Labor Day

Oh, and my weekend? Perfect. Visiting friends in So-Cal, where big family (holla!) plus big house plus big pool plus big wines = the perfect labor day weekend. 

Pictures coming soon! 

Farmer's Market Photos, much delayed...

These pictures are long overdue...I took them about three weekends ago, when dogsitting for the Nut. It's this Saturday morning that shows why San Francisco will always hold my heart...

On the way to market...

The ferry building: where it all begins.

This is Jeff, of the Prather Ranch grill. Prather makes the best griddle cakes and sausage sandwiches IN THE WORLD. At least, at a ravenous 9 a.m. at market.

I think this guy's name is Roy. But I could be making that up, because that's what I want him to be called. Go Roy!

Of course, this particular morning I was eating with Ally McChutney, so we had caviar and creme fraiche omelettes at Czar Nicolai's. With champagne, of course. Because that's how we roll. 

Tori: sells peaches, champagne grapes, and loves the best celtic chutney in San Francisco!

I get my flowers from these two vendors: above is Blake (of Blake and Shivo) and below is Roy! Oh, wait...if this is Roy, who's the guy in the cowboy hat at Prather?? Dang. Okay, they're both Roy. 

And of course the morning isn't complete without Blue Bottle...though I will admit the growing lines and the over-raving is starting to wear me down...alas, it really IS an amazing latte. What can you do?

If these cups of coffee don't make your heart pitter-patter, you have a very poor inner life.

David on Flying

"I'd rather be in a cattle car than fly coach."

So I'm flying Southwest to San Diego this weekend, where the entire flight is coach...and as David points out, at least in cattle cars it smells nicer and people are less pushy.

But as long as I'm not sitting next to this guy again, I'll be feelin' pretty good...

Everything hurts worse in the dark.

Why is it that pain is more intense when the lights go off? Maybe it's because when the lights are on, one is usually doing something active: reading, writing, trying to teach the Nut how to play scrabble. But as soon as the lights go off, that's it. All distractions depart and there you are, left alone with your pain. You don't have the Friends laugh track or a deck of cards to busy the hands or mind any longer. It's just you. In the dark. And every sensation becomes acute.

Maybe this is why when I'm hurting (migraine, typically, though this time a throbbing jaw) I sleep with the light on. There's something about reading by warm lamplight until the hand drops and you're uber-unconscious that prevents one from being alone with their body. And not being alone with one's body seems to be key when it comes to pain maintenance.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a page to turn. And then a page to drool on.

On the phone with my oral surgeon this morning

OS: So how are you feeling?

Me: Like somebody punched me in the jaw.

OS: Yeah, it'll feel that way for a couple of days. By the way, do you remember anything from your surgery?

Me: Oh, no...did I proposition you while I was unconscious?

OS (laughing): No, but...you were saying some pretty funny things.

Me: You're kidding. Did I say anything embarrassing??

OS: No, but...pretty funny.

Me: Tell me what I said.

OS: I don't think so.

Wisdom Teeth. You, me, a date tomorrow.

And while I'm in the mood to chat...I'm getting my wisdom teeth extracted tomorrow. Not all of them. Just two. I couldn't afford all four as I am currently attempting to save for London. In fact, the only reason I'm getting two done is because I know they'll impact as soon as I don't have dental insurance anymore. How about that for a good reason? I basically eenie- meenie- miny- moed which two to pull, and am hoping the dice isn't thrown against me next year. I was * thisclose * to flipping a coin over the issue, but thought that would just be frivolous.

So the oral surgeon gives me these painkillers on my last visit. I told him what I took after my last surgery (seven years ago), so he prescribes me a double-strength version for this one. Nice, right? My little heart gave a pitterpatter of anticipation, not gonna lie. I envisioned lying there in a daze, sunlight floating around me, poppies flitting across my vision as I drifted off to an opiate slumber...And then two days ago, I had a migraine. I thought, 'boo yaw, check it out, perfect reason to sample these bad boys!' (As if I needed a reason.) And what happens? It jazzes me out. I'm up until midnight reading, frantically turning the pages, foot bouncing on the bedspread, my insides racing like I just mainlined speed. Part of me thought, "this would be TIGHT during the workday," but then the other, bigger part of me, thought, "there's no WAY I'm taking this again. And why am I doing jumping jacks?"

In the meantime, I'm curious what the meds could do for my blog posting (that is, if I am desperate enough to take another one, which is currently up for debate)...apologies in advance if it gets all kerou(wh)ackian on here. Nobody wants a stream of consciousness trickling down their leg.

P.S. I hope they give me my teeth in a jar. I want to give them to somebody--I'm not sure who yet--as a going-away gift, and hoping that guilt will induce him or her to keep them forever, hating me all the while. The card will read: "Here's a little piece of me, to hold close to you. Remember me always."

On neglecting my blog

So there's this weird thing about blog postings, where the longer I go between posts, the more grandiose I feel my comeback needs to be. Like, somehow it needs to just REALLY be something, something DEFINITELY worth the wait, because look, it's been two weeks, I've obviously been brewing something huge.

And then there's the reality:

-I have an uncalled-for month to train my replacement at work. Job training that realistically could take place in...three and a half hours. But I have so carefully established myself as someone indispensable that my company is convinced that it will take my replacement six years to learn what I do. How do I break it to them after five years that...a monkey could do my job? And what do I do with this poor, helpless shadow following me around my entire last month? "So...now that we've exhausted our day's worth of work by nine a.m., this is how I blog..."

-I have no internet at home. This isn't a new issue; in fact, this internet embargo has been in place since late spring. But I continue not to pay for cable or dial-up because one, I have no t.v., two, I have no landline, and three, I'm convinced that ANY MINUTE the free wireless is going to kick in again. Go, Free the Net, go, says the hare to the turtle.

-My brain is sapped totally dry. I'll finally get an internet moment at work: my trainee has left for lunch, my boss is in a meeting, and I have a blissfully unsupervised half hour. Do I get out a quick post? No. My brain is shot, and I have to create a mega-super-post because it's been too long between drinks.

And so here I am at last, posting from the Ko's couch where I'm chillin' for the evening...the twins are down and quiet, 'Friends' is muted on the t.v. and waiting for my return, and the internet is at my fingertips...and so I post. I break the long silence and I post. Just because I can.

I miss you. There will be more soon--I finally have some pictures uploaded and ready to roll.

Love.

can't...stop...inhaling...

Someone is grilling some sort of meat on the balcony next to mine, and the scent has permeated the entire Loft...I have never wanted a cheeseburger like I do right now...I lust. I covet. I leap balconies to steal roasting flesh...

A Deep Thought, by Jack Handey

In case you don't have the attention span to read the below post (it IS much more text than usual), this quote by JH pretty much summarizes the entire thing:

"As the light changed from red to green to yellow and back to red again, I sat there thinking about life. Was it nothing more than a bunch of honking and yelling? Sometimes it seemed that way."

I survived the highway.

I don't know how well you know me, but if you're even remotely connected, you probably know that I don't drive. No, that's an understatement. It's more like I DON'T DRIVE. It's not just because I sold my car six years ago and used the capital to move to San Francisco. It's also because I'm TERRIFIED behind the wheel. Instant anxiety. White knuckles? Swerving into blind spots? Hitting curbs and forgetting to turn on headlights? These do not only describe Chinatown: they also describe common occurrences when Rona is behind the wheel.

Was it always this way? Was I a terror to all drivers in Oklahoma, too? Well, yes. But not in the aforementioned way. More in the 'flashing my lights while tailgating you because YOU'RE NOT GOING THIRTY OVER THE SPEED LIMIT LIKE I AM' sort of way. I could clear the entire fast lane on a highway within seconds. Was this the safest way to drive? Probably not. But it was definitely the fastest, and when you have a two hour journey down the sweeping plains to see Gramma and you have a v8 with 350 horsepower, well, you don't waste time.

So what changed when I moved to California? To start with, they have one-way streets. Lots of them. In Tulsa, you encountered one way streets 'downtown,' which was a tiny and deserted place. Also, here in San Francisco you have to parallel park everywhere. Which is something I happened to fail on my driver's test. Twice. And the Bay Area has more highways in ten square miles than I've seen my entire life, highways with many, many lanes, and tight ones, with fast-moving cars in close proximity, switching and swerving and blinking and not blinking. Basically, my worst nightmare. How can I dominate THAT chaos?

Until tonight.

It started because I'm dogsitting the Nut for a week. This usually involves some minor street driving in the family car to get me to work and the Nut to his dogpark. This I can handle--I have figured out a way to make it to my job making only right hand turns, and the dogpark is right down the road, where we take a similarly mapped Safe Journey. But tonight...Peanut's parents needed a ride to a friend's house on their way out of town, meaning I would be driving the car back home.

On the highway.

My first highway in almost six years.

To say I was nervous is an understatement. It was more like, I was SUPER nervous. (I'm trying to underplay the level of my anxiety in case Kim and Phil read this later and think, 'Oh dear God, we let this girl behind the wheel of our car with our dog in the passenger seat??') But let's just say, I MIGHT have put on a Depends in case there was an accident.

But then, after Kim and Phil went into their friend's house, I got in the car. I carefully adjusted my mirrors, and pulled delicately away from the curb after checking for traffic from any possible direction. I made full stops at the stop signs as I traveled through the neighborhood, turning on my blinker an exact 100 feet before every turn. Then it was time...time to leave this manicured residential driving paradise and turn onto the access ramp of the highway. I did so cautiously, examining every sign I passed as though it held the meaning of life. And then...I did it. I MERGED ONTO THE HIGHWAY. And I didn't die! And then I moved into the second lane. AND THERE WAS ROOM FOR ME THERE, TOO! Nobody was honking at me! I turned on my blinker, and PEOPLE LET ME IN--unlike back home, where a blinker means 'speed up, there's a jerk trying to get in front of you.' I had my hands at ten and two. I was checking my mirrors every eight seconds. I was ON FIRE. I actually went TWO MILES OVER THE SPEED LIMIT AT ONE POINT. Oh, yes. I OWNED that highway. I STOMPED IT. It is now WEEPING from my mastery.

Sixteen minutes later, I was pulling smoothly into my parking space back at the Loft. As my pounding heart gradually slowed to 200 beats a minute, I calmly wiped the sweat off the steering wheel, turned down the tunes, slid out of the car, then called Kim and Phil to tell them Peanut and I were home safely. Nonchalantly: 'Oh, yeah, it was nothin'...'

"Sharing a Desk," another original poem by our summer temp, about sharing a desk with...me.

"This music is whack
Ummm we're not black
I'm sure the dj next to me is white
And can put up a fight
She lives in the ghetto and takes the bus
But I've hardly heard her cuss
Her name is Sharona, you know like the song?
What was her mom thinking, so wrong.
But I love her
And will miss her.
We have a duck together
And I'll never forget her."

"Life in the Office," an original poem by our summer temp

"I have nothing to say
It's a horrible day
Woke up no sun
Thought to myself this is no fun.
Got to work ten minutes late
I'm sure Lumbergh will keep track of the date.
I don't want to go back to school
There's only a bunch of fools
I guess I could use a drink
But what would everyone think?"

The Weekend's Photo Play

This weekend I forced Heather to model for me once more so I could show her off to my single manfriends. Although 'technically' she doesn't know I'm doing this. Heather allowed me to take these photos under the premise that I'm just experimenting with my portraiture. That's not all I want to experiment with, having seen how her photos turned out...

Please enjoy the first edition of 'My Single Girlfriends.'

Gorgeous, isn't she?? Let's give her a big round of applause for being such an unknowing good sport! * clap clap clap * Single men, feel free to email me at any time. If I don't steal her away to London, we might able to discuss some match-making...

Quotes of the Day

"You must take what you need from the past, but you must mock it when necessary, and you must make it yours." --Renzo Mongiardino


The second is from Dinana's comment yesterday, and comes from THE BEST SHOW EVER CREATED, Arrested Development:

Tobias [as Mrs. Featherbottom]: Okay, who'd like a banger in the mouth? [laughs] Right, I forgot, here in the States, you call it a *sausage* in the mouth.

Michael: We just call it a sausage.

Email of the Day

"you know what sucks? i'll tell you what sucks -- when you buy a "gourmet orange" for $1.23, you go to peel it and the skin is all juicy and perfect and you say to yourself damn this is gonna be the best orange in the world and then you get to the orange itself and it is one of those dry bizzarro oranges whose souls have been sucked dry by some citrus vampire but you feel you have to eat it anyways cause you spent $1.23. Now that's what sucks."

And these are a few of my favorite things...

So last Wednesday found me visiting my favorite pastry chef for a little hit of her baby yum, and not only did I walk away with the next season of Friends (I am apparently doing a Friends marathon before I leave the country. It's like some deep, dark, subconscious place feels that if I watch EVERY SINGLE EPISODE, IN ORDER, I'll have my Americanity officially locked in before I head to the land of bangers and mash, where I will attempt to avoid Corruption by Ketchup), but I also scored a pair of boots and a loaf of banana nut bread. Oh, yes: Friends, shoes, and fresh-baked bread. Can life get any better than this? I think not. All of my favorite things, just sitting in my lap, begging me to bliss out.

Also, is it bad that I ate almost the entire loaf in one sitting? Slathered in butter? And moaning Sara's name?