Monday, June 27, 2011


I am in a fuck all, completely contrarian mood. I would burn things down if that was an appropriate response to, ya know, anything ever. So Imma just gonna vent here for a bit before flagellating myself on a 6 mile run (lying, I'm totally walking).

1. The Wire? It's fucking boring. There. I said it. I have watched to Season 3 Disc 1. I traded that in for Friday Night Lights. I preferred FNL. Everyone talks about The Wire being THE GREATEST SHOW EVER. I tried to like it. I did. See! I watched to S3! I do like Omar. The rest of it? I spend the day with my dad at work doing actual police stuff and it's way more interesting than any single episode of what is essentially shitty police work (how they manage to constantly fail and miss things is beyond me). I realize that you likely weren't used to being picked up in police cars after school as normal. Or hanging out in the narcotics enforcement bureau of the SFPD as a kid. Where there was a fat guy sitting on a cooler, his shorts exposing his butt crack poster with the line "Just say no!" underneath it and what were essentially man-boys (though I didn't realize it at the time) that worked the division entertaining you and the other cops kids when you'd hang out there with fake blood capsules and handcuffing you to office chairs.

Yeah. See. That was my normal. I knew how to play with the different lights on a radio car and make the siren go long before I knew how to drive. I knew how to spot a crack deal in the TL by the time I was a teenager. I knew what it looked like when someone was on crack or heroin or speed or meth, and the differences between them. I saw guys from the projects barely out of puberty in four sizes too big white t-shirts try to explain why they had $500 in cash on them but no job when I was in high school and hung out at Bayview Station way more than anyone not employed by the city should. I know people that died in drug deals and cops that got killed in the line of duty.

Family dinner conversations involve decapitations in the Broadway tunnel (more frequent than you would think) and gang bangers killing each other. One of my good friends is one of the most badass gang task force cops ever, and yet the sweetest guy, who rolls out with stories about infanticide like it's no big. That make me laugh! Because when you have this kind of growing up, that's what you do. Warped sense of humor, lack of fear of death.

So The Wire? Not to sound all like I had some super impressive life or anything but I think people appreciate it because it's this look into a side of crime and police work the average person doesn't know. I do. And I know both sides of it (I had some very very bad uncles).

If you can convince me otherwise, that McNulty stops being a fuck up or that there is any actual resolution to them doing police work (I doubt this, as there isn't in real life either), I might be convinced to continue watching it. But I doubt it.

And actually, I ran out of steam being angry and my walk was good and Maverick is cuddled up on the couch with me now and the level of how much better that is than any guy I have met lately since that thing with that dude says something. About me or guys I'm not sure (me). So. That's why I'm bored with The Wire.

*This tangent was started by Andy saying he was rewatching it with his roommate and it got me thinking about why I'm not really interested in continuing with it. There ya have it.

Mountie Affliction

'Lex came over for dinner tonight, I cooked for us (I make excellent burgers) and we chatted and I probably talked too much because I spend too much time alone so when I'm around people I tend to run my mouth like I've never seen a live human before. I really need to get out more. Like really really really. Anyway, not the point.

Also don't want to whine about how in the course of our conversations we hit on some of those super fun psychological things and how being self aware this stuck with me. (Fear of success, inherent insecurity, not wanting to repeat/get in the vicinity of past mistakes and thus avoiding all decision making forever and ever blah blah blah.)

So while I avoid all that, I'm gonna tell you about what I spend time doing when I have the beach house to myself on Sunday nights instead. If you don't know, or haven't figured out, I love the beach house. My 90 lb man other dog eating beast is currently asleep across my feet (which isn't really comfortable but he's keeping them warm and I lurve him). There is a giant soaking bathtub which I used earlier and then promptly passed out for two hours. I will now likely be up 'til dawn.

And while I'm up too late, since there is no cable here and the Netflix stream on the DVD player is spotty, I pop in movies. Lately this means I bring my DVD set of Due South with me. Yes, I own the entire DVD set of an old TV show. Since you likely don't know because you aren't obsessed with TV, Due South was a TV show on in the mid 90s. It is a bit campy, as these things go. It's the story of a Canadian Mountie who fits pretty much every Canadian stereotype us Americans have. Not even gonna lie that most of my opinions of Canada, correct or not, are informed by the imprint this show left on me. Through a series of events, our mountie ends up in Chicago working with a less than ethical detective there. His do gooding of course drives his Chicago friend crazy, hijinks ensue, but the end results work.

Mostly I watch because the mountie, played by Paul Gross, is freaking adddooorraaabbllle.

Paul Gross is also in Slings & Arrows if campy 90s shows aren't your thing. But I enjoy this show immensely. And some of the guest stars that show up crack me up. I've spotted: Carrie Anne Moss, Ryan Phillipe, Jane Krakowski, Terri Polo and Maria Bello. I'm a personal fan of the pond hockey episode where Rick Rossovich plays the hockey player. And the two-pary love story, the only one they ever give the mountie with Melina Kanakaredes playng the love interest and tons of Sarah McLachlan on the soundtrack.

There are clever head nods like the boss lady being named Margaret Thatcher, his dog wolf being named after a former Canadian PM, and Leslie Nielsen in a recurring role as a mountie named after an explorer of Canada. (File under shit you will NEVER need to know unless it shows up on pub trivia.)

I feel like my love of this show is a little bit legitimized by it being written by Paul Haggis. I mean, he has written like everything ever. Or maybe my liking it is diminished by that. Who knows. I don't care, I'm not really gonna explain it. On my Sunday nights I like watching Due South.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Junk Food (kinda)

Today we're taking my guilty pleasures and making it grown up food. I have several food addictions: dark chocolate, Dr Pepper, bacon, egg yolk, anything fried. There is a reason my body is not what I would like to be. Besides genetics.

This time we tackle ranch dressing and buffalo wings. Or: The buffalo chicken salad.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Dear San Francisco,

We're breaking up. I know, it's hard. I do love several things about you (amazing food options, hills, always wacky people watching, a never ending list of things to do that I don't actually do). We've had a good run. I was born here, I grew up here, I only left to go to college but was back most summers. But as with most relationships (at least in my experience), this one has gone on too long. We settled into that comfortable place with each other but aren't really happy and now one of us needs to make a move. So I'm making it. I am sorry, it has been fun. Mostly. Kinda.

I'd say it's not you, it's me. But it's kinda you. For all the things that are great about you, there is an equal and opposing thing that sucks.

1. The weather. Sure, temperate weather is great. Never too hot, never too cold. But fog, necessitating a hoodie from June-August with MAYBE a couple nice days in between if we're lucky, is more than I can handle. It makes me grumpy. I don't like being grumpy. And fun fact: it is a quirk of my nature that I actually thrive in pulsating 90 degree humidity. Yeah, I don't get it either. But it's a fact. So I'm off to find someplace that is more consistently warm. Where I can watch a baseball game in a tank top at night. Where I can own less than 15 sweatshirts.

2. The food. The food is amazing. It is. I'm not gonna lie. A new, exciting restaurant is opening all the time. From Ethiopian to German to Argentinian and back again, with plenty of "California cuisine", you do really have it all. I could happily eat the rest of my days in SF and never have to go to a chain restaurant or fast food joint. That's amazing. But with that comes some of the most god awful fucking pretentious foodie assholes EVER. No one just EATS food here. No. They tweet about it. They take pictures of it. They expound on the flavor profile like they're Padma on Top Chef. And it's difficult to sometimes just get food. Ya know. Food food. Pasta. Steak. Chicken. It's not chicken fried steak in SF. It's short ribs fried in tempura batter. The people talking about it are insufferable. I can't  read my twitter time line without wanting to stab someone for their pretentious foody-ness. This extends to cocktails too. Finding just a dive bar is becoming a challenge. I want a dark banquete and a well made gimlet. It's all locally sourced fruit juices with housemade simple syrup costing like $15. (And yes, I'm a bit guilty of doing what I accuse everyone of above, but I recently realized how fuck all annoying it was and I've vowed to stop. I'm just gonna enjoy my meal. No one else needs to KNOW I'm enjoying it.)

3. The size. This city is compact in geographical area. On a good day, you can drive all around it, up and down the hills, in about 45 minutes. Pretty impressive, right? It takes 45 minutes just get THROUGH Houston on I-10, with all the real estate that sprawl has annexed. (I hate Houston. A lot.) Now, some people would think that living in a close knit big city is a great thing. And it can be. Going on an adventure really means you're not that far from home, and can return to its safety relatively easily. On the other hand: I can't tell you how claustorphobic this makes me. You run into the same people all. the. time. And if you're from here? If you grew up here and went to high school here? Meeting a "new" person really means you are likely no more than 3 degrees away from someone you know. Example: The Russian? It took five minutes of conversation to figure out he knew one of my law school classmates. This is not unusual.

In fact, this was tweeted by my high school today: "RT @(redacted) class reunion at the game tonight. Then again what Friday night Giants game isn't an SI reunion?"

This is true. This is annoyingly true. Go to any bar by the ballpark before a game and you will inevitably run into people you went to high school with. I hated high school, for the record.

It can be amusing. Like when I was at North Beach fest last weekend, talking to the owner of a booth who I knew and suddenly this guy is all up in my personal space, pushing in between my dad and I. I was about to deck him. "EXCUSE ME! Personal space!" (Not really, I was just gonna make nasty comments about him when I walked away.) He stood there for a minute longer, made a comment like, "Huh, interesting." I finally looked up and registered that I knew him. Someone I would consider a friend who I hadn't seen in years. I smacked him on the shoulder, "You're a JACKASS! I was wondering who was butting in here!" He is both my dad's co-worker AND an alumni of my HS, three classes ahead of me.

Sure, sure, when you're from here, getting into all those fancy pretentious restaurants can be a bit easier because you know someone who knows someone. But I don't like being known. At least not how I'm known here. And I especially don't like being known through everyone else. But you've heard this lament many times before. It's nothing new. It's just, well, San Francisco, I finally can't stand it anymore.

4. Family. Ugh. Family. I love them. I do. They're all great in their own fantastically quirky wonderful ways. But. Well. They're a lot easier to love from far away when they can't be all, "So what is your life plan? Why aren't you working? I don't understand why you can't just walk into MoFo and get a job."

Now, maybe, just maybe, I'd feel differently about this city if I was, I dunno, living in the TenderNob (seriously? When did we start making up stupid names for all these neighborhoods?) and I had my own circle of single friends and a cute little apartment. But I don't. And cultivating those relationships is much more difficult than one would imagine because, well, see #3.

5. History. We have too much of it. A city established during the Gold Rush, with restuarants dating back that far has some tales to tell. Hanging at the actual Mission Dolores and knowing that North Beach was once, in fact, a beach. It's important to know the genesis of a place. But our personal history? It contains baggage that no one forgets. No matter how far I come, or the strides I take, I'm still perpetually the awkward 14 year old here.

As with any break up (again, in my experience), this is gonna take some time. I know initially this is gonna be difficult. And, unfortunately, I can't move all my stuff out today and make a clean break. I gotta figure things out, a place to go. Ya know how it is. It's always messy. But after that...

And it is mostly me, not you. You've truly done nothing wrong, per se. You're a funny, gorgeous, brilliant, gleaming city. But...well, I need a little distance and time to figure out who I am without you. To grow up. To try and make a go of it on my own. I'm not saying I won't meet someone else and say forever. It's a possibility. But with my Baton Rouge dalliance, I came back. Maybe one day, someday, we will meet again and it'll work. I just think I need to see what else is out there and then decide if I want this, CHOOSE this, not just have it be the default position, ya know?

So, I'm sorry, but for now, we've gotta be apart.

Saturday, June 18, 2011


It's been a long time since I've live blogged drinking. (Hawaii at Thanksgiving is the last time, if I recall, and that didn't make a blog...but oh! How it could have!) So. Since I am home "alone" drinking, I figured, eh, why not? It'll bring some levity. (I put alone in quotes because if it's on the internet, it's not REALLY alone, now is it?)

I was hungry. Kinda. And depressed. Kinda. So I went to the amazing corner store. (See that? Five yelp stars. That's fucking legit. Place is awesome. We know the owner. He is awesome.) I bought two bottles of Spanish cava at $8 each because I couldn't find the prosecco. It's pretty damn good. I bought my favorite cheese EVER, which costs almost as much as the 2 bottles of cava. A Semifreddi seeded baguette. A Columbus special series salami, some raspberries that were on sale and stuff for breakfast tomorrow (I'm a panner). Typing all that and I realize I am California as fuck. I may have my issues with this city/state but I just went to the corner produce store and bought all Bay Area produced items (aside from the cava) and they are effing delicious. If I had to go back to strip malls and chain restaurants exclusively, I'd likely slit my wrists.

I got in so much trouble for this particular proclivity in college. "What do you mean you've never been to an Olive Garden?" "You guys know that's not REALLY Italian food, right?" They didn't. I did. I felt sad for them. I just opened Yelp which defaulted to Gainseville, due to a friend, and I almost cried. You poor poor people who don't know better. (See what I did there? I'm shaming you. You will come to San Francisco, oh yes, you will. You will get over your cheapness and say "What the fuck?" and realize there is a whole world that needs your exploration. And I can show it to you cuz I am awesome and well connected. And it'll be cheap! Because despite hating it here, we know people. Wait 'til we go to Allegro...)

The above mentioned items are dinner. It also reminds me heavily of eating in the gardens in Paris...but I'll forego that particular tangent for the moment.

In the meantime, since I can't wash my perfect hair, I'm gonna use the giant tub and take a bath and continue to drink cava.

Oh! I should mention: I am beach house sitting. That's where my big dogs are, the house has an open floor plan, and I am at peace here, even though I haven't left all day. If you would like to check it out, I am making blueberry pancakes in the morning and if you bring bacon you are welcome to join.

Updates soon...

8:08 bathtub champagne > shower beer. The giant bathtub we have here is amazing. And relaxing. Ahhhh.

8:33 I put on clothes and makeup. Just in case. Maybe. Ya know. I'm 3/4 of the way done with the first bottle of cava. I'm trying to pace myself. This has never been my strong suit. My stepsister was online for a blip of a second. I miss her. As part of the family you make and not those you are born with, my stepsis is amazeballs. Flawed and human like me but amazeballs. And whenever someone notices the piece of art in my dad's house that is the decopage cowboy saying, "Uh oh! Here comes trouble!" I laugh because her and I turned it into a mantra and a drink (bicardi limon and tonic) and a way of life.

8:36 I told others about this but: I bought my dad a father's day card and See's peanut brittle (his favorite). On the outside the card says, "Daddy's Girl". On the inside, with hearts and in script, it says, "And proud of it!" I inscribed it with, "Thanks for setting the bar so incredibly high that it guarantees I'll be single forever. No. Really. Thanks." I mean, the man KNOWS he is cool. He is like my brother in that respect. Fire signs the both of them. He loves attention and adoration. But because I am so effing stingy with compliments, it means a lot coming from me. He also calls me the smartest person he knows. Sure sure, he's biased. But he also knows some smart people. People that don't know him know he's awesome. Linds met him and was immediately smitten in the awe way. Mutual admiration society, that. So yeah. Once in awhile I let him know that I know that he's cool. Rock on, dad.

8:56 I was playing with Maverick last night (large headed pitbull) when I caught my left pointer finger knuckle on his tooth. Holy giant bruise today, batman! Which of COURSE I keep bashing because I'm that kind of graceful human being. Sometimes I underestimate just how large and tough he is. Remind me not to do that. But I do lurve him.

9:01. Y'allll. You should see the ocean beach sunset right now. All pink and purple and gorgeous ridiculousness. Sigh.

9:09 Holy balls. Stateless's Bloodstream (amazing song) on my Pandora and a pink purple sunset? Even all this fog has its upsides.

9:17 I killed the first bottle. I am trying not to open the second until 9:30. I played with the dog, I checked out the sunset. I put on some lotion. It was a Philosophy sample and it smells AMAZING on me. I want to buy a full bottle of it. So I checked out the name. Unconditional love? Fuck you, winds of fate. Fuck you very hard.

9:20 Baking soda. So, men don't know this, but: when you can't wash your hair it gets really greasy. That you might know. But I wash my hair every day, usually. I can't wash it today because when you get your hair colored, even when it just means going back to your "natural" color (I have no idea what my natural color is besides brunette), you have to let it set. So I can't wash my hair today. Which is driving me batty. Well another thing you learn at summer camp or wherever is that if you put baby powder in your greasy hair, it absorbs the grease and makes your hair look less awful. I'm at my dad's house. He is bald. He does not have any hair products. I needed something and went to the cupboard to get some flour when I saw the baking soda first. It's an absorbant, right? So I put that in my hair. Do not add vinegar, I will explode. Fun facts.

9:28 About my dad (again. Father's day odes!): I was watching Easy A again the other night (watch it, it's amazing) and I mentioned how the Stanley Tucci character who plays the dad just GETS me because it is so my dad. Doesn't hurt that my bald headed dad has more than a passing resemblance to Tucci. I also heard Spoon's "I Turn my Camera On" on my pandora station and couldn't help think of Veronica Mars. If you haven't seen it, go now, watch it all. It's on Netflix instant. I promise, you won't regret it. I am not generally ahead of the curve in anything ever but that? I was an early adopter of the badass Nancy Drew. And part of what I loved was the her and her dad relationship. Cuz it so reminded me of me and my dad. More waxing poetic: I lived with my dad for most of high school and not my mom. Our relationship has its rocky points, sure (see: the Susan era) and he can be a colossal ass when he wants to be but...he's amazeballs. Just don't tell him I said that or it would only go to enforce his ego. Which he has enough of.

9:37 I couldn't figure out why there is no DVD of Top Gun here when I realized it was mine and I took it back to my house. D'oh!

10:09 Were you worried about me? I got stuck in some IM conversations. Feel free to IM me someday, I love real time talk. And listening to my Pandora station. So. Yeah. Still drinking.

10:28 Pixies "Where is my mind", the second bottle of sparkling whine, and conversations about "funset" and the meaning of a sexual identity. Yeah.

10:47 Ummmm. I'm kinda drunk. And talking on IM to amazing friends. And the tweets. And drunk. Not drunkity drunk druk yet. But almost...

11:20 Y'all are amazing and I love you and I love the conversations. IM me. No, seriously, do it. In that vein I realized that no one had really "seen me" so: A PICTURE!

That's me! In case you ever wondered. With my fancy salon hair.
I was vamping for the camera. Cuz I'm awesome. 

1:30 a.m. Sometimes it being late and you being drunk works to your advantage. Other times, you end up bawling into your bowl of Cheerios. Imma go do the latter...

Friday, June 17, 2011

I wanna be popuuuular

I'm sitting at home, fairly bored on a Friday night. I ate an entire burrito (that was unnecessary. Delicious but unnecesseary), am watching DVDs of 90s TV shows, feeling slightly lonesome. Plus I have new salon hair that is not going out anywhere. If you are not female you have no idea but: you get this perfect amazing hair for about 48 hours max that you can not, no matter how hard you try, replicate at home. It not going someplace fancy is kind of a bummer. Despite the unconditional love from my puppies, allow me a little self indulgence, mkay?

I have issues with the movie Ferris Beuller because, while funny and iconic, it also hits WAY too close to home, as I have an uber popular, well liked brother, while everyone else sees me as the bitter, angry older sister. I'm not sure that's entirely accurate because even at the end of Ferris, Jeanie helps him when she could get him busted. Which, trust me, is what I've done for him. One of the things that makes me bristle so much about living in SF is that I get "Oh! You're (brother's name)'s sister!" Yeah. That's a super fun identifier! Especially when the two of you are oil and water. (Yes, we know it occasionally has it's advantages and isn't all bad, but mostly? Not a barrel full of monkeys.)

Despite that, I finally realized not so long ago that I was MUCH better suited to the #2 role. The asskicker, the name taker, the get shit done type, with a close knit circle of trusted confidants rather than the wide circle of acquaintances. I have more than once said that I have a group whose back I would have in a knife fight (it's the Sharks and the Jets in my world). Everyone else? I don't much care about. I am back room deals type, not a shake hands and kiss babies type. One of my brother's best friends actually described me as "He loves everyone and puts on a good front. You? You keep it REAL!" This, I believe, was meant as a compliment. And yeah. I do. Which costs me sometimes...

But this number 2 role? I'm cool with it.

Except on the rare occasions I'm not. This would be one of them.

I want to have a constant whirling circle of Friday night plans. I want constant text messaging from constant people who think *I* am amazeballs and want nothing more than some of my time. I want, well, to be like the song above says: Popular.

I realize my self worth isn't indicated by number of facebook friends or twitter followers or blog readers. Or even Friday night plans and text messages, as I'm perfectly happy to hang out at home (usually). I GET that. I am quirky, often called "bitchy", don't do well with compliments. But...well...since I am a complicated person, sometimes I want more facebook friends, twitter followers, blog readers and compliments. Which is all a really long way of saying, "Like me! Let your friends know you like me! Read more! Tell people to read me more! Aren't I witty? Aren't I?! Tell me I am!" *does a little soft shoe* *realizes she is being completely ridiculous, debates deleting post, owns her insanity anyway*

So yeah. There's my hopefully not too desperate plea for some attention. Forgive me for the pandering. I promise to go back to all snark and ridiculousness tomorrow.

Settle a Debate

Did you watch the video? Watch the video. And then watch it again and again and again. You'll want to anyway. Because it's Robyn and she's awesome and the song is catchy.

Now. You need to settle a debate. Which is really a stupid debate because it is two people listening to a piece of art and interpreting in different, probably not wrong, ways. We're likely both right. But the fun of being a grown up is having the debate. Seriously, the amount of words spent on debating a pop song is bordering on ridiculous. (We also watched The Vampire Diaries pilot episode tonight and live, virtually, discussed it. It's gonna be a long summer, folks.)

Andy's opinion (paraphrasing): the song should be taken at lyrical face value and is a song about a friends with benefits situation, or FWB as the cool kids say. His evidence: "I know what's on your mind there will be time for that too...if you hang with me."

My opinion: It's an anti-jinx song, sort of. I'm delving into some psychology here but it's a doth protest song. "Don't fall recklessly headlessly in love with me cuz it's gonna be all heartbreak, blissfully, painful, insanity..." is the warning you give when it's already too late. It's also a self warning. "This is gonna suck but here we love." Or else why would you want someone to pick you up again? This is you fell in love with your best friend story. This is the shit romcoms are made of. Or at least that's how I read the song.

Now: some clarifications: I am a music fan in the way that I am a beer or wine fan. If it is made with hops/grapes, I'm pretty sold so long as it is not swill. I take a passing interest in most music, play it to death, move on. I like catchy pop music, 80s hair metal, and classical pops along with standards. I am mostly not picky. But I happen to really like Robyn and though my musical taste is pedestrian at best, I linked Andy the song before he did to me. Winna!

But! Andy is like insane about music. He writes about it. For realz. He links me stuff that is akin to listening to Miles Davis for the first time where I go, "I don't get this" and scratch my head feeling older than I prefer to. I inevitably like the thing about a song that he hates, or hate the thing he likes. I don't GET most of it, which is annoying. That OMFGABFDJIBSdb whatever BS makes absolutely zero sense to me and frankly I'm okay with that. So his bend is usually more musically inclined than my "that beat is good". Take that for what it's worth.

Now, people of the internet: What say you?

A. Take it at face value, it's a hook up song for friends with benefits.
B. It's a love song for someone who is already in love.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Long Hot (maybe) Summer

We begin the summer of no contact sports. Hockey ended. Boston won. (Fans in that city will still talk about how they are persecuted, no doubt. But really? That's an Irish Catholic thing so it's not that surprising. "But look at your good fortune!" "Aye, just waiting for the other shoe to drop...Gawd hates the Irish!" Trust. I live in one of these families.) Then Vancouver got burned to the ground in a loss, a part of mob mentality I do not at all understand. But here we are. A long summer waiting for my beloved college football to start again, the countdown clock already up on the LSU website. And then hockey again shortly after that. But what do we do in the meantime?

Not that I don't love baseball, I do, but baseball is for listening on the radio on sunny summer afternoons as you sit on your back porch in the sun. (If you live in a Southern novel, as it's 60 and foggy all summer in SF. (Not today!) And you actual Southerners I know are doing your best to avoid the steaming hot weather.) It's for going to games and socializing and half paying attention while you chat and drink beer and indulge in ballpark food. It is the thinking mans game, with it's slow, easy pace. What am I supposed do to cure my blood lust?

Because Hockey has kept me rapt since I discovered it a mere 7 months ago. Since I saw a pair of blades dance across the ice. You all know that. I've definitely expounded on the issue before. I loved going to Kezar Pub for the finals and hanging with the bestie, eating wings, drinking beer. I love playoff beards and hard playing manly men. (It was determined I should probably just pick up and move to Canada last night to snag me a hockey player. Too bad there's that whole "I hate snow. A lot." thing.) I make it a point to watch games, to sit down and watch them live as their is nothing worse than DVR'd sports. I bought a hockey t-shirt. By comparison: I don't have a Giants t-shirt.

So now what? I guess I could read more books and go to museums and see plays. Isn't that what summer is for? But damn I'm gonna miss men slamming into other men at high speeds...

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Minor Things

I don't really have anything fascinating to stay, but I made a vow to write more so LISTS! (I do love lists, in case you haven't noticed.)

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Dating (Grumble)

The Russian wants to go out again. The engineer loves the banter and wants to go for drinks. And the idiot from last summer suddenly feels compelled to reach out and be friends. (That last one led to a pretty epic takedown. I'm fairly proud of myself there. It basically involved saying, "I don't need more friends." Unfortunately that wasn't enough of a hint blatant statement and for his own selfish reasons he insists we can be best buds. Yeah. No. Not happening.)

Honestly? Care not a lick about any of it. I'm trying. "Yay! Attention!" But really I feel like Goldilocks. "Too..." Well, the "too" is nothing I should really divulge as they will make me look shallow and horrible. Which I am, a little bit. I'll own that much. And if you know me, you know that and love me regardless. Just...none of it is quite right, ya know? And I'm not in the mood to fake it right now. Head tilt, laugh, witty comment, sip drink. Lather, rinse, repeat.

And there are lingering "But there's someone jussstt right..." I know the potential now exists for a 6'+ guy who is into sports and is actually smartassy and sarcastic and doesn't just THINK he's those things without actually being them, and tolerates it in me, without just thinking he's tolerating it. (Seriously, the number of guys who want honesty, get it thrown at them, and then balk is phenomenal. And banter. They all need to look up the definition. Telling me "You're so funny", while flattering, is not actually banter. Really? That's all you got? I need a challenge. I need someone who gives as good as they get. Rolling over and wanting your belly rubbed is for my dogs, not a guy, and does exactly nothing for me. There's no excitement there.)

I know I sound horrible for bitching about this and plenty of girls would love to just be fawned over and told they are great, but...I'm not one of them. I have flaws. Obvious ones. And I can be hard on myself. I'm just another girl in a sea of girls. Straight flattery makes me uncomfortable. Example: I got a compliment from someone whose opinion actually matters the other night and it just made me squirm. Which I told him. Which he knew. Yes, these are my own insecurity issues and I need to get over them. Just, in dating I need an entirely different approach than what I think the universe has conditioned us in the norm through movies and Cosmo.

So why am I even IN this position? I dunno. I figured I had to get back out there and couldn't just mope forever. There's not really anything else going on? Why not? Those are really awful reasons, I realize. And after reading this handy little guide to dating, I'm realizing it's not really fair for me to half ass it. I think I'll nip it all in the bud and do some of that self reflection bullshit. (I'm just oozing positivity today, aren't I?)

It's baseball season which means going to games with my dad (excited for mid-week day game baseball tomorrow). And playing with my dogs is more enjoyable than most of these other interactions. I want to kick it with my friends and talk about hockey and drink good whiskey. That's how I like to spend my time. THIS is why I'll be single forever. I'm okay with that as a fact. Embrace it, actually.

I think until I can invest some energy and interest in actually meeting people, I should probably quit with this trying to date nonsense.

In other news: It's festival season here in the 'Sco. I'm actually stoked for North Beach festival. (Yes, I called it the 'Sco and said stoked. Bite me.) I have avoided this the past couple years, what with bar study and general feelings of...ya know, reference above insecurities.

But suddenly, and not accidentally, I'm feeling a little bit more confident. I know, the most confident insecure girl ever. I can run, y'all. Like for real. It's still more jogging at 5.5 mph. (I figure at 10 min mile makes it running and not jogging.) I can do three miles. Not quite 3 straight, but working up to that. Maybe tonight, as I got new running shoes. Which I am way more excited about than is probably necessary.

I won't admit to losing any weight, I haven't been on a scale in forever, but I know that my clothes are fitting differently. The suit I wore to my swearing in ceremony I was swimming in. I looked at some pictures from summer '08, deciding if I should go back to that hair color or not, and I was thought, "Wow, I gotta be way slimmer than that!" That's kind of...exciting. There is still a ton of work to be done, which can be daunting, and I still have to watch what I eat and all that fun stuff, but it feels good to know I can begin to kick ass and take names. Now to look like 19 year old me... (Buahahahah!)

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Good Life

It's the nights you don't plan for. The nights that aren't full of drunken debauchery but just sort of silly and ridiculous that end up being amazing. I'm home and in front of the TV at 11 p.m. and still know that tonight was fantastic.

Friday, June 3, 2011


I got sworn in as a lawyer. Which just seems freaking ridiculous. "Wait, you're gonna let ME practice law?" That's kinda stupid, right? I mean, me? I hope that doesn't ring of false modesty. You should know by now it's sincere modesty. But just in case, let's review the record: