First of all, I am sure that a few of you have been wondering about what happened to this post as it made a brief appearance in y'alls readers this weekend. Yes, I meant to post. Just not at that time. Remember how I am prone to write stuff days, sometimes weeks, in advance. I just kind of hit the wrong button. But on with it all...
A few weeks ago, I mentioned exotic dancers in a post. That same week Hilly wrote a whole post about them. In my comments to her, I said that perhaps I should share a story. So now I'm sharing.
My first exposure to dancers was through a college roommate. If there was a Chippendales review in town, then she was there. And after we became roommates, I'd tag along. That same year I dated a guy who belonged to a certain fraternity.
This guy announced after a month of dating that he had been watching me for a year. I know this because he was able to describe outfits that I hadn't worn in about a year. Over this time, he had decided what kind of house we would have when we were married -- and the names of our children. I was going to say, "And for some reason," but I know the reason. When I met him, I was barely hanging onto life. I was looking to others for my reason to stay around. And so we "learned" how to be cruel to one another off and on over a two year period. I say "learned" because I know that at least on my part it was not something new. I may have not exhibited it previously but I knew long before I met him how to be cruel to another person.
This is not the story though. I mentioned this guy because his fraternity had an annual Chippendales night as their big fundraiser. I still joke to this day that that was the only night each year that all of the guys in the fraternity got laid. Really. Right before I left the place, I headed to the bathroom. To see some chick who had one of the brothers pinned to the floor while her friends were trying to drag her off of him saying, "But she has a boyfriend." Yeah. Right.
A few years later I ended up in a summer school program in England. The first Friday night found me and a few classmates walking through the West End. We'd pass by clubs and they would say that ladies didn't need to pay the cover. Well, our group of six was half female. And the female half? We were adventurous. We eventually told the guys that if they paid for a round for us in a pub, we would go with with them to their strip club of choice.
I remember our shock upon entering the club. They had a one drink minimum. And that two pound pint? Was eight to ten pounds in the strip club world. And then the girls started dancing. And the first chick had totally not taken care of her bikini line. Ewwww. I would have had more drinks if they had not been more expensive. But I had had enough drinks to warrant a trip to the bathroom. And while I was in the stall I got to hear the chicks talking about the cheap bastards in the club. You should have seen the looks on their faces when I stepped out of the stall. After about twenty minutes of this, during which we got to witness the girls literally clean out a German tourist's wallet, my guy friends decided that they had been cheated. One headed back up to the door to complain. The door guy was not there but the roll of entrance tickets was. My friend ripped off a long strand of the tickets before returning to find us. When we finally made it back to the dorm, all six of us were wearing a "boa" of these tickets. I'm sure the other students with whom we met up in the lobby after they were returning from a night at the theater and four-star dining thought that we were extra classy. I know this much. Our story is probably much more interesting today than theirs.
The last time I set foot in a strip joint is the most memorable by far though. It was during the height of my partygirl days in San Francisco. Every Friday night after work, I'd head to North Beach. To this old Italian bar. I still think of it as one of the safest places in the City. I was seated at the bar next to an older guy. He looked at me and asked, "Sweetheart, why you look so sad?" Now at this point the bartender, who I knew well enough to call "Uncle," had told me to not talk to this guy. Something about his fear that one day I would end up dead in an alley. Whatever. (Jade on the other hand used to ask me why I always told these guys that I understand Italian. I told her because I've seen the movies. First to go? The accountant and the girlfriend. Just didn't want folks saying things in front of me about which I shouldn't know.) I told the guy, "Some guy just insulted me." And then I pointed out the guy to him. I caught the offensive guy's eye as I pointed and smiled really nicely. Because I can be a bitch like that. The nice guy sitting next to me said that no one should ever insult me.
As the evening progressed, we started talking about smoking -- specifically cigars. Turns out his friend owned a place with cigars. So we decided to head on over. Turns out the place was a strip joint. All that mattered to me was that they had Jack and cigars. The girls were a wee bit classier than my previous encounter but I didn't really notice that much.
How does one follow up cigars at a strip joint? Playing pool. By the time our pool game ended, I realized that I was quite intoxicated (OK. Maybe I realized it when I was puking in the ladies room at the strip club but the night was young. And my stomach was empty.) and explained that I should probably go home. Especially since I had not eaten much that day.
"You should have told me you were hungry. Next time I'll buy you dinner."
And then he called the bartender over to get a cab for me. And pressed some money in my hand. I tried to give some of it back because it was more than what I knew that the cab ride home would cost. He wasn't having any of it. After reaching home, I briefly thought to myself that if he had given me five dollars more, I could have broken even for the evening.
The next week I was out with a friend and her coworkers. One of her coworkers had grown up in San Francisco and knew all kinds of interesting types of people. She mentioned a former classmate who had been acquitted on a hit. I told her that her classmate had the same last name as the guy I had met the previous weekend. When I told her the guy's full name, she said that he was the uncle of her classmate. And that I had not been mistaken in pegging him as a made man.
Every now and then I wonder about the guy who insulted me. Because I haven't seen him since that night. Oh, but he probably just moved out of the area. Yep. That's it.
Ummm. And now maybe you understand just how wild and out of control I was back in those days. Because stuff like this? Kind of normal back then. But I had a lot of fun.
Showing posts with label San Francisco. Show all posts
Showing posts with label San Francisco. Show all posts
Monday, September 15, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Crossing boundaries
Friday evening found me sitting on the BART platform at Powell Street waiting for a train to take me back to Berkeley. (This was after getting to meet both Sizzle and Heather B. in person.) According to the sign, my train would be showing up in two minutes. Then came the voice over the PA system. "Would the person playing around on the yellow strip on platform one, please stop. If you do not stop, I will halt all trains coming into the station." This announcement was repeated a few more times before my train arrived.
I did think to myself, "If this person doesn't stop playing around and my train ends up being delayed as a result, I will hunt them down." That yellow strip is there for a reason. There are handles near the doors on the outside of the cars. I once saw someone get smacked by one because they were on the yellow strip before the train came to a halt. But I made it onto my train and then I stopped caring about that person.
Sitting on the train, I found myself deep in thought. About how I had spent the past week with people jumping around on my personal yellow strip and how they just didn't seem to listen. And suddenly I knew that when I had shouted, "I'm done!" on Thursday night, it was a permanent, not temporary, thing.
The two things that people have said to me the most over the last week or so are, "Be strong," and "Take care of yourself." Let's start with the second. When I started going to therapy once more a few months ago, I mentioned this concept to the therapist. I've known for years what I needed to do; I just didn't want to rock the boat too much. But now I'm going to give it a try because I've always felt in my heart that it was the best thing for me. I'm finally learning how to be a little more selfish.
I remember telling my mom back when I was in college that one of the best things about getting married would be that I could change my last name. I even questioned my mom about why she did not go back to her maiden name after the divorce. She said so that we would have the same last name while I was growing up. I pointed out that she could have changed mine. She pointed out that my father and his family would have had a fit.
There's a part of me that has felt like I have never fit in with my dad's family. They're always telling you about how you can be better. Except for my dad. He just wants me to be happy. (Of course, he has also pointed out in the past that he lives in California for a reason.) The bitchassness that was displayed last week? Nothing new.
I am done with playing the role. I am done with being around people whose company makes me feel horrible. I think that for the first time in my life, I really am ready to start taking care of me. And right now, it's all kind of scary but I think that if I hold on to the idea that this is the best thing for me, in the end I'll be OK. It's time for someone else to be the family caretaker.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Out of the office
And you're thinking to yourself, "Finally. Something new." Because this was from a couple of days ago.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
My grandfather would be proud
Back in the day, my grandfather was an award-winning hog farmer. The majority of my meals over this past weekend involved pork in some form. Pictured above was breakfast on Sunday. The exact same thing I had for breakfast on Saturday. Because I was feeling slightly Southern and decided that bacon just would not do. I wanted meat. A slab of meat. As there were no fish fillets nor steaks in the fridge, I made do with a pork chop. That shortly after this photo was taken was covered in Texas Pete. And if you substitute biscuits for the crumpets and add some grits to the plate? Well, then you have a pretty typical breakfast on my grandfather's farm back when I was a kid. OK. One more change. If there had been biscuits, they would have been swimming in butter and maple syrup, molasses for my grandfather. (Lately I've been remembering those summers on the farm a great deal. Thanks to some other thoughts with which I have been struggling. Actually it's not the thoughts that are a struggle, but how to voice them here in a nice way that is the struggle.)
And then there was dinner on Saturday night at First Crush with Stacy and crew. A lovely double cut pork chop with chard and cheddar mashed potatoes. Heaven on a plate. Of course, I think that of just about anything that includes cheese.
Oh, and I've decided that this week is music video week. Sure the back still hurts some but you'd be surprised how well you can move after 800 mg of ibuprofen. Did that on Sunday night and I was able to fully drop it to yesterday's video. But today? Today is old school day. Back to the days of the first B-boys. Where's that piece of linoleum or cardboard to throw down on the ground? Oh, and I'm probably going to need some kneepads and gloves as well. Concrete burns can be a bitch.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Cannibalistic tendencies
As y'all know, I am a Cancer. Symbol? The crab. Friends have made jokes about how I love to eat crab -- eating my own kind and all that. But crabs do eat their own so I guess I fit right in.
Surf and turf.
Things started innocently on Saturday. I took a steak out of the freezer to defrost because I really wanted beef and hadn't had any in quite some time. I probably would have been just as happy with spinach. Because I learned long ago that when I crave beef, what I'm really looking for is iron. Because I can get a wee bit anemic at times. And when I have beef, it has to be bloody.
So while the steak defrosted, I headed out to do laundry (Yes, there is a single machine in my building but I had let things build up to the point that I suddenly discovered that I had four loads of laundry to do. And try fighting it out for that single machine when there are eleven other apartments.) and to do a little grocery shopping.
95% of the time, I shop with a list. I am not allowed to stray from the list unless I suddenly remember a very necessary item, such as toilet paper, that I have forgotten to put on the list. This is what allows me to go shopping when I'm hungry. Usually. The problem was that I needed to pick up some shrimp. And there they were. King crab legs on display, calling to me. So I just had to give in. My only other impulse buy was some Coke so that I could have a cuba libre with my meal. Because that's the only time when I drink Coke. If you give me a 12-ounce can of soda on its own, it usually takes me at least four hours to finish it. I think this stems from the fact that sodas were only available as occasional treats when I was growing up. I drank loads of milk, fruit juice, and water. And tea. When I was nine, I was allowed to add tea to the list of acceptable beverages.
And no, I did not eat all that meat in one sitting. I ate about a third of the steak and half of the claw. Until I went to put the leftover steak away. Then the claw beckoned once more and I finished it off.
All I could think about on Sunday was more crab. Luckily I was meeting a friend for brunch at Crepevine. (Can someone explain to me how their menu is so similar to that at Savor?)
And so I ordered the New Orleans.
But I still wanted more crab. And I needed to stop at the store for some fresh oregano. (The two other stores I had already visited over the weekend were out.) And I knew that there would be more King crab available. Alas, they only had clusters and I really did not want that much. Just a leg or two. And so I passed.
But I'm starting to think that Zoomie has created a monster. As I entered the store on Sunday, I thought of calling this post Bride of Frankenstein -- especially since some mornings, I can have really scary bed hair. But then I was thankful. Because now I don't miss the delay in the start of Dungeness season quite as much.
Oh, and I apologized to Boris when I got home last night. Because he was just being a silly boy cat and really didn't know any better. While I sat at work yesterday, I realized that with my angry shouting that I had scared the bejeezus out of both cats. So there were lots of hugs. And new toys brought out of the cabinet. (I always keep a secret stash of toys for them. Never know when I might want to treat them with something new.) And we tried to bond again. Because I also realized that Boris is probably just a bit confused. He had gotten used to my being around all day and now I'm gone again for hours on end. And then I get home and I'm too tired to really spend time with them. He was just a little kid acting out.
Things started innocently on Saturday. I took a steak out of the freezer to defrost because I really wanted beef and hadn't had any in quite some time. I probably would have been just as happy with spinach. Because I learned long ago that when I crave beef, what I'm really looking for is iron. Because I can get a wee bit anemic at times. And when I have beef, it has to be bloody.
So while the steak defrosted, I headed out to do laundry (Yes, there is a single machine in my building but I had let things build up to the point that I suddenly discovered that I had four loads of laundry to do. And try fighting it out for that single machine when there are eleven other apartments.) and to do a little grocery shopping.
95% of the time, I shop with a list. I am not allowed to stray from the list unless I suddenly remember a very necessary item, such as toilet paper, that I have forgotten to put on the list. This is what allows me to go shopping when I'm hungry. Usually. The problem was that I needed to pick up some shrimp. And there they were. King crab legs on display, calling to me. So I just had to give in. My only other impulse buy was some Coke so that I could have a cuba libre with my meal. Because that's the only time when I drink Coke. If you give me a 12-ounce can of soda on its own, it usually takes me at least four hours to finish it. I think this stems from the fact that sodas were only available as occasional treats when I was growing up. I drank loads of milk, fruit juice, and water. And tea. When I was nine, I was allowed to add tea to the list of acceptable beverages.
And no, I did not eat all that meat in one sitting. I ate about a third of the steak and half of the claw. Until I went to put the leftover steak away. Then the claw beckoned once more and I finished it off.
All I could think about on Sunday was more crab. Luckily I was meeting a friend for brunch at Crepevine. (Can someone explain to me how their menu is so similar to that at Savor?)
But I still wanted more crab. And I needed to stop at the store for some fresh oregano. (The two other stores I had already visited over the weekend were out.) And I knew that there would be more King crab available. Alas, they only had clusters and I really did not want that much. Just a leg or two. And so I passed.
But I'm starting to think that Zoomie has created a monster. As I entered the store on Sunday, I thought of calling this post Bride of Frankenstein -- especially since some mornings, I can have really scary bed hair. But then I was thankful. Because now I don't miss the delay in the start of Dungeness season quite as much.
Oh, and I apologized to Boris when I got home last night. Because he was just being a silly boy cat and really didn't know any better. While I sat at work yesterday, I realized that with my angry shouting that I had scared the bejeezus out of both cats. So there were lots of hugs. And new toys brought out of the cabinet. (I always keep a secret stash of toys for them. Never know when I might want to treat them with something new.) And we tried to bond again. Because I also realized that Boris is probably just a bit confused. He had gotten used to my being around all day and now I'm gone again for hours on end. And then I get home and I'm too tired to really spend time with them. He was just a little kid acting out.
Monday, November 12, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Lots of time in the car
First of all, I'm still working and things are going well. This working thing takes some getting used to though. By the end of the week, I find myself with tons of saved shows on the DVR. In fact, I am still working my way through last week's shows.
Commuting has also taken some getting used to. For the last five years, I have had a commute of no more than 30 minutes each way. Friday night I was not looking forward to what was going to be a long time in the car -- more than likely an hour and a half -- so I did what I used to do when I worked in South San Francisco. I took the scenic route home. 280 to 1 to Skyline to Great Highway to Lincoln to 25th to MLK Jr. Way to Park Presidio/1 to 101 to 580. And then I decided that y'all deserved some photos. Not many because I had to take them while stopped at lights or stop signs.
Along Great Highway.
I've always loved the houses along Lincoln Way.
Along MLK Jr. Way in Golden Gate Park.
Entering the Golden Gate.
My next stop was to do some shopping. On Friday, I was noticing how everything at my desk was so organized. And then I started wishing that I could organize some of the clutter at home. So I stopped at Bed Bath & Beyond. My intention was to start on everything Friday night. But I got home to a party on the stoop. Needless to say, nothing has made it out of the bag yet. Because not only was there a party on the stoop but my neighbor two floors above me was having a party as well.
Saturday I awoke and suddenly remembered that I had planned on going to Pt. Reyes Station. Saturday was the last day of their Farmers' Market. So I downed lots of liquids, got dressed, and hit the road.
Nicasio is one of my favorite parts of the drive.
I also love this bridge on the road between Nicasio and Pt. Reyes Station.
I was happy to see both Beekind and Windrush Farm at the Market. And they actually had the Redwood honey at Bee Kind this time. It's dark and kind of tastes like coffee. One of these days I'm going to have to make it up to the store. Every time I go to the the Market, I get asked when I plan to visit the store. And apparently the folks at Windrush are having an event next week -- with an opportunity to see the sheep, llama, and alpaca. I'm supposed to have a hair appointment but now I'm debating about rescheduling it so that I can to join in the fun.
And of course, I had to stop by Cowgirl Creamery to check on the latest offerings from Wild Pear. As luck would have it, they recently got in a supply of the Bartlett Pear Jam, one of my absolute favorites. And then I needed another jar of the Pink Lady Apple Jam. And what the heck. Let's give the Lemon Curd a try as well. Right before getting everything rung up, I mentioned how last year around this time there had also been Mandarin Orange Marmalade. There was this time too; they just hadn't had time to put any out. So I grabbed a jar of that as well.
While driving back to Berkeley, my mother called. I had to call her back though because cell phone reception is kind of sketchy in western Marin. Of course, she asked where I had been with such bad reception. She then proclaimed that I was nuts for driving all the way to Pt. Reyes for jams. I explained to her that she would understand if she tasted the stuff. Her answer? "You belong in Berkeley."
Once I was back in Berkeley, I stopped at Target -- more storage containers -- with the intent of stopping at Chipotle for lunch. (In the Bay area, Chipotle uses meats from Niman Ranch. Tasty burritos.) Leaving Target, I guess I was taking too long to make the left onto Gilman. So the jerk behind me started leaning on his horn. Driving up Gilman, the car in front of me stopped to make a left into the Office Depot parking lot. The jerk behind me started leaning on the horn again. This would be about the point in time that I flipped him off. I also toyed with stopping the car and getting out to give him a piece of my mind. Near Chipotle, the street widens and so the offending jerk pulled into the lane next to me. His passenger window was down, so I rolled down my window and yelled, "Why don't you lay off the mother fucking horn?" And then I rolled up the window and pulled into the Chipotle parking lot.
Luckily the stop at Chipotle was able to get me back into my nice peaceful state that the asshole had disrupted. That and the view on the rest of the drive home.
For Neil because I seem to remember that he likes fall colors.
And today? Well, it's time to finally unpack the bags. And to make some more butter chicken and saag paneer.
Commuting has also taken some getting used to. For the last five years, I have had a commute of no more than 30 minutes each way. Friday night I was not looking forward to what was going to be a long time in the car -- more than likely an hour and a half -- so I did what I used to do when I worked in South San Francisco. I took the scenic route home. 280 to 1 to Skyline to Great Highway to Lincoln to 25th to MLK Jr. Way to Park Presidio/1 to 101 to 580. And then I decided that y'all deserved some photos. Not many because I had to take them while stopped at lights or stop signs.
My next stop was to do some shopping. On Friday, I was noticing how everything at my desk was so organized. And then I started wishing that I could organize some of the clutter at home. So I stopped at Bed Bath & Beyond. My intention was to start on everything Friday night. But I got home to a party on the stoop. Needless to say, nothing has made it out of the bag yet. Because not only was there a party on the stoop but my neighbor two floors above me was having a party as well.
Saturday I awoke and suddenly remembered that I had planned on going to Pt. Reyes Station. Saturday was the last day of their Farmers' Market. So I downed lots of liquids, got dressed, and hit the road.
I was happy to see both Beekind and Windrush Farm at the Market. And they actually had the Redwood honey at Bee Kind this time. It's dark and kind of tastes like coffee. One of these days I'm going to have to make it up to the store. Every time I go to the the Market, I get asked when I plan to visit the store. And apparently the folks at Windrush are having an event next week -- with an opportunity to see the sheep, llama, and alpaca. I'm supposed to have a hair appointment but now I'm debating about rescheduling it so that I can to join in the fun.
And of course, I had to stop by Cowgirl Creamery to check on the latest offerings from Wild Pear. As luck would have it, they recently got in a supply of the Bartlett Pear Jam, one of my absolute favorites. And then I needed another jar of the Pink Lady Apple Jam. And what the heck. Let's give the Lemon Curd a try as well. Right before getting everything rung up, I mentioned how last year around this time there had also been Mandarin Orange Marmalade. There was this time too; they just hadn't had time to put any out. So I grabbed a jar of that as well.
While driving back to Berkeley, my mother called. I had to call her back though because cell phone reception is kind of sketchy in western Marin. Of course, she asked where I had been with such bad reception. She then proclaimed that I was nuts for driving all the way to Pt. Reyes for jams. I explained to her that she would understand if she tasted the stuff. Her answer? "You belong in Berkeley."
Once I was back in Berkeley, I stopped at Target -- more storage containers -- with the intent of stopping at Chipotle for lunch. (In the Bay area, Chipotle uses meats from Niman Ranch. Tasty burritos.) Leaving Target, I guess I was taking too long to make the left onto Gilman. So the jerk behind me started leaning on his horn. Driving up Gilman, the car in front of me stopped to make a left into the Office Depot parking lot. The jerk behind me started leaning on the horn again. This would be about the point in time that I flipped him off. I also toyed with stopping the car and getting out to give him a piece of my mind. Near Chipotle, the street widens and so the offending jerk pulled into the lane next to me. His passenger window was down, so I rolled down my window and yelled, "Why don't you lay off the mother fucking horn?" And then I rolled up the window and pulled into the Chipotle parking lot.
Luckily the stop at Chipotle was able to get me back into my nice peaceful state that the asshole had disrupted. That and the view on the rest of the drive home.
And today? Well, it's time to finally unpack the bags. And to make some more butter chicken and saag paneer.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Breaking it up
I figured that y'all deserved a break from food today. So let's talk about other stuff. Besides, I haven't had time to cook anything since Monday.
A few weeks ago, or something like that, I had an email exchange with Stacy over the route I take when showing tourists around San Francisco. I like to think that my tour is fairly comprehensive. It mostly depends on what time we start and the stamina of the tourist. Somehow my cousin forgot her camera so I took pictures for her.
What every tourist wants to see.
On Tuesday, I got the chance to put my skills to the test once more after one of my younger cousins (first cousin once removed) arrived in town for the first time. It's basically a driving tour with a some stops. In my younger days (high school) when I did not have access to a car, the tour was much more abbreviated as it was done via walking and public transportation.
Jack London's cabin at Jack London Square.
Waiting for the freight train to get moving again so that we could cross the street.
Wednesday we did the East Bay thing. She had no interest in suburbia so we stuck to Oakland and Berkeley. I would have liked to have included some Marin County in the whole thing besides the drive through on Tuesday evening but she returned home today. Perhaps on her next trip. Because there will be more trips.
One of our last stops on Wednesday was at the B&N in Emeryville and look at what I found there. Laurie, my cousin and I did chuckle at the photo of you wearing all of your knitted goodies.
And there was a challenge to it all. When I spoke to her on the phone Monday night about her current California experience, there were no happy, glowing words. Because for the last year she has lived in the L.A. area -- Hollywood to be exact. There is something about L.A. that is off-putting to folks from outside of California. When I lived in Virginia, I heard, way too many times, folks say, "I've been to California before and I didn't like it." Always upon further examination, I have found that these folks have only visited L.A. And when I later convince them to visit the San Francisco area, they change their mind about the state. Same thing happened with my cousin.
And the weirdest part is that in my mind, in some ways my cousin will always be the two-year-old girl who woke me up bright and early by banging on the side of the bed when I stayed with her family. It's hard to believe that she's now a psychologist. Neil, I'd give you her number but she prefers to work with the criminally insane. Of course, this means that she just might be able to help the family...
A few weeks ago, or something like that, I had an email exchange with Stacy over the route I take when showing tourists around San Francisco. I like to think that my tour is fairly comprehensive. It mostly depends on what time we start and the stamina of the tourist. Somehow my cousin forgot her camera so I took pictures for her.
On Tuesday, I got the chance to put my skills to the test once more after one of my younger cousins (first cousin once removed) arrived in town for the first time. It's basically a driving tour with a some stops. In my younger days (high school) when I did not have access to a car, the tour was much more abbreviated as it was done via walking and public transportation.
Waiting for the freight train to get moving again so that we could cross the street.
Wednesday we did the East Bay thing. She had no interest in suburbia so we stuck to Oakland and Berkeley. I would have liked to have included some Marin County in the whole thing besides the drive through on Tuesday evening but she returned home today. Perhaps on her next trip. Because there will be more trips.
And there was a challenge to it all. When I spoke to her on the phone Monday night about her current California experience, there were no happy, glowing words. Because for the last year she has lived in the L.A. area -- Hollywood to be exact. There is something about L.A. that is off-putting to folks from outside of California. When I lived in Virginia, I heard, way too many times, folks say, "I've been to California before and I didn't like it." Always upon further examination, I have found that these folks have only visited L.A. And when I later convince them to visit the San Francisco area, they change their mind about the state. Same thing happened with my cousin.
And the weirdest part is that in my mind, in some ways my cousin will always be the two-year-old girl who woke me up bright and early by banging on the side of the bed when I stayed with her family. It's hard to believe that she's now a psychologist. Neil, I'd give you her number but she prefers to work with the criminally insane. Of course, this means that she just might be able to help the family...
Monday, November 13, 2006
Why can't there be more holidays?
I think I may return to work today a lot more rested than I have been. Well, temporarily at least. Seeing as I have to finish report cards this week.
Friday's shopping trip never happened. I never heard from Jade the entire weekend. Not surprising though. She's been known to do that.
I had agreed with my co-worker on Thursday that we should head out Friday night. (I really need to come up with a name for her as I have a feeling she will continue to be mentioned here.) After much debate Friday afternoon, we decided that there really was nowhere else to go but North Beach. That meant our usual dance spot there. So I finally got the dancing out of my system Friday night. As we were leaving, we were approached by these two Peruvian guys. They seemed to think that I was Brazilian. They also wanted us to go out salsa dancing with them sometime. I got the phone number of one of them. He tried to trick me into giving him mine.
"Why don't you call me to make sure you entered the number correctly?"
"One minute. I haven't quite saved it."
I fiddled around with the buttons and then called.
"Why does it say 'Private'?"
Hmmmm. Now how could that happen? Perhaps because I am smart enough how to block my number on my cellphone. Idiot.
On the way home, we noticed that my old fave bar was still open so we decided to stop in to say hi. The bartender gave us flak for stopping in at the end of the night. The owners were overjoyed to see me.
"We haven't seen you in forever. You never come to see us anymore. And my, don't you look sexy."
I now remember why I always prefered to go out in SF as opposed to the East Bay. The unadulterated worshipping. Suddenly I knew that I had to head back there on Saturday night.
My coworker had a date Saturday night. Their only plans were dinner though. We decided that after dinner that they would meet up with me in SF at the bar.
Well, of course I got there before they did. As I was enjoying my first drink, I noticed a guy making a beeline toward me. I groaned inside, fearing the worse. Shows how much I know. Turns out he was perfectly nice and fun to talk to.
It also tells me that I should wear pink more often. Because that also gives me an excuse to carry the cute little Kate Spade bag. There was that scary moment though. Some random woman approached us as we were talking to comment on how I was rocking the pink. She also pointed out that she too was wearing a pink shirt. And then she kissed me on my cheek. The guy asked if I knew her. Ummmm. Nope. Now that I think about it, maybe the pink is too powerful.
I this is around the point in the conversation when we started to discuss underwear color. (See number 1.) He seemed to think that since I was wearing so much pink, that my underwear should match. I explained that I did not own any pink underwear. So he offered to buy some. But it wasn't said in a sleazy kind of way. Because we had also just finished dissecting his lack of style on Saturday night.
The guy also knew some of the folks I know in the place, including a former bartender. Now the former bartender would have read me the riot act if there was anything wrong with this guy but he didn't. My friend also seemed to approve of him once she showed up.
Eventually my friend and her date left to check out another place.A bit later my phone rang. It seems my friend and her date had missed the last BART train and the first of the All Nighter buses wouldn't be coming for another hour. I told them to sit tight and that I would be there within a half hour.
The guy offered to walk me to my car. I told him that I needed to catch the bartender to settle my tab. It seems that I didn't have a tab though because the guy had already settled it. So off we went. Upon reaching my car, he asked for my phone number. What the heck. He then explained that he didn't believe in the whole "you have to wait a certain number of days before calling" thing. To me this said that I should expect a call on Sunday.
So I rescued my friend and her date from downtown, dropped them off, realized I was hungry and hit Nation's, and then headed home.
Around 2:00 Sunday afternoon my phone rang. It was the guy. It seems that he has a business thing in Berkeley on Tuesday afternoon. So we're going out when he finishes up. Argh! Now I have to sit around obsessing over what to wear. And trying to figure out a name for him if the date goes OK. But I can't call him "fill-in-the-blank Boy." Because he seems to be more of a "man" than a "boy." Wish me luck!
Friday's shopping trip never happened. I never heard from Jade the entire weekend. Not surprising though. She's been known to do that.
I had agreed with my co-worker on Thursday that we should head out Friday night. (I really need to come up with a name for her as I have a feeling she will continue to be mentioned here.) After much debate Friday afternoon, we decided that there really was nowhere else to go but North Beach. That meant our usual dance spot there. So I finally got the dancing out of my system Friday night. As we were leaving, we were approached by these two Peruvian guys. They seemed to think that I was Brazilian. They also wanted us to go out salsa dancing with them sometime. I got the phone number of one of them. He tried to trick me into giving him mine.
"Why don't you call me to make sure you entered the number correctly?"
"One minute. I haven't quite saved it."
I fiddled around with the buttons and then called.
"Why does it say 'Private'?"
Hmmmm. Now how could that happen? Perhaps because I am smart enough how to block my number on my cellphone. Idiot.
On the way home, we noticed that my old fave bar was still open so we decided to stop in to say hi. The bartender gave us flak for stopping in at the end of the night. The owners were overjoyed to see me.
"We haven't seen you in forever. You never come to see us anymore. And my, don't you look sexy."
I now remember why I always prefered to go out in SF as opposed to the East Bay. The unadulterated worshipping. Suddenly I knew that I had to head back there on Saturday night.
My coworker had a date Saturday night. Their only plans were dinner though. We decided that after dinner that they would meet up with me in SF at the bar.
Well, of course I got there before they did. As I was enjoying my first drink, I noticed a guy making a beeline toward me. I groaned inside, fearing the worse. Shows how much I know. Turns out he was perfectly nice and fun to talk to.
It also tells me that I should wear pink more often. Because that also gives me an excuse to carry the cute little Kate Spade bag. There was that scary moment though. Some random woman approached us as we were talking to comment on how I was rocking the pink. She also pointed out that she too was wearing a pink shirt. And then she kissed me on my cheek. The guy asked if I knew her. Ummmm. Nope. Now that I think about it, maybe the pink is too powerful.
I this is around the point in the conversation when we started to discuss underwear color. (See number 1.) He seemed to think that since I was wearing so much pink, that my underwear should match. I explained that I did not own any pink underwear. So he offered to buy some. But it wasn't said in a sleazy kind of way. Because we had also just finished dissecting his lack of style on Saturday night.
The guy also knew some of the folks I know in the place, including a former bartender. Now the former bartender would have read me the riot act if there was anything wrong with this guy but he didn't. My friend also seemed to approve of him once she showed up.
Eventually my friend and her date left to check out another place.A bit later my phone rang. It seems my friend and her date had missed the last BART train and the first of the All Nighter buses wouldn't be coming for another hour. I told them to sit tight and that I would be there within a half hour.
The guy offered to walk me to my car. I told him that I needed to catch the bartender to settle my tab. It seems that I didn't have a tab though because the guy had already settled it. So off we went. Upon reaching my car, he asked for my phone number. What the heck. He then explained that he didn't believe in the whole "you have to wait a certain number of days before calling" thing. To me this said that I should expect a call on Sunday.
So I rescued my friend and her date from downtown, dropped them off, realized I was hungry and hit Nation's, and then headed home.
Around 2:00 Sunday afternoon my phone rang. It was the guy. It seems that he has a business thing in Berkeley on Tuesday afternoon. So we're going out when he finishes up. Argh! Now I have to sit around obsessing over what to wear. And trying to figure out a name for him if the date goes OK. But I can't call him "fill-in-the-blank Boy." Because he seems to be more of a "man" than a "boy." Wish me luck!
Monday, October 2, 2006
Grown-up again
This past Friday was a landmark day -- payday! It is the first "real" paycheck I have received in over a year. I was able to pay the bills, to go grocery shopping for whatever I wanted, and to still have plenty of money left. I am trying to contain myself. I would like to take a trip in February after all.
So the kids can be trying at times -- especially if you are feeling extremely hormonal. The other teachers may have kids who are better behaved but they don't get gifts like this.
Yes, it's a bracelet made of pipe cleaners and beads.
I immediately slipped this lovely creation onto my arm upon receiving it first thing Friday morning. I even wore it when I went out on Friday and Saturday. Actually I receive some sort of gift weekly. Perhaps I'll remember to take a photo of the lovely watercolor I received the first week of school.
The highlight of my weekend was the Free the Need event on Saturday. Held at the wonderful Speakeasy brewery. $25 and it was all-you-can-eat and drink. Wonderful sausages, potatoes, cheeses, salami, proscuitto... Oh, and the beers. I will have to visit those folks more often. They have an open house every Friday evening. And then there was the fun of the band.
Because it was all for a good cause, I also decided to drop some dollars at the silent auction.
I went home with this lovely collection.
I also thought of taking home a case of beer but then settled on this lovely hoodie instead. As you see, Boris is quite fascinated by it.
The event ended at 7 p.m. but I didn't have to leave -- because I was with the band. I've had that happen before but this time I didn't have to help them breakdown equipment. (You should see me wrap cables.) So the Drummer Boy is supposed to call me sometime during the week. Or maybe I'll call him. I forgot to pick up a CD on Saturday. Then again he did tell me the previous weekend that he would give me a copy.
Once they kicked everyone out, the folks cleaned up and the band played one more set.
Sunday marked grocery shopping day. If you only get paid once a month, this becomes a pretty standard pattern. Pay bills. Buy food. Then the remaining money is up for grabs. I knew that I would not have the energy to actually cook once I reached home so I made one other stop -- Cazuela's Grill. It is located in the ever-so-lovely Hilltop Mall. Yes, the ghetto fab mall. Cazuela's is the only reason I go there these days.
I always go for the corn tortillas because they make them once you have placed the order.
I have been jones-ing for some carnitas for weeks now. And no, I did not eat all of that in one sitting.
Now to decide if I spend anymore money. I think I'll try to contain myself though -- until Thursday when I am heading to Banana Republic. Because I still haven't spent that giftcard that Jade gave me for my birthday.
So the kids can be trying at times -- especially if you are feeling extremely hormonal. The other teachers may have kids who are better behaved but they don't get gifts like this.
Yes, it's a bracelet made of pipe cleaners and beads.
I immediately slipped this lovely creation onto my arm upon receiving it first thing Friday morning. I even wore it when I went out on Friday and Saturday. Actually I receive some sort of gift weekly. Perhaps I'll remember to take a photo of the lovely watercolor I received the first week of school.
The highlight of my weekend was the Free the Need event on Saturday. Held at the wonderful Speakeasy brewery. $25 and it was all-you-can-eat and drink. Wonderful sausages, potatoes, cheeses, salami, proscuitto... Oh, and the beers. I will have to visit those folks more often. They have an open house every Friday evening. And then there was the fun of the band.
Because it was all for a good cause, I also decided to drop some dollars at the silent auction.
I went home with this lovely collection.
I also thought of taking home a case of beer but then settled on this lovely hoodie instead. As you see, Boris is quite fascinated by it.
The event ended at 7 p.m. but I didn't have to leave -- because I was with the band. I've had that happen before but this time I didn't have to help them breakdown equipment. (You should see me wrap cables.) So the Drummer Boy is supposed to call me sometime during the week. Or maybe I'll call him. I forgot to pick up a CD on Saturday. Then again he did tell me the previous weekend that he would give me a copy.
Once they kicked everyone out, the folks cleaned up and the band played one more set.
Sunday marked grocery shopping day. If you only get paid once a month, this becomes a pretty standard pattern. Pay bills. Buy food. Then the remaining money is up for grabs. I knew that I would not have the energy to actually cook once I reached home so I made one other stop -- Cazuela's Grill. It is located in the ever-so-lovely Hilltop Mall. Yes, the ghetto fab mall. Cazuela's is the only reason I go there these days.
I always go for the corn tortillas because they make them once you have placed the order.
I have been jones-ing for some carnitas for weeks now. And no, I did not eat all of that in one sitting.
Now to decide if I spend anymore money. I think I'll try to contain myself though -- until Thursday when I am heading to Banana Republic. Because I still haven't spent that giftcard that Jade gave me for my birthday.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Nothing like the boys of summer to cure ya
So the baseball game was loads of fun on Monday night. So much fun that I may be going to Friday's game as well.
This week has been filled with meetings and discussions. I love this school district. They are truly committed to making changes so that the kids can be successful. It's not just lip service. Yesterday I spoke to the new art consultant for the district and volunteered to be one of her model classrooms. She has this whole plan for integrating the performing and visual arts into the curriculum -- something about which I feel passionately. Yesterday I also heard about the kind of field trips that the kids in my grade normally take as well as this other fun project. Apparently one of the local businesses partners with the kids in my grade to help them create their own films. How cool is that? Right now I can't imagine ever wanting to leave this district.
Last night Grasshopper called to ask about heading to the pub tonight. I tried to tell her that my schedule is pretty crazy this week and that I did not think I would be going anywhere. I don't think she heard me. She wants me to come along because she is meeting one of her guy's from HellSpace and he is supposed to be bringing a friend. Ummm. No. I know she's going to call back tonight so I guess I'll just be blunt then.
I guess I should start thinking about getting ready to get out of here soon. We have the first of two fun-filled days of discussing equity issues.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
A homecoming of sorts
This would also be known as "It's raining men."
Yesterday I tried my best to get up early but failed. By the time I made it out the door, it was 10:30 a.m. I then had to make a decision. Should I go up to campus only to have to turn around immediately to head into San Francisco or should I head into San Francisco? I decided on the latter.
I left home armed with my birthday gifts -- a giftcard for Macy's and one for Banana Republic. Never made it to either store though. Grasshopper had given me a book to read and I had finished it on Tuesday night. It was the first book in a trilogy and I was in desperate need of the second. On my way to Berkeley BART, I stopped off at Half Price Books. They only had the one I had just finished. I then decided to get off BART at Montgomery Street in San Francisco. That way I could stop at Stacey's. No luck at Stacey's either. They had the first and the third books but not the second. So I headed toward Union Square and Cody's. No luck at Cody's either. By this time I realized that it was nearing lunch time. Screw the rest of the shopping. Besides it was going to take me hours in Macy's and Banana Republic since I had nothing specific in mind. I headed up the hill to Borders and struck paydirt. Then I noticed the 3 for 2 sale on trade-size paperbacks. Well of course I had to look. (By the way, this is why I usually go to the library instead of bookstores. Bookstores are a dangerous place for me.) I saw a title by Alice Hoffman that I hadn't read. Now it was just a question of picking up two more. I almost got A People's History of the United States but I think I might actually have a copy of that somewhere at home. Instead I got Fast Food Nation -- been meaning to read it for years -- and a chick lit anthology.
Armed with books, I hopped back on BART at Powell Street to head over to 16th and Mission. The goal was to stroll out 16th to Bryant because the fable bar was there. Not that I could remember the name of the bar. And it was hot. So if there hadn't been a bar there, I was going to be really mad. There was indeed a bar there -- The Double Play Bar and Grill. According to the sign it's been around since 1909. The current owners have been there since January of this year. I settled in at the bar and ordered...
a Myers's and coke...
and a club sandwich with fries. Actually they call it the Seal Stadium Club.
Did I mention that this place is basically a sports bar with a restaurant attached? My kind of place. Why? Because these kind of places attract guys. To talk to. To buy me drinks.
I also realized what I miss about hanging out in San Francisco. Remember the Stalker Guy? Never would have happened in San Francisco. While I was there, some drunk/stoned guy had asked the bartender to call him a cab. He then decided to move from one end of the bar to the other just so that he could sit by me. The bartender, my friend, immediately told the guy to move back to the other end of the bar. There was some grumbling and then finally the bartender stated, "If you start bothering her (me), you will have to move." Luckily for the guy, he waited until about a minute before the cab pulled up to start getting creepy. Muttering stuff like, "I'm going to rip your balls off," and "Where's the pitbull?" Around this time one of the regulars offered to buy my third drink.
After finishing that third one I realized it was 2 p.m. and that I probably should go because, hey, I still had to go to work. My tab? $7. Because the food was on the house. It is a shame they are only open from 7 a.m. until 8 p.m. Otherwise, I would go there more often.
I saw this sign in the BART station on on my ride back across the Bay and thought of Laurie -- and a few other folks.
And yes, I was sober by the time I got to work an hour later. Well enough to do my job. Which I could do with one-quarter of my brain functioning. Maybe less.
Yes, they treat me like royalty in Berkeley but only minor royalty. In San Francisco, I get treated like the true empress that I am. Well, that's what I thought before I returned to Berkeley.
The shocker was that it was 85 degrees in Berkeley today. That meant that I couldn't go straight home. I mean I have no air conditioning (or cold beverages) at home. I was forced to go to the pub. Where I met some nice older men. (One has a son who is 32.) And they paid for all of my drinks up to that point. Don't ask me how many but just let me say that if I had had to pay for all of them, I would have gone home at that point.
Nicole and the Sisters in Soul -- the evening's entertainment.
My first victim -- ummm, guy -- was newer to the area. He is a student in creative writing. You know how I like those creative types. But then I finally had to ask that dreaded question -- his age. He is -- 23. *gasp* Throw this one back because he is too young. We did exchange phone numbers though. Because he is tall. And well-read.
By the end of the evening, I had four guys (two sets of two) trying to walk me home. One set was able to get rid of the other set quite well -- as I wanted them to. So I was left with two hot guys walking me home because they were "concerned" for me. By the time that I got to my doorstep, I learned that one of the guys is the executive chef for Hornblower. Ummm. I could really use a dinner cruise. Good thing that I got his number (He didn't get mine.) and swore that I would call him. Because I will. Because he was hot. And because he can feed me.
And men of the world? Beware. Because I am woman.
Yesterday I tried my best to get up early but failed. By the time I made it out the door, it was 10:30 a.m. I then had to make a decision. Should I go up to campus only to have to turn around immediately to head into San Francisco or should I head into San Francisco? I decided on the latter.
I left home armed with my birthday gifts -- a giftcard for Macy's and one for Banana Republic. Never made it to either store though. Grasshopper had given me a book to read and I had finished it on Tuesday night. It was the first book in a trilogy and I was in desperate need of the second. On my way to Berkeley BART, I stopped off at Half Price Books. They only had the one I had just finished. I then decided to get off BART at Montgomery Street in San Francisco. That way I could stop at Stacey's. No luck at Stacey's either. They had the first and the third books but not the second. So I headed toward Union Square and Cody's. No luck at Cody's either. By this time I realized that it was nearing lunch time. Screw the rest of the shopping. Besides it was going to take me hours in Macy's and Banana Republic since I had nothing specific in mind. I headed up the hill to Borders and struck paydirt. Then I noticed the 3 for 2 sale on trade-size paperbacks. Well of course I had to look. (By the way, this is why I usually go to the library instead of bookstores. Bookstores are a dangerous place for me.) I saw a title by Alice Hoffman that I hadn't read. Now it was just a question of picking up two more. I almost got A People's History of the United States but I think I might actually have a copy of that somewhere at home. Instead I got Fast Food Nation -- been meaning to read it for years -- and a chick lit anthology.
Armed with books, I hopped back on BART at Powell Street to head over to 16th and Mission. The goal was to stroll out 16th to Bryant because the fable bar was there. Not that I could remember the name of the bar. And it was hot. So if there hadn't been a bar there, I was going to be really mad. There was indeed a bar there -- The Double Play Bar and Grill. According to the sign it's been around since 1909. The current owners have been there since January of this year. I settled in at the bar and ordered...
a Myers's and coke...
and a club sandwich with fries. Actually they call it the Seal Stadium Club.
Did I mention that this place is basically a sports bar with a restaurant attached? My kind of place. Why? Because these kind of places attract guys. To talk to. To buy me drinks.
I also realized what I miss about hanging out in San Francisco. Remember the Stalker Guy? Never would have happened in San Francisco. While I was there, some drunk/stoned guy had asked the bartender to call him a cab. He then decided to move from one end of the bar to the other just so that he could sit by me. The bartender, my friend, immediately told the guy to move back to the other end of the bar. There was some grumbling and then finally the bartender stated, "If you start bothering her (me), you will have to move." Luckily for the guy, he waited until about a minute before the cab pulled up to start getting creepy. Muttering stuff like, "I'm going to rip your balls off," and "Where's the pitbull?" Around this time one of the regulars offered to buy my third drink.
After finishing that third one I realized it was 2 p.m. and that I probably should go because, hey, I still had to go to work. My tab? $7. Because the food was on the house. It is a shame they are only open from 7 a.m. until 8 p.m. Otherwise, I would go there more often.
I saw this sign in the BART station on on my ride back across the Bay and thought of Laurie -- and a few other folks.
And yes, I was sober by the time I got to work an hour later. Well enough to do my job. Which I could do with one-quarter of my brain functioning. Maybe less.
Yes, they treat me like royalty in Berkeley but only minor royalty. In San Francisco, I get treated like the true empress that I am. Well, that's what I thought before I returned to Berkeley.
The shocker was that it was 85 degrees in Berkeley today. That meant that I couldn't go straight home. I mean I have no air conditioning (or cold beverages) at home. I was forced to go to the pub. Where I met some nice older men. (One has a son who is 32.) And they paid for all of my drinks up to that point. Don't ask me how many but just let me say that if I had had to pay for all of them, I would have gone home at that point.
Nicole and the Sisters in Soul -- the evening's entertainment.
My first victim -- ummm, guy -- was newer to the area. He is a student in creative writing. You know how I like those creative types. But then I finally had to ask that dreaded question -- his age. He is -- 23. *gasp* Throw this one back because he is too young. We did exchange phone numbers though. Because he is tall. And well-read.
By the end of the evening, I had four guys (two sets of two) trying to walk me home. One set was able to get rid of the other set quite well -- as I wanted them to. So I was left with two hot guys walking me home because they were "concerned" for me. By the time that I got to my doorstep, I learned that one of the guys is the executive chef for Hornblower. Ummm. I could really use a dinner cruise. Good thing that I got his number (He didn't get mine.) and swore that I would call him. Because I will. Because he was hot. And because he can feed me.
And men of the world? Beware. Because I am woman.
Monday, August 7, 2006
Cramps, bloating, and general crankiness
So what do you do when faced with the above?
In the past, I would have headed to Andronico's to stock up on my favorite foods (Didn't you wonder how I know the deli there so well?), make sure I have enough chick flicks on hand, and hibernate for at least 24 hours. My feeling was that the bitchiness needed to be contained.
Times have changed though. I was faced with the same on Friday night. My response was to have a burrito, down some ibuprofen with some red wine, redo my toes (The hot pink was so going to clash with the dress I was thinking of wearing.), make sure my legs were smooth, squeeze my butt into a dress that I wasn't sure would fit anymore (In the last three years I have gained ten pounds.), and slap on some makeup. The dress? Well, did it ever fit. And I walked down the street with attitude extraordinaire.
Once more Grasshopper had a movie date with one of her men. That meant that I was killing time until her arrival -- or so I thought. The first couple of hours were pretty rough. Lots of whiny ass bitches coming up to the bar. The bartender wanted to slap them. I wanted to slap them. May have had something to do with my off-kilter hormones. May have had something to do with Grasshopper not being around to be the bad cop to my good cop.
I knew I had entered hell when this one woman sat down next to me. Her perfume was the most noxious odor I have smelled in I don't know how long. Now I know that I douse myself pretty much with perfume before I leave home but my stuff smells good. I sent a text to Grasshopper in hope that she would show up soon to deal with the situation. She didn't.
Me: What is that fragrance you're wearing?
Smelly Girl: Why? Is it bothering you?
Me: Well, actually it is.
Bitch knew the shit stank. Why the hell was she fronting like that? She claimed that she had only sprayed it on her hair. More like poured half the bottle on her hair.
My fave bartender was not faring much better than I was with the patrons at this point. Many an idiot walked up, ordered four drinks, and then left a $1 tip. What the fuck??? That is not a tip on a near $20 tab; that's charity. No wonder Grasshopper and I rule the place if the rest of the patrons act like that.
Next I went out to get some fresh air. That's when I ran into Retail Boy. He started whining about how Grasshopper and I mistreated him on her birthday. As far as we know, the only thing we did to him that night was to not run over to him and kiss his butt as soon as we walked into the place. First of all, our priority at that moment was to get drinks. Secondly, it was Grasshopper's birthday. Shouldn't he have been the one running over to kiss some butt? The day after her birthday she discovered the series of text messages he had sent. Lots of whining. Some crack about how could I say that he's the bad guy when I am obviously so mean to him. I mentioned these messages to him on Friday. "When you sent the messages, did it ever dawn on you to with Grasshopper a happy birthday?" This was followed by more whining. I walked off and sent Grasshopper a text to warn her about the whiny ass little bitch. Saturday Grasshopper and I discussed the fact that by the time Grasshopper showed up, he was gone. I told her it was because he knew that she was going to rip him a new one. Her response? "One asshole isn't enough for his shit."
I was ready to go when the band started. They were funktastic and so I stayed. Good thing too. I temporarily found a new guy. The lead singer/guitarist of the band. Lots of text messages flew back and forth. Thge first batch started after the pub closed. Like I left. Because I'm royalty, damn it. Then we chatted face to face. Suddenly he was tired. Hello. It was only 2:30 a.m. More text messages followed over the next hour or so as he drove home, got settled in, and then went to sleep. At the same time Grasshopper was receiving messages from one of her men. Oh. And our fave bartender? Well, apparently he had sent out messages to three women. One responded. Our phones were all going off almost in sequence. Everyone else in the bar hated us I'm sure.
Finally things died down with the phones. Well, at least they did with mine and Grasshopper's. I think mine was the result of a joke I made about "the wife." Perhaps there was some truth in my joke. I mean why does a guy text at 3:30 in the morning unless he is trying to not disturb someone by talking on the phone. Or maybe he has a prepaid phone and didn't have too many minutes left. Whatever. The bartender? He made a sudden exit so maybe he fared better. (Grasshopper occasionally lurks around these parts so maybe she'll share the result of her messages.) Grasshopper managed to find a ride home and I tagged along. Walking sucks at a certain hour. They kept saying "this morning." If I have not been to sleep, it is not morning yet. I don't care if the sun has come up -- which it hadn't in this case. But still. It was just approaching 5 a.m. Kind of reminiscent of the days I used to hang in North Beach. Back then the earliest I got home was 5. It was usually more like 6 or 7 when I'd come in.
You know what? Chips and guacamole are mighty tasty at 5 a.m. Wash them down with a little red wine and what a treat. Somehow I was awake around 9:30 a.m. So not right. Finally at 11 I went back to sleep and didn't get up until 3:30 or so. Because the scary thing is that I told my neighbor that I would be heading out on Saturday night.
Saturday evening found Grasshopper and me doing some shopping at Target. Dangerous. Especially for Grasshopper but she may not have realized it. While shopping, I became hungry. Very hungry. Wondering if I was going to pass out in the aisle hungry. I can turn downright evil when that happens but I managed to bite my tongue. Then it was off for sushi before heading back to the pub. It was a slow night. Not many folks to make fun of so we contented ourselves with sitting outside. Grasshopper learned that she apparently has a boyfriend. Huh? Seems like I would have known this if this were the case. Heck. Seems like she would have known it. Around this time, Travel Writer showed up. I think he has hit the end of his usefulness.
I was restless by Sunday. I guess I should have taken that road trip earlier in the week. After catching up on some TV viewing (Thank you, DVR.), I headed into San Francisco. Because there was something missing in my weekend -- comfort. Yep, that's right. There's more food porn coming up.
I thought a great deal. At first I thought of brunch at Suppenkuche but I couldn't motivate myself to get out in time for brunch. Then I thought about heading to Savor since I love the New Orleans there. There were also thoughts of Lovejoy's. Finally I settled on Esperpento.
The first time I went to Esperpento back in 1995. I had just moved to the Mission and my neighbors had invited me out to dinner with them. I have been hooked on the place since then. I have been to plenty of other tapas restaurants since but I have yet to see a menu with as much variety as theirs. And the sangria is pretty good too. The place is small and loud. Especially when the mariachi band stops by to do a few numbers. The waitstaff could be better. (I learned long ago that if you plan to pay by credit card, then you better be prepared to wait some time.) And reservations? Yes, I suppose they do take them but they always struck me as the kind of place that you just drop in. When I started ordering, the waitress tried to cut me off after ordering four dishes stating that that was enough food for me. Pffffft. I ordered one more dish.
While I waited for my food, I sipped on sangria.
I had gambas al ajillo,
calamares fritos,
judias verdes rehogadas,
patatas bravas,
and croquetas de pollo.
I finished off the evening in one of my other favorite neighborhoods in San Francisco, North Beach. I went to the place that used to be my home. I was going to say it was my second home but I think back in the day, I spent more time there than I did at my actual home. And while I was there, one of the old bartenders walked in. I haven't seen the guy in something like five years. He told me that I still looked the same. Awww. That meant more to me than any twenty-something telling me that they cannot believe that I am 40. He then proceeded to pay for my drinks. It felt like the old days. As it turns out, one of the owners of the place, another guy I have not seen in years, has bought another place out on Bryant. My bartender friend invited me out there but I've got to go sometime in the next couple of weeks since the invitation was for lunch. Free food and cocktails. I think I may have to go later this week. Especially since the owner will probably be there.
Once I got back to Berkeley, I did stop by the pub. I did also have homicidal thoughts for a few minutes too. Then I got over it. Nothing really exciting to share from there though. More of the same old crap.
The trip into the City did just the trick. What I realized was that while I was looking for comfort, I had kind of missed the point. The important thing was not that I used to shut myself up at home with food and movies for one day out of each month. It was always about taking care of me. It was one day a month that I allowed myself to be completely selfish. I haven't done that in quite some time. Maybe that's what the past week's food fest was really about.
When I went out over the weekend, that was the element that had been missing -- the me factor. I love hanging out at the pub but sometimes I feel like the guest who's been allowed to stay out of the kindness of someone's heart, not because I was really wanted. I don't know if I explained that well. Let me give it another try. I have always had rather dynamic friends. They are great people. Sometimes being around them makes me feel like I do often when I am with my family though -- lost in the shadows. So now I just have to remind myself periodically that I need to do things on my own -- either at home or in places they've never been -- so I can remember what it's like to shine.
In the past, I would have headed to Andronico's to stock up on my favorite foods (Didn't you wonder how I know the deli there so well?), make sure I have enough chick flicks on hand, and hibernate for at least 24 hours. My feeling was that the bitchiness needed to be contained.
Times have changed though. I was faced with the same on Friday night. My response was to have a burrito, down some ibuprofen with some red wine, redo my toes (The hot pink was so going to clash with the dress I was thinking of wearing.), make sure my legs were smooth, squeeze my butt into a dress that I wasn't sure would fit anymore (In the last three years I have gained ten pounds.), and slap on some makeup. The dress? Well, did it ever fit. And I walked down the street with attitude extraordinaire.
Once more Grasshopper had a movie date with one of her men. That meant that I was killing time until her arrival -- or so I thought. The first couple of hours were pretty rough. Lots of whiny ass bitches coming up to the bar. The bartender wanted to slap them. I wanted to slap them. May have had something to do with my off-kilter hormones. May have had something to do with Grasshopper not being around to be the bad cop to my good cop.
I knew I had entered hell when this one woman sat down next to me. Her perfume was the most noxious odor I have smelled in I don't know how long. Now I know that I douse myself pretty much with perfume before I leave home but my stuff smells good. I sent a text to Grasshopper in hope that she would show up soon to deal with the situation. She didn't.
Me: What is that fragrance you're wearing?
Smelly Girl: Why? Is it bothering you?
Me: Well, actually it is.
Bitch knew the shit stank. Why the hell was she fronting like that? She claimed that she had only sprayed it on her hair. More like poured half the bottle on her hair.
My fave bartender was not faring much better than I was with the patrons at this point. Many an idiot walked up, ordered four drinks, and then left a $1 tip. What the fuck??? That is not a tip on a near $20 tab; that's charity. No wonder Grasshopper and I rule the place if the rest of the patrons act like that.
Next I went out to get some fresh air. That's when I ran into Retail Boy. He started whining about how Grasshopper and I mistreated him on her birthday. As far as we know, the only thing we did to him that night was to not run over to him and kiss his butt as soon as we walked into the place. First of all, our priority at that moment was to get drinks. Secondly, it was Grasshopper's birthday. Shouldn't he have been the one running over to kiss some butt? The day after her birthday she discovered the series of text messages he had sent. Lots of whining. Some crack about how could I say that he's the bad guy when I am obviously so mean to him. I mentioned these messages to him on Friday. "When you sent the messages, did it ever dawn on you to with Grasshopper a happy birthday?" This was followed by more whining. I walked off and sent Grasshopper a text to warn her about the whiny ass little bitch. Saturday Grasshopper and I discussed the fact that by the time Grasshopper showed up, he was gone. I told her it was because he knew that she was going to rip him a new one. Her response? "One asshole isn't enough for his shit."
I was ready to go when the band started. They were funktastic and so I stayed. Good thing too. I temporarily found a new guy. The lead singer/guitarist of the band. Lots of text messages flew back and forth. Thge first batch started after the pub closed. Like I left. Because I'm royalty, damn it. Then we chatted face to face. Suddenly he was tired. Hello. It was only 2:30 a.m. More text messages followed over the next hour or so as he drove home, got settled in, and then went to sleep. At the same time Grasshopper was receiving messages from one of her men. Oh. And our fave bartender? Well, apparently he had sent out messages to three women. One responded. Our phones were all going off almost in sequence. Everyone else in the bar hated us I'm sure.
Finally things died down with the phones. Well, at least they did with mine and Grasshopper's. I think mine was the result of a joke I made about "the wife." Perhaps there was some truth in my joke. I mean why does a guy text at 3:30 in the morning unless he is trying to not disturb someone by talking on the phone. Or maybe he has a prepaid phone and didn't have too many minutes left. Whatever. The bartender? He made a sudden exit so maybe he fared better. (Grasshopper occasionally lurks around these parts so maybe she'll share the result of her messages.) Grasshopper managed to find a ride home and I tagged along. Walking sucks at a certain hour. They kept saying "this morning." If I have not been to sleep, it is not morning yet. I don't care if the sun has come up -- which it hadn't in this case. But still. It was just approaching 5 a.m. Kind of reminiscent of the days I used to hang in North Beach. Back then the earliest I got home was 5. It was usually more like 6 or 7 when I'd come in.
You know what? Chips and guacamole are mighty tasty at 5 a.m. Wash them down with a little red wine and what a treat. Somehow I was awake around 9:30 a.m. So not right. Finally at 11 I went back to sleep and didn't get up until 3:30 or so. Because the scary thing is that I told my neighbor that I would be heading out on Saturday night.
Saturday evening found Grasshopper and me doing some shopping at Target. Dangerous. Especially for Grasshopper but she may not have realized it. While shopping, I became hungry. Very hungry. Wondering if I was going to pass out in the aisle hungry. I can turn downright evil when that happens but I managed to bite my tongue. Then it was off for sushi before heading back to the pub. It was a slow night. Not many folks to make fun of so we contented ourselves with sitting outside. Grasshopper learned that she apparently has a boyfriend. Huh? Seems like I would have known this if this were the case. Heck. Seems like she would have known it. Around this time, Travel Writer showed up. I think he has hit the end of his usefulness.
I was restless by Sunday. I guess I should have taken that road trip earlier in the week. After catching up on some TV viewing (Thank you, DVR.), I headed into San Francisco. Because there was something missing in my weekend -- comfort. Yep, that's right. There's more food porn coming up.
I thought a great deal. At first I thought of brunch at Suppenkuche but I couldn't motivate myself to get out in time for brunch. Then I thought about heading to Savor since I love the New Orleans there. There were also thoughts of Lovejoy's. Finally I settled on Esperpento.
The first time I went to Esperpento back in 1995. I had just moved to the Mission and my neighbors had invited me out to dinner with them. I have been hooked on the place since then. I have been to plenty of other tapas restaurants since but I have yet to see a menu with as much variety as theirs. And the sangria is pretty good too. The place is small and loud. Especially when the mariachi band stops by to do a few numbers. The waitstaff could be better. (I learned long ago that if you plan to pay by credit card, then you better be prepared to wait some time.) And reservations? Yes, I suppose they do take them but they always struck me as the kind of place that you just drop in. When I started ordering, the waitress tried to cut me off after ordering four dishes stating that that was enough food for me. Pffffft. I ordered one more dish.
While I waited for my food, I sipped on sangria.
I had gambas al ajillo,
calamares fritos,
judias verdes rehogadas,
patatas bravas,
and croquetas de pollo.
I finished off the evening in one of my other favorite neighborhoods in San Francisco, North Beach. I went to the place that used to be my home. I was going to say it was my second home but I think back in the day, I spent more time there than I did at my actual home. And while I was there, one of the old bartenders walked in. I haven't seen the guy in something like five years. He told me that I still looked the same. Awww. That meant more to me than any twenty-something telling me that they cannot believe that I am 40. He then proceeded to pay for my drinks. It felt like the old days. As it turns out, one of the owners of the place, another guy I have not seen in years, has bought another place out on Bryant. My bartender friend invited me out there but I've got to go sometime in the next couple of weeks since the invitation was for lunch. Free food and cocktails. I think I may have to go later this week. Especially since the owner will probably be there.
Once I got back to Berkeley, I did stop by the pub. I did also have homicidal thoughts for a few minutes too. Then I got over it. Nothing really exciting to share from there though. More of the same old crap.
The trip into the City did just the trick. What I realized was that while I was looking for comfort, I had kind of missed the point. The important thing was not that I used to shut myself up at home with food and movies for one day out of each month. It was always about taking care of me. It was one day a month that I allowed myself to be completely selfish. I haven't done that in quite some time. Maybe that's what the past week's food fest was really about.
When I went out over the weekend, that was the element that had been missing -- the me factor. I love hanging out at the pub but sometimes I feel like the guest who's been allowed to stay out of the kindness of someone's heart, not because I was really wanted. I don't know if I explained that well. Let me give it another try. I have always had rather dynamic friends. They are great people. Sometimes being around them makes me feel like I do often when I am with my family though -- lost in the shadows. So now I just have to remind myself periodically that I need to do things on my own -- either at home or in places they've never been -- so I can remember what it's like to shine.
Friday, August 4, 2006
The food porn continues
The bad thing about going out on Wednesday night was that I slept until it was time for me to go to work. That means that I did not eat before heading out. I spent a great deal of time at work thinking about food. The challenge was trying to come up with a restaurant in my neighborhood that I have not tried yet. Then Neil gave me some inspiration.
When I lived in San Francisco, I loved going to Moishe's Pippic. I have not been able to find a similar culinary experience since moving back to the East Bay. That is until I moved into Berkeley.
I often find it humorous that I have never gone to Saul's before this. Back in March I turned down a job as their office manager. That's the humor. They were going to hire me knowing that I live in the neighborhood yet had never find time to eat there. I didn't take the job because I knew that for what they were paying it would not be a longterm choice for me -- and they deserved someone who was going to stick around for some time.
The biggest challenge in going into Saul's was trying to decide what to get. Because I wanted one of everything. I mean, did I want a sandwich? What about the brisket? The thought of latkes and applesauce got my mouth watering. It also reminded me of another place that I used to go to on a regular basis, Suppenkuche. (Yeah, I'm too lazy to look for the code to make the umlaut or however you spell it.) Same neighborhood as Moishe's. *sigh* Crap. I'm going to have to get a wiener schnitzel fix soon. Maybe I can talk Grasshopper into joining me there for brunch on Sunday.
Now where was I? Oh yeah. Saul's. So I thought that I would be safe if I chose a route that did not include Andronico's. Not. I ended up passing by Vintage Berkeley. The store called to me and I could not resist. When I got in, I discovered that there was a tasting going on. Well, of course, I sampled. I then returned on my way home from Saul's to make a purchase.
I decided to go with the Reuben...
and a little dessert.
Now the only question is what to have for dinner tonight.
When I lived in San Francisco, I loved going to Moishe's Pippic. I have not been able to find a similar culinary experience since moving back to the East Bay. That is until I moved into Berkeley.
I often find it humorous that I have never gone to Saul's before this. Back in March I turned down a job as their office manager. That's the humor. They were going to hire me knowing that I live in the neighborhood yet had never find time to eat there. I didn't take the job because I knew that for what they were paying it would not be a longterm choice for me -- and they deserved someone who was going to stick around for some time.
The biggest challenge in going into Saul's was trying to decide what to get. Because I wanted one of everything. I mean, did I want a sandwich? What about the brisket? The thought of latkes and applesauce got my mouth watering. It also reminded me of another place that I used to go to on a regular basis, Suppenkuche. (Yeah, I'm too lazy to look for the code to make the umlaut or however you spell it.) Same neighborhood as Moishe's. *sigh* Crap. I'm going to have to get a wiener schnitzel fix soon. Maybe I can talk Grasshopper into joining me there for brunch on Sunday.
Now where was I? Oh yeah. Saul's. So I thought that I would be safe if I chose a route that did not include Andronico's. Not. I ended up passing by Vintage Berkeley. The store called to me and I could not resist. When I got in, I discovered that there was a tasting going on. Well, of course, I sampled. I then returned on my way home from Saul's to make a purchase.
I decided to go with the Reuben...
and a little dessert.
Now the only question is what to have for dinner tonight.
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