501

I have been remiss in marking off milestones but I was determined to mark this one. (It was supposed to be for number 500 but as you see I kind of spaced that one.) The idea first entered my head around the time of my oral surgery. Ya know. I had all that vicodin-induced free time on my hands back then.

First of all, I must say thank you to Gloria. She is the person who got me started in the world of blogging. Without her, this blog would not exist.

I have never been big on marking anniversaries but somehow I thought that this one was worthy. Yes, this is my 501st post here.

When I first started blogging, I thought that it was a passing fancy that would quickly fade. Little did I know. Along the way I have met some wonderful people. But there's more to it than that.

In younger days, I wrote all the time. As well as writing in my journal, I wrote a great deal of fiction. And my fiction moved people. Probably because it was semi-autobiographical. I learned this in eighth grade. My mother read the stories that moved my teachers and classmates and recognized elements of myself in the characters. I learned that if I couldn't be emotionally open, then my fiction was crap.

For years, the stories just flowed. And then one day they dried up. I had the most extreme case of writer's block. This happened sometime in college because I remember Emerald telling me that I was a wonderful storyteller. I remember sitting at parties, slowly gaining an audience as I wove whatever tale struck my fancy that night. (OK. I'll admit it. The stories were usually the lesser known tales from Hans Christian Andersen. And I always told folks the source of the tale.) It was like magic to me. And then the magic ended.

Then Gloria mentioned blogging to me. I saw it as an opportunity to once more write. And to find myself.

When I started blogging, I had reached the conclusion that I had forgotten who I really was. I thought that it would be a way for me to find my way back there -- back to the person I used to know. The person who wasn't so busy trying to make everyone else happy. Because that's how my family makes me feel. That I shouldn't say anything unless it's pleasant. And over the last four years, that's how I felt at work. My job was to go in and to act through a role that wasn't necessarily me most of the time. I came to realize that I could not escape the family thing but I could make a choice about my job. I'm tired of pretending to be someone who I am not.

And finally there was a breakthrough. And yes, I realize that some did not enjoy the post but it felt really honest. So much so that I was afraid to post it because I was so used to being someone else. And so yes, now you know the truth. The supposedly hardened partygirl is rather sentimental. (And yes, the partygirl thing is yet another defense mechanism. I am naturally a painfully shy person.) For years I have told folks that a cynic is just a hopeless romantic who has been burned one time too many.

So I would like to say thank you to all of you who have come along with me on this journey. Of course, this journey is nowhere near the end, and so I hope that you will join me for the next 500 posts -- or more. Who knows where this will all lead.

Things I do while at work

I promise a much longer post in a day or two but in the meantime, let me throw this out there.

Yesterday while browsing, I came across this article. I seriously started to rethink this whole job thing. Obviously I have made a bad choice. (Not really. Just couldn't afford the likes of these trips.) Or maybe I need to rethink this marriage thing. Of course, I will need to come up with funds for Boris's rehab soon so I guess a vacation isn't likely in the near future.

*sigh* Back to work...

Give me strength

There's another one of those sales going on again. Please give me the strength to resist the temptation of shopping. But there's a little voice in my head that keeps whispering, "Come on. You are working again after all. All you need to get is one bag..."

The San Francisco treat

Or as I also like to think of it, yet another way to torture cats.

But before I got to the main event, I'd like to throw something else out there. After reading Kelly's comment to this weekend's post, I'd like to add the acoustic version of "Georgy Porgy" to the list. Now back to the main event.


It all started with a post from Zoomie. I was intrigued. What should I do with King crab legs? And then, while sitting at work last week, the answer came to me. I would try out a new recipe with an ingredient that was new to me as well. Why not? It wouldn't be the first time I had been so adventurous. Besides, I'm pretty comfortable with cooking with seafood these days.


Cioppino.

Somehow growing up in the Bay area, I had never once sampled cioppino. I know that when I was a kid, my dad would often order the dish when we went to Scoma's. (There was a time when we used to go there at least once a month. I don't think I have been back there since my teens though. I really should get back there one day.) I think I had issues with a dish that required that you wear a bib. I mean is there any outfit that goes with a plastic bib? I think not.

The verdict? I love cioppino. And it takes much less time to make than gumbo does. Yet another recipe to add to the arsenal.

Oh, and if you should find yourself in the Berkeley area tonight, drop on by. I have plenty.

Shall we play a game?

No, not that one. This one you could say was in some part inspired by my BFF, Jade. Back when we were in college, Jade would call our group of friends "The Ho Patrol" whenever we were heading out. Her motto was, "It's OK to look like a ho. Just don't look like a tacky ho." Thus there was a great deal of lycra in my wardrobe back then. And really short stuff.

Then I started working at my first real job in the 90s. Not as much lycra in the wardrobe but still plenty of really short stuff. I used to party with the receptionist. I partied at least four nights a week back then. One of her favorite songs was "Connected." She swore that if she was a stripper, that would so be her song.

As a result of her comment, I now often find myself thinking, "Is that a stripper song or not?" I think that my song would be "Fly on the Windscreen." (Yes, I know it's kind of morbid but it has a hip shaking kind of beat.) Or perhaps "Wherever I May Roam." Or if you're in the crawling across the floor mood, there's "No. 1 Crush." There are other songs as well but they often seem like such the obvious choice.

So now we have the game. What would be your stripper song?

And yeah, this is what happens when you awake at 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning and are procrastinating about all the chores and errands you could be doing? There was no vicodin involved. Just lots of caffeine. And there was also the fact that I was subjected to that video twice in a three hour span.

I'm just impressed that I was able to type this all with a cat sitting on lap between me and the keyboard. Thank you, Boris.