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Ack; apparently it's been over a week since my last confession. Some weekend highlights:
I volunteered my services at a Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk in a very cold Golden Gate Park, way too early on Saturday morning. And by the time they told me where the coffee was (the organizers don't drink coffee, and hadn't noticed!), it was gone. There was no real creamer anyway, just the scary powdered stuff. So I was cranky until they handed me The Keys. To the white Ford F150 4x4 pickup truck. That I was to drive the paparazzi around in, so that they could capture the event.
While I was dating Rod The Carpenter, he bought a white Ford F150 4x4 pickup truck. He would not let me near the driver's side, because, he insisted, I would not know how to drive it. I hate to drive, so I didn't mind not being allowed to, but I found his presumption tres annoying. Especially when he almost ran us off the road and into a ditch that one time. But whatever.
So when they handed me the keys on Saturday, and they just assumed I'd be able to carry 4 people around in the back of it and not hit any of the people walking the very crowded route, I was a little surprised. And then when I was forced to parallel park it into a tiny spot, twice, I was more surprised at their faith in me (so what if it was a rental!). And then when I was able to parallel park it, with lightning speed*, maybe an inch of clearance in front and 2 in back, I was, well, pretty impressed with myself.
So there, Ruprecht!
*It had to happen fast. The thing was wired to make that horrible beeping noise when in reverse, and I didn't want to draw attention to myself as I backed over someone's BMW.
Then I went to watch Wendy. She was doing a 24-hour run, which she'd started at 9 am. By the time I arrived (a little before 1pm), she'd run about a marathon, and she looked totally fresh. Amazing (but we were still planning on tripping the competition, because it was fun to contemplate). Then, after I left, spent like 2 hours and over $100 at Sports Basement, and came back, she still looked great. Then, after I left, attended another party at Marlic's, had a couple beers, ate some Zachary's pizza, met my husband's new girlfriend, bowled a spare at the bowling alley (where the party had migrated), couldn't convince anyone to do karaoke with me, which was going on in the bowling alley lounge, and came back (I was soooooo tired, because I'd been up since 5, and she seemed soooooo far away, over that Bay Bridge, but given what Wendy was doing, "tired", coming from me, was just laughable), she'd done about 70-some miles, and still looked fantastic! I ran with her for a spell, in my evening attire, at 2 am. It was supposed to be a walking lap, but when we were a little more than halfway around, another woman passed us, and she was close in terms of lap counts, and there was some discrepancy being ironed out regarding said lap counts, so we couldn't chance it. Off we went, and we passed her right back. Merell clogs are fairly supportive for impromptu runs in the dead of night without a headlamp, FYI. Anyway, I think Wendy was directing her head for both of us.
OK, so my big milestone: driving some dumb truck from Hertz. Wendy's big milestone: running 105.8 miles over a 24-hour period, making her the first place female finisher, and the 7th place finisher overall.
She stole my thunder. Dammit!
I went to my co-worker's daughter's birthday party the next morning at MOCHA (Museum of Children's Art), and my co-worker is quite a foodie, so the gourmet birthday cake was phenomenal. Tallulah informed me that being 5 is a lot like being 4, and she instructed me to make her a baby jellyfish for her "CD jewelcase aquarium" at one of the art tables (the party was Octopus-themed), and would not leave for the whole happy-birthday-cake-time ceremony, even though everyone was calling for her, until I finished it. It was a pressure-filled weekend, full of parallel-parked trucks and baby jellyfish cutouts. I think I handled it all quite well. And I'm ulcer-free! My only faux pas was when I asked one of the other guest's dads about his costume (apparently, the guy dresses eclectically in general, and this was no costume).
Then I went for a run (it's so easy to run 6.5 miles after watching someone top 80!) and didn't have time to stretch because I had to leave for my massage. When I got there, Becky said, "oh I'll stretch you." It sounded almost sinister, and I was a little scared. But I stifled several urges to scream, and I really felt like I was floating afterwards. Then I had the yummiest nap. Then I did my laundry, with no drama. And I lived happily ever after. The end.
OK, first, I've been alerted to some inaccuracies in my previous post:
1. The second party was Sylvester (New Years), and I wasn't able to bring the canned champagne (they'd stopped carrying it), so I brought these little chocolate mouse cups from TJs instead.
2. Dolly, the world's first cloned mammal, was not run over by a tractor, but died prematurely of natural causes.
3. I was an inch off on the height of Someone Else.
4. The organic Spinach had no E. Coli at all. It was persecution. By a bunch of Popeye haters and Anti-Spinites.
A question was raised as to whether anyone had actually died from the tainted inorganic spinach. The matter was researched, and it was concluded that the spinach had indeed killed at least one person. But a tractor idled suspiciously nearby.
Back to your regularly scheduled program.
Saturday's ride was breathtakingly beautiful. It was a brilliantly sunny early morning, after almost 24 hours of rain (the first rain of the season, and my first rain as a cyclist). Fog hovered in the valleys we passed, and everything was a lush green (after only one rain!), interspersed with a tiny bit of some east coast orange/yellow (Yay! Fall!). Wooded areas treated us to the fragrance of eucalyptus mixed with pine.
The ride went up Wildwood, across to Park Blvd. via St. James, to Joaquin Miller via the frontage road, up Butters to Skyline to Redwood, to South Pinehurst to Moraga, where some broke off to do Morgan Territory, one of my personal favorites, but that's 120 miles all told, and it caught me unprepared, so after a wistful moment I continued with Mel to Lafayette via St. Mary's (pit stop at Peet's), then half-Happy Valley to Orinda via Sunset Blvd, then up Wildcat Canyon, then down Euclid for some puttering at The Missing Link in north Berkeley (throw in some separation anxiety over my bike, which sat oh-so-vulnerably alone and untethered near the store's entrance), then back home to Lake Merritt in the flats.
Don't I sound so smart?!?! Well, the above was pretty much cut/pasted from the ride leader's emailed description of the planned route. Unfortunately, I'm way too preoccupied with things like not falling too far behind after catching a red light (or unexpected hill) (or both) in the highest possible gear (again) to pay enough attention to road signs. And on this particular day, there were really wet leaves on really wet roads, really unresponsive brakes, and really foggy sunglasses. It was a frightening Redwood Rd. descent. Yikes.
When I got home, I had a nice nap, and then went into San Francisco with my friend Nneka, who had a Samba performance at this Brazilian restaurant. She's really good, and the food was phenomenal.
Nneka likes to stay up all night. Her philosophy: "Sleep? You can sleep when you're dead." A bunch of us went to Puerta Vallarta for 4 days once, and we slept an average of 2 or 3 hours a night. I was hoping I'd die, so that I could get some sleep. But instead, we spent the wee hours clubbing and getting felt up by other women and whatnot (while being fed shots of tequila, I don't know, apparently it's customary). Oh, and I got pinched on the ass by a transvestite at a gay dance club (not my idea!) who was much prettier than I. He had just performed onstage as Madonna. I was too tired and confused to be offended.
On this comparatively mundane Saturday night, I couldn't stop yawning, even though I'd had a nap, so I got yelled at a few times. But in all fairness, I yawn a lot regardless as to whether I'm tired (I just feel like I need the oxygen). I've heard that Tiger Woods does the same.
After the restaurant, we ended up at Medjool, where it was "lame pick-up lines" night...
Random Guy (coming downstairs as we're heading upstairs to cool off on the rooftop deck, interrupting his cell phone conversation to block my path): "Hey, how's it looking downstairs? Is it hot?"
Me: "Yeah, it's pretty warm."
RG: "No, I mean are the women as hot as you? Because if not, I'm turning right around to follow you back up."
Random Guy #2, walking up to the heat lamp under which we were huddled on the roof (we'd cooled off pretty quickly) and saying to Nneka: "Hey, is it the lamp making this area so hot, or is it you?"
And then to me: "You've probably heard this before, but you remind me of Bette Midler."
Me: "Ugh! I have heard that before! And it's a very unflattering comparison!"
RG#2: "What! The Bette Midler of 20 years ago was quite an attractive woman!"
Me: "TWENTY years ago?!"
RG#2: "OK, OK! 30 years ago!"
Hmph.
I'd made plans with a friend for Sunday morning. We were going to call each other when we woke up. She called at 9. Normally, I'd be up, but this was right after a Nneka night. My head was smarting (I'd only had 2 drinks all night, so I realized it was from having cooked my brains under that heat lamp). I'd wanted to go to Bakesale Betty's but it turns out it's closed on Sunday. So we went to Fat Apples! I'd never been. It was yummy.
My friend Larry was a garden-variety carnivore (HAHA!) when I met him at one of Marla and Eric's parties. I kept calling him Allen that night, for some reason.
We were at another party at Marlic's several months ago (was it last September, Larry?) when he announced his decision to become a vegetarian. I think I choked on the canned champagne that I was drinking at the time (Yes. It had its own little telescoping straw, like one of those kids' juice boxes. I had to get it when I saw it on the shelf at Trader Joe's. Coppola made it. It was really bad.). Here's what I remember....
Me: A vegetarian? Why?
Larry: The sheep died.
Me: What sheep?
Larry: The one they cloned. The first successfully cloned sheep. It died a terrible death.
Me: What does that have to do with anything?
Larry: blah blah blah meat blah blah blah cloning blah blah blah really bad blah blah blah book by Blah Blah
Someone Else (who discovered months later that he wasn't 5'9" as he'd always thought, but was instead 5'8"+, which he divulged at the dessert table at another of Erla's parties recently, to which a 6-foot-tall Larry responded that he might get taller if he spent time in the zero-gravity environment of outer space): Are you going to stop eating meat gradually?
Larry: No, I'm just going to stop.
Me: So you're going cold tofurkey?
*laughter* (I think I laughed at my comment more, perhaps much more, than the others did. It was tres funny, after all. But the canned champagne and whatever else may have had something to do with my inability to stop laughing.)
So, of course I had to point out later that most vegetables are cloned. And of course he found out later that he'd totally misunderstood about the sheep. I think it was run over by a tractor or something. But he's still a vegetarian. And now he's talking about going vegan.
So this came up because he just sent me an email. His subject header: "carnivore beware"
The body of his email contained two articles:
1. ConAgra Closes Pot Pie Plant Due To Salmonella Concerns
2. E. Coli-Tainted Beef Leads to Suit Against Manufacturer, Stores
Yeah. Maybe we should just stick to something safe. Something vegetarian. Something like, hmmm. Spinach! Who was ever killed by spinach? Oh...wait....
I was thinking today that I'd start a university. Mainly because I'm jonesing for one of those super-thick hoody college sweatshirts, and I don't want to wear the name of some dumb school that didn't even prepare me for real life. Here's the core curriculum so far....
Yoga Self-Defense (3 phys ed. credits)
Yogis are not always "zen." There are some, at a certain West Berkeley gym, who will slam you against a wall without hesitation to compete for a spot on the floor where they can hurry up and start achieving tranquility, connection to the world, and whatnot. Do you want spiritual enlightenment? Well hey: Grow a set. Coursework includes ancient sanskrit method instruction on how to run into class, quickly throw your stuff down in strewn-about piles, designed to hold your place while you run over to the yoga mats in a complete panic for a "not-too-icky" mat and return to your spot all while staring down the idiot who's eyeing your spot and who thinks they're about to get away with moving your strewn-about stuff so that they can throw down their pristine brightly-colored mail-order eco-friendly recycled rubber yoga mat and conveniently close their eyes fake meditation-style until class starts (along with the guy next to them, who refused to save the spot, suggesting the "throw down your stuff" approach instead).
The Illusion of Neutrality (3 poli sci, sociology, or criminal justice credits)
I have this friend. Her name is Shmaura. She's a total dumbass, because she introduced her single male friend to her single female cousin and was determined to be optimistic that all would be fine as long as she stayed out of it, even refusing to take the bait when her single male friend kept sneakily plying her for information and her single female cousin called her don't-ask-don't-tell policy "so American" in a not-very-complimentary tone. This course explores Shmaura's downward spiral, from neutral, loving friend/cousin who had the best intentions, could do no wrong, and loved/was loved by all, to miserable friendless cousin-killer whose Murder 1 conviction was sealed by the corroborative testimony of the entire city of Oakland, which overheard her screaming at the top of her lungs, "WTF?! I never said you needed to lose 40 lbs! How did that even come UP?! I'm going to kill her!" If there's time, we'll discuss viability of the "prison day pass" (so that she can bring a really fattening non-vegetarian meat pie to her former male friend at the eating disorder clinic).
Don't Ever Make Plans. Or: Make Breakable Plans Constantly (3 philosophy credits, but note that this course schedule conflicts with the only other course that you really want)
Have you ever noticed that when you make plans, suddenly about a million things that you wanted to do are happening on that day, or that one person you've been wanting to see for months is finally available at that very time? And you've got absolutely no commitments at any other time that month? Why does that happen?
Season 4 of The Office started tonight. Didn't love it. I fear it may jump the shark this season, but I'm willing to reserve judgment for now.
Speaking of the office, I just drafted a self-assessment for my performance review tomorrow morning. "A ridiculous exercise" as a friend has recently been quoted as saying?
Speaking of exercise, I didn't, today. I was too busy being ridiculously stressed about doing my self-assessment. Here's my self-assessment:
1. Fat (didn't exercise today).
2. Proficient at "the segue."
3. Very tired.
Speaking of tired, I'm going to bed (it's actually a lot later than 8:44 pm).
Lots of Yoga/Not Enough Spin
I got in trouble for leaving work early to go to spin class. I'm trying to be zen about it, but I'm definitely losing it. I'm considering going back to being a regular morning spinner, but even when I do manage to get out of bed for a morning spin class (the hardest part!), those classes are generally only an hour long (as opposed to 1.5 or 2 hours Monday thru Thursday evenings). And it feels less like a party. And I burn fewer calories per minute in the morning. And I'm asleep at my desk by 3. UGH!!! Namaste namaste namaste. I'm fine.
Willpower Issues
I watched every single minute of every single section of my new "The Office, Season Three" DVD, including bonus features. I tried to stretch it out until next week's sesason premiere, but that didn't work, because I have instant gratification issues. Like when my brother and I were kids, and we were allowed one coke at Milano's, and my glass was empty in about 5 seconds, before my food arrived, while Bryan's was only two-thirds empty after he'd eaten two-thirds of his sub. And then I pouted, so I got another coke. And Bryan got really mad. Hah! Anyway, now I have to wait an entire week for the premiere, and it's my parents' fault.
Bars Bars Bars
You know those friends you have who are stuck in college party mode? I spent Friday and Saturday nights with mine, at a few drinking establishments. The highlights: I totally sucked at pool and won anyway, and we played dumb 80's songs (e.g. Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name") on the jukebox and sang along at the very tops of our lungs, which really endeared us to the bartender.
Happy New Year!
Delightful brisket, and company, on Thursday night. I resolved to be more "focused" in the coming year. I need focus. Which reminds me, I haven't been to the optometrist in eons. Gotta set something up.
Neighbor Update
X and Y have forgotten about me for the moment, because they are currently consumed by this new yappy dog situation which seems to be coming from across the courtyard. Y keeps yelling, "Keep it up guys. I'm CALLing the po-LICE." Is he trying to reason with the dogs?!
Bad neighbor situations suck. I know, because I've had my share. I had this neighbor, when I lived abroad, who'd decided to go out one night and leave her new yappy dog at home. Of course it barked incessantly until she came home. I lay in wait! When she returned (at 4 am on a weeknight), I ran to her door. When I told her that the dog had been yapping since she left, she looked at me, and said,
"What am I supposed to do, stay home every night?"
This entire conversation happened in a foreign language. Have you ever tried speaking coherently in a foreign language while livid? I'd say it's pretty high on the list of extremely challenging cognitive endeavors. I'm pretty sure I just stood there blinking for a while before switching to some colorful English.
So I won't bore you with my many other "bad neighbor" stories. Instead I'll bore you with my "best neighbor" story! Yay! We'll call her "X." I told X that I could hear her walking above me at 5:30am every morning, and she figured out it was her loud shoes, immediately switching to softer soles. I noticed a mysterious vibration in one corner of my bedroom over the last few nights; together we discovered that it was her oscillating fan, and she turned it off. Every time she sees me, she asks with genuine concern about the noise situation!
Now I feel really badly about having asked her to close the doors more gently...because further investigation has revealed that the door slammer is my downstairs neighbor, whom we'll call "Y."
Wow, X must be miserable. Whatever it is that she's calling me in her blog, I'm sure it has an "!" and a "#" in it.
