Monday night I was kind of bad. I skipped my Portuguese class. Because I was busy with my interview to become a mentor.
It was time to fill in those gaps from my application. I went in knowing that I should mention that I am a Bay Area native. I've learned over the years that we are not as common as I had thought previously.
I talked about the things many of us take for granted -- applying for college or finding a job and an apartment. If you've never had a support system, do you really know how to do these things?
And college? Well, we all know that the SAT and other standardized tests can be culturally biased. If one has never been exposed to these things, then how can one answer questions on these topics?
The last part of the interview was answering questions about certain scenarios. The first was one in which the young woman was involved in risky behavior -- sex, drugs, or some combination of the two -- and how you would respond. And so I was honest. "I am not necessarily trained to deal with these kinds of situations but there are lots of people out there who are." I then went on to say that I would tell the young woman how her behavior is jeopardizing her future and that I can help her find someone to talk to. The program director loved how I said, "We can go and make an appointment." She said that her experience has taught her that while these young women will say that they will do whatever it is that you have asked of them, they rarely follow through with the actions. Just by my saying "we," I was holding this fictional young woman accountable.
The next step is to go through training. Part of this training is setting boundaries. Funny, but during the interview, I mentioned how there is often a lack of boundaries in these young women's lives. I gave a concrete example from my teaching years of how to be supportive yet set firm boundaries at the same time.
Basically I totally rocked the interview process. But from y'alls comments, I think you already expected that. I just wanted to let y'all know that I lived up to your expectations. And now I'm totally excited about getting my match.
And no, I don't see any problem with this post as a follow-up to yesterday's. Because I'm all multi-faceted and shit.
Showing posts with label Berkeley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Berkeley. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Another section possibly filled in
The weekend before I started tutoring again, I went to brunch with the foster parents of the girl I tutor. (They also happen to be family friends and I had to pick up my mother from their house.) During brunch they voiced their surprise at my relationship with their foster daughter. I was too mentally fried at the time to explain to them that she shows deference and respect toward me and feels safe in telling me the truth about what is going on with her at school because these are the boundaries I have set for her.
If you know me, then you know that I spent a lot of time thinking about that post a couple of weeks ago.
The first part of the thought process was looking for local volunteer opportunities. I think I may have found my match in a volunteer program through the local YWCA. The program matches women with young women who are about to age out of the foster care system. My mother -- typical of her -- thinks it's a horrendous thought. Of course it is. It's probably a little too personal for her. Her idea of volunteering is to dish out food at the soup kitchen. Oh, and she has also signed up to volunteer two days a week at the Democrat campaign office. Her neighbor has also signed up there as well as the Obama campaign office.
In toying with this idea, I had an epiphany. Of course, I have been feeling off-balance. Volunteering has been a part of my life for many years.
It all started when I was twelve or so. I joined the Red Cross club at my junior high. We made stuffed animals for hospitalized kids. At age 13, I put in over 100 hours volunteering at a local daycare center. At 14, I put in 50+ hours at the V.A. in Tuskegee, Alabama. That was definitely an eye-opening experience. The next thing that sticks in my mind was when I volunteered in pediatrics at the university hospital my freshman year. I learned that sometimes babies get horrible diseases. My job was to help them forget all of that. When I worked at the Death Star, they asked for volunteers. I helped to paint the dining room at a transitional shelter for families in the Haight.
What I realized was that when I started teaching, I stopped the volunteering. And that was OK then. I did still volunteer. I would sign up for committees and whatnot. But I'm not teaching now. And I realize now that by not finding some other volunteer opportunity has left a void in my life.
I worked for a non-profit briefly. I recognize the power in people giving dollars. But there is so much more in giving of one's time. Or at least that's what I think. For me, it started at a point of not having much money but wanting to help. Now I could write a check but that somehow feels lacking in my mind. Ten seconds to write a check? Is that really doing something? Yeah, maybe it does but I want to know firsthand that whatever I have done has changed the world in some way. And the best way to do this is to do things, interact with people. I was about to say that I am an introvert but then I thought that I should take a Myers-Briggs again. (I'm a ENTJ if you're wondering. Might explain my incessant list-making.) Apparently I am a "slightly expressed extrovert."
Hmmm. I really am an extrovert at heart? Might explain a great deal about my feeling of disconnect as of late. And why volunteering that allows me interact with others is so important to me.
And so today, I submitted my application to be a mentor. One more thing done. But I'm still not done reclaiming the old me yet...
Afterthought: If none of y'all hear from me tomorrow, please call the cops. I am afraid that Natasha is going to kill me in my sleep tonight. I went to Berkeley Bowl to pick up her favorite canned food. They were sold out because the friggin' stuff was on sale. So I tried out some other stuff since I refuse to go to Astronomico's or Whole Foods -- the only other stores that carry the stuff. I know that Astronomico's charges at least fifty cents more a can than Berkeley Bowl does for the stuff. Then again, maybe I should have spent it. My life is definitely worth more than that.
If you know me, then you know that I spent a lot of time thinking about that post a couple of weeks ago.
The first part of the thought process was looking for local volunteer opportunities. I think I may have found my match in a volunteer program through the local YWCA. The program matches women with young women who are about to age out of the foster care system. My mother -- typical of her -- thinks it's a horrendous thought. Of course it is. It's probably a little too personal for her. Her idea of volunteering is to dish out food at the soup kitchen. Oh, and she has also signed up to volunteer two days a week at the Democrat campaign office. Her neighbor has also signed up there as well as the Obama campaign office.
In toying with this idea, I had an epiphany. Of course, I have been feeling off-balance. Volunteering has been a part of my life for many years.
It all started when I was twelve or so. I joined the Red Cross club at my junior high. We made stuffed animals for hospitalized kids. At age 13, I put in over 100 hours volunteering at a local daycare center. At 14, I put in 50+ hours at the V.A. in Tuskegee, Alabama. That was definitely an eye-opening experience. The next thing that sticks in my mind was when I volunteered in pediatrics at the university hospital my freshman year. I learned that sometimes babies get horrible diseases. My job was to help them forget all of that. When I worked at the Death Star, they asked for volunteers. I helped to paint the dining room at a transitional shelter for families in the Haight.
What I realized was that when I started teaching, I stopped the volunteering. And that was OK then. I did still volunteer. I would sign up for committees and whatnot. But I'm not teaching now. And I realize now that by not finding some other volunteer opportunity has left a void in my life.
I worked for a non-profit briefly. I recognize the power in people giving dollars. But there is so much more in giving of one's time. Or at least that's what I think. For me, it started at a point of not having much money but wanting to help. Now I could write a check but that somehow feels lacking in my mind. Ten seconds to write a check? Is that really doing something? Yeah, maybe it does but I want to know firsthand that whatever I have done has changed the world in some way. And the best way to do this is to do things, interact with people. I was about to say that I am an introvert but then I thought that I should take a Myers-Briggs again. (I'm a ENTJ if you're wondering. Might explain my incessant list-making.) Apparently I am a "slightly expressed extrovert."
Hmmm. I really am an extrovert at heart? Might explain a great deal about my feeling of disconnect as of late. And why volunteering that allows me interact with others is so important to me.
And so today, I submitted my application to be a mentor. One more thing done. But I'm still not done reclaiming the old me yet...
Afterthought: If none of y'all hear from me tomorrow, please call the cops. I am afraid that Natasha is going to kill me in my sleep tonight. I went to Berkeley Bowl to pick up her favorite canned food. They were sold out because the friggin' stuff was on sale. So I tried out some other stuff since I refuse to go to Astronomico's or Whole Foods -- the only other stores that carry the stuff. I know that Astronomico's charges at least fifty cents more a can than Berkeley Bowl does for the stuff. Then again, maybe I should have spent it. My life is definitely worth more than that.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Wanderlust
By Thursday afternoon I was dreaming of getting away from it all. But then reality set in.
I realized that starting Thursday night, I was responsible for two fish,
two dogs,
and three cats for the holiday weekend.
No, the first cat is not Natasha. He's my neighbor's cat. He's even more camera shy than she is.
So much for getting away. I contented myself with making a list of places. Then I realized that everywhere on the list consisted of day trips. So I made a new list of weekend trips. Maybe once I start doing some of these, I can start making a list of places that will take more than a weekend. I figure for now, I should start small though.
And so since I could not get away, I did the next best thing and headed to the roof. (Please ignore the singing. I'm just trying to drown out the voices of the guys from work telling me that it is not good for the roof to walk upon it constantly. La-la-la. Whatever.)
My neighbor started an herb garden last year but it appears that she gave up on that idea. Now we're left with a few pots of this.
And since y'all enjoyed the 'hood photos, I leave you with these. I had not been on the roof since they finished the new building. Unfortunately this building blocks most of our western views. Grrrr.
I hope to start on the lists the coming weekend. The best I'll be able to do is a day trip though. Actually, it may be this way for a bit more time. I have a family obligation Saturday evening. It's my aunt's birthday and so we're having the party that she would have wanted.
two dogs,
and three cats for the holiday weekend.
No, the first cat is not Natasha. He's my neighbor's cat. He's even more camera shy than she is.
So much for getting away. I contented myself with making a list of places. Then I realized that everywhere on the list consisted of day trips. So I made a new list of weekend trips. Maybe once I start doing some of these, I can start making a list of places that will take more than a weekend. I figure for now, I should start small though.
And so since I could not get away, I did the next best thing and headed to the roof. (Please ignore the singing. I'm just trying to drown out the voices of the guys from work telling me that it is not good for the roof to walk upon it constantly. La-la-la. Whatever.)
My neighbor started an herb garden last year but it appears that she gave up on that idea. Now we're left with a few pots of this.
And since y'all enjoyed the 'hood photos, I leave you with these. I had not been on the roof since they finished the new building. Unfortunately this building blocks most of our western views. Grrrr.
I hope to start on the lists the coming weekend. The best I'll be able to do is a day trip though. Actually, it may be this way for a bit more time. I have a family obligation Saturday evening. It's my aunt's birthday and so we're having the party that she would have wanted.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Grumpy
So yeah. I've been pretty grumpy lately. I'm working on it though. When I'm pissed off, I like to run. It used to be if I was feeling grumpy, I'd go for a drive. Now I go for a walk.
Every summer there is corn in the field. I'm not sure if I really want to know what they do with the plants. In the fall it all gets tilled under and the Canadian geese show up. For at least a week. But the field wasn't my real destination.
Nope. Not the final destination. Every time I pass by Live Oak Park I do think of how I should go there more often though.
I fell in love with Codornices Park in elementary school. From first through third grades, I went to this babysitter's house after school. Most days she would take us girls to a park. Codornices was the special occasion kind of park. There are trails along the creek. But best of all is the cement slide built into the hill. For really good speed, it's best to use wax paper or cardboard under your butt.
And nothing beats the views from up there.
Or the beauty of the Rose Garden across the street. I always forget that there are tennis courts next to the Rose Garden. All I could think was, "Is there a cooler tennis court anywhere else? I don't think so."
On my way back down the hill, I couldn't resist taking a few photos of the homes around the area. The first is of a house that's being remodeled. The other two photos I had to take after seeing an "Apartment for Rent" sign.I don't even want to imagine what the rent is up there. (I had to look out of curiousity since I knew the property management company would have it listed on their website. $2,650 for a two bedroom. Although they only show photos of one bedroom. Hmmm.) By this time I was also chatting with Zombie Mom on the phone. I think that she was amused by my random valuations of houses I passed. Like this large Tudor style one. Sorry but no photo. "Hmmm. One point five."
The whole walk was a little over two miles. As a reward, I stopped at Gregoire for the eggplant and the potato puffs. As I stood at the register, I felt my legs starting to shake a bit. So now grumpy has been replaced with sore.
That's OK though. Just getting ready for what will be coming in a couple of weeks.
Every summer there is corn in the field. I'm not sure if I really want to know what they do with the plants. In the fall it all gets tilled under and the Canadian geese show up. For at least a week. But the field wasn't my real destination.
Nope. Not the final destination. Every time I pass by Live Oak Park I do think of how I should go there more often though.
I fell in love with Codornices Park in elementary school. From first through third grades, I went to this babysitter's house after school. Most days she would take us girls to a park. Codornices was the special occasion kind of park. There are trails along the creek. But best of all is the cement slide built into the hill. For really good speed, it's best to use wax paper or cardboard under your butt.
And nothing beats the views from up there.
Or the beauty of the Rose Garden across the street. I always forget that there are tennis courts next to the Rose Garden. All I could think was, "Is there a cooler tennis court anywhere else? I don't think so."
On my way back down the hill, I couldn't resist taking a few photos of the homes around the area. The first is of a house that's being remodeled. The other two photos I had to take after seeing an "Apartment for Rent" sign.
The whole walk was a little over two miles. As a reward, I stopped at Gregoire for the eggplant and the potato puffs. As I stood at the register, I felt my legs starting to shake a bit. So now grumpy has been replaced with sore.
That's OK though. Just getting ready for what will be coming in a couple of weeks.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Finding balance in the PRB*
I suddenly have a lot of posts bouncing around in my head -- perhaps because my weekend was so full. I thought I'd start with the easy one first.
Today was "me" day. The family members who I know really care are totally respectful of this idea. The idea that at least one day a week has to be completely mine. If I have that, then I can deal with all of the rest of the stuff.
I awoke at 8:00 a.m. with all these thoughts of what needed to be done. By noon after much thought, I realized that they didn't need to be done today. Well, especially those things that involve driving. Those can wait until tomorrow evening when I will be in my car because I have to drive to work. So I caught up on TV viewing and took a nap.
Around 4:00 I headed out to the library. I finally managed to finish two of the Stephanie Plum books I had checked out weeks ago. Only four more to go and I will be caught up on the series. Of course, returning the books could have waited until tomorrow as well as I pass the library on my way to work every morning. But I had items on hold. This would be a result of the Netflix meltdown during this past week. It dawned on me that some of the older titles on my list might just be available at the public library. They were -- and were already checked out so I put in hold requests. But this is just the why of the walk. The walk itself was the more important part to me.
As I neared the BART station, I could hear the sounds of music over a P.A. system. The "Free Tibet" group was set up there once more. Apparently this is the new hot protesting thing in Berkeley. There haven't been protests in front of the Marines recruiting center for months. And somehow magically around the same time that those ended, the "Free Tibet" marches started. The one I saw on Friday night as I was leaving for Sacramento was at least two blocks long. Anywho. I gladly took a flyer from one of the adorable children handing them out. Actually it was more of a race as two of the kids made a beeline for me, rushing to see who could get to me first. It made me smile. Enough that the homeless guy I passed had to comment. Something along the lines of, "Keep on smiling. Yeah. I'm talking to you."
The return was all about food. I needed gelato. Really. But Naia is still down to two cases instead of the three they used to have and there was no cardamom. *sigh* So I trudged on.
There was a quick stop at Astronomico's (This is Marin's name for the place and I kind of like it.) to pick up canned food. I just didn't have the energy to walk to Berkeley Bowl to save fifty cents a can. Besides I just needed a few to tie me over until I could stop at Berkeley Bowl on my way home from work this week. But I thought of Zombie Mom while in the store as I saw a woman pulling a child in a red wagon down an aisle.
And I remembered how I didn't get the tuna the last time I hit my fave takeout spot. But I still needed gelato -- and maybe sorbet -- so I headed over to Ciao Bella. And I guess it was a good thing that Naia didn't have the flavor I wanted because I suddenly remembered that if I used my debit card at Ciao Bella, I could earn airline miles. By the way, I ended up with blood orange sorbet and rose petal gelato, if you're interested.
On my way home with all of my goodies (Tucked away into one of the many tote bags I received while teaching. I felt so "Berkeley."), I saw what was probably the most interesting site. A woman was power-washing the sidewalk in front of her house. I found myself thinking, "Aren't we supposed to be conserving water? How did she get into Berkeley? I mean at Marin's house they have a bucket in the tub to catch some of the runoff water from the shower to use for watering." OK. I mostly thought this because I was forced to walk in the street. Her back was to me and she could not hear me approaching because of the noise of the washer. So while walking in the street to avoid getting wet, I thought of the other stuff.
Ahhh. But how to conclude this all? As I feasted on the tuna, eggplant and potato puffs, I got sucked into "Confessions of a Go-Go Girl" on Lifetime. By the end I had a few questions. Because even a cheesy Lifetime movie leaves me asking questions.
Are all women who take their clothes off for a living unhappy? Why do people say it's degrading? Aren't you "selling yourself" at just about any job? But then I got to thinking about how women our often objectified in our society. It all gets back to that double standard. Women are being told that men like them to act in a certain way and then are punished for doing exactly that. Oh, and please do not mention religious morality to me. Those books were written by men. And no, I am not trashing religion. It's just that I have issues with a man writing about how a woman should behave and then masking it all in religious beliefs. Or those men who choose to interpret passages in this manner.
So this is the stuff I will be pondering while I write my next couple of posts. Until then.
* Whenever I use the acronym "PRB," I always mean "The People's Republic of Berkeley." It's from my childhood. No matter for what others may now use the acronym, it will always mean this to me. Maybe one day I'll get around to adding a glossary to the sidebar.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Passing time
Before all the stuff went down with my aunt, I stumbled across the perfect post. In fact I was editing this post in my head up until the point that I learned that she had died. And then life took over and it got shelved. But I knew that one day I would have to post it.
I had decided back in May that I absolutely needed to have an iPhone. (And when I got the call telling me that I needed to rush to the hospital, it was on my new iPhone. But I'm getting ahead of myself.) Then I started reading the rumors that a new phone would be introduced. I knew that I should wait until June 9th for the announcement of the release date of the new phone at that point. I had hoped that the date would be before my birthday but it's just as well that it wasn't. I needed to wait for my birthday loot. And I had enough to get the 16G. Thing is that I decided that sleep and comfort were more important to me. I didn't get to the Berkeley store until 7:45 even though I had been up since 6:00. I still kick myself for that decision. The guy in line in front of me got the last 16 from the store and I had to settle for an 8. I was told that I could order the 16 and wait 7 days for it or I could take the 8 and if I decided that I really wanted the 16, I could bring it back when they got more 16's and pay the 10% restocking fee.
This was not the entertaining stuff though. While in line, some homeless guy walked past. And he started singing a song about how there were no more revolutionaries in Berkeley as they had all been replaced by yuppies. Most of us in line had to laugh. That was our mistake. He then realized that he had an audience.
As he chowed down on his oatmeal in a paper cup that he had gotten from the shelter, he proceeded to share his views of the world with us. There were the evils of capitalism. Then somehow we ended up on how homosexuality was wrong. He also was kind enough to point out to us that most gay men reside in San Francisco while Berkeley is filled with lesbians. And the worst part of these lesbians? Instead of laying with a man they use "artificial insimulation" to become pregnant. And no, that was not a typo on my part. These were his exact words. I shit you not.
He then shared his belief that people needed to find religion -- instead of pirate stuff. I mean pirates as in ummm pirates. He told us that Jesus walked into the temple and told them to get that shit out of there. A young woman in line behind me had issue with his use of "Jesus" and "shit" in the same sentence. He then informed us that Jesus was a Jew. Gee. I never knew that. And then suddenly we were on the topic of Islam -- his apparent preferred religion.
I believe that it was around this point one of the guys in line asked him about his food. There was a discussion about fruit and then he suddenly exclaimed, "Look how the white devil has tried to distract me from my real point. They do that." Of course, later on he tried to clean things up by pointing out that not all white people were evil. I think this was after he said something about some blacks being hypnotized and forgetting their culture. Uh huh.
Then somehow we found ourselves back on the topic of homosexuality. Well, some of the folk in the line had had enough and were speaking back. The people near me -- as well as myself -- had decided that it was best to ignore him. If he had no active audience, he would stop and go away. I couldn't help but whisper to the folks around me my take on the lesbian comment though.
"These women he's met in Berkeley? They're not all lesbians. They just don't want to be with him."
And then there were some chuckles. Well, after the women explained to the guys that sometimes we -- women -- say stuff like that to get rid of undesirable guys. I still wonder how many of them were re-evaluating past encounters with women.
All I could think was if he was my last chance for procreation, it was time for the human race to end.
So when he got back to homosexuality, some folks decided that they had had enough. Cellphones started coming out.
"Oh! Look at the white man pulling out his phone. He's probably calling the police. Doesn't he understand? This is Berkeley."
And the guy was right. He wasn't a danger to himself or others. The cops may have asked him to move along but that would have been it. He was on a public street after all. And if the PRB and free speech are not synonymous, then I don't know what else is. And you know what? That would have been OK with me. Stuff like this? This is why I chose to live in Berkeley. I love the fact that I never know what I'll encounter when walking down the street.
And this is one of the stories that I would have shared with my aunt. Actually as it was all going down, I thought to myself, "I have to call her when she has recovered from her chemo so that I can tell her about. I know she'll appreciate it." It's part of what has made the past few weeks hard. My life is now filled with moments that I'd love to share with her but can no longer do so. I've gotten past the crying a few times a day. (Perhaps learning yesterday that my stepmother will never be coming home again has replaced that pain. But I wasn't really surprised to learn that.) And my aunt's still one of the contacts on my cellphone. I just don't have the heart to delete it quite yet. Just like her birthday is still on my Outlook calendar.
But today I'm no longer kicking myself. Today I turned in my 8G for the 16G I ordered a couple of weeks ago. Because I'm still in my return period. So yeah there was a 10% restocking fee but I got the joy of practicing with the 8G for three weeks while waiting for my 16G. And so now while avoiding certain family members like the plague, I'm also trying to remind myself to enjoy the little things in life.
I had decided back in May that I absolutely needed to have an iPhone. (And when I got the call telling me that I needed to rush to the hospital, it was on my new iPhone. But I'm getting ahead of myself.) Then I started reading the rumors that a new phone would be introduced. I knew that I should wait until June 9th for the announcement of the release date of the new phone at that point. I had hoped that the date would be before my birthday but it's just as well that it wasn't. I needed to wait for my birthday loot. And I had enough to get the 16G. Thing is that I decided that sleep and comfort were more important to me. I didn't get to the Berkeley store until 7:45 even though I had been up since 6:00. I still kick myself for that decision. The guy in line in front of me got the last 16 from the store and I had to settle for an 8. I was told that I could order the 16 and wait 7 days for it or I could take the 8 and if I decided that I really wanted the 16, I could bring it back when they got more 16's and pay the 10% restocking fee.
This was not the entertaining stuff though. While in line, some homeless guy walked past. And he started singing a song about how there were no more revolutionaries in Berkeley as they had all been replaced by yuppies. Most of us in line had to laugh. That was our mistake. He then realized that he had an audience.
As he chowed down on his oatmeal in a paper cup that he had gotten from the shelter, he proceeded to share his views of the world with us. There were the evils of capitalism. Then somehow we ended up on how homosexuality was wrong. He also was kind enough to point out to us that most gay men reside in San Francisco while Berkeley is filled with lesbians. And the worst part of these lesbians? Instead of laying with a man they use "artificial insimulation" to become pregnant. And no, that was not a typo on my part. These were his exact words. I shit you not.
He then shared his belief that people needed to find religion -- instead of pirate stuff. I mean pirates as in ummm pirates. He told us that Jesus walked into the temple and told them to get that shit out of there. A young woman in line behind me had issue with his use of "Jesus" and "shit" in the same sentence. He then informed us that Jesus was a Jew. Gee. I never knew that. And then suddenly we were on the topic of Islam -- his apparent preferred religion.
I believe that it was around this point one of the guys in line asked him about his food. There was a discussion about fruit and then he suddenly exclaimed, "Look how the white devil has tried to distract me from my real point. They do that." Of course, later on he tried to clean things up by pointing out that not all white people were evil. I think this was after he said something about some blacks being hypnotized and forgetting their culture. Uh huh.
Then somehow we found ourselves back on the topic of homosexuality. Well, some of the folk in the line had had enough and were speaking back. The people near me -- as well as myself -- had decided that it was best to ignore him. If he had no active audience, he would stop and go away. I couldn't help but whisper to the folks around me my take on the lesbian comment though.
"These women he's met in Berkeley? They're not all lesbians. They just don't want to be with him."
And then there were some chuckles. Well, after the women explained to the guys that sometimes we -- women -- say stuff like that to get rid of undesirable guys. I still wonder how many of them were re-evaluating past encounters with women.
All I could think was if he was my last chance for procreation, it was time for the human race to end.
So when he got back to homosexuality, some folks decided that they had had enough. Cellphones started coming out.
"Oh! Look at the white man pulling out his phone. He's probably calling the police. Doesn't he understand? This is Berkeley."
And the guy was right. He wasn't a danger to himself or others. The cops may have asked him to move along but that would have been it. He was on a public street after all. And if the PRB and free speech are not synonymous, then I don't know what else is. And you know what? That would have been OK with me. Stuff like this? This is why I chose to live in Berkeley. I love the fact that I never know what I'll encounter when walking down the street.
And this is one of the stories that I would have shared with my aunt. Actually as it was all going down, I thought to myself, "I have to call her when she has recovered from her chemo so that I can tell her about. I know she'll appreciate it." It's part of what has made the past few weeks hard. My life is now filled with moments that I'd love to share with her but can no longer do so. I've gotten past the crying a few times a day. (Perhaps learning yesterday that my stepmother will never be coming home again has replaced that pain. But I wasn't really surprised to learn that.) And my aunt's still one of the contacts on my cellphone. I just don't have the heart to delete it quite yet. Just like her birthday is still on my Outlook calendar.
But today I'm no longer kicking myself. Today I turned in my 8G for the 16G I ordered a couple of weeks ago. Because I'm still in my return period. So yeah there was a 10% restocking fee but I got the joy of practicing with the 8G for three weeks while waiting for my 16G. And so now while avoiding certain family members like the plague, I'm also trying to remind myself to enjoy the little things in life.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Trying to find my way back
I took last Thursday and Friday off from work and spent most of the two days sleeping. That helped a great deal.
When Friday evening brought another family brouhaha -- one that made me want to hop in my car immediately and drive to Sacramento so that I could kick some ass -- I passed off the stress to another relative. Hell. He hasn't been doing anything for the last couple of weeks besides trying to figure out what of my aunt's stuff he's going to pack up and take with him -- NOT! -- and eating and drinking lots. Oh, and the drinking lots is not a coping thing for him; it's a way of life. Because how often can you call someone at 10 a.m. only to discover that the other person is already three sheets to the wind?
Then I made the ultimate escape -- I went to stay with Dumb and Dumber for the weekend. We had a lovely time. I made sure not to play any movies with explosions or barking dogs and they kept their craziness down to a minimum.
As a result, I think I may be back on regular sleep patterns. And eating as well. To celebrate the occasion, I thought I'd treat myself to some stuff from Gregoire's.
But before I get too far ahead of myself, let me go back to July. Apparently during Sizzle's romp through Berkeley, she passes Gregoire. She did not realize that it was the place of the photos. But I do recall her saying something about the guy behind the grill. Before all the crazy hit, I meant to post these photos -- what Sizzle missed on the July menu.
Buffalo wings.
Pork loin stuffed with leeks and pancetta.
But now it's August and there's a whole new menu. I put my choices out to vote. I figured that I would do one of my combos since they had a vegetarian item that sounded appealing as well as some meat and seafood choices that seemed to call my name as well. Then I thought to myself, "Do I really feel like cooking this week? And didn't I just earn some money from dogsitting?"
Grilled pork loin medallions, parmesan & truffle butter.
Roasted eggplant with bell pepper & herbed goat cheese.
And no photo but I did also pick up the raspberry bread pudding as well. I was going to get the tuna as well but then they called me back to say that they were out. Another night.
And now that I'm eating again, perhaps I'll soon be inspired to actually cook once more.
Note: Tomorrow I'll also probably get around to posting the answers to the songs.
When Friday evening brought another family brouhaha -- one that made me want to hop in my car immediately and drive to Sacramento so that I could kick some ass -- I passed off the stress to another relative. Hell. He hasn't been doing anything for the last couple of weeks besides trying to figure out what of my aunt's stuff he's going to pack up and take with him -- NOT! -- and eating and drinking lots. Oh, and the drinking lots is not a coping thing for him; it's a way of life. Because how often can you call someone at 10 a.m. only to discover that the other person is already three sheets to the wind?
Then I made the ultimate escape -- I went to stay with Dumb and Dumber for the weekend. We had a lovely time. I made sure not to play any movies with explosions or barking dogs and they kept their craziness down to a minimum.
As a result, I think I may be back on regular sleep patterns. And eating as well. To celebrate the occasion, I thought I'd treat myself to some stuff from Gregoire's.
But before I get too far ahead of myself, let me go back to July. Apparently during Sizzle's romp through Berkeley, she passes Gregoire. She did not realize that it was the place of the photos. But I do recall her saying something about the guy behind the grill. Before all the crazy hit, I meant to post these photos -- what Sizzle missed on the July menu.
But now it's August and there's a whole new menu. I put my choices out to vote. I figured that I would do one of my combos since they had a vegetarian item that sounded appealing as well as some meat and seafood choices that seemed to call my name as well. Then I thought to myself, "Do I really feel like cooking this week? And didn't I just earn some money from dogsitting?"
And no photo but I did also pick up the raspberry bread pudding as well. I was going to get the tuna as well but then they called me back to say that they were out. Another night.
And now that I'm eating again, perhaps I'll soon be inspired to actually cook once more.
Note: Tomorrow I'll also probably get around to posting the answers to the songs.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Change of plans
I have spent the last few days going out and doing stuff -- and thinking about writing about it all. I was going to write about when I went out on Wednesday night. I was going to write about going to Grape and Gourmet in Sacramento yesterday with my aunt. I was going to write about the fun of standing in line at the AT&T store this morning. Then I got a phone call this afternoon that changed everything.
My aunt's battle with cancer is over. She died earlier today.
My aunt's battle with cancer is over. She died earlier today.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Hitting my groove
I am starting to think that my inner partygirl has returned once more. Perhaps because I have found some kind of balance between work and my personal life. Or maybe it's because it's one of the ways with which I deal with stress.
Over the holiday weekend, I started thinking to myself that since I was still in my birthday season, there was no reason why I should not head out. The first thought of this was on Friday. Then I spent the afternoon with the Zombie family. OK. Let's get real. If I had walked to their house as I had originally planned, there is no doubt that I would have gone out. But then I was a slug and took so long in getting motivated that I had no choice but to drive there. That left Saturday.
I got home from an afternoon with my aunt and put the beans on to cook for the cassoulet. By the time they were done, I realized that I had just enough time to get myself ready to show up at the pub just as my bartender would be starting his shift. No brainer there.
Since it was "early," I brought a book with me. Every thing seemed fine. Cocktail in hand, I headed to the small outdoors area to drink, smoke and read. And then the guys who were sitting upstairs spotted me. Apparently they had just scared off another woman. And they wanted to talk to women. How do I best describe the situation? It was like hanging out with Sheldon, Leonard and their friends. Really. And I was sober. The start of the conversation was a warning to not get my book wet and then a question about whether I knew the story about when Abe Lincoln got a book wet as a child. I shit you not. Then there was some opera singing. There was other stuff but I have mercifully blocked it all. I quickly escaped back into the pub so that I could strain my eyes in their poor lighting and swill down more cocktails.
By the time the chick who warned me that the last OKC guy and Sports Guy both had something off in their heads (Nothing like a little confirmation.), I was feeling more sociable. Thank goodness. Turns out the guys who had made me flee indoors knew her. And you know what? After a few cocktails, they weren't that bad. We discovered a common love of all things Dave Chappelle. They also could not understand how Kate found him so offensive.
Oops. I may not have mentioned that previously. In fact I know that I didn't because I let the stuff marinate at the time and took a bunch of stuff out of my post about her visit. What the hell. When Kate was visiting back in April, she informed me that she found Dave highly offensive after I popped in one my fave DVDs. OK. So maybe she didn't actually make this proclamation until she heard him tell a bit about a guy masturbating on a bus. She just didn't get how it could be funny. I told her that if she actually rode public transportation, she would understand because she would realize that that kind of thing does happen on public transportation. (Hmmm. Makes me think about why I will not take the 22 Fillmore -- or the Hoochie Express as I came to call it after that one fateful ride.) Then there was something about how he and Eddie Murphy were merely retreads of Richard Pryor. The conclusion? Why couldn't they be more like Bill Cosby? Yeah. Ummm. It was on at that point. But she's been my friend for over 20 years so we're still speaking.
Enough about that already. The evening continued and Random Boy made an appearance. (By the way, he created the name, not I. "I'm just some random guy you occasionally run into at the bar.") Now I'm feeling lazy and don't want to check the archives but here are the important things about him. He'll be 25 later this year. He likes to hunt, fish, watch NASCAR, and drink bourbon. I didn't think they made those types in Berkeley. He's also just as sarcastic as I am. And on Saturday, he felt the need to explain some of his comments. As in he was joking when he agreed previously that I was fat. But I knew that he was joking. And then there was the discussion about how there is a small part of my brain that knows that I'm not fat. Unfortunately it's not the part of my brain that processes the image it sees in the mirror.
I remembered those words when I got home from work on Monday night. I had already eaten my daily calorie allotment at lunch since I had made one of those rare trips to a fast food restaurant. But then I thought that it would be OK if I ate more so I had a small helping of the cassoulet. It's all about baby steps. Lots of other people have told me that I look OK but they are all trying to lose weight so a part of me doesn't really trust them. But when Random Boy and Zombie Mom tell me that I look OK the way I am, I believe them. Go figure.
Tonight the partygirl tradition will continue. I'm off for the rest of the week after today. And my bartender works on Wednesday nights. Guess where I'll be tonight?
Over the holiday weekend, I started thinking to myself that since I was still in my birthday season, there was no reason why I should not head out. The first thought of this was on Friday. Then I spent the afternoon with the Zombie family. OK. Let's get real. If I had walked to their house as I had originally planned, there is no doubt that I would have gone out. But then I was a slug and took so long in getting motivated that I had no choice but to drive there. That left Saturday.
I got home from an afternoon with my aunt and put the beans on to cook for the cassoulet. By the time they were done, I realized that I had just enough time to get myself ready to show up at the pub just as my bartender would be starting his shift. No brainer there.
Since it was "early," I brought a book with me. Every thing seemed fine. Cocktail in hand, I headed to the small outdoors area to drink, smoke and read. And then the guys who were sitting upstairs spotted me. Apparently they had just scared off another woman. And they wanted to talk to women. How do I best describe the situation? It was like hanging out with Sheldon, Leonard and their friends. Really. And I was sober. The start of the conversation was a warning to not get my book wet and then a question about whether I knew the story about when Abe Lincoln got a book wet as a child. I shit you not. Then there was some opera singing. There was other stuff but I have mercifully blocked it all. I quickly escaped back into the pub so that I could strain my eyes in their poor lighting and swill down more cocktails.
By the time the chick who warned me that the last OKC guy and Sports Guy both had something off in their heads (Nothing like a little confirmation.), I was feeling more sociable. Thank goodness. Turns out the guys who had made me flee indoors knew her. And you know what? After a few cocktails, they weren't that bad. We discovered a common love of all things Dave Chappelle. They also could not understand how Kate found him so offensive.
Oops. I may not have mentioned that previously. In fact I know that I didn't because I let the stuff marinate at the time and took a bunch of stuff out of my post about her visit. What the hell. When Kate was visiting back in April, she informed me that she found Dave highly offensive after I popped in one my fave DVDs. OK. So maybe she didn't actually make this proclamation until she heard him tell a bit about a guy masturbating on a bus. She just didn't get how it could be funny. I told her that if she actually rode public transportation, she would understand because she would realize that that kind of thing does happen on public transportation. (Hmmm. Makes me think about why I will not take the 22 Fillmore -- or the Hoochie Express as I came to call it after that one fateful ride.) Then there was something about how he and Eddie Murphy were merely retreads of Richard Pryor. The conclusion? Why couldn't they be more like Bill Cosby? Yeah. Ummm. It was on at that point. But she's been my friend for over 20 years so we're still speaking.
Enough about that already. The evening continued and Random Boy made an appearance. (By the way, he created the name, not I. "I'm just some random guy you occasionally run into at the bar.") Now I'm feeling lazy and don't want to check the archives but here are the important things about him. He'll be 25 later this year. He likes to hunt, fish, watch NASCAR, and drink bourbon. I didn't think they made those types in Berkeley. He's also just as sarcastic as I am. And on Saturday, he felt the need to explain some of his comments. As in he was joking when he agreed previously that I was fat. But I knew that he was joking. And then there was the discussion about how there is a small part of my brain that knows that I'm not fat. Unfortunately it's not the part of my brain that processes the image it sees in the mirror.
I remembered those words when I got home from work on Monday night. I had already eaten my daily calorie allotment at lunch since I had made one of those rare trips to a fast food restaurant. But then I thought that it would be OK if I ate more so I had a small helping of the cassoulet. It's all about baby steps. Lots of other people have told me that I look OK but they are all trying to lose weight so a part of me doesn't really trust them. But when Random Boy and Zombie Mom tell me that I look OK the way I am, I believe them. Go figure.
Tonight the partygirl tradition will continue. I'm off for the rest of the week after today. And my bartender works on Wednesday nights. Guess where I'll be tonight?
Monday, July 7, 2008
How I get through it
Note: I started writing this post weeks ago but things didn't quite work out as planned so I put it on hold.
I knew that Father's Day would be a rough day; I just didn't know that it was going to be quite that rough. But I was kind of prepared.
While shopping for the Father's Day dinner, I had another recipe in the back of my mind. I told myself, "If I have enough money left after I buy the things for dinner, then I'm going to buy the ingredients for this other dish." And I did so I threw those extra items into my basket. (This is how I survive Berkeley Bowl. I never shop with a cart, always with a basket. Shopping those narrow aisles with a cart is just insanity.)
Monday evenings I tutor the foster child of family friends after work. This means that I usually don't get home until 8:00 or so. That was too late to start cooking. Besides there was the question of the prep before cooking. So I settled on Tuesday as I knew that everything would be defrosted by then.
So then I spent all that time cooking the multi-step recipe only to have it turn out to be not that good. I made some bad choices in meat. I made note in my mind what changes I would make the next time I attempted the dish. Which I did this past Saturday and Sunday. This time I was quite pleased with the result.
Cassoulet.
This is a favorite dish of mine whenever I find myself in a French bistro. For some reason, I had never gotten around to giving it a try at home. Now I'm hooked. The first time I used duck breast. That was fine but the sausage choice just didn't blend. This one contains a mixture of duck breast and confit duck legs. And cannelloni beans, pork, sausage, tomatoes... Well, you get the point.
Cooking multi-step recipes has always been relaxing for me. That's why I think I picked this recipe. Having to concentrate on what you are doing in the kitchen doesn't leave much room for all those other thoughts.
This ended up being balanced with the other challenges that faced me over the weekend though. Like that decision that I made to go out Saturday night after spending Friday afternoon at the Zombie household and Saturday afternoon with my aunt. (Saturday was lunch at this place followed by dessert at a favorite place of Zoomie's.) And all the while knowing that I would have to get up Sunday morning to go to brunch with my mom and family friends. So I told myself that I wouldn't stay out too late. Yeah right. But Saturday night deserves its own post. Because it was that kind of evening.
For now I will ponder other deep things. Like how much of the cassoulet, if any, will find its way to the freezer.
I knew that Father's Day would be a rough day; I just didn't know that it was going to be quite that rough. But I was kind of prepared.
While shopping for the Father's Day dinner, I had another recipe in the back of my mind. I told myself, "If I have enough money left after I buy the things for dinner, then I'm going to buy the ingredients for this other dish." And I did so I threw those extra items into my basket. (This is how I survive Berkeley Bowl. I never shop with a cart, always with a basket. Shopping those narrow aisles with a cart is just insanity.)
Monday evenings I tutor the foster child of family friends after work. This means that I usually don't get home until 8:00 or so. That was too late to start cooking. Besides there was the question of the prep before cooking. So I settled on Tuesday as I knew that everything would be defrosted by then.
So then I spent all that time cooking the multi-step recipe only to have it turn out to be not that good. I made some bad choices in meat. I made note in my mind what changes I would make the next time I attempted the dish. Which I did this past Saturday and Sunday. This time I was quite pleased with the result.
This is a favorite dish of mine whenever I find myself in a French bistro. For some reason, I had never gotten around to giving it a try at home. Now I'm hooked. The first time I used duck breast. That was fine but the sausage choice just didn't blend. This one contains a mixture of duck breast and confit duck legs. And cannelloni beans, pork, sausage, tomatoes... Well, you get the point.
Cooking multi-step recipes has always been relaxing for me. That's why I think I picked this recipe. Having to concentrate on what you are doing in the kitchen doesn't leave much room for all those other thoughts.
This ended up being balanced with the other challenges that faced me over the weekend though. Like that decision that I made to go out Saturday night after spending Friday afternoon at the Zombie household and Saturday afternoon with my aunt. (Saturday was lunch at this place followed by dessert at a favorite place of Zoomie's.) And all the while knowing that I would have to get up Sunday morning to go to brunch with my mom and family friends. So I told myself that I wouldn't stay out too late. Yeah right. But Saturday night deserves its own post. Because it was that kind of evening.
For now I will ponder other deep things. Like how much of the cassoulet, if any, will find its way to the freezer.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Thank you, Canada
For quite some time, I have been hooked on the Persephone's Bees that they serve at Kitty's. Last night on my way home from work, I finally remembered to stop at BevMo to look for the key ingredient -- Pearl Persephone Vodka. (While mixing the drink, I checked out the bottle and discovered that it is a "Product of Canada.") And joy of joys, they had it. Oh, and in case you're wondering, Persephone's Bees is a mixture of Pearl Persephone Vodka, lemon juice, and honey. It went well with dinner.
Loved how the duck was cooked. The raspberry was a little too sweet for my tastes though. And I didn't get the joy of watching the guy cook because I had to get canned food for Her Royal Uppitiness and the Porn Star. (Some of you may refer to the pair as "Natasha and Boris." I live with them; I know their true selves.) And of course, while there I had to pick up the very necessary lemon juice.
I've always been against the whole moving to Canada thing because they have this thing called winter. But I think that the fine products from Pearl could help me get through that ugliness. I just don't know if Natasha will allow us to move.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Summer in the PRB continues
So y'all have to know that at times I get almost obsessed with OKCupid. Over the last month or so, I have learned about this really cool feature they have -- QuickMatch. You put in some minimal criteria -- gender, dating status, location -- and then they randomly show you photos and profiles of folks who meet your criteria. You have to rate them on looks and personality based solely on this information. Oh, and on a scale of 1 to 5. If you give someone a 4 or 5, then they are told that someone has given them high ratings.
This is how I found myself on OKCupid yesterday. I was told that someone had given me a high rating in QuickMatch. If you choose to respond, they show you a series of folks. The person who gave you high marks will be randomly mixed into the group.
And that's how I came upon the guy whose photo I sent to a few of you yesterday. Apparently he gave me high marks, as I did him. As a result, he ended up sending me an email yesterday.
When I got home from work, he was online on OKC. (For those of you not in the know, OKC has it's own chat interface.) So I got an IM from him. And we chatted. We were supposed to try to meet next weekend. But he let it slip that he was at a cafe in my neighborhood. In fact it was about two blocks away. So I was supposed to email him about meeting next weekend or perhaps later in the evening. But idiot me closed the chat window without writing down his email address. Well, there was only one thing to do. I hightailed it on over to the cafe. You should have seen the look on his face when I showed up at his table.
Shortly after that we left the cafe and ended up at my bar. I had already warned him that it was my bar. When he went to the bar to get a second round from my bartender, my bartender made a point of telling him how cool he thought I am. The guy asked me if he needed to take my bartender into the street. The more and more that I think about it, I think that my bartender probably came off as a mixture of protective brother and slightly jealous guy. Well, at least that's what I get from the new guy's telling of the conversation they had. Then again, there has apparently been some bad blood between the two in the past. Something about my bartender having 'tude. Well, hell. He has 'tude most Friday and Saturday nights. Because idiots like to show up on those nights.
Back to the guy. There's a possibility that I'll go out with guy again. I say possibility because of the email I received. Seems I'm kind of cursed. Guys are frequently saying things to me like, "You deserve someone better than me." For some reason I have a way of coming off as this fragile little pure as the driven snow type. Y'all can stop laughing now. I know it's funny but it's not that funny.
I also haven't given up on Random Boy. Oh, and the first OKC Boy called last night. He wants to go out to a party his company is having tonight. (This was after I told him that I was not driving over to see him last night. And yeah, this would be when he called right after I got home from being out with the other guy.) I'll see.
Yep. I love the warmer months of the year.
This is how I found myself on OKCupid yesterday. I was told that someone had given me a high rating in QuickMatch. If you choose to respond, they show you a series of folks. The person who gave you high marks will be randomly mixed into the group.
And that's how I came upon the guy whose photo I sent to a few of you yesterday. Apparently he gave me high marks, as I did him. As a result, he ended up sending me an email yesterday.
When I got home from work, he was online on OKC. (For those of you not in the know, OKC has it's own chat interface.) So I got an IM from him. And we chatted. We were supposed to try to meet next weekend. But he let it slip that he was at a cafe in my neighborhood. In fact it was about two blocks away. So I was supposed to email him about meeting next weekend or perhaps later in the evening. But idiot me closed the chat window without writing down his email address. Well, there was only one thing to do. I hightailed it on over to the cafe. You should have seen the look on his face when I showed up at his table.
Shortly after that we left the cafe and ended up at my bar. I had already warned him that it was my bar. When he went to the bar to get a second round from my bartender, my bartender made a point of telling him how cool he thought I am. The guy asked me if he needed to take my bartender into the street. The more and more that I think about it, I think that my bartender probably came off as a mixture of protective brother and slightly jealous guy. Well, at least that's what I get from the new guy's telling of the conversation they had. Then again, there has apparently been some bad blood between the two in the past. Something about my bartender having 'tude. Well, hell. He has 'tude most Friday and Saturday nights. Because idiots like to show up on those nights.
Back to the guy. There's a possibility that I'll go out with guy again. I say possibility because of the email I received. Seems I'm kind of cursed. Guys are frequently saying things to me like, "You deserve someone better than me." For some reason I have a way of coming off as this fragile little pure as the driven snow type. Y'all can stop laughing now. I know it's funny but it's not that funny.
I also haven't given up on Random Boy. Oh, and the first OKC Boy called last night. He wants to go out to a party his company is having tonight. (This was after I told him that I was not driving over to see him last night. And yeah, this would be when he called right after I got home from being out with the other guy.) I'll see.
Yep. I love the warmer months of the year.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Summer in the PRB*
Yes, I know how to read a calendar. Yes, I know it technically is not summer yet. But there are signs of it here in the PRB.
It started with the excess amounts of furniture along the curb. Every year the city sends out notices about how it's illegal to leave your furniture, and other stuff, on the curb. Every year in May, large amounts of furniture hits the curb. Usually it disappears within 24 hours or so. The sofa pictured? It's been there at least a week.
The next sign was that I no longer do the torturous search for parking. In fact, now there is often an abundance of "good" parking spaces. I know that come August I will hate the return of the students for this very reason.
Also it's been kind of warm around as of late. The kind of warmth that allows one to walk around with sleeveless stuff in the evenings. It's the kind of weather that reminds me of all those evenings last summer that my neighbors and I spent on the front stoop drinking wine and talking about whatever. (Well, with most of the women I talked about body image. And we discovered over the summer that many of us have had some serious issues with food.) If you are not familiar with the Bay Area, then let me just say that we cherish those kind of days. Until we return home to our apartments and houses that are not air-conditioned. Then we pray for fog.
And speaking of sleeveless evenings, Saturday night was the great dinner with Zombie Mom and Fluffycat -- in celebration of Fluffycat's birthday. After dinner, I dropped Zombie Mom at the taxi stand downtown. And of course at that point I was only a couple of blocks from my favorite spot. And the night was young.
The band for the evening was playing jazz. I ordered my usual from my bartender and headed for the small courtyard. Because one can smoke and drink there. I instantly ran into Random Boy (Emphasis on the "boy." We won't even get into the age of this one. Although I did threaten to trade him in for a younger model.) who was kind enough to pay for my drinks the evening of Zombie Mom's birthday celebration.
His first question? "Where are the leather pants?" I explained that the leather pants make limited appearances because they are dangerous. He then remembered some guy getting choked that same night. I explained why the guy got choked. Proof that the leather pants are indeed a dangerous thing. And Random Boy just might be around in the weeks to come.
And thus another sign of summer. The fact that there are boys around who are worthy of nicknames. If this past Saturday is any indicator, we're in store for a pretty wild summer.
On a completely different topic, I also came to another realization this morning. There seems to be some correlation with going out on the weekend and starting off Monday with feeling that I'm going to have a skinny week. (And back to Random Boy. You know you have no super ego when you start telling some guy that you think you're fat even though everything rational is telling you that it isn't true. His response? "Yeah, you're going to need to drop some pounds if you want to hang out with me." And when he said that, I was actually able to take it as a joke. Unlike my mother's comments.) But let's be real about the skinny week feeling. When I go out and party, I tend to eat less. Sure there is a lot of consumption of empty calories but still at the end of it all, I drop some pounds. And there was no puking involved in my weekend. Just to make sure y'all understand. So yeah, I will be getting up off my lazy ass a lot more and heading out. Like I used to.
And I'll keep you posted on Random Boy. It's been some time since I've hung out with a guy who's main interests are hunting, fishing, Nascar, and bourbon.
*PRB is the People's Republic of Berkeley.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Liquid
Late Sunday afternoon, I realized something. I basically survived on liquids the entire weekend. No, I do not mean alcohol but there was plenty of that. I mean fruit juice and soup. Perhaps this is why instead of feeling like a beached whale, I was actually having what could be the start of the "skinny week." (I know I've mentioned it before but I don't feel like digging through my archives. If you're new around here, I mean the one week during the month during which one is not retaining water.) I am just happy that it coincided with the party.
My plan was to cook up a beef roast. There would be no need to leave home because I had everything, or so I thought. There was no horseradish in the fridge. How did I let this happen? Horseradish comes in second to having at least four types of mustard. I always have horseradish. Except for Sunday.
I briefly thought of having the roast without the horseradish but that seemed perfectly ridiculous. And so ended my self-imposed hibernation/recovery. I guess the hard part was my new resolve to once more walk to places instead of doing so much driving. And then I had to convince myself that it was better to go to the lower-priced store that was a little bit farther away. (On my way home, I suddenly remembered why I had originally thought of going to the closer, more expensive place. I dished out the last of the canned cat food in the cabinet Sunday. This means that I will definitely have to go tonight.) And on my way home, a couple of things popped into my head -- bacon and puff pastry.
That's right, peeps. It's June and Gregoire has a new menu. Ecuadorian shrimp wrapped in bacon and puff pastry.
I patiently waited at the counter for my food. While waiting, I heard some awful words being spoken to the cashier. "There are only two more orders of the shrimp." Thank goodness I got there when I did. I have been dreaming of the shrimp since I read the June menu on Friday. Oh, and let me admit my other fascination with Gregoire. The guy who works the grill in the front? Kind of cute. And do you know how hot it is to see a cute guy cooking several dishes at once? Rates right up there with being in a room of hot male firefighters.
Woo. I'm going to grab something cool to drink. And I'll be back with more food adventures. And maybe tales of therapy since I have an appointment this week.
My plan was to cook up a beef roast. There would be no need to leave home because I had everything, or so I thought. There was no horseradish in the fridge. How did I let this happen? Horseradish comes in second to having at least four types of mustard. I always have horseradish. Except for Sunday.
I briefly thought of having the roast without the horseradish but that seemed perfectly ridiculous. And so ended my self-imposed hibernation/recovery. I guess the hard part was my new resolve to once more walk to places instead of doing so much driving. And then I had to convince myself that it was better to go to the lower-priced store that was a little bit farther away. (On my way home, I suddenly remembered why I had originally thought of going to the closer, more expensive place. I dished out the last of the canned cat food in the cabinet Sunday. This means that I will definitely have to go tonight.) And on my way home, a couple of things popped into my head -- bacon and puff pastry.
I patiently waited at the counter for my food. While waiting, I heard some awful words being spoken to the cashier. "There are only two more orders of the shrimp." Thank goodness I got there when I did. I have been dreaming of the shrimp since I read the June menu on Friday. Oh, and let me admit my other fascination with Gregoire. The guy who works the grill in the front? Kind of cute. And do you know how hot it is to see a cute guy cooking several dishes at once? Rates right up there with being in a room of hot male firefighters.
Woo. I'm going to grab something cool to drink. And I'll be back with more food adventures. And maybe tales of therapy since I have an appointment this week.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Trying to get back on track
First of all, I must say that those months of deep-cleaning, organizing, and purging have paid off. This weekend hit and I realized that things were a mess. But it took me almost time at all to set things straight. I think the longest amount of time was spent doing laundry. So I guess I'm starting to feel a little more under control.
And Sunday afternoon as I walked to Andronico's, I realized something. I used to walk a great deal more when I first moved into my apartment. Maybe it was the novelty of the neighborhood. Many days I drive to Andronico's on my way home from somewhere else. I used to drive home and then walk to Andronico's. So on Sunday, after leaving the laundromat, I drove home first and then later walked to the grocery store. And it made me feel a bit better.
When I lived in San Francisco, I had a Sunday routine. I would get up early and clean. The last part of the cleaning was the refrigerator. I would take stock of the staples that were low. Then I would look through cookbooks and magazines to decide if there was something in particular I wanted to cook for the week. I would then add the "missing" items to my shopping list and head out. After re-stocking the kitchen, I would go out to do laundry, if necessary. And then it was back home to cook. And to relax.
And why all of this? Because I've gained 5-10 pounds in the three years I have lived here. And most of it is around my midsection. So not attractive. I have always said that I had no issue with gaining weight if it was proportionate. But this hasn't been and I'm pissed. And I know that many women would be thrilled to be able to wear a size 4 but most of my wardrobe is actually size 2 with a few pieces that are smaller.
I have a small frame so that excess weight around the middle? Makes me look two to three months pregnant. Really. I worked with a woman who has a similar build and my stomach now looks the same as hers did when she was about three months pregnant.
And yes, I realize that now I am finally in the "normal" range of BMI. I've just gotten used to being underweight because I've been there for way too many years.
There's also some whole other stress as well. A few months ago, there was problems with my Thrive membership because of a missed payment from my job. As I was cleaning up over the weekend, I found yet another letter from Thrive saying that I was no longer a member. I need to call tomorrow morning to check my membership status. Because I might have to cancel my appointment for Tuesday. Which is such bullshit.
Thankfully I've done the therapy thing before. And so I also spent the weekend going over things in my head. I'm burnt because between work and family, my world seems to be filled with people who only know how to say, "I need." (When I go to get my hair done, my stylist always asks what I've heard from this one cousin of mine. My response is, "Apparently she has needed anything lately since that's the only time she ever calls." I realized this a few years ago and just stopped making the effort.) I expect it at work. But at the end of the day, I need something other than that.
Case in point is that my dad's older sister made a huge point of telling me at the end of this past week that I need to do something special for my dad for Father's Day this year. I explained to her that with the exception of last year when I was at Kate's wedding, I always do something special for my dad. My birthday usually falls about a week after Father's Day. I get a check in the mail and a promise of dinner for my birthday. And yeah, it kind of pisses me off. Especially when I hear tales of my dad and stepmother heading down to the Bay Area for my stepbrother's birthday to take him out to dinner. Then again my stepbrother doesn't have a lot of friends so if they didn't show up, he probably would spend his birthday alone. Unlike me. Because when my family has not come through, my friends have always been there.
This rediscovery (I've recognized this in the past. I just temporarily forgot.) has helped a great deal in my mental state. As a result, I have stopped talking to family as much as I had over the past few months. I was just starting to feel like they are sucking me dry. Every now and then they ask how I am but it feels like one of those pleasantries of conversation. And even if it isn't, I know them. To say that I feel like crap is me being selfish once more.
I got evidence of this over the weekend when my aunt asked me if I was coming to the family reunion this summer. Ummm. Nope. I explained to her that plane tickets are expensive and I only get so much vacation time a year. And this year I have decided to use my vacation time doing things that I want to do, not what someone else tells me that I should do. There is a part of me that is somewhat happy after spending time with my mom or my dad and his family. But during the whole experience, I am near miserable. And part of the reason why I want to hold back on my time is that my mother's mother turns 85 tomorrow. I haven't seen her in over three years. And spending time with my grandma and the rest of my mother's family is always a positive thing. Maybe I'll go there for Christmas this year.
And now for other things. Do any of you watch "CSI" -- the original one? What is up with that season finale? Because besides doing all of the above chores, I also did some reading and caught up on stuff on my DVR.
Oh, and there will be proof later in the week that I'm really crawling out of the hole.
And Sunday afternoon as I walked to Andronico's, I realized something. I used to walk a great deal more when I first moved into my apartment. Maybe it was the novelty of the neighborhood. Many days I drive to Andronico's on my way home from somewhere else. I used to drive home and then walk to Andronico's. So on Sunday, after leaving the laundromat, I drove home first and then later walked to the grocery store. And it made me feel a bit better.
When I lived in San Francisco, I had a Sunday routine. I would get up early and clean. The last part of the cleaning was the refrigerator. I would take stock of the staples that were low. Then I would look through cookbooks and magazines to decide if there was something in particular I wanted to cook for the week. I would then add the "missing" items to my shopping list and head out. After re-stocking the kitchen, I would go out to do laundry, if necessary. And then it was back home to cook. And to relax.
And why all of this? Because I've gained 5-10 pounds in the three years I have lived here. And most of it is around my midsection. So not attractive. I have always said that I had no issue with gaining weight if it was proportionate. But this hasn't been and I'm pissed. And I know that many women would be thrilled to be able to wear a size 4 but most of my wardrobe is actually size 2 with a few pieces that are smaller.
I have a small frame so that excess weight around the middle? Makes me look two to three months pregnant. Really. I worked with a woman who has a similar build and my stomach now looks the same as hers did when she was about three months pregnant.
And yes, I realize that now I am finally in the "normal" range of BMI. I've just gotten used to being underweight because I've been there for way too many years.
There's also some whole other stress as well. A few months ago, there was problems with my Thrive membership because of a missed payment from my job. As I was cleaning up over the weekend, I found yet another letter from Thrive saying that I was no longer a member. I need to call tomorrow morning to check my membership status. Because I might have to cancel my appointment for Tuesday. Which is such bullshit.
Thankfully I've done the therapy thing before. And so I also spent the weekend going over things in my head. I'm burnt because between work and family, my world seems to be filled with people who only know how to say, "I need." (When I go to get my hair done, my stylist always asks what I've heard from this one cousin of mine. My response is, "Apparently she has needed anything lately since that's the only time she ever calls." I realized this a few years ago and just stopped making the effort.) I expect it at work. But at the end of the day, I need something other than that.
Case in point is that my dad's older sister made a huge point of telling me at the end of this past week that I need to do something special for my dad for Father's Day this year. I explained to her that with the exception of last year when I was at Kate's wedding, I always do something special for my dad. My birthday usually falls about a week after Father's Day. I get a check in the mail and a promise of dinner for my birthday. And yeah, it kind of pisses me off. Especially when I hear tales of my dad and stepmother heading down to the Bay Area for my stepbrother's birthday to take him out to dinner. Then again my stepbrother doesn't have a lot of friends so if they didn't show up, he probably would spend his birthday alone. Unlike me. Because when my family has not come through, my friends have always been there.
This rediscovery (I've recognized this in the past. I just temporarily forgot.) has helped a great deal in my mental state. As a result, I have stopped talking to family as much as I had over the past few months. I was just starting to feel like they are sucking me dry. Every now and then they ask how I am but it feels like one of those pleasantries of conversation. And even if it isn't, I know them. To say that I feel like crap is me being selfish once more.
I got evidence of this over the weekend when my aunt asked me if I was coming to the family reunion this summer. Ummm. Nope. I explained to her that plane tickets are expensive and I only get so much vacation time a year. And this year I have decided to use my vacation time doing things that I want to do, not what someone else tells me that I should do. There is a part of me that is somewhat happy after spending time with my mom or my dad and his family. But during the whole experience, I am near miserable. And part of the reason why I want to hold back on my time is that my mother's mother turns 85 tomorrow. I haven't seen her in over three years. And spending time with my grandma and the rest of my mother's family is always a positive thing. Maybe I'll go there for Christmas this year.
And now for other things. Do any of you watch "CSI" -- the original one? What is up with that season finale? Because besides doing all of the above chores, I also did some reading and caught up on stuff on my DVR.
Oh, and there will be proof later in the week that I'm really crawling out of the hole.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Inspired
Perhaps it's been the unusually unseasonable weather we've been having in the Bay Area. All I know is that when I read Heidi's post earlier today, I started having a Veruca Salt moment. OK. Maybe it started earlier in the day when a coworker proclaimed her love of Augustus.
After a couple of hours of retail therapy on Bay Street, I headed home to feed the cats and to start on my mission -- on foot in my ever so stylish Dr. Scholl's. (And I really needed the mission because nothing can make one more depressed than to put on a pair of Diva jeans at Old Navy, look in the mirror and once more feel fat. And yes, I realize that they were size fours and that they basically fit. Because the largest size I bought tonight was a four and they did not look painted on. They looked normal. But I have one word for you -- muffintop. And although Whitney wears a larger size, she does not have muffintop. And ultra-lowrise do not camouflage the muffintop whereas other cuts do.) After hitting the second gelateria that is nearby, I realized that I would have to rethink the plan. OK. Actually there are three gelaterias nearby but I only go to two of them.
Pineapple-tangerine sorbet with rum and club soda.
And of course the whole rum thing got me thinking. What if I got an ice cream maker and started making my own sorbet? Sure there would be the frozen mint juleps. But what about a mint-lime sorbet? See where I'm going with this? Yep. I'm seeing a summer full of sorbet-based drinks.
Of course, there was food with this. Because I'm a fat pig who only thinks of food. Tonight was another stop at Gregoire's. And everyone stressed that I should try something different. But I had to stick with the grilled artichoke and the potato puffs.
Grilled peppercorn ribeye with Roquefort sauce.
And this time I remembered to order the strawberry bread pudding with chocolate cream. Isn't it cute?
Oh, and you want to know what is absolutely horrible? A new mixed use building recently opened around the corner from me. In one of the ground floor windows I saw the planning notice. What are they planning to put in the space? A dessert and wine cafe. How wrong is that?
After a couple of hours of retail therapy on Bay Street, I headed home to feed the cats and to start on my mission -- on foot in my ever so stylish Dr. Scholl's. (And I really needed the mission because nothing can make one more depressed than to put on a pair of Diva jeans at Old Navy, look in the mirror and once more feel fat. And yes, I realize that they were size fours and that they basically fit. Because the largest size I bought tonight was a four and they did not look painted on. They looked normal. But I have one word for you -- muffintop. And although Whitney wears a larger size, she does not have muffintop. And ultra-lowrise do not camouflage the muffintop whereas other cuts do.) After hitting the second gelateria that is nearby, I realized that I would have to rethink the plan. OK. Actually there are three gelaterias nearby but I only go to two of them.
And of course the whole rum thing got me thinking. What if I got an ice cream maker and started making my own sorbet? Sure there would be the frozen mint juleps. But what about a mint-lime sorbet? See where I'm going with this? Yep. I'm seeing a summer full of sorbet-based drinks.
Of course, there was food with this. Because I'm a fat pig who only thinks of food. Tonight was another stop at Gregoire's. And everyone stressed that I should try something different. But I had to stick with the grilled artichoke and the potato puffs.
Oh, and you want to know what is absolutely horrible? A new mixed use building recently opened around the corner from me. In one of the ground floor windows I saw the planning notice. What are they planning to put in the space? A dessert and wine cafe. How wrong is that?
Monday, May 5, 2008
New month
Now this might not sound exciting to some of y'all but when you find yourself at home with your knee wrapped in a bandage and propped under some pillows. And then realize that you don't have anything to make a complete meal. And you're really hungry. Well, the start of a new month can be downright exciting. Because Poulet and Gregoire change their menus monthly. Gregoire won out this time.
Grilled artichoke.
Pancetta wrapped pork loin. And that stuff on top? Melted Gruyere.
And no trip to Gregoire is complete unless there are potato puffs.
After ordering, I almost kicked myself for not ordering the strawberry bread pudding with chocolate cream. But then I remembered the carrot cupcakes from Poulet in the fridge at home.
Yep. Life is good these days. Oh, and I will be hitting Poulet on a Thursday this month. Because the Thursday special? Greek chicken phyllo pie with feta & olives served with roasted zucchini. Maybe I should go this Thursday...
After ordering, I almost kicked myself for not ordering the strawberry bread pudding with chocolate cream. But then I remembered the carrot cupcakes from Poulet in the fridge at home.
Yep. Life is good these days. Oh, and I will be hitting Poulet on a Thursday this month. Because the Thursday special? Greek chicken phyllo pie with feta & olives served with roasted zucchini. Maybe I should go this Thursday...
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Acts of kindness
My father has always been a generous person -- at least with those whom he knows. He figures that if you need something and he can afford to help you, then he should. If you are having a fundraiser for a non-profit and he likes your program, he'll write a check.
My mother can seem a bit stingy at times. But she always has had time to volunteer for non-profits. And then there was that time when I was in high school.
One night on her way home from work, she noticed a disabled car on the side of the road. Stranded were a woman and her small child. My mother was concerned about the safety of the child. And so since they were near the exit to go to her house, she pulled over and picked them up. As the three walked in the house, my mother explained about the mother and child. She drove them to the house so that they could use the phones -- no cellphones back then -- to call for road service.
Later in high school, I found out that one of my friend's had a highly abusive dad. I shared the story with my mother. My mother, who grew up with an abusive dad, told me to go to school the next day and to tell my friend that she always had a place to stay if she ever needed to get away.
My mother's supervisor lost her house in the Oakland hills firestorm back in the early 90s. She thought about how it must feel to lose everything. And then we went to the kitchen. For years my mother had been "collecting" dishes. (This would be in her extreme shopaholic phase.) Together we selected a set of dishes to give to her friend.
In college, I had a roommate from Malibu. She told me the tale of seeing Martin Sheen in the grocery store one day. In line in front of him were some migrant workers. He told them that he would pay for their food -- but not the alcohol or tobacco.
This roommate had a friend whose mother had come to California in the 60s to find herself. Her mother ended up in Berkeley. Every day, back then, her mother would cook up huge pots of rice and beans and head to the streets to feed whoever was hungry.
I guess to me these things seem like perfectly natural things to do. And so sometimes I do things, like paying for a guy's food at Safeway, without even thinking about it. It's just the kind of person my parents taught me to be. (And yeah, I know that sometimes it is completely irrational to hold others to the same standards that I try to which I try to hold myself and then to get mad when they don't meet my expectations.)
Before going into teaching, I worked for a non-profit in the Union Square area of San Francisco. The panhandlers at the Powell Street BART station? I knew all of the regulars by name. I have never been one for giving out money to panhandlers. But I will give them a smile. And sit and talk to them. And if they tell me what things they need, I will get the items for them.
Only one of the regulars was a woman. One cold winter morning (The nights had been running in the 30s.), I noticed that she kept putting her hands in her armpits to keep them warm. I asked her about gloves. She had had some but someone had stolen them. I explained to her that I frequently received gloves as Christmas gifts and had tons of new ones at home. She almost had tears in her eyes the next morning when I showed up with a new pair of mittens.
Another panhandler had a wife who worked. But they were in San Francisco with only one income. So they lived in an SRO. With their newborn daughter. Their cooking facilities consisted of an "illegal" microwave. Some evenings I would be at the station late enough to see the wife coming home from work. (I still have the photo she gave me of their daughter on one of those evenings.) We talked about AFDC. Apparently one can get WIC coupons for milk and juice but not for diapers. And diapers are damn expensive. So she would tell me what size they needed and on the days I actually drove into San Francisco, I would bring them diapers that I had picked up at Target. For much less than the corner store had been charging them.
When I left the non-profit to go into teaching, I let my peeps at the BART station know that they wouldn't be seeing me around. They wanted to take me out for a farewell dinner. I told them that I appreciated the thought but I couldn't let them spend their money on me.
The school at which I worked my first year teaching had a food drive for Thanksgiving. One of my students said that her father had told her that homeless people were bums. I told my students -- sixth-graders -- about the people I had gotten to know at the BART station. I explained how many had told me tales of being laid off. I then told my students that many people in the United States are only two to three paychecks away from being homeless.
I moved to Berkeley three years ago because it has always felt like home to me. Well, it really was. When I was born, my family did live in Berkeley. We only left when I was two because of my dad's job. My mother said that I have always been the kind of person who fits in perfectly in Berkeley. I can't disagree.
I have walked out of restaurants with my doggie bag to be confronted by a hungry homeless person. At those times, I was full so I found no problem in handing over the doggie bag.
Years before the Safeway incident, a homeless person asked me for money one evening while I was leaving my fave bar. I asked if he was hungry. When he said "yes," I explained that I would not give him money but that I would walk with him to somewhere to get food. He could pick out whatever he wanted and I would pay for it. He took me up on my offer. Of course, the boy I had met in the bar insisted upon tagging along. I think he felt a need to protect me. Because sometimes I'm just fearless. So the boy and I stood around in the quickie mart/deli that is around the corner from the deli while the guy picked out food. And when I pulled out money to pay for the guy's stuff, the boy insisted that I put my money away. The boy paid for the guy's stuff instead. Maybe he was trying to impress me. Who knows.
And so yes, I am perfectly serious when I say that if you find yourself in the neighborhood and in need of a meal, just drop by. My mother, the Southerner, has told me numerous times that you must always have food and drink on hand. Because you never know who is going to drop by. And it would be just rude not to offer them something to eat or to drink.
My mother can seem a bit stingy at times. But she always has had time to volunteer for non-profits. And then there was that time when I was in high school.
One night on her way home from work, she noticed a disabled car on the side of the road. Stranded were a woman and her small child. My mother was concerned about the safety of the child. And so since they were near the exit to go to her house, she pulled over and picked them up. As the three walked in the house, my mother explained about the mother and child. She drove them to the house so that they could use the phones -- no cellphones back then -- to call for road service.
Later in high school, I found out that one of my friend's had a highly abusive dad. I shared the story with my mother. My mother, who grew up with an abusive dad, told me to go to school the next day and to tell my friend that she always had a place to stay if she ever needed to get away.
My mother's supervisor lost her house in the Oakland hills firestorm back in the early 90s. She thought about how it must feel to lose everything. And then we went to the kitchen. For years my mother had been "collecting" dishes. (This would be in her extreme shopaholic phase.) Together we selected a set of dishes to give to her friend.
In college, I had a roommate from Malibu. She told me the tale of seeing Martin Sheen in the grocery store one day. In line in front of him were some migrant workers. He told them that he would pay for their food -- but not the alcohol or tobacco.
This roommate had a friend whose mother had come to California in the 60s to find herself. Her mother ended up in Berkeley. Every day, back then, her mother would cook up huge pots of rice and beans and head to the streets to feed whoever was hungry.
I guess to me these things seem like perfectly natural things to do. And so sometimes I do things, like paying for a guy's food at Safeway, without even thinking about it. It's just the kind of person my parents taught me to be. (And yeah, I know that sometimes it is completely irrational to hold others to the same standards that I try to which I try to hold myself and then to get mad when they don't meet my expectations.)
Before going into teaching, I worked for a non-profit in the Union Square area of San Francisco. The panhandlers at the Powell Street BART station? I knew all of the regulars by name. I have never been one for giving out money to panhandlers. But I will give them a smile. And sit and talk to them. And if they tell me what things they need, I will get the items for them.
Only one of the regulars was a woman. One cold winter morning (The nights had been running in the 30s.), I noticed that she kept putting her hands in her armpits to keep them warm. I asked her about gloves. She had had some but someone had stolen them. I explained to her that I frequently received gloves as Christmas gifts and had tons of new ones at home. She almost had tears in her eyes the next morning when I showed up with a new pair of mittens.
Another panhandler had a wife who worked. But they were in San Francisco with only one income. So they lived in an SRO. With their newborn daughter. Their cooking facilities consisted of an "illegal" microwave. Some evenings I would be at the station late enough to see the wife coming home from work. (I still have the photo she gave me of their daughter on one of those evenings.) We talked about AFDC. Apparently one can get WIC coupons for milk and juice but not for diapers. And diapers are damn expensive. So she would tell me what size they needed and on the days I actually drove into San Francisco, I would bring them diapers that I had picked up at Target. For much less than the corner store had been charging them.
When I left the non-profit to go into teaching, I let my peeps at the BART station know that they wouldn't be seeing me around. They wanted to take me out for a farewell dinner. I told them that I appreciated the thought but I couldn't let them spend their money on me.
The school at which I worked my first year teaching had a food drive for Thanksgiving. One of my students said that her father had told her that homeless people were bums. I told my students -- sixth-graders -- about the people I had gotten to know at the BART station. I explained how many had told me tales of being laid off. I then told my students that many people in the United States are only two to three paychecks away from being homeless.
I moved to Berkeley three years ago because it has always felt like home to me. Well, it really was. When I was born, my family did live in Berkeley. We only left when I was two because of my dad's job. My mother said that I have always been the kind of person who fits in perfectly in Berkeley. I can't disagree.
I have walked out of restaurants with my doggie bag to be confronted by a hungry homeless person. At those times, I was full so I found no problem in handing over the doggie bag.
Years before the Safeway incident, a homeless person asked me for money one evening while I was leaving my fave bar. I asked if he was hungry. When he said "yes," I explained that I would not give him money but that I would walk with him to somewhere to get food. He could pick out whatever he wanted and I would pay for it. He took me up on my offer. Of course, the boy I had met in the bar insisted upon tagging along. I think he felt a need to protect me. Because sometimes I'm just fearless. So the boy and I stood around in the quickie mart/deli that is around the corner from the deli while the guy picked out food. And when I pulled out money to pay for the guy's stuff, the boy insisted that I put my money away. The boy paid for the guy's stuff instead. Maybe he was trying to impress me. Who knows.
And so yes, I am perfectly serious when I say that if you find yourself in the neighborhood and in need of a meal, just drop by. My mother, the Southerner, has told me numerous times that you must always have food and drink on hand. Because you never know who is going to drop by. And it would be just rude not to offer them something to eat or to drink.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Test drive
I don't know about y'all but my possessions? Sometimes they speak to me. Like if I get a really pretty dress. Suddenly I'll hear a little voice saying, "You know what? We should go out somewhere."
OPH definitely has a voice. Let me explain some stuff first, though. My love of OPH started with getting my hair braided. (Oh, and OPH belongs on your head, not on your clothes. That's just way too dark for me. Like Holocaust kind of dark. And that's never cool in my book.) That first time, I thought, "Well hell. If I'm going to spend all this time (8 hours) and money, I may as well get some length as well." And then I discovered ponytails. I have always kept them in two lengths -- Everyday and Party Hair.
Everyday has been pretty happy recently. The same cannot be said about Party Hair. Party Hair has spent months sitting in a mesh bag. At first it was a gentle whisper. "Hey! You know what would be cool? If we went out for a night on the town." I ignored that whisper. And then Party Hair turned downright ugly. Screaming at me like a banshee. "Beyotch! I know you heard me! You're taking me out. Now!" It got so that not only did I worry that the cats would kill me in my sleep, but that Party Hair would do the same.
Then Mommy Zombie came up with an idea. A girls' night before she brings C2 home next weekend.
Saturday night we met up at Cesar -- and we both took our OPH out for an evening. There were food, drinks, and conversation. (Oh. And one of the points of conversation was a realization that she had made. Those food photos I post? I rarely eat all of that. At least not at one sitting. Hell. Because I like to taste and sample while I cook, I often plate stuff for the sake of a photo and then wrap it up in the fridge for later consumption. Mommy Zombie calls this one of the secrets of the skinny girls.) And the OPH basked in the whole thing.
Leaving Cesar, I walked with Mommy Zombie to the taxi stand in downtown. (Yes, there is one. Right next to the BART station.) On the way there, she asked how far my fave bar was. I told her a few blocks past the taxi stand. And then that other voice in my head spoke up -- my inner Holly. Well, she said, "Of course we can pop down there for a bit."
Now I'll admit that I was a bit nervous. The last time I was in the place was right before Christmas. And I don't have much memory of that evening. All I know is that I didn't have any cash and I had left my debit card at another bar. As far as I knew, I still owed money and they were pissed off at me. But they weren't. I ran into the former hostess with her boyfriend. After a hug, she said that she had just been asking where I've been. No one knew. Then my bartender came over and greeted me with a hug. I knew then that all was safe. The bad part was that he no longer could remember if I liked regular or diet Coke with my Myers. But at least he remembered that I like lots of lime. My inner Holly did not take this as a good sign.
So Mommy Zombie and I drank. And she taught me a really cool game -- "Live or Die." As folks walk past you say whether they should live or die based upon their look. One woman had been slated for death until I overheard her in the bathroom. She was speaking Portuguese. We could not hold her to American fashion ideals and so decided that this time she could live. But her outfit was still hideous.
You should have seen the bartender's shock when I closed out my tab after the second round. I explained that it had been a long day -- and it had. So Mommy Zombie and I headed back down the street. We didn't even have to go all the way to the cab stand when a cab driver called out his window to ask if we needed a cab.
And the photo? This used to be the boutique on my walk home. You know. The place with the cute dresses of which I would take photos on my way home. I guess I should be more surprised that they lasted this long. The clothes were cute but a bit overpriced in my opinion. The curse of having spent years working in fabric stores and of knowing how to sew.
But now I'm hearing new voices. The voices of all that other fantastic OPH I saw at the beauty supply store. They want me to liberate them. *sigh* What's a girl to do?
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Survival
Some of y'all have been probably wondering why there hasn't been any food around here lately. That's because I've basically been doing survival eating. That means nothing too exciting. What's that you ask? Lots of refried beans with whatever is on hand. There was a couple of weeks of artichokes with hummus. (I'm telling you. Once you have tried the hummus, you will never want any other dip for your 'choke.) Tacos from the latino market near work. Fish and chips from the cafeteria near work. And I guess I'd better savor those now since it looks like the office will be moving sometime this year. But maybe more about that another time.
I do feel like I should say thanks to my peeps over at Poulet. They made it possible for an extremely hormonal me to get through this past weekend without cooking. I started off on Thursday evening. That night I picked up half of one of their wonderful rosemary-lemon-garlic chickens. And of course I needed side dishes. I was able to get the last of the roasted eggplant with string beans. Yes, I'm a regular eggplant junkie these days. Oh, and there were these divine roasted yams. Oops. Let me be truthful. The real reason I went on Thursday night was that I had called before leaving work.
"What desserts do you have today?"
"Raspberry cheesecake, carrot cupcakes..."
I know she said something after the cupcakes but I really didn't need to hear more. Because as much as I love the roasted eggplant, I love the carrot cake even more. And so yes, I went in to shop for a meal but it was really all centered around getting the cupcakes. Everything else was incidental. And the said thing is that once I ate the other stuff, I didn't have room for the cupcakes. Yes, I just used a plural. Because I bought two. I have learned from the error of my past ways.
Friday evening I felt like I had been run over by a truck or something like that. It took all my strength to force myself to eat. And once more, the cupcakes remained in the fridge.
Saturday rolled around and I realized that I would need to leave the house. Something about cat food and wanting to live. And there was the drycleaning as well. So the route was stop at the dry cleaners to drop off more stuff, over to the grocery store to get her royal uppityness her favorite food, back to the dry cleaners to pick up the stuff I had dropped off last week, and then on the way home... Yes, you guessed it. Another stop at Poulet. This time for a chicken salad sandwich. And then they had apple, walnut, and cream cheese strudel so of course I needed a piece of that. I was about to leave when I noticed the special was Buffalo chicken -- legs and wings. I asked for a combo. The sandwich got me through Saturday. The Buffalo chicken? Breakfast on Sunday. I kid you not.
And now? Back to survival eating once more. But what I really want to do is to go to Cesar. Emerald gave me a gift certificate for the place last year for my birthday. The thing is that it's too much money for just me. Because I am the kind of chick who will go to a restaurant alone if she really wants to go out for a meal. But Cesar has always been that place to which I go with others. And of course, Dumbest turned out to be just that around that time so there went the idea of an evening out with a boy. While I've gone on a few dates since then, none of them have seemed worthy of my gift certificate. And I'd ask Emerald to come along but she just gave birth a couple of weeks ago. So if any of y'all are feeling like a meal at Cesar, just let me know.
In the meantime, I'm just waiting for the right occasion so that I can use my new favorite word. I never thought that I would write these words but, "Thank you, Diddy."
I do feel like I should say thanks to my peeps over at Poulet. They made it possible for an extremely hormonal me to get through this past weekend without cooking. I started off on Thursday evening. That night I picked up half of one of their wonderful rosemary-lemon-garlic chickens. And of course I needed side dishes. I was able to get the last of the roasted eggplant with string beans. Yes, I'm a regular eggplant junkie these days. Oh, and there were these divine roasted yams. Oops. Let me be truthful. The real reason I went on Thursday night was that I had called before leaving work.
"What desserts do you have today?"
"Raspberry cheesecake, carrot cupcakes..."
I know she said something after the cupcakes but I really didn't need to hear more. Because as much as I love the roasted eggplant, I love the carrot cake even more. And so yes, I went in to shop for a meal but it was really all centered around getting the cupcakes. Everything else was incidental. And the said thing is that once I ate the other stuff, I didn't have room for the cupcakes. Yes, I just used a plural. Because I bought two. I have learned from the error of my past ways.
Friday evening I felt like I had been run over by a truck or something like that. It took all my strength to force myself to eat. And once more, the cupcakes remained in the fridge.
Saturday rolled around and I realized that I would need to leave the house. Something about cat food and wanting to live. And there was the drycleaning as well. So the route was stop at the dry cleaners to drop off more stuff, over to the grocery store to get her royal uppityness her favorite food, back to the dry cleaners to pick up the stuff I had dropped off last week, and then on the way home... Yes, you guessed it. Another stop at Poulet. This time for a chicken salad sandwich. And then they had apple, walnut, and cream cheese strudel so of course I needed a piece of that. I was about to leave when I noticed the special was Buffalo chicken -- legs and wings. I asked for a combo. The sandwich got me through Saturday. The Buffalo chicken? Breakfast on Sunday. I kid you not.
And now? Back to survival eating once more. But what I really want to do is to go to Cesar. Emerald gave me a gift certificate for the place last year for my birthday. The thing is that it's too much money for just me. Because I am the kind of chick who will go to a restaurant alone if she really wants to go out for a meal. But Cesar has always been that place to which I go with others. And of course, Dumbest turned out to be just that around that time so there went the idea of an evening out with a boy. While I've gone on a few dates since then, none of them have seemed worthy of my gift certificate. And I'd ask Emerald to come along but she just gave birth a couple of weeks ago. So if any of y'all are feeling like a meal at Cesar, just let me know.
In the meantime, I'm just waiting for the right occasion so that I can use my new favorite word. I never thought that I would write these words but, "Thank you, Diddy."
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