Friday, May 29, 2009

Saturday morning

Things I'm thinking about:

1. Will I die from the moldy bread I ate two nights ago?
(*googles "death by bread mold"*)

2. Will I die from the homemade canned peaches I ate yesterday?
(*googles "peachy botchulism"*)

3. Stephanie March left SVU?!
(*googles "what the f*&@ was Stephanie March thinking"*)

4. Bacon.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Does anyone like eating alone as much as I do?

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy egg sandwiches with friends, pasta with the hubs, tea with my mom. But I feel zero awkwardness sitting by myself, eating a burrito, listening to a podcast, and sipping orange soda out of a bendy straw.

Some of it, I think, is I just can't enjoy my food as much when I'm with other people. I'm focused on listening or talking or making sure the pie isn't all over my shirt. A lot of times I don't eat much on purpose, just so I can get a doggie bag and enjoy the food later, by myself, in front of SVU. It tastes about 10 times better, at least.

In high school, on the way to ballet, I'd turn my Jeep off at McDonald's and buy some nuggets with honey sauce, eat them in the parking lot to the tunes of that month's mix tape. In college, I used to take that week's New Yorker, find a small table in the corner, and read the whole thing over a turkey and cranberry sandwich. When I worked in the schools, I found a desk in our classroom and ate my school lunch in the corner. At Goodby, there was lots of solo cake time in my cubicle.

Part of what makes my new job so lovely, aside from the general awesomeness, is sufficient lunch time, lots of tasty things to buy within walking distance, and sunny benches near the water to sit alone and stare into the lovely San Francisco space.

Why we bought binoculars

In the middle of a false fire alarm, which interrupted our Law & Order marathon:

Some Dude, down in the alley: HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Some Other Dude, down in the alley: AWEORIUERUAOERUIE!!!!
Some Dude: ARTHUR, YOU'RE HURTING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*silence*

Clay, on with the 9-1-1 peeps: "Um, some guy named Arthur is getting his ass kicked."
9-1-1: "Yeah, we know."

*pause*

*4 cop cars zoom in*
*Amy and Clay zoom in with their binoculars. Other Dude gets arrested.*

Amy: Yes!

*Un-pauses Law & Order*

Monday, May 25, 2009

Some, uh, videos

So our apartment reeks a little bit of chemicals. New carpet smells, new oven smells, new...tenant smells? It drives me and my asthma-lung-pals nuts. We keep the windows/sliders open a lot and use a fan at night, but sometimes I just start to bug. Like this afternoon, when I researched "natural odor absorbers" on the Internets for an hour. And then proceeded to place small bowls of vinegar all over the place, burn candles, and do tribal air flow dances.

Clay thought he'd capture it all on film.

The rest pretty much speaks for itself. Just press play.

(Except a note on my outfit: I literally have NO ASS - which is finally documented here. Check out that bag. And sorry for the stains/hugeness of my sweatshirt. Didn't know I'd be making an appearance today.)

(Oh, and check out the FOG, people. No, that isn't a forest fire.)


video

Sunday, May 24, 2009

A quick weekend update

1. Last weekend I was wearing flowy skirts and flip-flops. This weekend I'm wearing thermal sweatshirts, gloves and boots. In case you were wondering about life on the Bay.

2. We went to see Star Trek last night, after weeks of me begging. Loved. It. Granted, I'm a moderate Star Trek nerd, but I think you'll like it, too. The boys are pretty.

3. Clay has the sniffles and I'm getting them, too. Fail!

4. I have three new dinner recipes to try and some cookies to bake. (Wearing the new apron I won!) Just have to warp the groceries over here somehow. Scotty? Usually, I walk to Whole Foods with a huge tote bag to combo up the shopping and exercise, but not today. The car, today.

5. Clay's playing Mario Galaxy something-or-other on the Wii right now. The music wouldn't be believed. It's like an acid trip on an acid trip.

6. I'm even more in love with Hugh Laurie after starting his book. Didn't think it was possible.

7. I'm cold. Bye.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Muni? I want to punch you in the baby maker

So, I've got this new job. (Which is going good, by the way. I love working in creative services, I love reworking sentences until they're pretty, I love NOT PACKING UP PACKAGES IN A SWEATY BACK ROOM.) But that's not my point tonight. No, I'd like to chat about a little thing called Muni, San Francisco's public transportation system.

I'm never happy riding amongst throngs of sweaty crazies, but in the past I've figured out routes that keep the bad stuff to a minimum and get me to work on time. A new job in an unfamiliar part of town, though, means a completely new route. I tried it today for the first time.

Reader's Digest version? This morning, stranded in a random part of town, I had to take a cab after waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for my transfer to the #10 bus. This evening, I had to guess on a route because the #10 just...didn't show up. It took me an 1.5 hours to get home.

Beside myself, I hit the Internets looking for a reason this happened. I have to admit I was a tiny bit nervous some of this was my fault, because I'm more than a little spatially challenged. And maybe I messed up or something? But then I searched my trusty Yelp for the #10 bus reviews and found these GEMS:

1. This bus is one of the most unreliable Muni runs. I kid you not--every other day I walk by a bunch of pissed off old people at my stop. Why? Because the bus hasn't shown up and they're waiting for the next one.

2. It will take almost 15 minutes to go the 8 blocks from where I get on the bus to caltrain. I CAN WALK THERE IN THAT TIME!!?!?!

3. When I need to be somewhere in 20 minutes, it does not help if you are running 20 minutes late. I'm not standing outside 15 minutes earlier to catch the 20 minute late bus that is running 36 minutes behind the 20 minute late bus. Did that make any sense? Fuck you if it didn't! YOU don't make any sense, MUNI, so this bitch doesn't have to either.

4. I walked California/Sansome to SOMA faster than your slow ass ever could have gotten me there. However, my big ass is still angry at you for making it do cardio. VERY.VERY.ANGRY.

5. During the day, the 10-Townsend undergoes some sort of hellish Jekyll and Hyde transformation. Towards the end of the day, it turns into a completely random, leperous hulk of a service. Time and causality are thrown out of the window, with the bus turning up whenever the hell it likes - if at all.

6. Is there some sort of Bermuda Triangle that swallows up every 5th 10 Townsend driving down Sansome? Because twenty percent of the time, it just doesn't show up. It's not just late. No. It just doesn't come.

7. RIDING MUNI STRESSES ME OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That's it. Stop riding Muni. Take a taxi to work.

Ahh. I know I feel better now.

Monday, May 18, 2009

More stuff from our place

Here's the thing. We have a really big TV, people. Too big, really, but we love our content and our video games large and in charge. And so it stays. Over the past 3 years we've tried a million solutions to make it look not-awful. Finally, I do believe, we've found one. Media center (and colorful boxes) from our recent trip to Ikea. Doesn't everything fit so cute and snug in those slots? (That's my record player on the bottom right!) I want to marry its streamlined, uh, lines.

DSC_2000

This sucker (below) has been the bane of my existence for awhile; it always seems to be in my way. I'm still not crazy about how dark it is, but this is the happiest I've felt with it since its purchase (from Ikea) a couple years ago. That plant in the middle is the only thing I haven't killed with my brown thumb. That row of books? Our comic book collection. And I finally bought votive holders for the bajillion tiny candles we have. Aren't they kind of cute in their little triangle?

DSC_2004

Farewell, old friend

couch1

Please don't be mad at me, fuzzy buddy. We tried ever-so-hard to make you fit. In the elevator, in the stairwell, in our hearts. But we just couldn't do it. Let's not make this more awkward than it needs to be, okay? Can't we just remember the good times?

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Forgive me, while I fiddle with my template

I want bigger pictures on my blog and such, so I'm getting my learn on.

While I play, enjoy this insane picture of me, taken upon waking, in my new Jordan, Jesse, Go! shirt. If you pay me enough, I'll get your hair to do the same thing.

jjgo

Sofas and lingonberries


After an early morning barter negotiation (I'd go to Ikea if Clay watched a bunch of Losts with me tonight sans protest), we headed south for an airport drop-off (thanks for coming, Kip and Jamie!) and some serious shopping. I was semi-dreading the experience, because Clay tends to keep me marching for hours on end without rest, but this time we kept it "short" (3 hours?) and I had a loo-vely time.

Of course, my favorite part of the Ikea experience is their cafe. Have you been? It is amazing and cheap. And amazing. As per my usual, I got the meatballs + mashed taters + lingonberry sauce/jam/crack-cocaine. It's truly good fortune that Ikea's a half hour away or I'd eat all my meals there. Apologies for the high-creep level of the attached picture, but I was too hungry to try harder.

So what'd we buy? A bench/trunk thing for our entryway shoe storage (because THEY'RE EVERYWHERE), a TV stand/media storage unit, a big ol' mirror, and lots of little things (hooks for our robes, bath mats, juice glasses, votive holders, etc.) We found a couch and a dining table we liked, too, but the former needs to be ordered/delivered and the latter was out-of-stock. Frown.

We worked hard to find things that aren't cookie-cutter-Ikea and I think we succeeded. Photos in a bit will tell the tale better. And now, to watch Clay put together furniture and get sweaty. Swoon.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

This is how we hold hands


When it's 12 million degrees outside.

A sweat-free system to show our lurve.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Newsletter

Tonight? Tonight was my last night of classes, people. YOU HAVE NO IDEA how happy this makes me. I had to stop complaining in order to survive and keep pushing through (denial is a powerful drug - try it sometime), but I've really been miserable on Tuesday and Wednesday nights these past few months. I made my way through with lots of cheap candy and heavy sighs. It's hard to explain the lunacy that surrounded me and the hoops I had to jump, but suffice it to say I'd like to take back everything I said about liking City College. By the end, it was all bearing it, no grins.

[I had one good class and one good professor that I'd like to exclude from my diatribe.]

To celebrate, I waltzed into Popeye's and bought a chicken biscuit and sweet tea. It tasted like heaven. And cost $3.26.

Something else I was celebrating? A new freelance gig, starting Monday. Should go through the summer and help support my Popeye's habit. I'll be editing video game manuals. Bad ass, right? Zero connection to the classes I just finished and I couldn't be happier about it.

I keep you on your toes, yo!

I take meh pictures, my roommate doesn't

So here are some better ones. Glad you likey our place, friends. We're happy here. Visitors welcome. (We even accept Canadians, Jordan. Just bring some maple syrup.)

And yes, Kalen. The natural light is a serious mood-booster. So's staring at the Golden Gate Bridge while I eat Raisin Bran and watch sex crimes with Olivia and Elliot.



Tuesday, May 12, 2009

I've got this take-home-finals thing


UNDER CONTROL.

2 down, 2 to go.

(In other news, here's a quick shot of our living room on its journey to set-up-dom.)

I was thinking today

The last time I lived in a high-rise, waiting for an elevator to take me down to mailboxes or lattes, I was 18. Claflin Hall, West Campus, Boston University, USA. We had a view of the Mass Pike.

When I filled out the housing request form mid-summer, I was careful to write in capital letters: DO NOT PUT ME ON A FINE ARTS FLOOR. I wrote it a few times, in a few extra places, and made sure to underline it. I even threw in a few arrows for good measure. Maybe I didn't say please?

I was about to start at BU's acting conservatory and knew my days were about to be filled with non-stop theater people, theater talk, theater foods. I really wanted a safe refuge from it all, really wanted a chance to meet some "normals" to even out my college experience -- because I sure as hell wasn't going to get that chance in classes.

The day I got my room assignment, running out the door to babysit some munchkins, I froze halfway to the car. Not only had they placed me on one of the two fine arts floors, they had put me with another acting student. Not even a musician or a painter! What the what? For all they cared, I might as well have written 'I'll be dealing crack and sleeping with the dean, kthxbai!'

I felt gloomy and trapped and ripped-off. I wanted to be an actress, but still had major doubts about it; it felt important that I experienced a taste of something else. You know, to be sure.

Turns out, nothing could have been better for me than doing the whole thing full force. Because I did have all those doubts, it was actually helpful to immerse myself 194 percent and see if I could take it all. (Nope!) I think if I'd roomed with a Math major, had lived on a normal floor, had had another life to fall back to after-hours, it may have taken me a lot longer to figure out I was not cut out for all the drama. (Ha.) Instead, I cut to the chase pretty quickly and saw I'd lose my shit (even more than I actually did) if I stuck around for much longer. I love me some theater, but I should probably stay away.

Which is to say -- as I work on my finals for education classes and wait to hear back from a completely non-educational job interview -- I've got it all figured out now.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Blergh.

Sometimes I seriously stare at the Blogger interface for over an hour, completely devoid of post ideas, because all the things I want to write about are off-limits. To be honest with you, it happens to me most days. Because, naturally, the things that are causing me the most anxiety or excitment or confusion or inappropriate laughter are all going to do some damage - to someone or something - if blurted out here. Put simply, it blows.

Which is not to say that what I put up here isn't real or that I'm not having a good time writing what I do get to write; it's just that I get serious writer's block a large chunk of the time and it's beyond frustrating. But because it's a false-ish, self-imposed block, I feel pouty and annoyed (with all that talk of avocados and favorite couches) and wish I could hook you all in with some of the good stuff.

And don't be fooled by my tantalizing talk of awesome -- I don't even have anything wildly (or, frankly, mildly) exciting happening right now. Just the typical foibles of everyday life. It's only that I wish I could show you a fuller picture of who I am and what I've experienced without hurting feelings or messing stuff up.

Do you, my blogger friends, ever feel that way? What do you consider off-limits and how did you decide? Do you ever just say 'f*$k it' and type it all out?

All thoughts greatly appreciated. And now some Pad Thai.

Friday, May 08, 2009

No rhyme or reason

To these photos. But I feel like I owed you a few. My Internets are now back (bam!), so I can be a good friend again. I'll take some shots of the place in its semi-organized state soon. For now, these are mostly just yours truly.



I have been wearing this combo for days and days and days. Thanks for the pants, Gram! Clay loves them, too.



One of my favorite hobbies is making faces that, if you didn't know me, might be serious. The trick is to do as little as possible while still being completely weird. If you ask me, I nailed it here.



How intense do I look?! It was no accident.



Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light! It's been super foggy up here lately, but last night we finally had a clear view. Serious yum factor.







I like to people watch park people from our window. In this series, I was busy judging a group of middle school girls playing "frisbee." I tried to show them it's all in the wrist, but they didn't want to listen. Complete and utter failures.

Thursday, May 07, 2009

Hi ho hi ho!

Still no Internets up in this piece, but Clay's snoring next to me so I've got his until I konk out, too.  Apologies for the photo-free posts these days; that will be fixed come Friday.  Me promise.  There's nothing much to see yet anyways -- just a lot of me in pajama pants and dirty hair, empty boxes of the chocolate covered cherries I can't stop eating, and my almost-threw-it-away, small television from college, plugged into a corner and sucking up the free cable we just discovered.  We like to watch it on the floor, on our stomachs, with our cereals.  

The place is coming together, but I put zero effort into it today.  Instead, I made Clay draw me a poster for class (Family Story Project Part Twelve Million) and I filled it in with words and colors.  What's up, fourth grade? But second to last week of classes is D-U-N, fools!  I've got a lot of work between now and next week, but happy to hammer it out if it means I never have to set foot in the ghetto (cue Elvis) again.  

(Sidenote: Tonight a girl in class was talking about how safe she thinks the Ocean campus is.  To which I replied: "It's not. You'll get raped if you keep thinking like that." Appropriate? Nah.)

It's weird to write a post while trying to type quietly and stay awake after sipping warm tea.  Uh oh. There are lots of fire trucks outside our window and way down twelve floors to the alley.  Meh.  They're probably just trying to rescue a kitten.  

Uh oh my eyes are closingpaoeraearerafzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz 

Monday, May 04, 2009

I've regressed

To a completely collegiate wardrobe. I blame moving.

I haven't worn anything that wasn't baggy, dirty, hooded or slip-on (checked Vans) for the past seven days. And I'm getting scared I won't turn back after we're unpacked. Clay is, too.

Today? Today, I'm wearing Levis that are falling off, a see-through men's v-neck with yellowed pits, and the aforementioned Vans. My hair looks like a chick's at a Phish concert. I'm wearing snowboarding socks. And a backpack.

Help?

Sunday, May 03, 2009

I'm stealing Internets

From my husband. Because he has a card that finds it like magic and I don't. There are roughly three things about the corporate world I miss and that's one. (Free snacks and paychecks > three dollars being the others.)

I am reporting to you amongst chaos, people. But controlled chaos. Friday night it was not. Friday night I couldn't imagine a life without squalor and despair. I had to keep pressing pause on the OCD tape running in my head - RESISTANCE IS FUTILE YOUR MIND WILL EXPLODE BECAUSE THE SNOWBOARD HELMETS ARE MIXED WITH THE SHARPIES JUST GIVE UP AND DIE - take a deep breath and unpack another box. Eventually, things got more manageable; but not without the help of lots of pizza and lots of Car Talk. Yeah, I like it. Zip it.

Moving day was stupid, as expected. Our moving team was great - fast and friendly and one had a killer Mass accent - so that wasn't the issue. What was? The rude, Frasier-Crane-wannabes that live in our building. I guess we weren't supposed to move in past 4:00 so as to not offend their delicate sensibilities. Of course we didn't arrive till 4 on the nose and oh MY it was fugly. They told us NO, they told us HALT and we, uh, just ignored them. What were we gonna do? Turn around and put the stuff back? We're both in the ask forgiveness, not permission camp -- which took them awhiles to grasp.

We (they) hauled ass getting everything upstairs (back and forth from the depths of the garage up to the twelfth floor) in the rain and through the protests and glares of our new neighbors. We were RULE BREAKERS, we were BREAKING THE RULES and they didn't want us to forget it. We had the following conversation about ten times:

"You cannot move in past 4:00."
"Yup!"
"You just can't."
"Got it!"

Then the elevator door would shut on them and off we'd go again. It was funny. I also grew an ulcer.

But we're all moved in now and almost all moved out of the old place. We've just gotta clean out the fridge and hire someone to clean it. Good riddance, suckas.

Other than the rude mofos up in this piece, we're really digging it. The view is lovely to live with, it's quiet, it feels ginormous to us (at a whole 800 square feet) and oh my god -- two bathrooms? We don't even know what to do with ourselves. Peeing at the same time feels luxurious and a little wrong.

We've still got a lot of unpacking to do and utilities to set up, but it's coming together and I'm pleased as punch.

P.S. I'm going to start saying things like that now. Because I feel like this place is where a fancy grandmother with fancy candies and fancy soaps should live. And she'd say that.

Back to the piles.