one-liner

Off the mark, but still depressing.

Cabbie (picking me up at the SF office at midnight): So, are you a lawyer or an investment banker?

55 Fiction Friday: Don Ho edition

Friday feels the fizzy.

How did they work, exactly: the tiny bubbles in the wine. Somehow the effervescence acted as some kind of social lubricant, increasing friendliness, forbearance, and frivolity. The distinctive pop of the bottle was a clear signal – like a checkered flag lowering – that good times were starting. She took a sip and felt her shoulders drop.

definition

maisnon -- [noun]: A beat poet working the streets 'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Lovefool

The moment I heard the first few notes, I started smiling. It brought up a memory so clear and complete, I could feel it like a mint under my tongue. FunDan, Godoy, and I - all dressd up after a semi-formal at one of the cheeziest bars in town (Cocamo, for those familiar with K-town.)

FunDan threw his tie over one shoulder, and was dancing with his eyes closed. Godoy sipped his beer and, as usual, was blissfully unaware of the stir he created amongst the womens. Jaw-droppingly beautiful and clueless - an endearing combination.

At that moment, I felt such love for them. Like a reverse-Grinch, I could feel my heart growing three sizes bigger. I love those moments, where the friends are being charming, and you have enough space to observe and enjoy them. As often as people disappoint me - and they do - there are moments, brief blips of time, where individuals shine with their own light.

"high-powered attorney"

I finally watched You Got Served enough times to spot the (former) Mr. Britney Spears.

The clearest shot of K-Fed is at the very end of the movie, when the dance *battle* is over, and Wade's crew is all, "you ain't nothin'": K-Fed is the rat-like guy in the white T doing the dismissive arm wave.

a loaf of bread, some olive oil

a loaf of bread, some olive oil, originally uploaded by maisnon.

Yesterday? The out and back to LA? Comedy of errors. It was one of those "what could go wrong ... did" days.

(1) Knew my flight was ridiculously early, therefore. Could NOT sleep - up on the hour, every hour

(2) Arrived at the airport 40 minutes before my flight. No luggage, no worries, right? Wrong. They've changed the cut-off to 45 minutes. Crap. Put on the next flight which would get me there 1 hour late for my meeting.

(3) That flight sat on the tarmac for another 45 minutes. Now, 2 hours late for meeting.

(4) But the small matter of the line at the Hertz counter in Burbank airport. Spend 30 minutes in line. Do not pass "GO" do not collect $200.

(5) Arrive at client's.....old address! They moved about 3 blocks away. Consider just chucking the whole thing in, as I am now 2.5 hours late. (In fairness, the partner stayed in LA the night before and has been attending the meeting the whole time.)

(6) Leaving the client's CORRECT address, come really, really close to an accident in the parking garage. I had to lay on the horn to prevent a pick-up truck from backing into me. So close, in fact, that the parking attendant volubly comments on the closeness as I leave the garage.

(7) The partner told me to follow him on the highway, rather than use the directions I had printed out. (Anything to avoid the 5!!) This would have been fine, had he not swerved to make his exit. Which, due to the timing, did not become my exit. Watch him make "OMIGOD! SORRY!" faces as he drives away.

(8) Take the scenic tour, including Hertz NeverLost GPS technology telling me to "PLEASE PROCEED TO HIGHLIGHTED ROUTE!" Um, aren't you supposed to TELL me HOW to get there?

(9) Called United and was told there was no chance of getting on an earlier flight.

Around (4), I decided to just see the humor in the whole thing. No amount of being annoyed/angry/frustrated was going to change the tenor of the day.

So, I decided to treat myself to a relaxing meal (since I had a few hours to kill.) I called ILTSAE and asked her about her old 'hood, which is sorta near the airport. She recommended Roberto's for its great bread. (Let's keep in mind that ILTSAE was at an important "I could get a job here!!!" conference in CO and I kept calling her re: directions. That's the kind of rockstar friend I am!)

She was not kidding. The bread (and the olive oil) were awesome and just so comforting and relaxing. The teenager who seated me (the owner's son, I think) came and chatted with me about my shawl. He told me that he's Persian, and he had a teacher who was Indian last year. And how much he liked her, and how similar the cultures are. Etc., etc. He was so sweet.

The caponata was amazing, and my new friend brought me chai, and 'namasate'd as he left. I was thick into a Carl Hiassen novel that I had purchased due to my lengthy delay that morning. (Hiassen's novels all take place in Florida. Between my exhaustion, lack of sleep, and voracious reading - I spent the whole day feeling like I was in Miami, rather than LA.)

Feeling much, much better, I dropped off the rental car, took the shuttle to my terminal. Where I found that (10) My 8 pm flight to SF had been delayed to 9:30. BUT (BUT), I somehow managed to get on the 7:20 pm flight (which left close to 8, but who's counting?)

When I finally made it home, I crawled into bed and slept for 12 hours.

blanket

I feel like I've been yelled at off and on all week. Oh wait, that would be because I've been yelled at off and on all week. Not by coworkers (thanggod!), but by opposing counsel and random irate people.

Although you can logically understand that you shouldn't take something personally (for example, when the irate yeller is using thinly veiled racist innuendo), but it still stings. I'm not rubber, even if you're glue. Things are not bouncing off me (and sticking to you.) Not entirely, anyway.

I need some comfort and quiet. A warm soft bed with white sheets. Hot chocolate with marshmallows (and not the creepy, crunchy ones in Swiss Miss). Soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

Shouldn't I have this? Shouldn't I have all of this and more? But will I? No. Instead, I have an out-and-back trip to LA tomorrow, and a weekend of finishing the move out of the old apartment (including introducing Ms. Gia to the new digs.) Am I being a whiny little bitch? Yes, I am. But if you can't sip a glass of whine on your own blog, then wtf?

This is the crazybusy, hurricane phase. I know it will pass, and sooner than I think. And then - then, my friends, I will sip my hot chocolate in my white, white bed.

breathe in/ breathe out

Well, the move is "over" in that the boxes are all over the new apartment. It's only beginning in terms of the unpacking, and the figuring out where things are in the new 'hood. (I also have odds and ends to do in the old apartment.

I'm not striking out on my own to say I hate moving. And that opinion hasn't changed. This move was comparatively minor to the last one (moving from DC to the Bay Area), but it was still stressful. I find myself thinking 5 steps, 3 hours, or 2 days ahead of where I actually am. I've had to consciously slow down and concentrate on the exact task at hand. There's something between sweating every detail and throwin up your hands and saying, "And a miracle happens, and it all gets done."

I'm working on that balance: healthy pessimism allowing for Plan B strategy, and enough optimism to make things relatively painless.

poly

Why I love my coworkers, part .... who's even keeping track anymore?

To: maisnon
Re: August 11

We'd like to have you over for dinner at our place. If you have a significant other(s), please feel free to bring him/her along. If you have more than one bring the best looking one, um... No, the funniest one.