d'habitude

Weekend update, y'all!

Friday: Headed out for Happy Hour with some coworkers. I know that I live in "suburbia" and should therefore hate my neighborhood, but I love that I can walk to so many things - including beers and nachos. So, there we were, 5 guys ... and me. An hour into it, I had to call a moratorium on talking about work. The boys naturally segued into ... talking about sports! Argh! Despite my repeated "hints" that the convo was completely leaving me out, it continued. Not the ideal way to spend a Friday evening. I begged off early-ish and went home and watched "Queens" (Reinas). I understood a lot of the Spanish, which thrilled me. It also underlined that I want to add to and improve my Spanish. At some point, I want to be able to travel in a Spanish-speaking country and handle my bidness in Spanish.

Saturday: Today, was National Rebuilding Together day. A bunch of coworkers (along with spouses, significant others, stepparents, friends, and kids) met up at a house in East Palo Alto and went to work. We tore down an old shed and built a new one, and did a HELL of a lot of landscaping (including building a driveway turnaround, planting trees, tilling the ground to get up weeds, and mulching.) We miraculously finished by 4 pm and I was able to head home and grab a shower before the BBQ. I made the mistake of sitting down post-shower. So. hard. to. get. back. up. The soreness really kicked in. There is something about manual labour and its effects - something honest, and authentic. The gym makes me sore as well, but there's something about the combination of sore muscles, a thin layer of mulch dust, and exhaustion. Maybe it's the sense of accomplishment - I made a real, tangible contribution.

Sunday: The nearly inevitable aftermath of spending all day Saturday outside - horrendous, horrendous allergies. I was sneezing so loudly and forcefully that I scared Gia. Not coo' yo, not coo'. Although it was gorgeous out, I resolved to spend the day inside. I did a good bit of cleaning, but also, um, some napping (which did wonders for the allergies.) I also started thinking about/setting my goals for May.

meta

When I started a blog, I think I made only one promise to myself: "Don't write about traffic." Traffic sucks, we all know it - but when you write about it, you never really make it interesting. It's kind of like talking about how sick you are, what symptoms you have, etc. Because you're in the middle of it, you may think it's riveting, but no one else does. Really. (Conventional wisdom says the same thing about dreams and dream analysis, but I, for one, am an exception to that - I like hearing about people's wacked out talking dog/ flying/ showing up at school naked dreams.)

As you may know, I went through a period of really questioning why I blog, and whether I wanted to continue. My (undeclared) goal for April has been to blog every day. And, as long as I don't somehow miss tomorrow, I will achieve it. It's been instructive - I have to say, it has served as a bit of a kickstart and refocused me on blogging. I still can't define why I blog, but I'm enjoying it a lot more. And anything you enjoy in life should be kept around for as long as it serves you.

Bringing it full circle, the other thing I hoped that I wouldn't write about on my blog was diet/exercise/etc. related. And I'm bending that now. My goal for May is 30 minutes of cardio every.single.day. I know myself - and I'll be a lot more likely to hit my goal if I tell the internets, and record my daily 30 here. Look at me - breaking all my own self-imposed rules!

reincarnation

When Hesse and I were at the library last week, he turned to me and said, "Tell me, have you read up on past-life regression?" Like it was the most common topic in the world.

This week, I launched a blitzkrieg on craigslist . I searched for Spanish and French tutors, and considered tackling some of my demons, too. In that vein, I looked at voice lessons and also swimming lessons. I did the standard Red Cross certified swimming lessons as a child, so I won't drown (right away), but I'm not an efficient swimmer. And water makes me a little panick-y. (My phobia of singing will have to wait until .... next summer, maybe.)

While blitzing, I found an ad for past-life regression hypnotherapy in our area - which I immediately dispatched to H. Ensue the flurry of emails (10+), which boil down to: "You should so try this!" "No, you should totally go!!"

I'm not sure, maybe because of my (a)religious leanings, the idea doesn't interest me in the least. (Which doesn't mean that I won't chauffeur H to a session and milk him for details!)

55 Fiction Friday: Precipitation edition

Friday is a cloud-watcher.

The sky is tense with waiting, and so am I. The thunder booms in the distance, a muffled roar. Finally, the forward scout: a raindrop splats on the porch railing, signaling to its comrades that the coast is clear. The sky opens up, a percussion concert. And I, I finally draw a full, easy breath.

risk averse

I was telling my personal trainer about some foolishness undertaken by a fellow student in my program in Costa Rica. I finished by saying, "You know, he was still at that age where you think you're immortal."

My trainer looked at me and said, "Were you ever at that age?" It took me off-guard because I was shocked that with our fairly limited interaction, he was able to make that observation. And, of course, also because he was right - I never was. That's not to say that I didn't have my nights of far too many drinks (possibly complete with hopping up on the table and dancing), but over all - I've been fairly careful with myself.

There are times where I regret that I wasn't a wilder and crazier youth simply because there is a natural age limit for such things. It's just kind of lame and sad when you see people who are far too old for it engaging in youth hijinks. But overall, I'm okay with it - I am who I am.

I am trying to take "age-appropriate" risks now. There are activities that I would like to try that I feel really self-conscious about. This is part of what the personal training is about - reconnecting with myself as an athlete so that I can try some of the things I think may be fun.

Some times, I'd like to just get out of my head and into the doing of things.

idlewild

I know it goes against the unspoken contract: I'm not supposed to "flip the script" like this, but I can't help it. I've been spending a little time with statcounter and now I'm bursting with curiousity.

I thought I knew most of my regular readers (in real life, even!), but I'm getting the sense that there are quite a few regular lurkers as well. So, um, would you mind commenting and letting me know who you are? (Doesn't have to be by name - maybe by location?)

Thanks! (Let's all pretend this doesn't feel totally weird.)

pretty in pink

I think we (or at least I) want life to be like the montage in an 80's movie. You know, the montage: the makeover/cram session/ vigorous workout - all set to a catchy beat - complete with quick cuts, and shots of our hero(ine)s being goofy. And then, the final result - a mere 2.5 minutes later - serious wow factor/passing the test/ some athletic feat.

A friend recently returned to working out after taking a few years off. She described herself after her first workout: she checked herself out in a mirror, looking for results.

And that's just it - we want nearly instant gratification, some teeny hint or indication that we have moved ourselves in the desired direction.

As much as I am a planner, I feel like my long term vision has diminished. Until recently, I committed myself to multi-year projects (like, oh say ... law school.) But now, I feel like I can't think more than 1-3 months into the future.

On second thought, maybe I'm selling myself short: a semester is about 3 months. Maybe long(er) term vision is just about slicing and dicing things into 1-3 month pieces. Had I thought of law school (or university ... or doing a marathon) as the whole big picture the entire time, I probably wouldn't have finished.

I suppose this is the next chapter in my Inner Macy series: patience. Breaking up big, intimidating goals and ideas into things that can be handled one month, one day, one action at a time.



Photo from sonico's flickr.

If Plato is a fine red wine, then Aristotle is a dry martini

Weekend update, y'all!

Friday
Realized I had wholly lost my ability to focus, so I left work at 6:30 pm - and felt like that was so early. Did a spot of grocery shopping (food! in the house! in non-frozen form!!) and settled down to watch "Kicking and Screaming." Ah, Friday night in - how I love you!

Saturday
Hesse and I dashed to Fremont for some chaat, then hit IKEA for dessert. (Totally wtf, I know! But the marzipan tart things in the Swedish food store? The yum.) Then, we went to the public library. I know, I know - sometimes the glamour in my life ... it's just too much to take.

I headed up to the city for a dinner party. Unfortunately for me, it was raining. SF drivers can not handle the rain. And they have the memories of goldfish. Every time it rains, they must re-learn the whole "drive more slowly"/"not like a jackass" thing. Every time. So there are accidents. Which means it took me nearly two hours to get to SF. Triple shot of ick. The dinner was lovely, and something I plan to write about later.

Sunday
So lazy. The one thing I've really wanted to do now that my superbusy phase at work seems to be waning is to clean. my. house. Or at least bust the messiness down to the level where someone else can come clean it. Seriously, people, the laundry situation is getting dire - and I can no longer find the floor of the bedroom.

I finally motivated and went to work for a few hours. Then, it was off to TBF's daughter's "monthday" party. According to TBF, it is a Taiwanese tradition to have a party on the baby's one month birthday to celebrate both mom and baby. Dude, there were MAD kids up in that hizzy! I think there were at least ten, but it's hard to say as they were sort of a blur of energy.

Best comment of the evening: being told that I looked "good" with a baby, and that a baby is kind of the ultimate accessory. I said, "Yeah, an incredibly EXPENSIVE accessory!" I whispered "Gucci ain't got nothin' on you" to the bebe's head, gave him a quick smooch and handed him right back to Mama.

petite

Actual phone conversation:

maisnon: So, Mom... how tall are you?
mom: Um, 5 feet.
maisnon: without shoes?
mom: --
maisnon: I heard today that if you're 4'10 or under, that you're legally a midget.^*
mom: --
maisnon: That's the second time someone's told me that.
mom: MAAAAAYBE I'm legally a midget ...



^* - I have no idea what "legally a midget" might mean.

Snippet: Inhale

In the moment just before truly waking, you can hear your own breathing: it's rhythm and depth, the evenness of it. And then, awareness floods: who you are, where you are, what day of the week it is, what time you have to be up, what tasks you have scheduled for the day.

55 Fiction Friday: Loverboy edition

Friday knows that everybody's working for the weekend:

She cried a little in the car, the tears inching down her cheeks – not pretty, like in the movies. Demi Moore with her perfect, suspended Ghost tear. Shit! Her eyes were getting red. Well, she could blame allergies, or a cold. What she really needed was some time, space, sleep and a chance to breathe.

amélioration

My trainer was demostrating a tricep exercise (standing on a Bosu ball, round side down, in a semi-squat in front of a dual arm cable machine, tricep kickback.) I was in the zone of watching the form. All of a sudden, I reached over and pushed his elbow with my index finger and said, "In."

I corrected my personal trainer's form. Without even realizing it. He thought it was great and was happy that I was paying close attention. Somehow (while balancing on the damn Bosu), I started talking about speaking/being French. The French will correct your spoken French without missing a beat:

"Je voudrais aller a la Mexique pour mes
vacances."

"au Mexique."

It's that fast and that simple. The assumption is that you won't be at all offended by it (and I, for one, never am.) I've heard French children corrected just like that - the incorrect article or verb tense quickly corrected, and the speaker allowed to get back to whatever they were saying. Personally, when I'm corrected - I tend to repeat the correction, and move on. I have found it very, very effective in learning and improving.

I've even, in the heady moments when my French is up-to-speed, corrected people. And I would never, ever do that in English.

Why is that? I can understand that a constant barrage of corrections to someone who is learning the language and already feeling insecure would probably have a negative effect. But, I can't imagine correcting someone even a single time.

I wonder if this is some kind of anglophile/francophile divide. (And I'm certainly not saying the French are in any way superior: while anglos are more likely to take a correction personally, the French make any problem about the other person. And yes, those are both s-w-e-e-p-i-n-g generalizations.)

What would it be like to tell the people in my life to let me know when I'm wrong? Or point out when I'm being arrogant, bossy, or just need to shut the hell up? (All of which happen fairly often, I'm sure.) I'll be honest, I'm not sure I'm ready for that jelly just yet.

diet

I think I need to go on a news-reduction/elimination diet. Maybe just for a week.

I feel like I flood myself with news: I've tracked the U.S. Attorney scandal, I kept up with the Imus-thing, and now, of course, the tragedy at Virginia Tech. (My brothers and I all attended VA-state schools, LB1 is a Hokie.)

On the one hand, I think it is important to be well-informed. But, on the other, more personally and selfishly: I need a break from it.

In one of my more "New Age" moments, I would say that keeping up with the news is changing my energy, and not in a way that is helping any of the problems, or anyone - least of all me. Information and news coverage can motivate you and get you involved, or it can just ... diminish you.

This isn't forever, it's just for now. One week - I'm going to say until April 27th - no reading of my political commentary or news blogs.

Sketches

Browsing through my drafts:

Big D (started on 6/6/06):

I'm goin' through the big D/ And don't mean Dallas

Actually, Mark Chestnutt, I do mean Dallas. I'm in the Big D off and on for work ... for the next two months

Mom=midget [no other text!]

Hot, Hot, Heat (started on 7/24/06):

I have to say, living in the Bay area has turned me into some kind of uber-wuss. I'm a total whiny brat about the temperature, now. When I think of the time I've spent in India, Malaysia, etc., and one incandescently hot summer in DC - all sans air conditioning - I feel like it must have been some other person that used the power of evaporation and moving as little as humanly to best the temperature.

Untitled:

This weekend, I was driving and thinking of the many ways people interact. It seems almost inevitable that if you allow someone into your life, if you connect with them in some way, that they will at some point disappoint or otherwise hurt you. I think our interactions inspire our best selves, but there is no denying that there are huge costs.

Just like Honey:

SJM and I once talked about starting a (comedy) desi writing group here in the Bay-area. The reason we wanted it to be "comedy" writing was because, as I put it, "How many more 'my mom - she doesn't understand me!' stories can we listen to??"

I only joke because it's true!

bookworm

A member of the blogination, Neel , reminded me that it is National Libary Week.

As you know, I loves me my library. It's a block away, how could I not? Sometimes, my library strikes me as a weird kind of Utopia: the homeless guy that hangs around outside always says, "What's up?" and asks me about my adventures, and the librarians are something special. I was there this weekend picking up some books for my pro bono case (which has to do with "domestic relations" - the polite term for people going through a divorce trying to rip each other's throats out in litigation.) The research librarian hesitated, and then said softly, "Good luck, dear." I explained that the books weren't for me (but I think that may have come off as "My, um, friend has this question...")

I am, oddly, on a nonfiction kick. I recently read Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America, which was thought-provoking. I'm now working on Fast Food Nation, with Guns, Germs and Steel waiting in the wings. Finally, on saheli's recommendation, I am working through It's Hard to Make a Difference When You Can't Find Your Keys: The Seven-Step Path to Becoming Truly Organized (aka "Could that title be any longer?) After all my navel-gazing about wanting my life to be different in myriad ways, this is what I have picked to work on: I want to be more organized. The book is interesting in that it focuses on the "why" behind being messy or disorganized (as opposed to most books on organization, which are about a weekend blitz of cleaning and arm wrestling everything into a system ... that of course falls apart after 4 days.) I guess the analogy is weight control: this is book is about addressing emotional eating, as opposed to most books which are about freaky, "get thin quick" diets.

In the fiction department, I just picked up The Kite Runner (yes, I am running four years behind everyone else!) So, what's in your book list?

Krump

I watched "Rize" today. Love, love, loved it - and recommend.

I'm a sucker for most things dance-related. (I've even started watching "Dancing with the Stars" online!) And yes, now I get it - I miss having dance as a part of my life. In college, I was on step team, which was ridiculously fun (and hard work.) Post college, I got into DC-swingin' swing scene, and worked up to dancing 2-3 times a week.

And now - nada. I clearly need to get my dance on.

Step and swing are very different dance forms. What I enjoyed about them both: the learning curve (well, maybe more like when you are finally half-way decent at something, i.e. the last 25% of the curve), and the creativity that comes when you know your stuff well enough to throw your own style into it.

Learning a partnered dance was a challenge for me. I tend to be pretty independent, and it's hard to really follow someone's lead (um, especially if they aren't very good. That's not even me being mean - a good lead is a breeze to follow, and makes you look like a better dancer than you are!)

My promise to myself: I will do at least two things this week ( as crazy as it is shaping up to be) to move myself towards taking a dance class in the near future.

Jaguar

A linky-lu post.

• I'd like to think that someday, I'll take in some of California's gorgeousness by bike, but I'm kind of terrified of biking near cars.
• In my pursuit of full-on Polly Anna Sunshine^tm-ness, I've started reading a few "personal development"-type blogs. The Happiness Project and the Life Coaches' Blog are thought-provoking.
• George Lange's Photo Flipbook - fabulous! (With a little serving of Clive Owen!)
• Another photo one: David Ichioka's Sleep Gallery - each series depicts one night of sleep (for an individual or couple.)
• Travel videos from around the world. (h/t Lifehacker.) Mmm... could be used to get inspired about your next trip, get nostaligic about your last one, etc.
• This reminds me of that weird drawing exercise we had in school: we'd draw the top 1/3 of an animal, then fold it over and pass it on to a classmate, they'd draw the next 1/3 (without looking) and pass it on to another. We'd open up the paper - and hilarity would ensue. Now, imagine doing that with a fictional story - starting an idea off and passing it on.
• And ... another "literary" one. LibraryThing is interesting in its own right, but the UnSuggester is brill - put in the title of a book you hated, and it will suggest some books you'll love. (There's a more conventional Suggester, as well.)
• Finally, a follow-up to Inner Macy: 22 tips to improve your self-esteem.

55 Fiction Friday: All Growns Up edition

So, some good news: a very good friend is moving to town. SCORE! I'm really psyched, and it's all happening so fast - she will be here by the end of the month! She was here with her mom doing some whirlwind apartment shopping (and she found a place!)

Good news, part II: her mom called me and asked me to hang out - and I'm going to see her, and I'm very, very, much looking forward to it. She's a lot of fun - and she's superawesome! She was my Bar support team, and provided me with a healthy lunch all three days of the Bar exam. And then took us to Chez Panisse when the exam was finally over. (I guess Good News, part III might be that I'll probably see her mom more often now.)

..........

Friday checks its bank balance.

She filled out the check, trying not to squelch the rising panic when the handwritten amount wouldn’t fit neatly on its line. (“two thousand five hundred and sixty three and 00/100 dollars”.) She looked it over with a jaundiced eye. Such a small piece of paper, and yet, allegedly, this was the sign of adulthood.

Couleurs

It's nearly 11 pm and I'm at work, sweating away on my pro bono appeal. The work is interesting and I'm learning about an area of law I'm wholly unfamiliar with.

And yet, this where I want to be.

I'm daydreaming of Costa Rica. Or rather, the person I was in Costa Rica. Something about the life I lived there, its lazy rhythm, left me sanguine and extremely mindful.

Looking at this photo, I remember the moment clearly: I insisted on being physically on the beach at every sunset. I'd arrive early and set up camp on my towel, joined by some of the beach dogs. I'd drink beer, chat with whoever joined me, write in my journal and wait for the light show begin. The skies hit these pink and purple hues I've never seen anywhere else. When it was well and fully dark, I'd walk back to my cabina, flashlight in hand - serenaded by thousands of little frogs.

I don't think I can live in that zone, but I'd like to at least create pockets where every waking moment isn't filled with a scrolling ticker of 'to do' items. I want that Costa Rican feeling back: no commitments, no deadlines, weightlessness.

Inner Macy

Having discussed the "Inner Macy" program I instituted a few years ago with a few online friends, I decided it was worthy of a post.

I think the project started when Macy Gray was really popular, which sort of puts it in a time frame. A friend was at the tail end of a really horrendous relationship that had sapped her self esteem and her ability to believe in herself. I'm not sure what it is, and maybe men do it too, but I feel like my female friends (and me!) are ever so willing to engage in really negative self-talk. If someone walked up to a friend and said 1/10th of the negative things I say to myself, I'd punch him/her right in the kisser. And yet, I do it to myself.

So, here are the rules:

Rule 1: Stop speaking negatively to yourself. If you wouldn't say it to a friend, don't say it to yourself. Every time you catch yourself saying something negative, just stop.

Rule 2: Build yourself up whenever you can. Notice the small things that you do well. Think on past successes. If needed or helpful, solicit positivity from friends.

Rule 3: Look good, feel good. It's easier to feel good about yourself when you feel like you look good. (This may mean using the Cherry Chapstick instead - ooooh, indulgent!)

Rule 4: Take more risks. This may seem out of place, but one of the best ways to feel competent and capable is to try something new. Even if you don't (entirely) succeed - at least you made the attempt!

This post may seem a little ... PollyAnna Sunshine, self-help-y, but (1) that's kinda who I really am (well, the parts that aren't 110% snark), and (2) I feel like a lot of people are in a phase/place where they may need to hear it.

(Alternatively titled, "You must not know about me")

Blur

The indomitable wt visited me at work and we hit Starbucks. (I know, sometimes the glamour - it's just too much.) wt zinged me with the quote of the day.

(wt tells me about some ridiculous interaction with a chiquita)

maisnon (stunned): I'll never understand people

wt: You'll never understand WOMEN. Because you're a DUDE!

maisnon (stunned silent - for once!)

wt: Well, you have dude emotions.

maisnon: I don't think it's that at all - I think it's that I'm an optimist and an idealist. And fundamentally, I just don't GET that people don't treat each other well, or with the other person's interest in mind.

(And, that latter part? Yeah, it doesn't get more "chick" than that.)

Area codes

Weekend update! (on Monday - what what!)

Friday Dinner with Hesse at the (in)famous Saravanaa Bhavan. Mmmm...South Indian food. Not so mmm.... rangy mob of (mostly) South Indians hanging out dispiritedly by the door, complete with hungry children. And, of course, every time the loudspeaker crackles into life, announcing "RAJIV! PARTY OF FIVE!", 25 people rush the door. Good times, good times.

This isn't my story to tell, but it has been cracking me up all weekend. The last time H was there, he was seated at 9:45 pm. He tried to order a dosai and was told:

"Sir! No dosai, sir!"

"What? No dosai?"

"Sir! Mexicans have gone home, sir! OONLY Mexicans in the kitchen, sir! And Mexicans have gone home."

.........

Thankfully, the Mexicans were still in full effect when we were seated. After feasting on two styles of dosai, we waddled back to the car. H kept asking me if I understood the people we were passing , well .... what about them? How about now? ("No, no, wait - YES! Uh, no.")

Saturday Brunch at brimful's! I parked 5 blocks away and started walking. A guy driving by in his car slowed down and smiled at me. I thought that he looked like a partner that I work with. Yeah, because it WAS the partner I work with. I run into coworkers everywhere, it's uncanny.

Brunch at b's was so nice - relaxing, good convo, great laughs (with ads and saheli and b as company, how could it be otherwise?) I need more of that - pure chillaxin' with sympatico peoples.

So, of course, I ended it by rushing off to the Asian Art Museum to meet yet another Indian friend. (I need to make some non-desi friends! I am accepting applications.) We had a little over an hour to hit the special exhibits. We started off with the Mewar exhibit. Summary: bunch of people running around with magnifying glasses (provided by the museum), all UP on the artwork, talking shit about yoga and how the last time they were in In-ja, how just utterly, utterly sublime it all was. Blech ++

I got straight-up MAD cut-eye from an Indian grandma. Indian grandma: it takes a certain amount of 'tude to rock the sari and woolen cardigan, I'll give you that. It takes even more to circle me like a god damn shark, so close you brushed BOTH of my arms, staring me up and down the whole time (quite the task, since you're pushing 5'1. Maybe.) In other cultures or situations - that series of actions and attitude would have led to a rumble. ('Sharks and Jets! Jets and Sharks!')

Unexpectedly, I greatly enjoyed the Japanese Bamboo Art exhibit. So many of the pieces make you want to pick them up and really look at them from all angles. I wanted magnifying glasses here, the better to see the different plaiting techniques, etc. It's a fairly small exhibit, but well worth it.

Friend and I decamped to Citizen Cake for a spot of lundin ("It's not lunch, but it's not quite dinner, either.) I've been there once before, for brunch. The menu was, um, how you say? I consider myself to have a fairly decent vocabulary, and I did not what half the words were. Egg mimosa? Lundin was kinda "enh" - but the bread pudding was phenom.

Sunday Brunch with Hesse, coworker and coworker's daughter. Did the all-brown crew remember that it was Easter Sunday and that a bunch of places would be closed? No, we most certainly did not. Much wandering of Palo Alto, much plaintive keening about the states of our stomach. (Ran into another coworker along the way.) Finally, found a place that was open. And, miracle of miracles, I think I've found my brunch spot. It's not within walking distance, but it has a gorgeous, sun-dappled patio with a fountain and greenery everywhere. Ah, bliss. (Ran into another coworker on the walk back to the car.)

All the in-between little bits were spent reviewing a 700 page court transcript for the brief I'm writing this week. Somehow, it all got done!

Search

Recent googling that turned up my blog:

• 'asian women can't drive'
• 'cheap ass desi'

My heart is full.

A year ago...

/Tar · ZHAY/

How do you say... Tar-zhay?Why hasn't Target picked up on this yet? Why haven't they come out with an ad campaign exploiting what everyone calls them in jest? They could use that Deeee-lite song, and Lady Miss Kier could star. It would be trippy and fabulous.

Clearly, I'm not fully exploiting my talents. Amiga and I spoke today of potentially forming an advertising/marketing company. It would be a community service, really. I see way too many ads that suck. I could do something about that.

Also, I'd like to discuss a little Tarzhay phenomenon - why can I not get out of the store without dropping pretty close to a Benjamin? Everything is so reasonably priced (and cute!!) that I can't point to an item and say, 'Yeah, I really shouldn't have purchased that.' And that's why they own my ass.

..........

Follow-up ad: Rupaul (who, by the way, has been blogging for over 4 years) with a different take on "Sashay, Chante (You Better Work!)" - Tarzhay, Tarzhay!

55 Fiction Friday: Hepcat edition

Friday likes to lindy!

In her mind, she chanted “Triple step, triple step, ROCK step,” concentration drowning out the Big Band tune. Her senses thrummed as she strained to pick up his lead. Was he signaling a turn? She willed herself not to look at her feet, to simply trust that they were still there, doing what they should.

bee

A bevy of beautiful bloggers - brilliant!

I met up with ads, oodles, brimful, tamasha (visiting from NYC!), brown sugar and our erstwhile mango pickle in the Mission for some tapas. Five of us were full-on early for dinner! And we're all desi! Wonders may never cease.

The evening was an odd mix of feeling nervous and preternaturally comfortable. Nervous because, well, there will always be a little tension to meeting people you do not know. I have accepted that I'm the Queen of Dorks, I even revel in it, at times. But, I still have my shy, 7 year-old "will they like me??" side. And also my "Oh my god, I can't believe I said that! How embarassing" 13 year-old side. And, of course, my "Get over it all, already" 32 year-old side. (That's a lot of sides, yo.)

It's preternaturally comfortable because you kinda/sorta know the person in that you have read their writing. You may know a little about their life (what they do for a living, maybe whether they have siblings, what kind of music they like), but more than that there is a sense that the way someone writes tell you how they think. What ideas and points do they stress? What shapes their humor?

That's all the stuff going on in my head. But the dinner itself, delightful. MP is just as funny as you'd expect, and there was quite the round of "wait ... do you know my cousin?" (And, of course, at least once - the answer was "Yes!") I love me some tapas, and I love me some bloggers and to have both at once - sweet.

right ear

... for balance.

As it turns out, I have an ear infection. In each ear. Dual ear infections? What am I, 2 years old??

Well, let's just say I'm glad I went to the doctor!

This also explains what's been happening for the past few days: I've had people ask me to repeat myself. Even if you don't know me in real life, I think you can probably guess that I'm not the quietest, most soft-spoken person - so this was odd. Now, I understand why. When you're wearing headphones and you speak extra-loudly b/c you're unconsciously talking over the music in your head? It's the opposite of that: because my ears are blocked/semi-blocked, my voice seems LOUD in my head, but out in the world ... it isn't.

I had a little .... episode at Walgreen's. Because of federal anti-meth regulations, if you want to buy pseudoephedrine, you must provide ID, and the pharmacist must take down your info. Annoying, but that's the way it is. Then, she asked me to sign the little credit card screen-thingo. Um, there was no text. The screen said "SIGN ___________________" After considerable back-and-forth (I'll spare you the details), it turns out that Walgreen's wasn't able to provide me with what the hell I was signing. Ick. Sometimes a legal education is a pain in the ass. I decided breathing needed to be my first priority.

Despite taking my hard-won pseudoephedrine, I still ended up sleeping semi-upright. (I'm so pretty.) But, at least I can hear today!

left ear*

The cold/congestion nastiness from a few weeks ago has returned. So totally not cool. I am not used to this. I generally get a mild cold twice a year (when the seasons change), and that's IT. That is my sum total of not feeling so great. (Well, that and a few killer, "the light, THE LIGHT" blinding headaches a year. These are best treated by ingesting one beer. Preferably Newcastle. Um, and potentially some "lactose" moments - but I'm pretty careful.)

My left ear has been blocked for a day now. Very, very not cool. This whole situation is so "not cool" in fact, that I have made a doctor's appointment. I feel a little ridiculous, because I'm pretty sure it's just a nasty cold. BUT, I've been sick a long time, and the non-hearing thing is driving me nuts.

My reluctance to go to the doctor reminded me of one of my more ignominious "battle of the sexes" moments. My friend J and I were installing a new thermostat in my condo. The wires were sort of too short, so we were very close to each other and very close to the wall. Think: Greco-Roman wrestling. For some reason, J launched into a "women are ridiculous" screed. I responded, "Oh yeah? Well, how's this for illogical? Guys won't go to the doctor because if they did, the doctor might say that there's something wrong. So they'd rather not go." J stopped and looked at me quietly for a moment and then said, "Yeah, that's pretty much why my father died."

Game, Set, Match: J. I felt like a royal punk-ass.



^*An homage to Mos Def's character in "The Italian Job" (a.k.a. The World's Longest Ad for the Mini Cooper.)

If I wrote you

Why does it always seem that when I at my craziest, and my life is at its most unbalanced, I come up with ideas and things to try?

Spending some time on Craigslist, I've joined a newly-formed book group. And I'm excited about it. Since I joined, though, the little wheels in my head have been turning and I've decided I want to try an online book group. Largely, it's the known quantity factor: I know (most of) the people who comment on my blog. I know that they are literate and articulate (and they have great taste in reading material! ;) )

So, couple of questions:

(1) Would y'all be interested in doing something like that?
(2) Should I start a separate blog for it, or could we just use this space?
(3) Should it be more defined (like fiction v. non-fiction, etc. etc.)?

I'm throwing it out there, because if there's one thing I'm trying to do - it's spend less time in my own head!

Vitae Summa Brevis

So, last night's plans sort of turned into a "comedy of errors." Which is extra "ha ha" funny as my plans included a stand-up comedy show. I had one of my rare, rare "San Francisco - I love you, but I'm not in love with you" moments, due (no big surprise here) to some serious, serious parking drama. PARKING DRAMA! Those two words shouldn't go together, but trust me - Saturday night, they really, truly did.

I could give you the blow-by-blow, but I'm sure it's not really that interesting. (Poor brimful already had to hear it in a combination of in person, on cell phone, and voicemail interactions.) There's schadenfreude, and then there's schaden-boring.

But, overall, it's just not so bad. It doesn't always have to be the bestest! time! ever! It seldom ever is, really.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

-Ernest Dowson