to read her:

Because she keeps on telling The Truth. It's gotten harder and sadder and real-er, but she keeps on telling it anyway.

And I?

Well, it's not like I've been lying. It's just that I...

I didn't take you with me.

My life changed and instead of feeling free to talk about it, I stopped telling The Truth. I thought you wouldn't notice the difference. I thought I wouldn't notice the difference.

Turns out? Not writing a word about the man I started dating months ago makes all the difference in the world.

God, there has been so much to tell. Good stuff, funny stuff, hard stuff. But -- because, as I wrote a long time ago, it's so personal and so scary and it's NOT just about me and my life but also about him and his life -- I didn't. I pulled back. I decided I wouldn't talk about my relationship with The Comic because for about a hundred reasons. Like fear, for one.

But then once I stopped writing freely about What Is Really Going On In My Life, once I put the brakes on, once I started making huge concessions about what I Could and Could Not Write, everything changed. I became my own worst censor.

And it got hard again. It became uncomfortable again. My own blog became something that wasn't exactly me. Again.

And I miss it.

So I don't know how this will work now, exactly. But I'd like to find out. I'm going to try and take the gloves off, tear the walls down, and turn the filters off. It probably won't happen overnight, but it's gotta start somewhere.

I'm looking forward to introducing you to Ish.



*Seven months ago now. Can you believe it?

Pirate Booty Is Only Skin Deep

i love the internets.

here is an email i just received:

Hello, This is a little irregular for me. My nephew watches the foodchannel he saw a show on a snack called Pirate Booty. I can't findanyone that seen it. So, I put it into my search engine and your blogcame up. Can you tell if you have eaten this product and where I canfind it? Also, does it have a makes name like cornflakes is a kellogproduct thanks in advance if you can help.

V

how awesome is that? i mean, i replied, saying that i have tried the Pirate's Booty snackstuff and that it's pretty darn good and that i found them at the local Safeway here in SF.

i did not bother to mention that i am not, in general, known for giving snack-related advice.

perhaps i'm missing an opportunity here.

L.A. Scares Me******

is it just me or is it possible that getting your period can suddenly give you a severe case of A.D.D.? because good lord.

[oh, and? for any Invisible Internet Friend out there who thinks that maybe i should have BRACED you before unabashedly announcing that i "have my period" (v. writing something more civil like "flo" or "that time of the month") , i offer OH THAT'S RIGHT I HAVE MY PERIOD, SHUTUP SHUTUP SHUTUP.]

so this morning i headed to work thinking the day was awesome. AWESOME! so WHAT that i haven't been to the gym more than once in two weeks? so WHAT that i got almost no sleep last night and almost died in a fire i almost caused when my spaceheater nearly melted down my extension cord*? so WHAT that i weigh five million hundred pounds and have only done about a quarter of the things on my "No Joy in '06" to-do list? no matter! i don't care! everything in life is glorious and perfect! because know why?

because FOR NO REASON! HA HA! (hello, period.)

yep. "hurrah for everything! yay for no reason!" i thought. and then i ate a cranberry muffin for breakfast.

and that's how it goes. you think TRA LA LA I LOVE TODAY LA LA right up until lunchtime when you have a COMPLETE and UTTER meltdown.

because know why?

HA!! NO! NOT for NO REASON (did i fool you?) (also, are you a little frightened by my now-chipper tone and EXCESSIVE capitalization? HAHA! I AM!)

so no: i had a meltdown because, over IM, in a matter of -- oh, let's say .000025 seconds -- Ish managed to RUIN EVERYTHING! RUIN! EV! RY! THING! *SOB* *CRY*

[insert meltdown here.]

right. Ish basically wrote something over IM that didn't happen to tickle me, and i (pardonnez le francais, s'il vous plait) (uh, apparently my period likes to try and speak french) freaked the fuck out.

Ish: 0 Period: 1

now, of course my freak-out had pretty much nothing to do with Ish and everything to do with my somewhat volatile hormones, but that didn't even occur to me at the time.

[right, of course it didn't. i swear, that period is one fucking passive-aggressive bitch.]

so then i spent the remainder of the afternoon at work MISERABLE, convinced that it was the WORST day EVER especially as it was no longer sunny, meaning also Mother Nature hated today, too. and i stayed all mopey and forgot to eat until about 2:15 p.m. at which time i realized i was actually STARVING.** but of course by then, lunch is no longer served in my building, so if i wanted something substantial to eat, i'd have to go ALL THE WAY over to the OTHER building which, given my morose state, seemed an impossible task. which made me further upset because i realized that if i'd properly stocked my poor Fridget (as i'm SUPPOSED TO BE DOING), i'd have something to eat.

and lunch wouldn't be ramen noodles from a vending machine.

so i continued with the EVERYTHING IS SUCKY attitude right up until i got home, giving me an hour or so before i was scheduled to go meet a group of my friends later to discuss their new business venture.***

and it was then, in that hour, that the aforementioned (hormonally imbalanced, emotional/tactical) A.D.D. kicked into high gear.

first i logged into the office and wrote/checked a few emails. then, as i was sitting at my desk i decided it would be a good time to...can you guess? of course you cannot. because even i could not have seen it coming. but sure enough, i suddenly decided RIGHT THEN AND THERE to CLEAN MY BEDROOM CLOSET. i do not know why. but right.

so i got up and hauled out my "hamper****" and piles of clothes that needed to be sorted and plopped them all down ON MY DESK (because where else?) in my bedroom and started sorting.

what's that? what kind of sorting? oh, ho! well i'm glad you asked!

[WHAT? you DIDN'T ASK? that's a good one! HAHAHAHAH! as though THAT will stop me and my period from digressing into an entire breakdown of Kiki's Closet Contents because -- in case you weren't paying attention -- i don't actually seem to have any control over what's pouring out of my head today!]

[OK, OK. i will NOT go off on the OH-SO-LONG tangent that is my laundry situation. BUT REST ASSURED I WILL TORTURE YOU WITH IT SOON! MUAHAHAHA!]

so anyway, about the time i got 25% of the way through sorting clothes into wishful piles, i decided that i was hungry and needed to eat something. except i had just about nothing in the house (shocker!) and no money with which to purchase something to eat (because MAYBE someone is not so good at managing her finances and would not be cash-positive until MIDNIGHT when the DIRECT DEPOSIT would go through). which meant there, amid the work email and fledgling piles of hopeful laundry candidates, i started bawling.

bawling. because all of a sudden i realized that i am a horrible, evil AWFUL WOMAN who YELLS at her boyfriend over IM over NOTHING and who is MESSY MESSY MESSY and CAN'T EVEN DO LAUNDRY (where did THAT shirt come from?) and CAN'T MANAGE her finances (because not only is it ANNOYING but it's BORING) and WHEN WILL I BE NINETY HUNDRED POUNDS THINNER and GOD i'm SO HUNGRY hey, don't i have dried apricots in the house?

which is when i immediately ceased bawling and went in search of apricots, only to walk by my stack of mail and then decide that what i REALLY ACTUALLY needed to be doing was paying my bills online. so i forgot about the apricots and started setting up online bill payments and -- of course -- reminiscing about how in my first semester of college i knew people who pronounced them APE-ricots instead of APP-ricots and thinking about my collegiate a cappella group and -- HEY! what was the name of that song i wanted to download?

so then, laundry partially sorted, work stuff still in the background, online payments pending, i decided to try and find that damn song whose melody, name, and lyrics i couldn't recall. and also apricots.


let's fast forward, okay?

by the time i returned home from the meeting***** (i.e., now) i was in a fabulous mood again. it was chilly and clear, and even THOUGH i'd eaten dried apricots and crackers for dinner, and even THOUGH my apartment looked as though my bedroom closet had thrown up, and even THOUGH my day had run the emotional gamut and i'd started fourteen projects and completed none well or successfully, no matter.

my period had decided all's well that -- apparently -- ends well, and so here we are.

can't wait for tomorrow!


*scary, people. you do not want to wake up to discover your extension cord has burn marks and has begun melting. melting.

**poor, poor me.

***porn.

****laundry basket that is so over-run with clothes that it cannot be seen. it is amazing how heavy said hamper can get, too. i'm thrilled i didn't throw my back out exhuming it from my closet.

*****do you know how much fun it is to brainstorm marketing ideas for a porn company?

******HAHAHAHAHAHA! you want further proof of A.D.D.? look at the title of this post. i swear, the post was going to be about L.A. and yet did it include ANYTHING about L.A.? no. not even one little bit. WHOOPS! HAHAHAHAHA.

Or Not

from the looks of it, i got maybe a little too excited about the whole Feedster thing.

* * * * *

so what did we think of the oscars? i watch them religiously every year, usually accompanied by my aweome friends' Really Cool Oscar Pool, which goes way beyond asking who will win to get into such details as:

• what length gown will the best supporting actresses be wearing?
  
• who will be the last person shown in the "celebrities who died last year" montage?
  
• will jon stewart change clothes during the show?

and such. anyway, lots of fun. even if i am very, very bad at guessing.

special thanks to RiseyP (who is very good at guessing!) and Mr. QA Engineer of the cubits for hosting a lovely, warm, wine-ful evening. yay!

* * * * * *

on saturday night, Ish and i were treated to one of the most fabulous and decadent dinner experiences ever.

i mean, it wasn't exactly lavish. it just had all the elements of perfect.

we got to go to an actual house (v. apartment). and there was a working fireplace. and a dog. and a healthy, delicious meal served in an actual dining room with a lovely spread. there were specialty pre-dinner cocktails, excellent selections of wine with dinner, as well as post-dinner wine selections (from sparkling to moscato). there was very, VERY entertaining conversation.

and then there was the film.

you know how it is when urban, artistic, educated, liberal-minded folk get together for wine and film. inevitably the conversation gets heavy, laden with weighty, post-modernistic concerns about the decline of civilization, the role of celebrity, the perpetuation of gender and race inequalties, and whether or not this is, actually, a cheer-ocracy or if torrance is perfectly within her right to act as cheer-tator.

and there, in the east bay, the four of us unanimously and harmoniously agreed that cheer-tatorship is sometimes the only way.

go toros. B, E- aggressive*.

* * * * * *

finally, i show you Naptime on Mt. Ish.

(he'd decided to plop down for a brief nap; my cats could not resist.)




(click for larger!)

obviously, this was taken with my non-viewfinder-having camera. it only took three shots for me to get it centered, though!

(failed attempt #1)

(failed attempt #2)

*or is that "be, be aggressive?" ah, yes. though we were able to concur as to the necessity of dictatorial leadership when the pure reputation of rich, white, adolescent cheer squads is on the line, one of life's greatest uncertainties perplexed us all. should it be "B, E Aggressive" or "Be, Be Aggressive?"

And Now I'm All Fancy

so welcome, new readers from Feedster.

i have no idea if there will be hundreds of you, or dozens of you, or just like, one of you (um, hi?), but i have been bestowed the really cool-sounding honor of being Feedster's "feed of the day."

i have pretty much no idea what this means.

however! they have sent me this cool "award" button*, so i figured i'd post it all front and center for you. (assuming i can get the photo linky things working properly, which is always hit or miss.)

here:

see? fancy!

so yeah, if you're totally new to these parts, i have a couple words of introduction.

1. 1. i'm kind of a mess.
   
   
2. people started reading this blog when a post got linked to/from craigslist about my ass and firemen. yeah. see point #1. iamsodignified.
   
   
3. other similar posts can be found over there <--. you might wanna start with those.
   
   
4. i don't moderate my comments, which sometimes explains the insanity of some of my commenters. just sayin. don't let this deter you from chiming in.
   
   
5. i try and post every day, unless my job** makes it impossible.
   
   
6. this blog is sometimes about my quest to lose weight, occassionally about my misadventures in knitting, and often touches on things like wine. and boys. (but not 'touches on boys' in an inappropriate way. did that sound inappropriate? sorry. let me clarify: i do not touch on boys inappropriately. well, except when they are very cute and ask me and-- uh, you know what? nevermind.)
   
   
7. i have no idea why i seem compelled to give things alter-names. i guess because when i started this, i wanted to keep my friends' names anonymous, and so had to come up with what to call them (snarky, PinkJaime, Ish). then that morphed into also naming concepts (breezy elegance, The Crazy). but why i also seem to name and personify things like my fridge (Fridget Jones) and my job (Bob) is not entirely clear to me. not that i plan on ceasing this behavior or anything, i'm just acknowledging that it's a bit, you know, weird.

and i think that's probably just about all the intro you need or want, huh?

hope you enjoy.




*if they have an official "button" then it MUST be good!

**stupid need for income.

Tales From The Gym: a.k.a. Wow, You Are Really, REALLY Okay With Being Naked

i don't know if this qualifies as a "tale" either, but whatever. i will call my gym-time observances Tales From The Gym because calling them Gym-Time Observances sounds dorky.

[i think pretty much no one uses the word "dork" anymore. i find this sorta meta, in that it makes me even dorkier.]

so about the gym, then.

it's not like i have a problem with women (or people in general) who are okay with nakedness. so please do not get me wrong. i mean, think that being comfortable with your body is maybe the greatest thing ever and totally more women should be.

hurrah for the female form! yay!

um. but also.

i am sort of curious about the mindset of a woman who will strip down, and be completely naked, and like, do locker room things (many of which require bending down) in the ENTRANCE HALLWAY of the locker room.

because, see, there is a set of lockers that are located immediately inside the locker room. and anyone entering or exiting has to walk past them. and there is ALWAYS at least one woman (sometimes more) who use those lockers, and seem to think absolutely nothing of changing, dressing, reaching into the bottom shelf, etc. while completely naked. and i'm sorry, but it's disconcerting. isn't it?

wouldn't you find it disconcerting to walk into a locker room before 7 a.m. and turn the corner only to find yourself not TWO FEET from a very naked person you don't know? who is bending over? meaning actually you're walking into the locker room before 7 a.m. and finding yourself face-to-ass with a very naked person you don't know?

yes, i think you would.

so let me just say: i love you, ladies who are not afraid to be naked, but could you maybe consider moving your lovely naked selves just a few feet further from the entranceway? maybe?

that is all.

Tales From The Gym: Part One

alright. so it's not like i've actually been GOING to the gym. at least, not in the last two weeks. (in fact, NJ06 took quite an unfortunate turn when February hit a fever pitch, but we have gotten back to basics as of March 1. in case you were wondering.)

but i do PLAN on returning to the gym at some point in my life. and anyway, my observations are valid regardless of frequency of gym attendance. thus.

for my first Tales From The Gym, i would like to respond to a comment left by an IIF (and i'm sorry i can't find it right now), who asked me what i listen to while i work out.

and here is where i remind everyone that there is no accounting for my taste in music.

allow me to digress:

my whole life i was surrounded by music. i was in chorus throughout grade school. i started piano lessons when i was about 8 years old. i played the clarinet from 6-12th grade. i was (i know, i know) in the marching band and was even the drum major. i was in the school musicals. i was paid to sing in church choirs*. i was in community theatres. i started college as a voice major. my sisters did the same things. my dad still plays the piano. my mom's father was a professional musician.

you get the point.

anyway. you would think that all this "being surrounded by music" MIGHT have led me to having breadth and depth in my knowledge of, appreciation for, and collection of music.

and i am here to tell you, it did not.

my range of Favorite Music can pretty much be traced to What Was Playing On The Radio In My Formative Years. unfortunately for everyone who knows me, this essentially means i own pop hits from the late 80s and early 90s. and almost nothing else.

i do say "almost" because THANKFULLY my parents DID drill some classic stuff into my head, which seeps out regularly and influences my musical taste (limited though it may be). so in addition to pop of the late 80s/early 90s, i also have a pretty decent working knowledge of broadway (classic and newer), as well as the whole sinatra / ella / louis / billie (etc.) canon.

i know most of what would be considered "standards." and i can't help but love martini lounge music.

and i also love "new" stuff that involves the "old." for example, there are few songs that make me so happy as Frank Sinatra dueting with Jimmy Buffet on Mack the Knife. seriously. it's awesome.

even newer, we have stuff like this.

so! what do i listen to at the gym? well, i will give you a sample, straight from my iPod. it's very Jock Jams-y. and i make no apologies.**

• Bad Girls - Donna Summer
  
• ABC Remix - The Jackson Five
  
• You Shook Me All Night Long - ACDC
  
• I Saw The Sign - Ace of Base
  
• Baby Got Back - Sir Mix-a-Lot
  
• Boom Boom Boom - The Outhere Brothers
  
• Come Baby Come - K7
  
• Dancing Queen*** - ABBA
  
• Different Drum - Me First & The Gimme Gimmes
  
• Tubthumping - oh, like you need me to tell you. it's embarrassing enough as it is.
  
• Jump in the Line - Harry Belafonte
  
• Let's Talk About Sex - Salt 'n' Peppa
  
• Macho Man (remix) - The Village People
  
• YMCA (remix) - "
  
• Pon De Replay & Don't Phunk With My Heart, because i can't avoid ALL songs that came out after 1995
  
• Whoomp, There It is - Tag Team
  
• A Little Less Conversation - Elvis (don't ask, i don't know)
  
• OPP - Naughty By Nature

and, well, what can i say? OPP? yeah, you know me.





*there is probably a joke in here about the only way to get me to go to church would be to pay me. uh, which i guess isn't so much a "joke" as it is "true."

**though i probably totally should.

***i made it a personal rule of mine that the song Dancing Queen MUST be put on any/all mixes i ever make, even if totally not in keeping with the mix theme, e.g., Christmas.

In My Life

even though it's a beatles' classic, the first time i ever really listened to the lyrics of this song was when i heard johnny cash sing it.

i was living with el_g, and he was listening to a whole johnny cash album, and this came on and stopped me in my tracks. i mean, by that point we (el_g and i) had been through so much together, and the song...god, it was just so raw and honest and plain and true. i started sobbing out of nowhere.

for a long time, everything between us was so hard. in fact, so much hard stuff was going on that we didn't (couldn't?) have the presence of mind to know if it was just life, or if it was actually just us making things difficult.

we figured out, eventually, that it was both life and us.



five days before their wedding, el_g's now-blushing bride said, "it's amazing to me how easy it's been with him. it's just...easy."

it makes sense, i thought. and then realized: that's what i want out of my life. in my life.

i mean, i know that love involves compromise. but the older i get, the more i think that when it's right, it's really not that hard.

and that if you wait long enough to learn yourself and know yourself and love yourself, you can find it.

and it will just be.

so they have found each other. and they, in their sometimes unorthodox and always understated way, exemplify how pure love really is.

* * * * * *

There are places I’ll remember
All my life
Though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more

Let's Get Serious About This Now

hey everyone,

i know i have posted this before in a wishy-washy kind of whiny way, but i was thinking that i really would like to have a real, professional website and redesigned blog.

meaning, i'd like a simple site about me (in theory one that i could eventually use for comedy gigs/promotion) that includes a link to my blog. and then i would still use blogger, but with a somewhat redesigned look and with logo.

i know that this could take considerable work, so while i have some skills* i would rather have the bulk of the sites designed for me.

if you know someone who would be willing to do this (and who actually reads and likes my blog!), i'd love to talk with them about possibilities (timing, $, etc.).

email me!



*but not enough to spell it "skillz."

Dumbass

it's "heretofore" not "heretoforth" and also does not mean "from here on out" it means "up till now."

i should really learn to fact-check myself before i post.

Like A Burnt Bridge Over Troubled Wine

i am a bit torn.

on the one hand, i know it’s best not to burn bridges.

on the other hand, no one likes rejection.

see, a few weeks ago, a fabulous IIF brought to my attention a part-time job opening: get paid to write a blog on a wine company’s* website. the only “catch” is that you had to write the blog from the perspective of the wine company’s logo.

so i thought, “hey! i write, i drink wine, i know marketing writing! i should apply!”

and i did. and after i sent my letter of inquiry, i was asked to write a sample entry. “cool!” i thought.

and now here’s where we run into the burning bridges part.

when Ish heard that they’d liked my writing enough to ask me to submit an entry, he went out and found two bottles of the company’s wine. and he brought them to my place for us to sample with dinner. because he is thoughtful and supportive and, well, it was an excuse to drink wine, you know?

he brought home a bottle of chardonnay and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. we started with the white. and even though i dislike chardonnays, i was determined to at least try and like this one, since it was possibly helping to fuel my new side-career as a paid writer and catapult me into blog stardom**.

Ish poured the glasses. we toasted. we sipped.

there was silence.

and more silence.

“oh my god,” Ish said.

if it is safe to say that i do not like chardonnay, then i feel it is safe to say that what i felt for this chardonnay in particular was…well, something like pure, unadulterated hatred.

i mean, i tried. i took one sip, and then took a few more, as Ish looked on incredulously. “are you really going to finish that?”

“it can’t be this bad, can it? it can’t!” i said, hoping against hope that maybe it was just me and my taste in chardonnay, and not that the wine was really bone-chillingly bad.

“i’m sorry, but this...this is undrinkable," Ish said. and then offered, realizing how disappointing this whole experiment was becoming, “hey, at least the cab has to be better!”

and of course you know what happened once he announced this.

Ish poured the glasses. we toasted. we sipped.

but there was no silence.

practically spitting the sip back into his glass, Ish proclaimed, “THIS MAKES THE CHARDONNAY SEEM...GOOD”

and he was right. it was awful.


of course, i wrote the best sample entry i could anyway, because i felt i owed it to myself to try. and so i received my inevitable rejection today.

so!

what have we learned?

1. i am secretly a wonderful person. because even though i decided to write a sample entry even AFTER learning that the wine really should not be marketed to anyone lest it be actually sold to and drunk by the public, my SUBCONSCIOUS obviously refused to allow me to write anything good.



2. also if you are going to actively try and sell yourself out, actively vie for a position as a shill, it is probably best not to sample the product in question at all. ignorance is bliss. and possibly a paid blog gig.

*in the spirit of not completely burning bridges, i will not publish the name of the wine here.

**whatever. dreams come in all forms.

Picture Of The Dress

so i thought i'd take a moment to show you the dress i wore to the wedding, since i've made such a big friggin' deal about buying the damn thing.

sort of it looked like this:


as i said, in the end i found one that suited me pretty well. it was a little long for my body (i'm only 5'4" and when i wear long gowns i feel like i'm playing dress-up), but it had many key ingredients that made up for its length:

• it had sleeves. this allows for me to not have to feel self-conscious about my arms. also the sleeves had a flowy bell shape at the end, which i think is flattering on everyone.
  
  
• the neckline was low, but still made for someone with breasts. (this is remarkable since usually when there are low necklines, the dress is tight on top, and forces the boobages to, essentially, pop out of the neckline all over the place. and not in a sexy way.)
  
  
• the whole thing was black (not shown here) and in a jersey material, which is soft and not clingy.
  
  
• it was slightly loose, so i didn't feel all stuffed into the thing.
  
  
• the flouncy frilly parts weren't overdone, they just helped mask some of the less flattering parts of the body.

all in all, perfectly acceptable.

now, if i could just convince one of my friends to get married in another 6 months or so, i'd have great incentive* to buy a dress in, say, a size 10.




*because yes. all my friends should be getting married just so i can have events to wear dresses to. duh.