et tu, Amazon?

Today I was doing a little fake shopping and took a trip to Amazon.com to look at things I will  never buy, it's like window shopping, only without the benefit exercise.  The fine folks of Amazon surprised me because the first page I landed on (when signed in under my Amazon account) was my Plog.  Plog? What? I never posted anything on Amazon.  Oh, I see, since they track everything I look at, click on, put on my wish list, purchase or even dream about they seem to think they know me well enough to create a blog, sorry, plog, for little ol' me!

I can't think of anything more exciting and informative than marketing blurbs disguised as blog postings created by Amazon... telling me what they think I think will be interesting.  Here's how they explain the Plog:

The Plog™ Service is a personalized blog. A blog is a straightforward and now widely adopted method of posting a reverse chronological diary on the Internet.
Your Amazon.com Plog is a diary of events that will enhance your shopping experience, helping you discover products that have just been released, track changes to your orders, and many other things. Just like a blog, your Plog is sorted in reverse chronological order. When we think we have something interesting or important to tell you, we'll post it to your Plog.
(They also have a list of 15 blogs which they describe as "some of the best and most popular blogs", go on and check it out, you know you want to.)

Enhance my shopping experience? I can think of some better things to enhance, but okay Amazon... try me.

A mysterious Amazon blogger (a.k.a. computer) posts on random days telling me what newly released item I would like to buy (a book which is already on my Wish List) because of what I have already purchased (a book I bought as a gift three years ago). Anonymous Amazon blogger then gives me all sorts of pertinent information on the product they are sure I would love to purchase. At the bottom of each post there are two handy little bubbles, which are located where the comments are on most blogs, and these bubbles give me the option to let Amazon know if this post was helpful or not. Wait a minute! Isn't this MY Plog? If my name is on this Plog shouldn't everything be helpful?  Oh, okay, I have a little control here...  if I so desire I can clear any post. Just delete it with one swift click of the "clear post" link.   I cannot create a post, only anonymous blogger can do that.  Corinne's Plog is written by someone else.  I do not feel enhanced.  My experience is not improved.

I find the entire idea of this Plog pretty ominous.  To be honest, Amazon already creeped me out because of their uber tracking powers, but the Plog took it one step too far.  It's basically the equivalent to some dude following me around a store with a dogeared note pad and chewed up pencil.  He hides at the end of aisles and waits until I pick something up,  then he takes dirty reading glasses out of his rumpled suit jacket pocket and makes a note of which item I've chosen and how long it's been in my hand.  He licks the end of his pencil and nods in a slow methodical fashion.  I put the item down, and notice something out of the corner of my eye.  He scurries behind a bookcase and scribbles some more.  I continue to shop, he secretly follows.  This goes on all day.  Later that night I find an envelope has been slipped under my door.  Inside this envelope is a neatly typed note, kindly letting me know that there may have been some items I overlooked in the store I visited that day. At the bottom of the letter, following suggestions for future purchases, are carefully drawn pie charts and bar graphs.  I break out in a cold sweat as I crumple the letter and carefully look around.  I hear an evil laugh followed by "see you around!" and then the sound of fleeting footsteps.  I am forever tainted and know that I can never recklessly window shop again.

happy birthday, Sean!

fell off the wagon

It's sad, but true. I fell into a some sort of stupor and checked those damn message boards again. Those brides... every time I think I'm done with them, their siren song lures me in and I take a walk down that dark tunnel of no return. It's a very slippery slope. I recently read all about a bride who cancelled her wedding with only 99 days to go. I got all the 411 about what to do when your future mother in law refuses to wear a dress to the wedding, but a jacket and slacks instead. The horror!

But I also did find this very special list and I would like to share it with you:

AW = "Attention Whore"
BC, BCP = birth control, birth control pills
BF = Boyfriend or Best Friend
BM = Bridesmaid or Best Man
BP = Bridal Party
DF = Dear (or darned, or dratted) Fiancé
DH = Dear Husband
E-ring = engagement ring
E-party = engagement party
FG = Flower Girl
FI = Fiancé (male) or Fiancée (female)
FIL = Father In Law
FILs = Future in-laws, sometimes referred to as:
FBIL = Future Brother-in-law
FFIL = Future Father-in-law
FMIL = Future Mother-in-law
FSIL = Future Sister-in-law
GF = Girlfriend
GM = Groomsmen
GTG = a Knottie get-together
HM = Honeymoon
HTH = Hope this helps
IHO = In Honor Of
ILs = In-laws
IMHO = In my humble opinion
IMNSHO = In my not so humble opinion
JK = just kidding, or joking
JP = Justice of the Peace
LMAO = Laughing my @ss off
LOL = Laughing out loud
LTBM = Living together before marriage
MIL = Mother In Law
MOH = Maid / Matron of Honor
MS = Martha Stewart
NFP = natural family planning
NFT = No Further Text
NMS = Not my style
NWMT = Not worth my time
NWR = Not Wedding Related
OMG = Oh my gosh / god
P&E = Planning and Etiquette board
PIB = Pictures in Bio
PSA = Public Service Announcement
RB = Ring Bearer
RD = Rehearsal Dinner
RP = Repost
SAHM = stay-at-home mom
SAHW = stay-at-home wife
SBD = South Beach Diet
STDs = Save The Date cards
TIA = Thanks In Advance
TMI = Too Much Information
TROLL = Someone posting a fake question or a nasty reply to get a reaction
TTC = Trying to conceive
TY = Thank you
WP = wedding party
WW = Weight Watchers
XP = Cross posted (posted to more than one board)

Attention Whore? I didn't know there was such a whore. Fabulous! Where can I get one?
But what I really love is the fact that if you want everyone to mark their calendars for your special day you better make sure that each person on your guest list gets your STDs ASAP.

these dreams

I guess I watch more reality TV than I ought to.

Last night I had a dream in which I was on a new reality show. I had to live on a boat with Ashton Kutcher, P Diddy, Alexis Bledel, Nick Lachey and my very own sweetheart, Alex.

It was a large boat, yacht-like, and we were collectively supposed to figure out how to get this boat from wherever we were to an island off the coast of somewhere. This boat was huge and I remember thinking that we wouldn't have enough gas. I complained about gas a lot. No one listened. Cameras caught me acting like this. I knew I was going to look bad.

Everyone was pretty excited and instead of thinking about gas (or how to steer the boat) they all decided to inspect the digs. I gave in (there's that peer pressure again!) and while we were checking out every nook and cranny of our new living quarters, the boat careened into a rock and suffered a big ol' hole in the front. Diddy and Ashton went to check it out, but only Alex and Nick would swim down to look at the hole. Alexis and I stood on the deck and bonded. Eventually, somehow, the hole got fixed, but not before Ashton decided to bail. As he thought about how potentially hazardous the rest of the trip could be he realized he could still see the main land and swam to safety. Then there were five.

All things back to normal, we had a big party with champagne and everything. Alex got pretty drunk and passed out in our brand new boat bedroom. Instead of breathing, or even snoring, he was burping. Burp in, burp out, like breathing, but much more obnoxious. I couldn't sleep in there with him, so I decided to bunk in one giant bed with P. Diddy and Alexis. They were happy to accommodate me until burpy Alex came in and tried to puke on my face. I put the sheet over my face before I saw any vomit and then woke up.

Wouldn't that have made some compelling reality TV? There's nothing like watching a boring control freak bitch out celebrities who don't give a rat's ass about how much gas is in a boat! How exciting is it to watch someone puke on their own wife?

As it turns out, Alex alerted me to the fact that our cat was actually retching in the hallway during this dream. Not so compelling now, is it?

happy birthday, Rachel!

I scream, you scream, we all scream for FOUR BEAN (salad)

Shopping at Costco is a favorite past time of mine, it takes courage and skill to navigate those aisles with an oversized carriage. It takes years of training to lift that 25 pound bag of frozen stuff and get it in the cart without crushing the 85 hamburger buns you just put in there. It takes willpower to pass up giant boxes of pens.

I went to Costco by myself before the 4th of July, which is odd for me, because ever since Alex and I got married he's been my Costco buddy. Our vows stated that we would always stand side by side, especially in warehouse situations. He was busy though, and I had to go it alone. Alone, for me, sometimes involves bad decisions.

This solo trip to Costco brought about what I like to call the four bean salad incident. I bought a jar of four bean salad. I like the bean salad. I like it so much that I figured everyone would like it. I bought a half gallon worth of beans.

That delicious bean salad proudly sat on the kitchen table for our lame barbecue on the 4th, and that's all it did. It remained covered in it's pretty little Corningware dish, untouched for hours. At one point I lifted the cover and toyed with the idea of scooping some on to my plate, but then a victim of peer pressure, I joined the masses and made fun of my own beloved four bean salad. I mocked the beans which I hold so dear.

Now I am stuck with a half gallon of this stuff and I've been eating it all week. I've hardly made a dent in it. At this point I'm making an ass of myself and only eating it to spite everyone; I'll show them how wonderfully scrumptious these beans are! How foolish they were to walk away from such greatness! I brought it to lunch yesterday and made a point to comment on how YUMMY the four bean salad was. People looked in my general direction and nodded. Today I ate lunch at my desk and felt the sinking shame of falling out of love with my salad.

So I am left with the following questions: how do I just let all that bean salad go? and, does anyone want some four bean salad?

ladies' night

Sometimes Wednesday night is Ladies' Night with Julianne and Molly. Last night was one of those nights, and it included drinks and tapas followed by a movie. I'm not going to write about the movie today because it got me a little depressed. And I'm not sure if it made me feel better or worse to get home and open a letter from John Kerry asking for money, because "The success of our campaign depends on having a strong and active group of supporters." (Can I be a supporter even if I don't send you 25 bucks? Will you really lose without my money?)

But I did have a good time being out and about on a school night. If there was ever a sure sign of being in my 30s, I think that having a designated evening called "Ladies' Night" might be the appropriate milestone, and I'm okay with that.

Since I'm not going to write about the movie, I will instead tell you all about a few of the people attending the movie. It was a sold out show, and even with new fancy pants stadium seating it can seem a little cramped in the theatre. I don't mind not having a buffer seat though, because isn't it always a new adventure to sit next to a complete stranger? You never know what's going to happen! Here's the first thing I heard from the gentlemen to my right (who were obviously together):

Tall Dude: I think I have to go to the bathroom.
Bitter Dude: So you want me to moooove?
Tall Dude: Unless you want me to piss in your face.

Bitter Dude moves his legs and allows Tall Dude to pass. Tall Dude awkwardly squeezes through the aisle without allowing sufficient time for me to move my legs, Molly to lift her bag or Julianne to get her foot out of the way. He steps over the last two people in the row.

As he's leaving for the restroom Young Couple (frantically looking for seats together) spots two seats together in our row; one of the seats is still warm from Tall Dude, the other seat is the buffer seat for Tall Dude, to separate him from the unworthy throng. But there is a bonus third seat in our row (to the left of Julianne) and if Dudes would move one measly seat over to the right then Julianne, Molly and I could all move over, and Young Couple would be ever so grateful. Since Bitter Dude refuses to acknowledge Young Couple hoping to sit together, Julianne and Molly explain the situation to Girl of Young Couple. I then turn to Bitter Dude and ask if he would move down a seat, to which he responds (with his mouth full of peanut M&Ms) "well, my friend isn't here, so I can't speak for him, or ask him." Molly and I laugh. Bitter Dude continues to shove M&Ms into his angry little mouth. Before Tall Dude even returns to make the all important decision about the seat to his right, the other half of our row moves to the left, obliterating Tall Dude's buffer seat. Girl of Young Couple shrugs and sits next to Julianne. She turns around and makes sad face to Guy of Young Couple 3 rows away.

Tall Dude returns, without stepping on anyone this time, because we all stand up. The movie starts. Bitter Dude eats the most epic bag of M&Ms ever, taking them from the crinkling bag ONE. AT. A. TIME. For the entire length of the movie.

I think it might have been better if Tall Dude had just pissed in Bitter Dude's face after all.

I tried to be patriotic, I really did

but the Bay Area just is not a fun place for the 4th of July. Last year Alex and I walked out to the extremely windy and cold Albany Waterfront Park and sat on some cement blocks which sucked any remaining heat out of our bodies. We saw 5 different firework shows, but I admit that I spent some of my time on that cement block slightly cranky and very cold. The bottle of wine we brought with us helped to create a little artificial warmth and the fireworks cheered me up, but having grown up in Boston always leaves me to expect more on the 4th than drinking mediocre wine on a landfill while watching very distant explosives.

In my attempt to be All American for a day I bought and consumed too much food, because isn't that what Americans are best known for? Apart from the food front we had a pretty unpatriotic day. Our 4th felt more like a rainy Sunday afternoon get together than a barbecue. The typical July chill of our close-to-the-water neighborhood kept us indoors for most of the day, the time I spent on our patio was to warm my hands and lower back by the gas grill. To keep our guest amused indoors we ended up playing a lot of Eye Toy and watching some Tenacious D.

Around 7:00 the real crappy weather rolled in. Our plan was to walk down to the park (like last year) and see what we could see. When everyone started to hear of these plans it got real quiet-like. Half of the group made the wise choice to head to back to their warm homes and drink tea. The other half of us bundled up and pessimistically headed to the park.

Once we got the beach we could feel the cold mist on our faces and the closer we got to the water the wind picked up. Greg had made the comment earlier that the Albany Bulb seemed like a "tetanus-y" place to watch fireworks... and he was right, it was a little sketchy finding somewhere for 5 of us to sit, but as it turned out it didn't really matter where we sat, because there wasn't anything to see. We were able to make out faint colors and shapes of fireworks in the Jack London Square area, but the Berkeley Marina fireworks merely turned the cloud cover sad shades of green and red. Forget about San Francisco or Marin. Twenty five minutes on the cement blocks and we gave up.

To make our day seem like it was more fun than it actually was, I give you these dynamic Eye Toy photos.

worst lunch ever

my sandwich sucked so bad today that as I sat at the lunch table in the park, surrounded by coworkers, I couldn't help but give it the finger.

the worst part is that I made that sandwich myself.

kick this one here for me and my d.j.

I’m not sure if it’s just my luck, or my taste in films, but the movie on the flight home is never as good as the movie on the flight to my vacation location. So when I was tortured with Dirty Dancing, Havana Nights on my way to Boston I figured the curse might be broken and the flight back to San Francisco would have some magical movie in store for me. But all that awaited me was Agent Cody Banks 2: Destination London. Sadly, I watched a fair amount of it, because the screen kept taunting me with action scenes, and it was not good. I will go so far as to say it was indeed very bad.

What proved to be more interesting than the movie was, well, everything. But a few things in particular made my flight stellar:

*the entire row to myself

*channel 7 on American Airlines delighted me with stylings from the Beastie Boys, De La Soul, LL Cool J (So forget oreos, eat cool J cookies, he’s BAAAAD!), and MC Lyte (doin her thing with an '89 swing). Now that's some good music. I listened to the whole cycle twice.

*I used my laptop to watch some of the most excellent Tenacious D DVD.

*and I always request a window seat so I can see stuff like this

first live on location post!

Reporting live from Cambridge, participating in Jamie's yard sale. (Free coffee and WiFi!) I'm staying with Lisa and Ben and they brought some of their unwanted goods by, hoping to make some money and gain a little space. There's nothing like a yard sale to purge your closets and basements with the bonus of perhaps leaving with a little extra cash.

This yard sale is not so much like our yard sale; it seems like all of Cambridge likes to get up late on Sundays. Today's sale started at 10 and we didn't have our first customer until somewhere around 11. (In Berkeley we had our first customer at 8:15, as we were unloading the car.) Today we were planning to go until 2, but I think Jamie is debating on a possible extension, because there's a lot of stuff left and someone has to want it eventually, right? Lisa is at the point where she'll actually take a dollar for anything. But with the Red Sox game starting pretty soon, I think we might have to have to admit defeat and pack it up.

At any rate we're eating hot dogs, drinking beer, and I get to sit on the front stoop and write this, so at least we're having a good time. If only someone would come and cart all this crap away for a dollar... Ben just suggested we set it all on fire.

Jamie surveys the crap


Ben and Lisa (pre sale)


glassware at sale

only on a plane

Here I am in Boston... Cambridge to be exact. On Wednesday I took a flight from SFO to Boston. I take this flight a few times a year and I’m pretty used to sitting in one place for 5 hours, but I still don’t like it. The first few times I sat on that epic flight were like torture, I remember one time in particular where I put my tray table down and just dropped my head on it and wept softly for about 2 hours. That might have been the time I was sitting beside the freakishly loud snoring man and in front of the kicking champion of the universe. The flight on Wednesday was not that bad. It was actually kind of weird, because the pros and the cons pretty much cancelled each other out. Here are some examples of the bad and good:

I was sitting in row 13, the only row without a window, but there were only two of us in the row, leaving that bonus middle seat.

The guy sitting in the seat diagonally behind me kept knocking my raised arm rest down onto my elbow, but the 9 year old directly behind me never once kicked my chair.

The 4 year old 3 seats away from me never stopped screaming and whining, but there were three very tiny babies on the flight who never made a peep.

The meal that was served came with a big helping of iceberg lettuce, but the cheese tortellini was actually pretty decent.

My laptop battery ran out of juice while I was watching a DVD of Six Feet Under, however the in flight movie had just started at that same exact time.

The in flight movie was Dirty Dancing Havana Nights, luckily the TV for my section of the cabin was broken.

I shall now call it the mediocre flight, because just when things started to take a turn for the worst I realized that the potential for "worst" was actually never fulfilled. But I did get a little bored, so I admit that I craned my neck just ever so slightly I so could watch a little of that horrible in flight movie. And even though it was one of the most pitiful movies I've ever seen, Patrick Swayze gives quite the performance in there, and that almost made me smile.

why it's neat to have an optometrist around

check out these rad glasses that Alex brought home.




like a mini telescope for my eye

the downward spiral into uncool (complete with audio links!)

I try very diligently to keep up with pop culture. I do this because not only do I find it fairly amusing but I also remember sitting in an English class in my junior year of high school and listening to my teacher lament about how she wasn't hip anymore. Her first mistake was using the word hip. She wasn't old, but when she said "hip" my brain immediately went in the direction of hip replacement. She told us that she always thought she would be able to keep up with the current trends and know all the top 40 music, but one day she let it all get away from her and found it too overwhelming to get back in. And that was it, after that she was forever stuck in a world of easy listening and a wardrobe from Talbots.
From that day forward I swore that I would never stop listening to current music and I would never wear blazers. And I've done okay, at least I've stayed away from blazers (but I did have a bout with button down sweaters). The music, well, I try, I really do. But sometimes it's so hard to take. Here it comes, and I never thought I would say this, but a lot of that music sounds like noise to me.

Grandma? Is that you?

In my attempt to stay afloat in the sea of all things contemporary I listen to iTunes every morning while I get ready. I actually tune into an unpatriotic Canadian channel called Hitzradio. They play the latest Beyonce, Britney, Black Eyed Peas... etc.. I feel that about an hour a day keeps me up to date. But that hour is usually all I can take. There's a handful of pretty decent songs, but then you get throw in some Usher and Mis-Teeq and I'm out. The first time I heard Usher's Yeah! I was in the other room and I thought I kept hearing a phone ringing, I was going crazy trying to figure out where this phone was. But then I realized it was just part of the song, somewhere in that mix there's a phone ringing. over and over. Upon hearing this I discovered how easy it would be to give up the top 40 music, because the sound of that fucking phone annoyed the hell out of me. Then add Usher "singing":

Up in the club wit my homies, trying to get a lil V-I
Keep it down on the low key
You should know how it feels
I seen shorty she was checking up on me
From the game she was spitting in my ear
You would think that she knew me
I decided to cheat
Conversation got heavy!
She had me feeling like she's ready to blow!
Oh! (watch out!!) She's saying "come get me!"
So I got up and followed her to the floor
She said "baby let's go"

Upon hearing those lyrics I found myself shaking my head in disbelief while I scuffed across the floor with my fuzzy slippers and pulled a tissue from my housecoat sleeve.

I could go on and on about these songs, but let me just choose a few which make me feel like I should start shopping for some Fixodent.

Mario Winans - I Don't Wanna Know
This song features P. Diddy and Enya. I'm not sure if I would have put them together as a winning combination and after having heard it, I'm still not sure. The part of this song which had me scratchin' my head was when P. Diddy busts into the following lyrics.

i don't wanna let you go
and i don't wanna let you leave
can't say i didn't let you breathe
gave you extra cheese
put you in the SUV
you wanted ice so i made you freeze
made you hot like the west indies

extra cheese? am I supposed to understand that?

J-Kwon - Tipsy
No doubt, this song is catchy. But shame on you J-Kwon for promoting underage drinking! The lyrics for this song let us know that J-Kwon is interested in fine young woman (a.k.a. shorty) who is angry with her man, already has a child, but swears she's had her tubes tied. Did I mention that he's not sure if she's 21? This is a very exciting night for J-Kwon as we find out later:

...she started feelin on my johnson right out the blue,
girl you super thick so I'm thinkin that's koo

3 questions here: is koo a word now? since when is it so koo to be super thick? does super thick mean what I think it means?

Christina Milian - Dip It Low
let me just start off with the lyrics on this one.

Dip it low
Pick it up slow
Roll it all around
Poke it out like your back broke
Pop pop pop that thing
Ima show you how to make your man say "Ooo"

First of all, I don't need a 22 year old (who says "songs on this album have a little more depth to them") show me how to make my man say Oooo. And poke it out like my back broke? That's not okay.

I better stop here, I fear I've proved I'm beyond uncool. Besides I heard Sears is having a sale on elastic waist pants tomorrow, so it's just as well I get my rest.

nobody makes me bleed my own blood

You knew I would see it on opening weekend.

Unfortunately I had a lounge day yesterday, which meant sitting in my pajamas and watching TV for a healthy portion of the day. Which led to me watch every Dodgeball preview, interview and behind the scenes special. Which led to a very unsurprising first hour of the movie for me today. As a matter of fact after having watched all that stuff I think I had already seen the first hour of the movie.

See what happens when I don't use TiVo?

the express line

The grocery store has a little sign above each express line which tells you how many items (or less) you may have. What the sign does not state is that you may not be a moron to use such line, and if you are going to act like an idiot, please step aside.

I fear that I may sound like a bitter little freak here, but when I get in an express line I expect it to be speedy. Today I chose an express line with only two people waiting; a woman eggs and paper towels at the front of the line followed by another woman with a loaf of bread and three cans, then my turn. This seemed promising, I'll be out in no time! So promising, until I realized that Eggs and Paper Towels was destined to write a check... or a novel, it was hard to tell.

I know that some people are afraid of bank cards, my Mom is one of them, but she tends to carry enough cash to pay for eggs and paper towels. And if she didn't have enough cash she would definitely have her checkbook and ID ready by the time she reached the counter. And she would be writing the name of the store on the check while simultaneously placing her items on the belt. We are a very efficient family. The woman at the front of the line today had nothing to do with efficiency.

I was nice and calm when the cashier told Eggs and Paper Towels her total and she slowly reached for her checkbook. I kept my cool as she searched in her bag for a pen, overlooking the one sitting on the counter. I shifted my weight (in a passive aggressive way) when she asked him for the total again. I felt my heart rate going up as she kept writing and writing and writing. How much could she possibly fit on that itty bitty check? Some relief passed over my psyche when she tore the check from the book, but the relief was soon swept away when the cashier asked for her ID. He asked her twice, once while she was filling out the register in her check book and again while she was putting her pen away. Once Eggs and Paper Towels understood what was being requested of her she began to root around in her cavernous purse for her missing ID, laughing and chatting the entire time. In front of me Loaf of Bread and Three Cans let out a very loud and sad sigh, we rolled our eyes at each other. About 5 minutes later Eggs and Paper Towels was grabbing her bag and looking as if she was going to leave when she decided this would be the best time to ask the cashier about those neat little self check out stations to our right. Oh, how I wished I was at one of those self check out stations. The ever helpful cashier told her all about the machines, the people using them, where babies come from and how the universe was created. Then they sat down and had a cup of tea and she found some crumpets in her giant purse. Loaf of Bread and Three Cans turned to me and wept, then we cried ourselves to sleep.

backseat bride

My best friend, Lisa(who I've known for 21 years), is getting married this year. She's been pretty busy and a little stressed out, so I tried to do a few things to help her out. One of the things I did was open accounts on both the Knot and the Wedding Channel for her, so she could get ideas and perhaps chat with other brides to be.

This all seemed like a very good idea until my OCD came back into play. What tragically happened is that I started looking at these sites more than Lisa does. "More than Lisa" is most likely an understatement, because I don't think she's even had time to check them out yet. Then on the other hand you have me, the un-bride, who can't stop going to these sites. I've checked them everyday for the past week. Addicted to the message boards filled with the desperate rants of pre and post brides. I found myself getting fired up over these stories and journals I've been reading. Some of these women are fucking nuts.

It started off pretty harmless, there I was just browsing around looking for recommendations for caterers, but then the next thing I knew 2 hours had passed. I had been clicking link after link after link; reading about how a mother of the groom was mad because there would be a keg at the reception, or how a bridesmaid was pregnant and due around this bride's wedding date and how tacky and thoughtless that bridesmaid was. Many brides wrote about going so far as "demoting" their maid of honor. I was in pure disbelief of these women. I tried to stop myself from reading these stories of practice hair-do appointments, custom made t-shirts, and mint julep votive candle holders but I couldn't, I just kept on reading, my jaw on the floor. I guess since reality TV is so dry right now I needed to go somewhere to get my fix.

The first thing I had to figure out was what everything meant: FI = Fiance (or FH for Future Husband), FIL = Future in Laws, MOH = Maid of Honor, etc.. For some reason it took me a little while to figure them out, I guess I never thought of abbreviating those things, probably because I never had to. I did (and still do) think using BM to refer to your closest friends, your Bridesmaids, is a little uncouth, but I guess when you're a fast and furious bride-to-be you don't have time to type the whole word. Next I realized that the Knot is much more classy than the Wedding Channel, so of course I spent all my time on the Wedding Channel. Then I had to find out how to look at these people's pictures. It wasn't enough to just read about the chair covers for the reception (even though the FI thought they were too pricey), I had to see them. I entered a whole new world. I gazed upon picture after picture of people I don't, and will never, know. Giddy brides at their final fitting, couples shoving cake into each other's mouths, tiaras pinned to piles of curls, cascading flowers hung on pews. Whole wedding albums have been posted. Unbelievable. Then what really floored me was this...

Some of these ladies who post on the boards have already been married for 3 (or more) years, but they continue to talk about their wedding like it was yesterday. It blows my mind that anyone feels this way. I love a wedding as much as the next gal, but this seemed very overboard to me. I suppose my passions lie elsewhere and I always assumed these boards were only used as a tool. But weddings and being a wife (and giving advice on how to do both) seem to be a pretty big deal to these people. Then I started to realize that many of these women had become friends through a support group system and now would go through motherhood together, online. Not only were their wedding albums posted, but now there were pictures of their children. Or if the children were not born yet, pictures of ultrasounds and bellies containing children. Some women have even posted their fertility charts. That's right, I repeat: women on these message boards POST THEIR FERTILITY CHARTS.

and i looked at them.

It seemed so strange to me, all of a sudden I felt like a minority, as if there was this secret bride society no one ever invited me to. Which is okay. I suppose these women find their support where they need to: online. For me... when it comes to things like the details of my wedding day and my ovaries I'd rather keep it a little closer to home. So should I ever have a fertility chart you can bet your bippy you won't be seeing it on this blog.

I went cold turkey today, I broke up with the message boards, and I'm doing just fine. I don't have any signs of wedding withdrawal and now I just hope that Lisa doesn't fall prey to these evil, evil addictive boards.

I need a nap

Alex's brother came out to visit for the weekend. It was a lot of fun, but it's been awhile since I've been awake past 1:30am... for 3 consecutive nights. I'm still feeling the burn. Wow, I sound like a big loser.
But we did have good times; we ate lots of food, had drinks, watched a hilarious movie, took a walk at the Albany Bulb, tasted some sake and tried our best at a Pub Quiz.
here are some pics.


gates at Albany Bulb

Bob and Alex at the bulb

Alex and Bob at sculpture

sculpture at Bulb

how to make sake

sake barrel

sake factory

good news!

All my french fries purchases are now justified.
I knew this day would come.

string karma

My friend Greg is one great character. He's 100% lovable with just a dash of goofy and a tendency to be accident prone. It's pretty common for him to walk into something or drop something and then trip over it... you get the idea. That's just one of the reasons why he's so darn fun, especially because he has a great sense of humor about it.

For his birthday Greg put a big ol' rafting trip together. There were 18 of us there and it was an overnight deal where the company provided tents and everything. That night Greg decided to enjoy the fresh night air and sleep outside. To do this and avoid freezing he wore his trusty wool hat to keep him warm. This wool hat had strings to tie under his chin so that his head may stay warm no matter how much he tossed and turned during the night. In the morning one by one we straggled out of our tents to find a groggy Greg struggling to untie the knot that forced his warm wool hat to remain on his head. He tried pulling the hat off. He tried pulling the string over his face, resulting in comical pig-like nose and cheek contortions. He tried biting the strings. I had a go at it, and I'll tell you, that knot was like a pebble, it wasn't going anywhere. The whole lot of us had many laughs as we gave our unsolicited advise to Greg. "Cut it, cut it, cut it."

Eventually someone defeated the string without the cutting we all chanted for, leaving Greg's hat in tact. His pride... well, I think that was okay too, because he was still laughing.

We split up into 3 groups after breakfast for the actual rafting trip. Although my group did not include Greg we all talked about the hat incident and told our guide about it. As it would happen, the rafts would meet up periodically and as we cruised up to Greg's raft for the first time our guide asked (unprompted), "Are you the one who couldn't get your hat off this morning?" It was hilarious, both rafts were laughing it up, but I don't think Greg thought it was so funny this time. I felt a little bad for having told our guide about it.
sorry, Greg.

But I think Greg may have felt a little better when the string karma came back to bite me in the ass last week.

I was wearing an ill fitting pair of Gap pants, which I often complain about. every single time I wear them. These pants have a fly and a button, but they also have a drawstring. I guess this is the Gap's cop out on not having to fit a specific waist size. So last Thursday I was down in Greg's office chatting it up and when I was on my way back upstairs I realized I had to pee. I stopped in the bathroom that I hate, the one with 3 inches of space in between the stall door and the wall, which makes it easy for anyone who walks into that bathroom to see who is taking a leak. Nevertheless, I had to go, so there I was keeping an eye on who was coming in while trying to untie my drawstring pants. And then I kept trying to untie my drawstring pants. Two people came and left, probably wondering what the hell I was doing, because you can clearly see in the stall. And you know what happened then? I was still trying to untie my drawstring pants. A knot to rival the knot of Greg was thrust upon me, making it impossible to pee. After about 10 minutes I admitted defeat, and zipped and buttoned up my ill fitting pants and headed back to my desk. I thought about cutting the strings off, but I kind of needed them to keep the pants up. I looked for further options in my trusty pen mug, and next to the scissors which were taunting me I saw a letter opener which I thought would be perfect for trying to loosen the knot. I spent about 5 minutes debating whether it would be crazier to take the letter opener into the restroom with me or to sit in my cubicle fiddling with a letter opener near my crotch. For some reason I chose the latter which resulted in strange looks and a fair amount of humiliation. But I finally got the knot out, dammit!

and then I apologized to Greg.

BANG!

This past Sunday I participated in my first ever Bay Area Night Games, fondly referred to as BANG. This was actually number 7 in the series, and Greg has often encouraged me to participate, but not being much of a puzzle person, I always decline. This time, however, I joined up with a team called The Biatches and we had a great time. It was me, Jen and Elaine; although we were not having the best luck solving the puzzles we were quite adept at navigating with the map and we were also very talented when it came to opening the envelopes with the hints and answers, not one of us got a paper cut! As you can see our team didn't fair too well on the scoreboard, but we were sassy. I might go so far as to say we were razzmatazzy.

I've helped Greg and fellow puzzle dude Dave put together Park Challenge in Golden Gate Park before. Organizing these races (registration, putting packets together, etc.) is where my strengths lie, but when it comes to doing (or even testing) these puzzles I fall short. very short. Which is why I've always been so hesitant to join in. Put me behind a desk with some information and confused people standing before me and I'm in! But put a bunch of lines, numbers or pictures in front of my face and tell me to make sense of it and I panic. I guess what it boils down to is the human thang... no one wants to feel stupid. And I'm actually not that bad of a puzzle solver, I could just use a little practice. okay, a lot of practice.

The key for my enjoyment on Sunday was this: I left my editor at home for BANG and decided that even if I couldn't solve any of the puzzles I wouldn't let myself feel stupid. And without that dang editor I had a more fun than I've had in awhile. So screw you, editor, you're not invited to anymore puzzle races. I'm definitely going to the next BANG. It's BANG 8 and it's in the Haight.So catchy how could I go wrong?

Here are some photos I managed to sneak in while not opening hint envelopes:
Jen and Elaine hiking downhill (from an unsolved puzzle)


my fellow Biatch, Jen


my other fellow Biatch, Elaine


Greg's team, Desert Taxi.

I really should stop watching MTV

Dear Hilary Duff,

I really do wish your lips were sealed, because then you would stop destroying classic 80s songs which defined how I would rock out.

I didn't know that you had a sister... and I guess it makes more sense to sing the lyrics "our lips" with another person rather than by yourself. But did your video have to be so darn skanky?

That's your sister, and it's okay to share blouses, but it's never okay to bite. You should never sink your teeth into a sibling - especially in that weird kind-of-trying-to-be-sexy way.

In the future if you could only do covers of Backstreet Boys, Jessica Simpson and Right Said Fred songs that would be swell.

Thanks!
Love, c

p.s. Take it easy on the lip gloss, you look like you just ate at KFC.

i'm so full i could kill myself

to which Alex replied "That's a good idea. You should do it slowly over the course of 60 or 70 years, that would really show them."

what?

Friday is a slow day for me... which lead me to browse crappy news, which lead me to read this (if you scroll down you'll find this):

ANNA NICOLE'S GHOST SEX
Busty Anna Nicole Smith once had a ghostly mate she says used to make love to her when she was living in Dallas. The blonde reality TV star never complained because her weird romps were among the best she's ever had.

She explains, "I used to think it was my boyfriend, and one day I woke up and it wasn't. It was like a spirit. I was freaked out about it, but then I was like, 'Well, you know what? He's never hurt me and he just gave me some amazing sex, so I have no problem.'"

it was a cold morning in March...

Grand Canyon at sunrise


I never finished writing about our vacation, but I do have plenty of photos; this is one of the 3057 I took at sunrise. okay, I didn't really take that many, but I did go a little overboard. And I was completely under dressed. I didn't think about how cold it would be before sunrise in the park. Luckily we had a blanket in the back of the car and Alex was kind enough to let me use it like a thick and hideous skirt over my thin and not-wind-resistant pants. A backpack also serves nicely when trying to keep your back warm.

so long RM, sorry I shot you

as you leave today RM, you must know, you were in my dreams last night.

I was put into a deep trance by the Democrats, and unleashed upon the country to carry out John Kerry's bidding.
You were put into an uninterrupted sleep by the Republicans, becoming a public servant for George Bush.

When I awoke 3 months later, Greg alerted me to what had been happening. You were no longer a Bush zombie, but you knew too much, and Greg made it clear that you had to be destroyed. And even though I didn't officially work for John Kerry anymore I was okay with the whole plan once the gun was handed to me.

I met you on the street, under the guise that we were going to see some dinner theatre with a group of friends. We met privately, I hugged you, asked you how you were doing and then pulled out my shiny silver gun. Aiming square for your chest I shot a bullet into your upper left thigh, to which you replied "hey... ouch". I tried to look embarrassed and excused myself. I ran to Greg and asked him to handle the situation. It was at this moment I realized I was no longer in a trance. Not only did feel sick with the thought of dealing with the guilt of killing my friend, I really didn't want to KILL MY FRIEND.

So Greg and I played it off like it was all a big joke and gave you a tourniquet. You, with a cigarette in your mouth, said it was no problem. You took the tourniquet and tied it off with aplomb while asking what dinner theatre we were going to.

I felt sad that I had shot you, but what was even sadder was the fact you were forced to work for George Bush.

life is a big...

Alex and I had a little shin-dig for RM Friday night, since he's leaving tomorrow for an internship in a land far, far away for the summer. We ate some grilly kind of foods and played some games. RM and I rocked out on Time's Up. Then the dreaded Wise or Otherwise got pulled out. This game gives me anxiety because I have a terrible time reading the answers with a straight face. Sometimes I laugh so hard I can't even get the words out; I slow the game down with a series of unintelligible,"gheeeeeeeeeegheeeeeeeee"s followed by an "I can't even reeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaad it!" with my red face and pieces of paper crumpled in my hand.
If you've never played before, the idea of the game is a lot like Balderdash. You draw a card which gives you the first half of an obscure proverb and the correct answer is on the other side of the card. The other players write down what they think sounds like a convincing answer. Everyone votes on what they think is the correct answer... hilarity ensues. I lost it again Friday night. And I like to blame it on Alex.

It was my turn to read, and the proverb was an old Yiddish saying: Life is a big...
The correct answer was "headache on a noisy street". I got through the rest of the other player's answers ("mystery", "mountain to climb", etc.) just fine, but then came Alex's which read: "Life is a big... beard, unpleasant when dirty and itchy, beeatch." I knew I wouldn't make it through. It's a good thing he added the beeatch at the end because I think without that it stood a chance for some votes, but there was no way I would have read it with a straight face, therefore making it impossible for anyone to think it was the correct answer. (And I have ruined the game for people like that before.) Everyone put up with my private giggle fest most politely, probably because I was the host. But I know it's not nice, so I'm sorry.

Jay had some good ones in there too, like "Everything has two... except Lance Armstrong" and "Every door has... knockers, and let me tell you junior, those are some nice knockers"
And let's not forget Greg's, "If thy camel should break down... hump it"

And we all know that this is not the point of the game, but who can resist when you have a captive audience?

The last one of the evening got the most laughs; There's an old Hawaiian saying "Eat 'till..." with a real answer of "the lips protrude". Alex's version: "Eat 'till...5:00 for free, after that it's 2 for 1. And try the poi!"

the day after yesterday

I hardly ever write about my job here because there are so many tragic stories of people being fired for such things... and I like my job too much to take that chance. But this is so pleasant, how can I not write about it?

Yesterday my boss took me and three of my co-workers to see The Day After Tomorrow. This wasn't related to our work in anyway, it was just a nice little thank you for going to the convention two weeks ago. (And I guess because it's Memorial Day weekend and no one really wants to work that whole Friday.) Apparently he does this for our department every once in a while, and I for one, think that it's swell.

As if my job weren't cool enough to begin with, now it looks as though I get to see free movies on holiday weekends. Did I mention the bucket of popcorn he got for us, too? Rock on, boss.

I think what I enjoyed best yesterday was the fact that I secretly wanted to see that movie, but thought that it would be too embarrassing to mention it to anyone. So I figured I would wait until the DVD came out, or it came to the Parkway. But instead, there I was on opening day. Laughing my ass off at a movie that was so bad it was good.

But now I must confess that I also saw Troy. Unfortunately with my own money. It was not good. It was very bad. Alex and I weren't the only ones laughing out loud at inappropriate moments. Here's an example of some of the brilliant dialogue: "I can hunt rabbit and deer. I can feed us." Yes, there you have it, cinema at it's best. Wait a minute, did you hear that? I think it's Homer crying.

happy anniversary

4 years ago today Alex and I were married. In Las Vegas, at Treasure Island (without the slutty new image). Our friends and family came from as far as Boston to share in our 7 minute ceremony followed by a reception of mediocre hors d'oeuvres and lounge music. I have to admit that it was not the wedding I had always dreamed of, but if I had to do it all again I wouldn't change too much. (I'm not going to lie and say I wouldn't have changed a thing.)

I do remember feeling like I needed to giggle during the entire ceremony. I turned to hand my flowers to my sister, who had tears in her eyes, and I felt like I was doing something wrong. Were you supposed to laugh at your own wedding? I mean, I did cry for a pretty good portion of the day prior to the evening wedding, so naturally I assumed that I would be a mess while trying to recite the vows. But there was something about the whole event that put a crazy smile on my face. Maybe it was the fact that the wedding coordinator wouldn't let Alex put his hands anywhere but by his side, an unnatural pose for anyone, but especially Alex. Maybe it was because he was lobster-red-sunburnt from walking up and down the strip all day without sunscreen. Perhaps it was the look of panic on his face (which he later confessed was because he didn't recognize my sister and thought a strange bride was walking towards him). Whatever it was I was happy and honored to have Alex by my side. We smiled at each other and I knew that everything was okay, if I laughed, cried or kept that creepy smile on my face for the whole ceremony.

Over the past four years Alex and I have had our ups and downs. And when you're a drama queen like me, the downs get pretty bad. But when I wake up in the morning and see his eyes half opened and his sleepy smile as he whispers "good morning" I know I wouldn't trade our love for anything in the whole world.

sick and tired

The worst thing about being sick is not remembering what it's like to be well.
That sad, sad feeling of knowing that today could possibly be a great day, hell, even an okay day, but because of my inability to breathe through my nose or swallow anything that is not a liquid, it's a crappy day. And will continue to be one.

With my mood in the gutter and aching joints I sat my desk all day and thought about how nice it was outside and how I should take a walk. I even ate lunch at my desk. That's how pathetic I was today. Then Greg and I walked over to the Safeway and bought candy. That didn't even help.

you know it's bad when candy can't even get me out of the rut.

our Oreo experiment while camping

#1 


#2 


#3 

i'm so excited about putting photos on my blog i'll even put this up

mmmmm... wetsuits. 

the wonderful world of TiVo

I'm not sure what it is about TiVo, but ever since I got it for my birthday I've been watching a lot less TV. I think this is due to the fact that I know TiVo is watching TV for me. And when I do get around to watching TV sometimes I'll watch half a show, realize that I'm not interested in it, and ERASE it. That's right, just like not finishing a meal when you're full, which is a really difficult concept for me to grasp. Because if it's there you should finish it, right?

Being a pack rat I had a hard time adjusting to TiVo, because I was compelled to watch everything it had saved for me. All of it. It got bad, I had about 30 - 40 shows piled up in there. I got overwhelmed. I felt like I had a part time job. Then one day I went crazy and watched the first 5 minutes of Clean Sweep (where they reveal the disgusting, junk filled rooms) and then went all the way to the end to see the finished product. Instant gratification. At first I felt like I was cheating, but after I did it for 3 more episodes I figured out that's what TiVo is all about, giving the viewer complete control. I felt powerful.

So now I pick 2 days a week to watch TV and that's plenty for me. And get this, I work out while I watch TV. Now we're talking about efficiency.

those signs are fluorescent for a reason

Last night Alex and I took the Matrix into the city with a backseat full of passengers. RM, Greg and Britt accompanied us to see Shaolin Soccer in San Francisco. I still don't know my way around the city, and let's face it, I never will. I'm directionally challenged and if a backseat driver wants to tell me what to do, my heart fills with glee. Britt and RM directed us there and RM gave us a good idea of where to park and so we did. Along the street we chose with plenty of parking there were signs with fluorescent pink paint posted on the meters telling us not to park there from 6 - 10. It was 5:00 at this point, and we all agreed that since Bay to Breakers had already finished we were good to go. We walked to the movie theatre and passed plenty of parking spaces without bright pink signs. We saw the movie and laughed a lot. The kid behind me liked to lean forward and he breathed in my hair a lot. He also felt sad when he didn't understand why the rest of the audience was laughing and he wasn't, so eventually he also laughed a lot... when no one else was. We ate a lot of popcorn.

Then we walked back to the car. Or shall I say, the spot where the car once was. My heart sank, having had my car stolen twice, I have a general fear of returning and not having the car happily waiting for me. Luckily because I am so skilled in not having my car where I left it I didn't panic. As it turns out if we had all looked very closely at the signs that could blind us with pinkness we would have noticed the PM next to the 6 -10. Alex and I simultaneously dialed the tow number listed below the words warning us to not park there in the first place. RM walked home and Britt and Greg led us (via bus) to the place where our car was patiently waiting for us. Greg and Britt also generously donated money to help us get our car out of jail. 171 bucks later we were back on our way to the East Bay.

expensive lesson learned... always read the signs carefully. especially when they are bright pink.

my annoying return to LA

Here I sit in the Hollywood Renaissance Hotel with a cup of Wolfgang Puck signature coffee (brewed right here in my room) hoping that's the cure for this killer headache. I'm here for E3, a convention I would never go to if it weren't for my job.

I probably would never go to any convention if it weren't for my job, because there's nothing I abhor more than trying to wedge my way through a giant crowd of people who all want to look at the same thing. And these people are so interested in what is being displayed that they forget there are other people in the convention center, never mind their immediate personal space. The biggest human traffic jam I hit today was the one in front of the booth with the women with the biggest chests and shortest skirts. The best part about these women is that their job was to look good. That's it.

"hey, what do you do for a living?"
"I look good!"
awesome.

One of these women might have been severely dehydrated due to the amount of posing she was doing. She was working it. I might say that she violently displayed her cleavage. Some men were afraid to have their picture taken with her. It was fascinating, yet annoying, because I was working and I had places to go.

I was also kind of cranky because I hadn't gotten a lot of sleep last night due to the loudest cell phone talker in the room next to me. With a thin adjoining door between us I could hear him open a hard candy. I thought the hard candy wrappers were annoying until I heard his cell phone play the Nokia song followed by a rousing HELLO for everyone in the hall to hear. He shouted many things that evening until 1:45am, unfortunately it was all Japanese, so I couldn't even get any dish.

Only 2 more days of convention... 2 more days of smashing my limbs into strangers.

everything must go

Last Saturday Alex and I participated in the annual University Village yard sale. We got a flyer in our mailbox last Tuesday telling us that we could just show up on the big lawn at the Village entrance and sell our stuff. As luck would have it not only did we have lots of stuff to sell, but we were free that day.

About a month ago Alex and I had actually gone through a lot of our old boxes of junk and put a box together of things we wanted to sell... figuring we would sell it with our furniture when we move out of the Village next year. But that box was just the tip of the iceberg. Upon receiving the flyer I transformed into a madwoman stumbling from room to room finding everything which could earn the title "clutter". I opened cabinets, I searched the bottom of closets, I contemplated letting some of the furniture go, you know, like the couch. I even broke a few things in my frenzied search, which I didn't mind too much, because then I was able to throw those broken things away. An even quicker (but not as lucrative) way to get rid of the junk. I calmed down after I broke a glass and had to confess to a chuckling Alex all about my reign of terror over the clutter.

By the end of the week I had a nice pile going and I was ready to SELL. The night before the yard sale I made a desperate attempt to find anything else to get rid of. I heard a lot of "we're going to sell that?", and the answer was always yes. There was no turning back.

On Saturday morning at 8:00am we thought about carrying our things less than a mile to the location of righteous selling but after packing 2 bags and 3 boxes we ended up loading the car. The seats had to be pushed down, the entire hatchback was full. We were ready to roll with a trusty change box and wad of ones.

Before we were even halfway through with unloading the car people started asking us how much certain items were. Most interest in the very early morning went to a portable CD radio and CD walkman. As I was taking the last few items out of the car Alex was taking our first 10 bucks. An awesome sight to behold.

We had a lot of questions to answer for the first hour because Alex and I didn't think ahead of time to actually get stickers so we started pricing everything up with sharpie marked sticky notes, which conveniently blew off in the morning breeze. I had to run back home and get tape. I am not a good runner.

We ended up making around $200, which is more than I expected, considering our highest priced item was 15$. That was a telescope, which I had forgotten how to use and Alex had never used. The weird thing about that telescope is we couldn't sell it for the first few hours because we didn't know how to work it. But Alex spent a little quality time with it, figured out how to get it working around 10:30am and it was sold at 10:45am. The power of knowledge is quite useful when selling things.

to sum up my experience here are some things I learned while at my very first yard sale:
* I am terrible at practical math
* it's probably a good idea to have a price determined before beginning haggling
* people will pay for a 7 dollar item with nickels
* whenever a kid asks "how many cents is this?" you should just let them have it for as many cents as they have in their hand minus a dime
* sunblock... it's not just for the beach
* people will ask you to break a hundred dollar bill when purchasing a one dollar item.
* price all items at home, and use something with adhesive
* don't count your money in the wind

tgifants

Today I woke up with a vision of reading the paper while sipping my coffee and eating a nice breakfast. I even got up early to accomplish this. However, as I noticed the throbbing black line on the stove all my plans were shattered; I had an Argentine ant problem of epic proportions.

Unfortunately Alex and I had left a dirty pan on the stove overnight, and apparently these ants fucking loooove egg. It was so bad that I could actually lift a layer of ants with a spatula. That's how many there were. Picking up the spatula might not have been the best idea, because as I touched it the ants started to crawl up the spatula and onto me. not okay. Of course I did the usual squirm and holler dance while twitching wildly across the kitchen with a spatula in my hand. Because when the volume of ants is overwhelming I have trouble remembering that they are really only 2 millimeters long. I finally got my wits about me and got all ant covered items in a sink full of hot water. Then I realized I would have to put my hand in this sink full of water topped off with floating dead ants to drain it. Maybe this could wait until Alex gets home?

I walked back to the stove to figure out where they were coming from. The ants were coming from inside the stove top. That's right... from within the oven, the thing we cook in. I grabbed my trusty stick of boric acid chalk and started going to town. Until I realized that neither my fingers or the chalk were small enough to get to the ant access. I tried to pull the oven out from it's built in cubby hole. I ended up with a blood blister, a shirt full of ants and the oven in the same spot. I was getting very frustrated and wondered why it is that Alex always is at school when these ant invasions happen. But that was not important, I had to focus my rage, I had to get into the stove. I got out 3 different screwdrivers, flung open the oven door and examined everything while ants covered in boric acid fell on my head. It took me awhile, I had to take all the burner knobs off and release a bunch of greasy screws, but I got in. And there it was... the colony.

The next dumb idea I had (after the spatula) was to not kill the ants straight away, but instead to trap them in a small area between the oven and the countertop. This bad move resulted in panicking ants fleeing and covering a built in cutting board, a drawer of utensils and a small area of the floor piled up with confused ants in a frenzied circle. I had done it again, made more work for myself. I started blotting all the ants up with wet paper towels until I thought about the powerful weapon I like to call Windex.

done and done.

I left the sink full of floating ants for Alex.

movie angst

Last night Alex and I watched the Summer of Sam, which I thought was terrible. It was one of Alex's Netflix choices, and it's been sitting around the house since November. I gave him a lot of grief about it when it was over. He agreed that it was awful.

Last Tuesday night Sean took me to his usual Tuesday "movie night" as a guest. I have to admit I was a little nervous going into the whole thing, especially when Sean told me that it's a pretty big group of invitees. It wasn't that I was scared of any of the people, because I didn't know anyone except Sean, but there were just so many people... and if you attend you are encouraged to participate in a discussion about the movie afterwards. When it comes to expressing my opinion, especially around strangers, I get a little anxious. Did I mention that Sean is a film/video editor and most of the people who usually go to movie night are linked to the film industry?

Why these sort of things make me nervous is beyond me. I am smart. I know how to watch a movie. I am able to form opinions and sentences. Sometimes I crack a pretty decent joke.

Maybe some of my fears stem from my childhood, where I learned pretty early that it's probably best to keep your opinion to yourself and privately grumble about what's really on your mind at a later date. Because putting your abstract ideas out there is a little risky... what if someone (gasp) DISAGREES?
**Please note that this rule does not apply if you are backed by a large group who feels the same way you do, then by all means, speak up. safety in numbers.**

So while watching the movie, which happened to be The General, I got myself all worked up about what I would say afterwards and hope that it would sound smart enough. Questions ran through my head like: how can I comment on a classic silent film? can I get away with sitting silently and saying it's in homage to the silent film? who am I to comment on this? I think there might have been a good 20 minutes where I completely zoned out and stopped watching the movie so I could think about what I was going to say. Then when I realized I wasn't paying attention I started watching the movie more intensely than I have ever watched a movie, to make up for lost time. I felt crazy by the time the movie ended.

As it turns out I had some pretty decent idea to share with the group, which actually turned out to be pretty small. And of course, realized that my neurosis was completely uncalled for and irrational.
I'm not going to say that this kind of behavior won't come into play again, because we all know that I have the tendency to get a little antsy in a large group of people. I'm just hoping that I can walk away from these kind of nights (where everything turned out okay) with a feeling of security instead of feeling like I have to pee my pants.

low self esteem

I've been suffering from low self esteem, and for any fellow sufferers I'm sure you know how it can take it's toll on everything you do. From tap dancing to filling out a purchase order I've been second guessing my every move I make and wondering what am I good at, anyways?

I'm sure this condition will turn itself around as quickly and as unexpectedly as it hit, and I'll look in the mirror sometime next week and say "oh, okay, I don't look like a troll". Or show up in tap class without the idea that everyone had a meeting after the last class regarding what a terrible dancer I am. But until then I have to rely on outside forces to get me through the day, I have to actively look for the positive things around me to remind me why I get out of bed everyday.

So far today I've depended on:
* the fact that I trained my cat to do a trick
* my fabulous sunroof
* the awesome power of Justin Timberlake's human beat box
* the man who opened the door for me today and said "Do drop in, won't you?"
* salad

Beyond those things I'm on my own, so hopefully this low self esteem business will blow over soon, because there's only so much salad a girl can eat.

bathroom behavior

Let me start by saying: The Mystery of Irma Vep at Berkeley Rep - if you're in the Bay Area, a must see.
And I'm not just saying that because I used to work there.

Today I had to wonder what was up with the ladies room at work. It was like a lounge in there. Occasionally there's a conversation by the sink, which in my book is acceptable, but loitering in there is not okay.
I drink a lot of water, so I can really rack up the visits, and I have my favorite stall. Now I don't get bent out of shape when I can't get in there, but it does bug me when over the din of pee and toilet paper unraveling I am forced to listen to women in the stalls on either side of me chatting it up about driving their kids to sporting events. It's just not right. I can't explain it, but I somehow felt violated. Trapped in a stall subjected to minivan discourse. Perhaps I'm being prudish, but I just don't find a public restroom in the workplace to be the best place to shoot the breeze.
Later in the day I came across two women who seemed to be exchanging recipes right outside the stalls. I thought that my entrance may have some effect on the location of the conversation, but they remained right outside of the stalls, exchanging items from their purses, giggling and writing things down. The worst part is the obligatory greeting, and if the conversation is long enough, goodbye wave. Maybe it wouldn't bother me if I didn't actually know who these people were, but I see them everyday in the lunchroom, the parking lot, the stairwell. And I know that everyone needs to use the bathroom, so I'm not ashamed... I'm just looking for a peaceful pee.

tuf

Alex just got home from a short trip to Walgreens to pick up some much needed sherbet. Along with the sherbet he made a purchase of some paper towels... we usually buy our paper towels from Costco, you know the plain white ones that come in a 60 lb. package? Walgreens paper towels just aren't the same. First of all the name brand is Tuf. Then you must consider the prints. There are 3 in this particular pack. One is light yellow tulips with some pink and blue blobs thrown in for good measure. The second is a rendering of a light green bow holding some sparse stems accompanied by the words parsley, sage, oregano, tarragon and thyme. On the last roll you will find pictures of pies which look like upside down baskets next to bright pink apples and cherries. As if that weren't bad enough it says "home is where the pie is" surrounded by hearts.

Who's idea was this? what's wrong with plain white? and how did we run out of a 4 month supply of paper towels and not notice?

oh Jesus

oh no, I shouldn't have had so much shrimp at dim sum.

our vacation, day 2 into day 3

In May 2000 Alex and were married in Las Vegas, which is what made it an appealing stop off on our road trip. However, every time I go there I forget how sick I get of that place after about 3 hours. The Strip is a lot longer than I think it is, every time, and I always wear the wrong shoes. And the people, so many people. People who need to stop and look at something, people who can't chew gum and walk at the same time. I know that's what Vegas is all about, but for some reason I like to picture it differently in my imagination and then feel a sad, sad let down when it's the way it always was.

We stayed at the Tropicana by default. There was some sort of convention in town and all the nice hotels were all booked up. We were supposed to be staying in the Garden Room section of the "original" (a.k.a. two floors that look out onto the parking lot) hotel, but the woman at the front desk did a good job of convincing me that the for 10 bucks more we would be better off in one of the towers. 16th floor, here we come. The room was absolutely hideous. The bed had a headboard of mirrors that continued up and onto the ceiling. There was also a wall of mirror on the right side of the bed. and a giant mirror on the dresser directly across from the bed. Let us not forget that I was faced with all these reflections of me after the bathing suit debacle. how unfortunate.

After resting up in the magical mirror room for a bit we walked down the strip to the Aladdin. Alex heard that the dinner buffet was pretty good there and the hotel wasn't complete the last time we were there, so we thought we should check it out. We strolled down the Strip, smashing into other tourists and refusing cards with numbers of call girls. By the time we got to the Aladdin I had a big ol' blister on my right foot, all because I wanted to wear cute shoes. When will I learn; you can't wear cute shoes in Vegas unless you're planning to park yourself at a slot machine all night. We did have to wait in line for the buffet, about a half hour, not too bad. The other people in line were entertaining though. The man behind us in line was with his family of 5 and never uttered a word. He did, however, amuse himself by feeling up the 4 inch "jewels" which were embedded in the walls of the casino. I couldn't help but notice how he was fondling them and it was actually kind of creepy. He did it for awhile, until he noticed that I noticed him doing it. He then immediately stopped and started tapping and knocking on each jewel as if to indicate how sturdy each one was. He nodded in my direction and I smiled, in approval of the sturdy jewels. Alex asked me what was so funny and I said "keep your eyes on the jewels" and then he laughed, so I assumed he noticed, too. We finally made our way through the line, down an escalator and into another line where we could finally see food and a hostess. Jewel groper continued to tap, not fondle, all surfaces as he passed them. Alex and I were pretty quiet during our wait, but we were both chuckling. As we finally sat down to eat Alex asked me if I was laughing about the man in front of us, so I explain the groper guy, who Alex didn't notice at all, and then I asked what he had been laughing about. As it turns out when I said keep your eyes on the jewels Alex looked at the dude in front of us who apparently was playing with his crotch the entire time we were in line, while his whole family watched. I guess jewels would be correct term for that as well.

The buffet was pretty good, the best part was the dessert, but isn't that always the best part? After dinner we walked down to Treasure Island. Four years ago our extremely klassie wedding package included a video of our wedding, complete with a clip at end of pirates (from the free pirate show in front of the hotel) cheering our union. We thought it would be fun to watch the pirate show again. Luckily, a show was starting as we got there. Sadly, the show has changed. Treasure Island has changed. If you go the website you will notice how desperate they are to change their image. The show was so bad that we actually left half way through. What used to be a wholesome show with the British navy and a rowdy group of pirates is now a show with a gaggle of Sirens (who clearly worship Christina Aguilera) going up against a bevy of shirtless, oiled pirates who sail in on ship boldly called The Bull. The Sirens tempt the pirates and the pirates fight back, blah, blah, blah. The show is complete with horrible songs that sound like sorry rip-offs of Britney Spears' masterpieces and plenty of jokes about blow the man down, it's so wet, your ship is going down, etc. Although it was funny to watch, it was crowded and Alex and I were a little disappointed to see our beloved pirates tossed aside for these slutty Sirens, so we walked away. I'm assuming at the end of the show there's a big dance party and everyone hooks up.
This Japanese site has some pictures (click on the colored text to see more pics) to give you a better idea of the trashiness I can't quite put to words. I miss the Bucaneer Bay show. I guess I'm getting old. sigh.

It was a long walk back to the Tropicana, especially with cute shoe blisters, so we stopped off at the Bellagio to check out the water show and to play nickel slots and video poker for awhile. We lost 30 bucks and then headed back to our hotel. I think it might be a long, long time before we visit Vegas again.

dim sum sunday

it's been 11 days since I've updated ... alas I leave my blog behind too often. And I was on such a roll at the beginning of the month.
I don't want to get into details about why I haven't been writing, so I'll sum it up like this: on Monday my doctor and his unsteady disposable scalpel (accompanied by a pack of gauze pads) ended my bout with throbbing pain that ailed me for about 8 days.

So there you have it, with that out of the way, I will continue with my life.

On the Sunday before Easter RM treated me and Alex to our first dim sum. We went to Gold Mountain in Chinatown and I do believe we were the only white people there. I don't think I would have noticed right away, but the hostess was calling out numbers in Chinese and we were the only people looking around in confusion. It was pretty obvious to all around us that we hadn't a clue, because everyone who knew the drill (take a number and wait for the hostess to call it) was pushing us aside. And I'm not just saying that, I was literally pushed aside, a two handed push, one on my shoulder and the other on my hip, by a very hungry man who proceeded to get his number and seating before us. But not to worry because before I was even done quietly complaining about him the hostess called out our number in English (realizing we were the group who didn't understand the number that sounded like "Jose White" in Chinese) and we were on our way to deliciousness.

The food was swell and it's a good thing that all three of us like shrimp because we must have been there at the peak shrimp hour. I think we grabbed at least 5 shrimp dishes. It was hard to say, because we couldn't really understand what any of the people were shouting while pushing those carts around. We all agreed that the best item we consumed was the shrimp stuffed shrimp. Now before you think about how great that is let me add this, it was deep fried. That was the beauty of the whole thing; you have that crunchy shell in the shape of a shrimp, so you have a good idea of what you're about to eat, but you know there's something more... because no shrimp is that big. And that's the glory (and sometimes defeat) of fried items, what awaits inside that golden nugget. I don't know who thought to put shrimp within a shrimp, but it was freakin' brilliant.

RM was disappointed with the duck, because it was cold, but I thought it was all good. Except the black egg. I could have done without that.

our vacation, day 2

Problem #3 on our road trip was another oversight on my part. I forgot my bathing suit. Even though Alex had reminded me and asked me over 73 times if I had packed it. It actually became a running joke before we left. About an hour or two into the trip while watching the road and re-packing my bag in my mind I realized I had not packed my bathing suit. When I told Alex that I had honestly forgotten it he thought I was joking. ha ha ha.

The real reason this was a problem is because I hate shopping for bathing suits. And unless I wanted to forgo the spa at the Grand Canyon I was forced to get a new suit. I don't know any woman who looks forward to a trip to a department store to scrutinize her cellulite under fluorescent lighting in a cramped space with someone knocking on the door asking if things are "working out in there". I especially abhor it. I bought a bathing suit in 1996 that worked just fine until 2000, when the elastic in the shoulder straps gave way. I ordered the 2000 bathing suit from a catalogue, successfully avoiding the dressing room all together. The 2000 suit wasn't too bad, as a matter of fact it's quite practical and borderline middle-age-y. Anything that's advertised as "tug free" and "Kindest Cut" for the upper thigh/ass region is okay with me, although I'm pretty sure those kind of suits are more geared towards ladies who are 40 and over. Land's End doesn't mess around when it comes to comfort, and I'll take that over fashion any day, especially when it comes to exposing more skin than I think I should. But, alas, the Land's End comfort suit sat in my dresser drawer for this vacation and Alex and I were forced to stop at a mall of outlet stores in Las Vegas.

For a Sunday it wasn't as crowded as I thought an outlet mall should be, but then again, we were in the desert. I reluctantly went to a store with only swimsuits straight away to just get the whole thing over with. But it was just the beginning of a long day of ego squashing. The women working in the store were quite helpful, perhaps a bit too over zealous. One of the employees correctly guessed what size pants I wore and then proceeded to point me in the direction of what I was looking for. I brought 5 suits into the dressing room with me. None of them fit. I tried on the first one, couldn't pull it up past my knee. The next one barely made it over my thighs. Another one cut off the circulation in my armpits. All of them confirmed how doughy and pasty I thought I was. I neatly hung them all back up, thought about weeping, but instead forged on. I gathered some more suits, some larger suits. I thought if I went for the tankini I would be okay, you can't go wrong with a tank top and something that looks like granny underwear for the bottom, right? Once again I got into the dressing room and found myself struggling to get these overpriced pieces of spandex and nylon over my thighs or rib cage. I hung all the new failures up, this time not so neatly. Who needs to go in a hot tub, anyways? I left the all-suit store, gravely disappointing the perky sales staff. Alex and I made our way to another store and although Alex gave me nothing but words of support I entered the new dressing room with knots in my stomach as I started the whole process again. No success. We moved on to the next store, same story. I finally told Alex that I was done, because at this point I was just wasting valuable vacation time by trying on suits and hurting my self esteem. I started engraving invitations for my pity party. We decided to leave the mall and think about a bathing suit later. Our car was parked closest to the entrance of the Polo store so we decided to cut through. While passing through I noticed a rack of pretty good looking bathing suits, and Alex encouraged me to try one on. He picked out the orange one.
Here's some advice for any pale Irish gals out there: never, ever try on an orange bathing suit. Especially if you are already in a bad mood.
I was in too deep to quit now though, I was going to solve the suit problem... RIGHT NOW. There was no way I was going to start this process all over again, especially on the Strip in Vegas. I grabbed 4 different sizes of navy blue suits. I went into the dressing room and started with the biggest size. Victory was mine.

As it turns out, when buying a swimsuit simply follow this rule - if you wear a size 6 or 8 in pants then you should just take your pride directly to the dumpster and then grab a size 14 bathing suit. Because that's the one that's gonna fit you. I don't know what these fashion people are thinking, but give a girl a break. We are at our most vulnerable when looking for swimwear, how hard is it to boost a some spirits by just making your numbers a little smaller? Had I known it was as easy as grabbing something that's double my size I wouldn't have taken so long bruising my thighs and ego trying to fit into merchandise.

We finally made it to the Las Vegas Strip on Sunday afternoon. We checked in at the Tropicana. And after all the sweat and tears I put into getting that damn bathing suit I couldn't convince Alex to go down to the pool with me.

girls' night out

I love Survivor.
But I will admit I wasn't too excited about Survivor All Stars... until last night. I don't know if Mark Burnett rigged the "pick a new buff out of the urn" trick or if he just peed his pants and wept with joy when Amber and Rob (Survivor's first on air couple) got split up onto different teams. That show got me so damn excited that by the time I watched the Apprentice I felt like I had run a few miles. Alex was worried about my blood pressure. Who needs exercise when you're pathetic enough to get an adrenaline rush from reality TV? Now I'm wondering if Mark Burnett sold his soul to the Devil. If he did I think it's okay, because Thursdays now rock.

I actually did go out and do something last night, instead of just sitting on the couch pretending I'm friends with reality television participants. I went out to dinner at Nizza La Bella with my friend Rachel. I always forget how much fun it is to hang out with other women. Most of my friends are men. I should never underestimate the power of chatting it up with another gal. It's very liberating, there's so much to talk about. Not to get down on conversation with men, there's just a different vibe. And something about going out and getting dinner with a girlfriend makes me feel like a grown up.

Thanks, Rachel, for getting me out of my TV rut and making me feel like a full fledged 30-something kind of lady.

our vacation, day 1 into day 2

We drove a little more than halfway to Vegas on Saturday and spent the first night camping at Lake Success near Porterville. We arrived at the tail end of sunset and it was quite serene there; the sun had made it over the other side of the hills, a few boats were still in the water, a warm breeze... no sweater necessary. We started to set up our camp. Alex had the brilliant idea of bringing the Aerobed with us (because the Matrix has a 115 volt outlet) so after we set up the tent we pulled the car over, put the Aerobed in the tent, plugged it in to the Matrix and voila! Now were officially un-campers posing as campers. It was extremely comfortable and I don't ever want to camp without it, I guess I'm less outdoorsy than I've led on. (we were in a tent and did use sleeping bags on the Aerobed, doesn't that count for something?) We started a fire and were about to cook some hot dogs and that's when problem #2 arose (problem #1 being my temporarily lost, but actually washed wallet).

I was looking for the skewers and other camping gear and couldn't seem to find anything except the lantern and the single propane burner. I asked Alex where everything was and he told me I could find what I was looking for in the green backpack. What Alex had forgotten while packing the car was that at the end of last camping season we had re-packed all our gear into a handy waterproof Rubbermaid container. We decided to leave the green backpack for all things propane. I asked Alex where I could find the blue plastic container and he said "doh". Thus came the discovery that we were at a disadvantage, especially if we chose to do further camping on the trip. But we did have a cooler, a lantern, a tent, sleeping bags (and an Aerobed) and that was enough for now. So we used a Swiss Army knife to cook our hot dogs. We sat at the fire, split a Guinness and had a lot of fun melting some Oreos to see what would happen. They glow kind of purple if you leave them on the fire long enough. We also enjoyed watching the family across the road from us, there was a pre-teen girl who was working on some sort of pop and lock routine to a Britney Spears song which she mumbled under her breath.

As we watched the fire die down the serene lake setting came to a screeching halt. The campsite of hard core spring breakers who positioned themselves behind us began to blare bad music and crack open a bunch of cheap beer around 9:00pm. That continued until about 11:00, or longer, I'm not sure, because miraculously I was able to sleep. I woke up a few times around 2:00 or 3:00 due to the yelping of a young woman, but all in all it was pretty comfortable and warm there.

Alex and I woke up around 5:00am on Sunday and decided to pack up and hit the road. This was good for two reasons: 1. we now didn't have to pay for the campsite and 2. the motorboats started squealing around the lake at this time.
Off we went, stopping at a Denny's at around 7:00 for breakfast, finding ourselves under-dressed compared to the pre and post church crowds we encountered. Our waitress had gastric bypass surgery about a year ago. I know this because she openly discussed it with the perfumed woman sitting in the booth behind us. Perfume lady was only having a vanilla latte, while her husband and child ate eggs, sausage, bacon and toast. I felt sad for her. That Denny's had the best french toast.