Merry Hot Aloholic Beverages

At our last session of calligraphy for the year, my teachers served coffee and apple cider, as they often do, but this time it was served with a bottle of Tuaca and a bottle of someone's homemade slivovitz, which is apparently a type of plum brandy. Very exciting, and very funny, since calligraphy demands a rather concentrated eye and a steady hand. I'd never had Tuaca before, which is an Italian brandy with vanilla and orange flavors, and I loved it. I loved it so much that I had it in hot chocolate during my lunch break at the bar across the street from my work, and I also had a shot of it alongside a cup of black tea at brunch the other day.

Here's my calligraphy teacher's apple cider mixture:

Add a shot of Tuaca to a mug of hot apple cider. Garnish with a cinnamon stick. Top with a generous glob of real whipped cream.

It's delicious, and tastes like apple pie with ice cream.
Happy, merry holidays!

"Belinas" by Kate Spade. Don't tell Bolinas.

Kate Spade has a new bag style called "Bellinas" which at first didn't register with me, till I started reading the blurb that describes the bag on the Kate Spade website.
It begins,"Just outside of San Francisco, rickety farm stands and bucolic woodlands have made Belinas a sought-after small-town sanctuary for haute ex-hippies and the eco-minded affluent." That was unintentionally hilarious and somewhat apt, for one thing, and the cherry on top of the sundae of weirdness is that they mispelled "Bolinas." What the hell?

New Yorkers.

text of ad

Fun with the Enneagram at Work

We have a new Staff Development "expert" at work. She is apparently supposed to develop us, the staff, and I'm told she has a ton of
soft skills, whatever soft skills are. I'm not sure what she's doing. First, I had a meeting with her during which we talked about my job and how I'd also absorbed a part-time job that was posted plus half of another woman's job when she went on maternity leave, leaving me with my first full time job and two part time jobs, meaning I am essentially doing two full time jobs. As always, when dealing with work discussions that are framed like "friendly, open conversations", I was cautious and guarded, while at the same time smiling and nodding my head a lot. I'm no fool. There is no free therapy with no strings attached at work.

That was my only interaction with her until she informed me that she would be taking over the explanation of benefits, which is my part of the orientation process for new staff, as I am the benefits administrator. We hired someone new (that's another post entirely) and Mrs. Soft Skills did her thing. The next day, she came to me and told me she tried to explain the benefits to this new person and realized she didn't know what she was talking about. I wanted to laugh and say, "Ya think?!" but instead I made what I think was an empathetic face and said, "No problem... I'll go over the benefits with her today."

The third thing she, um, accomplished was having everyone on staff take an Enneagram test, which is a personality test by which you find out which of nine personality types you are. This is supposed to help you work better with others, and it might, if anyone had actually revealed their type. Everyone was acting as though this was highly confidential information and was going to reveal some sort of personal secrets about them. (No, really? You're a perfectionist and you make everyone miserable in your quest for what you think is perfection? No!!! We never would have guessed!) So when the enneagram expert got to his discussion of Type 8 and revealed that this is his type, I also revealed that this is my type. I explained to my coworkers that I got into fistfights as a child (okay, I left out the fistfights I've gotten into since turning old enough to vote) and saw Mrs. Soft Skills staring at me literally with her mouth hanging open, which was kind of funny.

There are many enneagram sites, and usually you have to pay to take the full test, but this one has a short version of the test which will tell you your type.

White Elephants II

I think White Elephant gifts are lame. I'm just so tired of the whole Dilbert-like life I'm leading at work. I refuse to play the game again this year. I'm not going out and thinking about my coworkers and trying to pick a gift they could all like, or even trying to pick a gift with one person in mind and manipulating the game so that that special person takes my gift. Or worse... trying to be the person who brings the most CLEVER gift. White elephant gift exchanges are only fun if they people at the party are fun and quirky, or ironic, or silly. And I'm just not, and they are even less so than I!

The most effort I'm willing to put into this is looking around my house for all the new, unopened items that could be given as my White Elephant gift contribution and assessing them, and that's what I did tonight.

1) a package of three pairs of little girls underpants from GAP Kids which were supposed to be for my 7 year old sister to wear after she got wet at the beach but that our father objected to because they had the word "hipster" on the package

2) a pair of yellow Hue brand tights still in their packaging that I can't even remember buying

3) 2 pairs of Wally's Ear Candles

4) an unopened giant roll of Contact Paper brand shelf liner (DD dares me to do it, is offering me $100 cash if I wrap that up and use it as my white elephant gift. He does not think I have the balls.

5) a huge, unopened bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, that states "Best Before 09.08."

White Elephant Time

It's White Elephant Gift time of year. 2006 department party--we had a supposed $20 upper limit. One of my coworkers arrived with a really nice cutting board, which was valued at much more than $20, but she'd gotten it on sale and double-marked-down or whatever, and got it for $20. The strange thing was, she really wanted to win it herself, or manipulate the game so that she ended up taking the same thing home that she'd brought. That was totally weird... my boss' gift was a bottle of Veuve Cliquot ($49) which made the rest of us look like crappy cheap bitches. Somehow I ended up with the "Summer Cocktails Recipes" book. Um, no.

(Cut back to 2005... my gift was three pairs of those crazy fuzzy chenille socks from Nordstrom, two cute colors, like pink and blue, and one black pair. I forgot there was one guy on the team, a part timer. He got my gift, unfortunately, although the socks were obviously not exactly unisex in design. In fact I think there was a cartoon of some girl on the label. Cut to drunken coworkers suggesting he wear the socks on his penis.)

2007- Again with the Veuve Cliquot... only this time, I actually won it. Nevermind that it was wrapped furoshiki style in someone's rather gross old white shawl. Of course, the champagne was taken from me, leaving me with a thing that props a bottle of red wine up to breathe. Goddamn.

Morgan Bag by Monica Botkier

While walking out of Nordstrom the other day (I really was trying to walk OUT) time stood still and music swelled as I spotted this bag. Closer inspection revealed that this thing is made of super soft, crackly leather and feels nice to hold. I put it back, albeit reluctantly, and managed to back away, but there's always the Botkier website.

When the Internet Goes Awry

Someone told me that someone else invited them to yet another social networking website, only this one requires affluence.

Their stance line is,
"Make Life Better
The exclusive oragnaization of the world's wealthiest people."

Yes, they really did spell "organization" that way!

The Devil Wears Gray Cashmere Part II

For whatever reason, boss-lady (I have two bosses - boss-man and boss-lady) received this fancy Barbie doll as a gift the other day. I assume it's from a business partner who deals with the doll. It was strange to see it propped up in her rather stark, undecorated office. She's a battle axe who wears only gray and black and who disdains such things as rainbows, cupcakes, the color pink and ice skating. She's so vehement in her disdain for all things fun, fluffy, feminine and girly that I can only think she 1) was denied them as a child and is pretending to herself that she doesn't care 2)stopped maturing in middle school and is stuck in a pre-teen rebellion forever or 3) is just plain evil. It's fine to not like those things; it's another to profess it so passionately. It's like she's working very hard at carving out her identity as this elegant, steely, heart-of-darkness person, and working at it at every opportunity.

I could tell she liked the Barbie, and whenever I catch her liking something she's not supposed to like, I rub it in, with salt. Like the time it was her birthday and she told me "no cupcakes and shit", but when I caught her eating a mini cupcake at someone else's work birthday thing I screamed, "A MINI cupcake!? How CUTE!" So I gushed over the Barbie doll and then told her, "But of course, you're going to give it away... you hate that stuff." She then admitted that she liked Barbie as a child. Then she said she wished it wasn't blonde. The way she said blonde, you'd expect her to be a woman of color, or at least a dark white lady. No, she's a pale white lady with light brown hair and hazel eyes... not exactly even a brunette.

70's Imagery - Tarina Tarantino Peace Love and Sparkle

Sometimes jewelry designer Tarina Tarantino uses licensed images, for example her "Pink Head" Hello Kitty, Kid Robot, Fiorucci and Barbie (and those are in descending order of how much I liked each). Her newest collection is "Peace, Love and Sparkle" (so awesome; I love the name of the collection so much I could cry!) and features a cartoon-y peace sign, and these lips and teeth with a blue rose, and these two guys, which the website calls "teletrippers". Although the images look familiar in their psychedlic, bright 70's way, I don't know if these are licensed images. I don't even know if they were common 70's images (as Britney Spears once said, when asked about the Beatles, "I'm sorry. I'm very young..."). I did a few searches, stringing some keywords together (tried "lips teeth blue rose 70's imagery Tarina Tarantino" in varius permutations, but came up empty.

Hosting Woes.

There's a scene in the film Slums of Beverly Hills where Vivian Abramowitz (played by Natasha Lyonne) inadvertently leaks menstrual blood on a hand-embroidered fancy seat cushion at the home of her father's rich girlfriend. Vivian ducks under the tablecloth to discuss the matter with her cousin, decides to just cover the stain with her napkin and carry on. When the woman discovers the stain, there's a shriek of horror, followed by the whole family being marched out of the house, ending their evening early.

This scene, while hilarious in the movie, was MUCH less funny when it played itself out in my apartment the day after Thanksgiving. The day after anything one hosts is always sort of a nightmare... you think you cleaned everything the night before, only to realize in the light of day that everything is sticky and there are spills and stains everywhere, and you're going to basically have to do the same thorough apartment cleaning that you did in preparation for this get together now that it's over. I accept all that... what I wasn't prepared for was finding a quarter-sized circle of what looked like watery blood on the seat of two chairs and a couch! The location of these marks (on seats) is what makes me suspect it was menstrual. The two chair cushions, which were brand new but from IKEA, I tossed into the recycling without even attempting to clean them; obviously the couch stain had to be worked on. There's something just not right about having to clean someone else's menstrual blood. And I'm thinking about the guests, all of whom are nice people and good friends, and wondering which person would not just ask me for a tampon or a pad? Who was drunk enough to not realize she was --errrm-- leaking? (No one seemed that drunk!)

I ponder this while sitting on my hard wooden chair, sans seat cushion.

Hard Boiled Eggs, An Unmatched Desk, and a Black Sweater

I've recently begun working at a new organization; new for me. I think I've been there five months now-- certainly not long enough to understand anyone there and why the organization does the things it does.

We recently attempted to hire a receptionist. There was a very nice, very qualified woman who came to interview twice. Usually I'd assume that's a good sign. They decided not to hire her because she supposedly wasn't well-dressed enough and therefore doesn't have the right marketing and branding and messaging (words we use A LOT around there). She was a rotund little lady, and not young, and I wonder how much of not "looking right for the part" can be attributed to ageism and an intolerance for body diversity. It makes me feel weird and itchy thinking about this. At any rate, I got a good look at her-- she was wearing black pants, a white cotton shirt or blouse and a black sort of long cardigan. On any given day at our office you will see someone wearing the exact same thing. You will also see, or rather SMELL, someone eating a hard boiled egg that makes the whole front office smell like farts, the exposed side of someone's hideous pigsty of a desk, and soon, the new receptionist desk, which was purchased secondhand for $150 and which is made of some kind of fake mahogany veneer. The other three desks in the area are not mahogany colored-- they are sort of a honey pine color. We also have threadbare fake Persian rugs throughout the office, all of which have bare spots in them. When I look at the whole, the whole experience of what our office looks like and what I imagine would be someone's first impression, I think it's completely bizarre that they didn't hire that woman because her "style" didn't have the right messaging and branding. In all my years of working at offices, I've never felt more like I was in a television show about an office and all the nonsensical decisions and things that happen in them.

Happy Halloween!

My hamster Nougat, with a mini pumpkin.

I have acquired a beautiful pair of vintage eyeglasses for less than $11! Unfortunately, they have someone else's very strong prescription lenses in them, so I got in instant headache the minute I tried them on and couldn't see how they looked on me. So I put them on with my eyes closed and DD took a photo of me so I could even see how they look. I'm having them made with my own prescription. These things are BIG, which should be good as far as peripheral vision goes, and someone is making a custom eyeglass chain with Swarovski crystals for me to attach to the glasses. I'm very excited!

A bathrobe and an itchy wig

For DD's company Halloween party, we were two of the four Golden Girls. Of course I was made Sophia, because I'm the shortest. I wore a bathrobe lent to me by my friend Killer. Killer's mom is in her late 70's and apparently gave her the robe thinking she'd enjoy wearing it. It's baby blue flannel and buttons up to the neck. I also wore a curly gray wig and a wig cap. I was overheated the entire night, and after a short while, the wig felt like someone was poking twigs into my scalp! It was a good quality wig, too... a "real" wig, not a costume wig. Looking at some of the women in sexy, skimpy costumes shivering while I was practically making my own sauna inside the robe made me think that next year I'm going for a happy medium costume as far as coverage and comfort go!

For about the fifth year in a row, we didn't win the costume contest, although we try in earnest each year. This year, we did make it past the first round and got to walk across the stage, though!

Faux Fur Rules!

When I was a child, my grandmother lives next door to a man who was a retired furrier. I'm not sure if that's the correct word--he designed and made garments from fur. For some reason, my dad had some rabbit pelts that had been given to him by the furrier, and he was always saying he was going to have a jacket made for me. This totally horrified me, considering I actually had a (live) pet rabbit and several hamsters... not to mention being a big fan of guinea pigs. While I appreciate fur, I'd rather appreciate it on the live animal.

I love faux fur, though. I've been looking to get a fake fur jacket for this winter season, and I recently got this gray faux chinchilla jacket with gray satin lining. I love this thing, and it's pretty soft, too!

Playing with Knives and Running with Scissors

There are three tools about which I am passionate-- pens, knives and scissors. You need good ones many times in a single day, especially if you cook, or even if you just cut a sandwich in half sometimes (that's the knife part, not the pen!)

I have a pair of really good knives. One is a slightly smaller version of the other. The make is Henckles. They were a gift from my mother, but I don't think good knives are necessarily so expensive that most people couldn't buy one for themselves. They came with a sharpener, and I sharpen them before each use. They're so much fun to use. I cut things into paper thin slices all the time just because I can, and they cut through tough stuff like pineapple rind like it's butter. But yesterday I did a work event where we were preparing food, and cutting lemons with knives my coworker brought to the event was like torture. I felt like I was cutting through my leg with a butter knife. Her knives kept winging off in all directions, turning my lemon slices into bits of lemon splooge. I hated this task so much that I came home and told my knives how much I love them and how I'll never take them for granted again. They told me that they want to have a baby, and I agreed that's a fantastic idea!

Food Issues.

I work with some people who have some major food issues. At a previous job, I worked with a woman who went into angry hysterics because we made microwave popcorn, which we couldn't understand, till later our boss alluded to "food issues". After I saw the woman putting five tiny tupperware containers each the size of a softball, and each filled with what appeared to be lettuce or spinach leaves, which she proceeded to eat for lunch every day during the workweek, it started to make sense. At my last job, I worked with a woman who was tall, thin, and who also had food issues. She would heat up a little tiny container of stinky casserole and eat outside most days. She liked to preach to others about how if we rode our bikes more, we could eat more ice cream. She also went crazy one night and stole someone's ice cream right out of the freezer, which was labeled with the owner's name, and ate it all. What a freak... maybe if she ate a normal-sized lunch, she wouldn't have whacked out and gorged herself on pilfered ice cream!

Now I work with more than one person with "food issues". And you know, I hate to gender stereotype, but they're always women. The other day when we had bagels with all the fixings, one of our Ladies with Food Issues stood there eating a slice of cucumber. And she's pregnant. If you can't eat a bagel when you're pregnant, then when? Today there was a macaroon in the office. Yes, a macaroon. Instead of someone eating a whole cookie, or even half a cookie, I watched the one macaroon get cut "in half" about seventeen times throughout the afternoon. By the end of the day, there was this paper wrapper with a tiny sliver of macaroon attached, with a butter knife sticking to it. It's kind of like when someone drinks almost all the milk and leaves the container in the refrigerator for someone else to deal with, only it's the Office Version, which inevitably involves thin women with Food Issues cutting pastries, cookies, cupcakes and the like into smaller and smaller pieces, and leaving the crumbs, mess, oil and knives for someone else to deal with. If I see one more BROKEN COOKIE, ripped bagel, gutted cinnamon roll, or dissected croissant, I think I am seriously going to SCREAM.

Where Else Can You Walk Around Half Naked?

Here I am at the Folsom Street Fair last Sunday. On the bottom I'm wearing black lace tights and turquoise underpants; hee hee. I didn't go all-out, because last year I was essentially topless and I felt too exposed, but at least I wasn't walking around in GAP khakis like so many of the tourists and lookie loos at Folsom this year. It seems like every year there are fewer participants and more cameras and more people who are just going to see the freak show, and it's sort of annoying, but to me, it still feels safe and I enjoy walking around half naked in heels in public, with cops around who are actually facilitating it all! I still love the Folsom Street Fair, and love San Francisco for having it every year!

The Most Fun Laptop Pillow Yet

I recently spent a day at West Coast Green, a green building trade show in San Jose California, "boothing" for the organization I work for. Aside: I love that "boothing" is a verb in trade show speak. You're not just "working at your booth" or "representing the organization" you work for. You're BOOTHING.

Anyhow, although there was no end to the parade of cool, sustainable products for building the Platinum LEED-certified, low-carbon footprint house of your dreams, complete with succulent-planted roof and radiant-heat flooring, I currently rent an apartment which was originally built by... the US military. Yeah.

That said, the item highest on my "most likely to buy" list was this awesome laptop pillow by Intelligent Forms:

Intelligent Forms' laptop pillow

The Intelligent Forms BOOTHERS settled me into a chair with the laptop pillow atop my knees and a cute little Macbook nestled into the pillow. The pillow is comfortable and flexible, and filled with buckwheat hulls, which make a pleasant sound and a nice weight. They had one made of brown fabric, which really looked like logs. Each round end bit of fabric was a different pattern, and the pillow held the laptop securely. What's more, because the contraption hugged the computer, I was able to move my legs around and shift my weight without fearing that the computer would slide off. I have to say I liked this thing so much more than the iLap, by Rain Designs, which is what I've used most recently.

Captcha Woes

I must be a bot, because more often than not, I honestly can't read these CAPTCHAs, that are designed to tell humans from machines. I get my vision examined frequently, I wear contact lenses, that THING that happens to people in their 40's where they can't read anymore and have to hold papers further from their eyes has not happened to me, my lenses are the right prescription, and supposedly with them inserted, I can see 20-20. CAPTCHAs have gotten more difficult...

Orchidfest 2008

I'm awfully late posting this. I went to Orchidfest 2008 last weekend, at the Hall of Flowers at the edge of Golden Gate Park. I actually enjoyed Orchidfest so much more than The Pacific Orchid Expo, which was held at Fort Mason in February. I know it's comparing apples and oranges, because the Pacific Orchid Expo was HUUUGE. It's like of like comparing New York City with San Francisco, which, for some reason, people in San Francisco do ALL THE TIME... you just can't compare, because New York City is just its own huge, stunning, incomparable thing that I can't even really wrap my mind around.

But I digress.

Orchidfest was great because it was intimate and had a friendly feel. The orchid sellers weren't mobbed, so they were super friendly, patient and very open to sharing their knowledge and lore. DD and I bought 6 raffle tickets for $5, but we didn't win the raffle... it seemed like our chances were good, because there weren't many people there yet, and there were going to be several plants given away. It looked like lot of the volunteers won. I watched one guy choose the plant I would have chosen had I won, and I congratulated him (while suppressing the desire to knock him down and take his plant) while he gloated. I think DD felt a little sorry for me at that point, because he kindly bought me everything I wanted!

Two very sweet men showed me that these "Twinkle" oncidiums (bottom) smell like chocolate. They had red, yellow and pink, and they said the red smells like milk chocolate and the yellow and pink smell like white chocolate and they smell heavenly when placed together. They only emit their fragrance during the warmer part of the day; the growers told me they start around 11 am and intensify as the afternoon wears on, and then they "turn off" as it becomes evening. I took a red and a yellow. The individual flowers are each so tiny; smaller than a person's pinkie nail.

The other plant I got was this very trippy orchid called a "coelogyne". It only blooms upside down like this (1st photo), so you have to get underneath the plant to see it full-on (2nd photo). It only makes one flower at a time, and then a new one forms and the old one falls off. The plant keeps doing this, and the stalk gets longer and longer and forms a zigzag pattern. It was definitely not the flashiest, most colorful orchid there, not by a long shot. But I loved its quiet weirdness, and so, I took it home.

What to Be for Halloween?

DD's work has a spectacular Halloween party every year. A lot of the people who work there are artists, and as a result, the costume contest is legendary! After attending this thing for a few years now, I've realized that the only way we can hope to win is by getting together a large group of people who form a sort of collective costume. For example, last year there was a very impressive group who went as the movie "Office Space". Someone was a red stapler... another year there was a group of transformers who transformed into IKEA furniture. I sort of didn't get it, but they won big time.
And each year there seem to be a few cohorts of the Fandango brown bag people, each more spectacular than the last.

One year DD and I went as John Lennon and Yoko Ono during the bed-in. I figured, might as well exploit the ethnic similarity and poke fun at it. My wig made my head itchy and hot, our MAKE PEACE and HAIR PEACE signs that I'd carefully lettered and painted were freaking heavy, and walking around attached to DD by sheets and comforters was annoying. The only gratifying part was that everyone middle aged took our picture. Last year we went as Netflix envelopes-- again, a lot of artwork and production, but the costumes were easy to move around in, and when we took them off we just had comfortable black clothes underneath. Again, a lot of people liked our costumes, which made it fun! We didn't win anything, though.

This year I wanted to be Three's Company with several of DD's coworkers. One of them is a tall blonde woman-- she was slated to be Crissy Snow. Being short, brunette, and having a very layered shaggy haircut, I was to be Janet Woods. We were all going to roller skate...I'm a good roller skater!... but then the company said one of the rules is no wheels. We didn't think the costume would be as good without skates. Another idea was carnival people... one woman has two babies and we thought they could be little animals, and all I really wanted was to be a bearded lady. No one liked that idea, though.

My next idea was to be Rubik's Cubes that really work. It's not like I am super handy, but I'm resourceful and crafty, and no stranger to the drill. A quick internet search revealed a step-by-step guide to how this man created his amazing Rubik's Cube costume. Check it out! He even put some clear contact paper over all his colorful squares for authentic texture... this guy's precision and attention to detail is wonderful! Anything I could do would be a poor imitation, so I'm still brainstorming my costume!

Lars and the (RealDoll) Real Girl

How I never saw this movie when it first came out is beyond me, considering my fascination with RealDoll. I finally saw this movie last night--it's about a guy (Lars) whose mother died apparently while giving birth to him and whose father was emotionally shut down after that, leaving Lars sort of shut down and introverted. One day at work (it's not clear what he does, but he has a "cubicle" job) Lars' coworker shows him the website of RealDoll, saying how much he'd love to have one. Lars doesn't seem particularly interested, but he ends up getting one and naming her Bianca. At first, his brother and sister in law are freaked out, but eventually the entire community comes to accept Bianca. It's zany and sweet! And even though Bianca is a RealDoll, there's nothing particularly sexual about the film at all, which makes it even more unpredicatble and interesting.

Lars and the Real Girl website

Nougat

It can take several days to tame a new hamster. Today is Day 2 of trying to handle the new hammie, named Nougat. He's way faster than the late Skeepants! This taming session ended with Nougat giving me a handful of warm hamster pee. Ugh! Still, I remain optimistic.

Low Commitment.

Having been pet-less for about half a year following the death of my solitary goldfish, DD and I recently pondered what sort of pet to get... if any. I visited the SPCA adoption center and found a wonderful cat that I really liked... but they were kicking people out because it was close to closing time and I was under too much pressure to decide. Plus, they had a $20 adoption special that weekend only, and after I finally decided it would have been $80 to adopt her. Plus, you know, she has claws and glands and a butt, I have a white sofa, which, by the way is not particularly comfortable, and oh, that fabric that's supposedly treated, probably with some kind of horrible chemical, to release stains easily? It doesn't release red wine. Not that I'd expect it to.

I still like cats, so I became enamored of these miniature Persians that people are breeding nowadays. They're beautiful, and so, so tiny! They're very expensive, too, like a few thousand dollars. Which is okay when you're talking about car repairs or needing a new computer but seems kind of a bit rich for my blood, considering I'm unfortunately the type of person who lets her bank account get down into the double digits plenty often. So I started thinking along the SPCA lines again, when my little sister, age 6, announced to me that she's deathly allergic to cats, although she likes them and has a few cat stuffed animals.
Although I don't see her very often, she does come over and I want her to be able to come over and hang out, and even spend the night, once she gets a little older and her parents release their death grip of overprotectiveness on her. (I mean, really. I'm thirty-five, not fifteen... I drive a safe four-door sedan, I have a dull 9-5:30 job at a nice non-profit. I don't quite get why we only get to have supervised visits... sometimes I think my father is in a time warp and to him, I'm still a 16 year old who ditched school, snuck around, wrecked a car and spilled red nail polish all over the carpet in my bedroom and hid it till I went to college by rearranging my room.)

The other week I walked into the post office by my work to be greeted by two of the sweetest little puppy heads you ever saw peeking out of a doggie carrier. I dropped to the floor, stunned by their adorable-ness. In some kind of crazed moment, I even asked their owner for breeder information. Apparently these are champion chihuahuas, and the proud new owner flew all the way to Michigan to get them and bring them back to California. After about half an hour of petting these little puppies while their owner taped up some packages she was sending out, I returned to work, happily announcing to my coworkers that I fell in love with chihuahuas and planned to get one.

After a few hours, rationality set in. For one thing, I've never had a dog and don't know the first thing about them, nor has DD ever owned a dog. For another, we rent, and we're technically not supposed to own a dog (though plenty of neighbors do, because the management used to allow dogs, and they changed the rule but had to grandfather in anyone who already had a dog). Finally, I realized I don't really want a dog. They have to go to the bathroom and you have to take them out before the sun rises and stand there and shiver while they do their business, and then you have to pick their business up while it's still fresh and steaming.

So, I'm the proud owner of an adorable hamster, which DD purchased for me yesterday! Hamsters are great. They require only about $100 for their whole set up-- nice cage, ASPCA-approved exercise Wodent Wheel, food, and bedding. You clean their cage once a week and play with them daily (but if you don't play with them daily, they don't care. In fact, they're so indifferent that I don't think it matters to them at all if you skip a day). They're fun to watch. They live about 2.5 years. My little guy is about 5 weeks old... so we should have plenty of time together. Photos to follow!

Valley of the ...

I'm back, with a new zeal for the keyboard, thanks to an iMac which arrived today at around noon... but my instantaneous passionate love for this thing will be explored in great detail another day!

Before the old machine started to sputter out, exhausted after four years and some hard drive damage, I was thinking about costume jewelry designer Tarina Tarantino's new line of flesh tone (fleshtone? flesh-tone?) colored necklaces, hair bows, bracelets and other baubles. It's interesting. I'm fascinated with foundation makeup and I have several types, myself, ranging from lightweight coverage to really heavy-- a thick cream formula that completely covers the texture of your real skin and sort of puts on a whole new "skin". So the idea of extending the constructed skin to the adornments that traditionally offer color or contrast or metallic shine, and making the adornments tone-on-tone interests me, design-wise. Politically, it makes me think about all that "doll" imagery, language and conditioning that women grow up with (and continued to be rather innundated with throughout our daily lives). Like, who wants to be a doll? Like a Stepford wife? What the heck is that even about? I also feel that women celebrities are looking more and more doll-like all the time, and I wonder why that is.

It also made me think about RealDoll.--I've talked about RealDoll before, and RealDoll for some reason is often a point of reference for me!-- I could see a beautiful RealDoll dressed in all this Tarina Tarantino Doll Skin finery and how cool and eerie and so odd-yet-so appropriate that would be.

Is there an essay or a paper or thesis or book about the history of flesh tone? Like who was the first paint manufacturer or writer who used that phrase for that color? Outside of the United States is flesh tone not pinky peachy gray? Do you like clear Bandaids? I do!

Easy Halloween Costume: Sarah Palin

DD and I have been brainstorming our Halloween costumes since November 1, 2007.
I now think we should go as the Republican ticket. All I need to do is to get one of these Ken Paves/Jessica Simpson hairpieces and say things like:


"I am pro-life and I believe that marriage should only be between and man and a woman."

Mimobots

At work my coworkers and I have a Tuesday staff meeting. One of the many, MANY things said during the meeting today was something about "thumb drives" disappearing. My boss likes to say "thumb drive" for what I call a flash drive and what other people call a memory stick. Seriously, this thing has so many names it's kind of ridiculous.
Anyhow, apparently in classes, people are passing around various flash drives (I am not sure why) and they need to get back to the the instructor or the TA, and they disappear, not because anyone wants to steal them, but because they're little and they look like everyone else's flash drive.

I think we should get a whole bunch of different Mimobots. Mimoco has turned a dull little device into a little bit of adorable happiness, called a Mimobot! There are lots of different Mimobots available in varying storage capacities-- 1 gig, 2 gig, etc. And they're priced pretty much like a plan flash drive. I love Mimobots!

God Bless Facebook

I came late to Facebook... I already had a myspace and a friendster and a tribe and whatever the hell other social networking things there are out there. My late hamster Skeepants even had a Hamsterster account. Honestly I didn't really see the point of any of them...or the value or benefits. Except for the hamster thing... I did enjoy all the photos of everyone's cute hammies! Along came Facebook, and I came late to Facebook, and again I didn't see the POINT, until the other day, when into my Inbox landed a message from my best friend from elementary school, whom I haven't seen since then, when she moved from California to Georgia with her family. How crazy is that? Apparently this is a common Facebook phenomenon. In this case, I'm extremely happy to reconnect with her, but it's certainly something to think about in regards to privacy and anonymity, so I went through and found several exes and ex friends (this is commonly known as Facebook stalking, I think) and made a "block list" so they can't turn around and find me!

Fresh Scent. New Pants.

As regular as the turning of the earth and the return of high tide, my period comes each month on the same weekend as this "Executive Certificate Program" at my work. During "Executive Program Weekend" a bunch of executives have classes at a law firm downtown, and I am the official caterer, coffee bitch and dishwashing scullery maid.
I also work six days a week during Executive Program Weekend, and this Friday was a thirteen hour day for me. Saturday was a lot better... my day started at 7:00 am and ended at 5:45 pm! Lots of fun stuff happens during Program Weekend, such as pre-ordered bagel platters going "missing" from a bagel shop which shall remain unnmamed, even though I not only ordered the bagel platter from a girl with the same name as me, but I also called to double check and confirm my order the day before the event, and my caterer showing up at 12:20 for a 12:30 lunch.

But perhaps the BEST thing that happened was that my period started, and it wasn't like some courteous little trickle... it was like a scene from a horror movie, or from the latest novel in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, Breaking Dawn, wherein a baby half vampire rips its mother apart when it's time to be born. I'll skip the gory details, but I had to walk down Market Street with a sweater tied around my waist and go and buy a new skirt to wear, and my pants had to be discarded. There is no saving them. That's how much of a bloody mess it all was.

Why did this happen? Well, yes, I knew my period was coming, and I did buy an anticipatory box of tampons a few days prior, however I accidentally bought "Fresh Scent" tampons, which I realized with horror at 6:00 am Friday morning. They smelled like Raid ant and roach killer. I cannot stick a Raid-scented tampon inside my body. I'm afraid I will get instant cervical cancer if I do. So I was relying on my last wimpy "regular absorbency" non-scented tampon to carry me through from the time I left my house at 6:35, went to the grocery store, shopped for last-minute food for the Executive breakfast (and more tampons) drove to the law firm, unloaded my carload of food, piled it onto a rolling delivery pallet, got my security badge, and finally took the freight elevator to the law office where I would hopefully get to the bathroom in time (at around 8:10 am) to insert a new tampon before bathing the entire city or just the crotch of my really nice pants in my menstrual blood. Yeah. Didn't happen. I ended up spending $98 on a skirt (couldn't get pants because I'm so short that all my pants have to be hemmed before I can wear them) and $18 on a new pair of panties. But hey, there is no time to shop for bargains when one has bloody pants and about 11 more hours of work. I just don't understand why some people's periods trickle out in a predictable, manageable way and mine is more like someone pouring out a glass of water for a day, and then it pretty much ends. I've been to the doctor and they say there is nothing wrong with me down there. Executive Program weekend is just not a good weekend for my gushing geyser period. It's really best to be close to home, or at least to the bathroom at work. One time I even dropped blood on the floor of Macy's downtown, and had to stand there squeezing my thighs together while my friend ran to the bathroom to get me a wad of toilet paper. Now that was really awful. That was probably the worst thing that ever happened with my weird explosive period.

And since a skirt is not really a replacement for a pair of work pants, I also bought a new pair of work pants this weekend, bringing the menstrual financial toll to about $220 this weekend!

Fashion Twins, Part XIVIXIIIXXX

My sister is visiting, and she's a 6 year old demon with boundless energy and a steady stream of conversation, so I have not been able to write. But I did manage to capture yet another pair of fashion twins. How cute; they both put on their jeans and light yellow tee shirts and then snapped the leash on their light yellow dog and went walking down the street! This is so unlike DD and me. If we both get dressed wearing the same color jacket or shirt or shoes one of us will usually go and change. It just feels so gag-inducing wearing the same things. I feel like couples have just been together too long when they start dressing like that!

The Poopetrator

My co-workers and I are going to a baseball game today. We're leaving in twenty minutes; those of us who even bothered to come into the office at all today. Most are "working from home" (cough cough) and will meet us there. Uh huh. My CEO is wearing crisp khakis and a bright orange polo-style shirt instead of his usual suit and tie and glossy shoes. I don't really know anything about baseball. I only know of Derek Jeter and A-Rod (whom I keep thinking is named "Axel" instead of "Alex") and I know the Giants aren't playing the Yankees today, so I won't even see Derek Jeter or A-Rod. And didn't Barry Bonds go to jail? Whatever. I have sunscreen, a big hat, Gucci sunglasses and a few trashy magazines; that ought to hold me. Anyhow, I'm not really writing about the baseball game outing, I'm justifying why I'm goofing off and writing my blog during the workday!

The wrong-est thing just happened. We work on the first floor of what looks like a big white house. There are two businesses upstairs. They get to their work by using stairs outside... it's not like they need to come down to the first floor for anything. I was in the bathroom (pee only) and someone came stomping into the bathroom. I saw boots under the stall door, which I thought odd since no one in my office wears those kind of boots. I thought maybe it was the letter carrier or DHL driver... Then I smelled poop! Then the person washed her hands (with our nice organic lavender soap!) and left. I ran out to see who it was, and saw someone going back upstairs. She works upstairs and came downstairs just to poop in our bathroom. Not only did she drop a turd in OUR bathroom, with its poop smell molecules, she used our fancy hand soap, that we take turns buying. We're a NONPROFIT, for God's sake; they're a FOR PROFIT. You go downstairs to the NONPROFIT to POOP, and use the soap provided for by the underpaid nonprofit employees. What a jerk! I really want to go up there and just walk into their office, see the woman and confront her... but MY coworkers think I'm nice, and we're supposed to be friendly with those people upstairs. There's a very nice transit center across the street with a very nice bathroom that's open to the public. She should really have some frickin decency and go poop over there! I try to do my business at home, personally. I don't feel my coworkers should have to be exposed to my solid waste. Coworkers have to deal with enough of each other as it is. The next time the Poopetrator comes downstairs, I will be waiting...

Modesty Panels, please.

It seems to be my lot in life to always work for "alternative" businesses. Start ups, dotcoms in their formative years (before they learn to conform to labor laws), non profits also in their early years, women owned cooperatives and vegetable companies run by a gaggle of people who have all been each other's lovers at various times in their histories... yet I've also worked for a monolithic school district, in which I was just a number (and hell, my number got transposed, resulting in my not having any reported income for a year), and for a huge cable company, but those were long ago. I say it's my lot in life, but of course, I've chosen to work where I have.

My latest gripe is that in my office (in its 6th year, and has only 12 full time staff), we work at weird, huge desks from a bygone era. Now I'm all for mid century modern antiques. These are not mid century modern antiques. They're ugly, huge, clunky veneer-covered desks like teachers or barristers or office people may have sat at in the early 80's. There are no height adjustments. There are no rounded corners. I don't have any drawers, for god's sake (no, I have a little Rubbermaid bin under my desk with all my office supplies in it). You can see our legs from the frontside, and if we were to let our legs fall slightly open, you could quite possibly see the crotches of our panties, in some cases, or just a fabric-covered crotch, in others. Either way-- CROTCH. There are no cozy little walls around us, no "modesty panels" as they are called in the office furniture industry, no surfaces to which you can tack or stick any of the papers you need to look at daily. One cannot slump, have any sort of a messy desk at all ("OH, WE NEED TO ZEN YOUR DESK!" bellowed by boss one day, pointing at my papers as if she were pointing at a pile of dog poop. As if "zen" is a verb for casual use in the Judeo Christian world... as if I am not the person in charge of reconciling our credit card bills and our petty cash, a task that involves the spreading out and deciphering and proper budgetary coding of many many receipts! As if I WANT to have a messy desk covered by everyone's receipts!)

To people who complain about working in cubicles, just know that there are office workers out here who are envious of your little cubicle, your modicum of privacy. There are workers who are envious of Dilbert, who long to be surrounded by some dull gray fabric, who long for a drawer in which to put their stuff, who long to chew their lunch without everyone else watching.

Supposedly, we are having some sort of office reorganization soon. I hope that involves a more ergonomic and productive set up, but I fear it simply means something like someone deciding to place all the printers and fax machines on my desk.

Happy Frickin' Thursday.

I have tomorrow off, as a comp day for my work weekend from Hell last weekend. Whee!

For today's blog post, I decided to show the most unflattering (and yet I find just it so funny) photo of me ever taken. This was a few years ago, and in my defense I will say that it was earlier than 7:00 am and I hadn't showered yet. Um, and feel free to donate to my haircut-and-styling products fund at any time!

The staff goes to a baseball game

Next Thursday, all my coworkers and I are going to a baseball game. We're not playing in the game, and no one we know is playing in the game... we're going to a professional baseball game. It's not that I don't like baseball... I like playing and I liked going to games when I was a high school teacher and the kids I actually knew were playing in the game, so I actually cared if they did well. I don't care about professional baseball and I haven't been to a professional baseball game since I was a child. My family used to go to Dodger games; the only things I remember are the name "Steve Garvey" and playing with a long red licorice rope the whole time, and being smeared with sunscreen by my mother at intermittent intervals.

Since I am fairly new on staff I don't know whether this decision to go on an outing was made before I landed there... I remember some discussion about what days were best for everyone. I'm a bit envious of my coworker who is off in Greece for a few weeks, not just because she's in Greece but because she gets to miss the game! Following the game is a barbeque at my boss' house. She has her good attributes, but she's a sarcastic, frequently high strung, more than occasionally micromanaging, self-described bitch. Yes, she's one of these people who revels in calling herself a bitch, and in embodying that state of being.

I could call in sick, but I've had a cold for a week and I called in sick last Tuesday and again this Monday, and another sick day would be excessive (and suspicious). I could also take a knitting project with me to the game, because everyone knows you can knit and watch TV or knit and talk, and presumably knit and watch a baseball game, but what about the barbeque? I could eat a hotdog early on in the day, not feel well, and leave with a stomachache (only to go to a nearby salon that I like a lot and get a manicure and pedicure!)... I'm a terrible actor and an unconvincing liar... just planning the ruse would give me a real stomachache. We're expected to RSVP for the barbeque today (she sent the invitation late yesterday)... what do I do?

Yummie Tummie vs. the muffin tops

I don't actually watch the Oprah Winfrey Show, because I don't actually own a television, but apparently She (Oprah) promoted a shapewear garment called Yummie Tummie on the show. I learned about Yummie Tummie while searching online for "long camisole" or "long tank"-- Yummie Tummie comes in regular length and long length, so my searching turned up this intriguing item. The basic idea is it's a tank top or camisole with regular cottony straps and about a three inch hem like any other cotton camisole or tank, but from right below your breasts to the cotton hem there's this thicker, opaque microfiber-and-lycra/spandex STUFF that holds in all your fat. It's main and most celebrated purpose is to squeeze the batter back into the muffin tops!
The muffin tops are the bulge of fat and skin that pop over the dent created by the waistband of low-rise, non-stretchy cotton denim jeans.

Of course I'd rather have my own built in yummy tummy made of muscle and sinew, but for now I figured I'd try a Tummie Tummie tank. I got mine in white, regular hip length. It's plenty long; I can't imagine needing the long length unless you have a really long torso or are very tall. It's hard to get into the thing, but once in, it feels pretty good. The best thing about it is it kind of helps you remember to stand straight and have good posture. It's also long enough to cover the muffin tops and allay any of the cool breezes around the middle that often result from jeans + average tight tee shirt or velour hoodie. (Not only did you bake up some muffin tops, but you also set them out on the windowsill to cool.) The downside is the top made me a little sweaty. It was kinda hot in there. I can also imagine it could be rather ungraceful trying to get out of that thing in semi-public in the locker room or in front of a lover. I still think I liked it enough to want a few more.

I got my Yummie Tummie from an online retailer of lingerie because the shipping was free, but in perusing Yummie Tummie's official site, I was struck by the similarily in the imagery, compared to that of Stila Cosmetics. Both use cute illustrations of women, of various hair and skin colors and hairstyles, but all with the same slim-curvy bodies and similar facial features. I think it's designed to say, "You women in our target market group come in different colors but you're all basically the same in that you're not as slim as these illustrations, but you COULD be, nor are you quite as pretty as the women in these illustrations, but you COULD be if you buy our products! And we're all just the same in that regard, which is why all these pictures actually look the same even though we've made a concerted effort to make them look sort of diverse!" Yay, and the whole marketing team does a toast with their Diet Cokes in hands. Well, it's better than nothing, nothing being the complete denial that people of color even exist, but it still just feels oh-so-chick-lit ish to me in a way that feels slightly over-played already.

I'm on hiatus while I'm working a hellish three day stint of 13 hour days! Update on Sunday!

Wall-E and Fat Equals

I saw the film Wall-E last night. The evening started out with a difficult telephone conversation with my father, in which I told him that I feel he and his parenting partner (don't know how else to describe the relationship. My sister's mother and my dad are not "together"--but they made a child and are raising her together) have consistently made it difficult for me to see my sister and to have a relationship with her.

The latest is she's in San Francisco for about five days. They didn't tell me this ahead of time (they never do), so whenever I DO find out she's here, I inevitably drop whatever plans I have and offer up my weekend in the hopes they can squeeze me into her schedule. I'm happy to, because I want to see her, it's just that they're so inconsiderate. I called her mother and asked if I could see her Saturday (tomorrow). She said something something about needed to get her back for the family dinner. What time? I asked. Five or six, she said. Okay, I can bring her back by five, I replied. What time can I pick her up? Her mother informs me that the child does not wake till 10:00 am. Okay, our visit is getting shorter and shorter by the minute. Oh, and I'm also informed that they don't have a car seat here. Mind you, my sister is SIX, and will be SEVEN in early October. The law says kids have to be in a car seat till they're six years old or sixty pounds. Never mind that the kid is so tall and lanky she's practically got a 30" inseam. Really? A car seat? Really?! Okay, I say to Baby Mama. I can come get her on the bus, or rent a car seat. But I'm just curious, how are you carting her around?
She laughs a little and replies that her sister has a car with a built in car seat. WTF?
The only thing that made the conversation even a little bit bearable was the fact that my sister got on the phone and asked if we could go to the beach by my house and whether I have any good sand toys. "We can go to the zoo, or the beach, or the TOY STORE," I say, slyly. "TOY STORE!" she screams, as I chuckle evilly and say goodbye.

Anyhow, I watched Wall-E wondering if it would be good to take my sister to see, too complicated, too violent, etc. In many ways it was a charming and wonderful film. In other ways-- not so much. The humans had ruined Earth and escaped on a luxury space cruise liner, and they floated around on comfortable seats; like hover-recliners. They didn't have to think about where they were going because they'd just get their seat onto a kind of speed track and everyone would speed along a path. They always had a big drink at hand, which looked like a Big Gulp or super-sized soda, with a big straw sticking out, which they'd suck on constantly. A holographic TV or computer screen floated in front of each person. Through this they could talk, watch news feeds, play virtual sports. They didn't walk, do any physical or mental work, and each person was fat. There were the usual fat-people pratfalls... falling over, can't get up. Huffing and puffing... out of breath. Trying to reach... can't quite reach... where a medium weight person would have been able to reach easily. It just seemed reductive and overly simplistic a vision to think that a whole society of people who are lazy, pampered, and not working would also be obese. They had all kinds of futuristic devices and ultra sophisticated robots, but no way to keep people or make people muscled, lean, etc? That's odd. I am not fat. It's not just fat people or fat activists who are bothered by this portrayal of fat characters. It made me feel uncomfortable and sort of embarrassed, as if I had a party and one of my guests said something rude to another guest. So my verdict is I wouldn't take my sister to see this movie. Maybe she'll catch the marketing fever and ask her parents if she can see it, but I'm certainly not going to suggest it. I love the sustainability piece of the film, but I wouldn't want my sister at such an impressionable age to think fat people are funny, to think lazy=fat, bored=fat, fat=hilarious. And one last bitch--the captain of the ship, while a cute character and one of the protagonists--was male and white. Hey, filmmakers. Way to push the envelope on that one. Pppffft.

Practical and Sturdy... kind of.

I need a new tote bag for work, one that is practical and sturdy (but, of course, also cute). My current tote bag is great, but it's natural-colored canvas, with leather trim and handles, which I associate with spring, and I've been carrying it since late March. Fortunately I've managed to keep the thing pretty clean, but I definitely need to put it away and rotate in something sturdier if I want to use this one again in subsequent springs.

Last weekend DD and I went shopping in Marin county, mostly because it was foggy all weekend here in San Francisco and I wanted to see the sun. I needed a demi cup bra for a new top I have, a very cute top but one which is cut lower than all my bras. Having acquired the bra, I was exiting the store when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw some leopard-ness with white leather trim. I came to a screeching halt and veered off toward the handbag department. (Of course they place the handbags and women's shoes near the doors.) All thoughts of a practical black, brown or cream leather tote bag flew out of my mind as I fell in love (in LOVE, I tell you) with the Dolce and Gabbana "Animalier" tote.

Thing is, I have a "thing" for leopard, a "thing" which has been suppressed for the past few years. For a while there, I had leopard everything and everywhere, even plastic pens, sticky notes, a cheapie wallet, several cheapie bags, shoes, socks, a lap blanket, a limited-edition Hello Kitty stuffed animal in a leopard suit (ok, I still have her and love her), a key, a hairdryer, and, at one point, before I lived with a man, my whole bedroom. I recognized the signs of addiction, or at least obsession. When you choose a leopard hairdryer that actually doesn't work as well as a regular black hairdryer simply because it's leopard... that's not the wisest choice. So I monastically scaled back my leopard purchases and when my leopard things wore out, didn't replace them with more leopard. My current leopard collection consists of underwear, one sweater, and the Hello Kitty in a leopard suit. I want the bag!!!
At $500 it's not outrageously expensive (not like I can get a $500 bag every week, but twice a year, maybe yes) but if I splurge on it, I still won't have a practical bag for work that goes with all my clothes. Pffffft.

Once Upon a Time

I thought I'd share this photo of me. It's VERY old. Ha ha. It's unusual because my mom usually had me dressed in girly clothes, although my hair was short as a boy's. To be fair to her, it was my preference to wear "girl" clothes, because I got mistaken for a boy if I was in jeans, cords and tee shirts. I'm pretty sure I'm wearing my friend Mason's hand-me-down shirt--he lived in the same apartment complex we lived in and was a few years older than me, and we would run around together because there weren't boys his age for him to play with.

Blind Packaging, Gambling, Rainbow Toys

I've been bitten by the bug that is blind packaging. It all started (for me) when DD started working with Be@rbricks at work, showing me how there are several different bears in a series, and they all come in the same box, and you don't know which bear you're getting till you actually buy it and open the box, at which point you're either thrilled because you got one of the ones you hoped you'd get, or slightly disappointed because you got one you already have.

The small thrill I get from opening the mysterious toys is similar to the small thrill I get, say, scratching a California Lotto scratcher with a coin, or pulling the handle on a slot machine. Yes, blind packaging taps into the parts of us that want to gamble all our money away in a windowless, smoky casino. It's a powerful urge. Combine that with cute colors and faces, limited runs, and I'm hooked like a largemouth bass.

In general, I try not to "collect" stuff. Keeping my apartment, closets and life clutter-free has been an ongoing project/goal for several years now. But the lure of these toys, called Wish Come True and made by Strangeco, is too powerful to resist! I now have three of them, and at odd times during the day and night I find myself thinking about all the remaining packages of them and what might be in them... it's not so much that I want the whole series, I just want a FEW more. Ha ha.

Miss Manners says: go directly to Hell (do not pass Go)

It was such a beautiful day, and DD and I had frozen yogurt with fruit for lunch, which isn't much of a lunch, so we decided to go to dinner right after work at a restaurant where there is an outdoor patio eating area. The thing with going out to dinner right after work is that there are always a lot of 1) old geezers and 2) couples with young children having dinner at this time. If you eat dinner early, you're with the geriatric and pediatric crowd. That's fine, it's just funny to hear the typical San Francisco middle aged parents ordering a fancy fuji apple and daikon sprout open-faced grilled cheese sandwich for their little daughter-- hold the sprouts, can we have the apple on the side, and "Don't worry honey, we can cut your sandwich and fold it so that it's a NORMAL grilled cheese sandwich." Did I ever eat at fancy fusion restaurants when I was six, with a yuppie mom and dad who catered to my every whim and ordered a whole young Thai coconut with a straw sticking out of it for me? Oh, hell no. My mom was a struggling, single, early twenties schoolteacher. I ate what I was given, we never ate at restaurants, and we only had fancy extras like cookies and string cheese when she got paid, which was once a month, and the fancy stuff lasted about three days. I'm not complaining, I'm just comparing and contrasting my experience with Little Miss Fuji Apple Grilled Cheese Sandwich's experience...

Yet I still think I had the better childhood, for I did not have a disgusting, horrid father who BLEW HIS NOSE REPEATEDLY at the dinner table, out in public. She does.
Why do men do this? And it's always men who do this, never women. Even with my tummy full of fried food and coconut ice cream and espresso, and the beautiful warm evening, I got FURIOUS when this man started, and continued his nose blowing. I wanted to tell him what a gross, nasty, entitled f*ck he was, but I didn't want to traumatize Little Miss Fuji Apple Designer Grilled Cheese Daikon Sprouts. Never thought I'd say it, but I'm kind of glad I grew up poor and grateful and eating foods that are considered "weird" or "exotic". And I'm glad my dad was clean and well mannered. Sheesh!

The Purgatory Bed

Back from a week in NYC (that warm, humid, exciting city) I was struck by a few realizations. One, there is no summer in San Francisco. I know, it doesn't snow, it doesn't freeze... but it's all cold, damp mist and mold about fifty weeks out of the year.

Two-- unlike the amazingly comfy bed they had at the hotel in which we stayed, so plush and amazing it's apparently trademarked the Heavenly Bed, our bed at home is not heavenly. (No, indeed. In comparison, our bed is hard and cold; spartan; monastic. We've nicknamed it "Purgatory".) The first thing I did upon waking up in the hotel room after our first night was to start peeling back the bedding, counting the comforters and looking for name brands on the sheets so that I could replicate this heavenliness at home. All in all, it was a mattress with a pillow top thing on top, a bottom sheet, a top sheet, a down "blanket" they call it (not as heavy and thick as a comforter) another sheet, a "hypo-allergenic" comforter with a duvet cover, two hypo-allergenic firm pillows and two down filled soft pillows. Three sheets-- it's like a club sandwich. They actually sell the bedding and the bed but it's very expensive, so I'm going to have to go about replicating the heavenly bed on a budget. I was actually relieved to discover that the thread count of the heavenly sheets wasn't so very high. Last night I went to a discount linens store and got a new duvet cover and two new pillows, went home, washed them and used them right away. The thing about discount stores is they don't usually have terrific colors and patterns, but if you don't mind off-white or white or pink or celery green you can find 400 thread count bedding for a dramatically reduced price. I would have been okay with off-white or white but luckily for me they had chocolate brown, which I much prefer. Little by little I plan to make our bed over so that it's no longer akin to purgatory.

In my recent bed research I also learned that there was once a size called an "Olympic Queen", made only by Simmons, which is six inches wider than a regular Queen. A Queen is 60 inches wide and 80 inches long. A Standard King, aka Eastern King, is 76 inches wide and 80 inches long, while a California King, aka Western King, is 72 inches wide and 84 inches long. Too bad the Olympic Queen didn't catch on--it seems it would be just right for me and DD!

Be back in a week!

I'm off to NYC early tomorrow morning!

Someone's Got Tarina Fever

Lily Allen (top photo) is adorable, and it's not like I'm a fan. I did try to listen to her album a few times but it just made me irritable. I just don't see how anyone can deny that she's adorable. Her face looks exactly like those plastic dolls from the craft store that my nana used to crochet outfits for. I liked my nana's crochet work a lot. For some reason all her stuff came out too small, even though she measured us carefully. She measured me and she measured my dad, but I ended up wearing the fisherman's sweater she made for him, and that's when I was in second grade. But getting back to the point, Lily Allen looks like an adorable little Kewpie doll.

She apparently went to some Glamour award thing the other evening with pink hair, a bruise on her arm, a white satin dress with a bleeding deer complete with splashes of blood print, and aqua satin sandals. Maybe she's been reading Francesca Lia Block novels lately; maybe she's inspired by jewelry designer Tarina Tarantino (bottom photo). I just think Lily Allen should be wearing a piece by Tarina Tarantino in homage; at least acknowledge the inspiration lest people miss the reference.

There's a pink-haired Tarina Tarantino Barbie coming out soon. I've always disliked Barbie, but I want one. I shouldn't say I always disliked Barbie. I did have several or a dozen at any given time during my childhood, and I liked to experiment with their joints, but that's another story for another day; maybe tomorrow.

More fun than a barrel of monkeys: Work!

Three weeks into my new job, and all the happy shiny newness has worn right the fuq off. These people don't even have a SERVER. They share documents on google docs. My docs don't sync with my boss's... we just keep e-mailing versions of docs round and round. We use gmail instead of Outlook, except the CEO and the IT manager, who "can't deal" with anything that's not Outlook. Okay, so what makes them think any of us can deal with not having Outlook, if they can't deal without Outlook? And I am producing a business plan with many colors and spreadsheets and bars and detail on a low-end home office printer.


Boss: Why did you change this double line to a single line?

Me: I didn't. It's a double line on the computer, but because this printer sucks, the two lines are bleeding together and making a single line.

Boss: Well, can't you DO something about it?


Okay, the something I would have done would have been to have finished it two days ago and sent it to a professional printer.

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Later On...

Me: Hey, I have So-and-So Bigshot on the phone for you. Want to talk to her?

Boss: NO! She's a narcissist psycho! She's insane!

Me: uh, okay.

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I could go on and on, but the point is, I realize I left Hell and simply entered another dimension of Hell. Not the same Hell, a different Hell. Old Hell had a nicer scanner. Sweet computers. A SERVER. A SHARED DIRECTORY. Microsoft Outlook. Jesus, look what they've reduced me to... I'm an evangelist for a Microsoft product. New Hell has nice, genuinely awesome co-workers. A nice CEO. (Is that an oxymoron? Nice CEO? But he really is.) Toilet seat protectors... ohhh yeah....sweet, paper-covered CIVILIZATION!
But everything's so fuqqing inefficient, and my boss... oh, wow.

What to do?