One less debt

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.

Thank you, Canada

Without those fine folks in Canada, this would not have been possible.

For quite some time, I have been hooked on the Persephone's Bees that they serve at Kitty's. Last night on my way home from work, I finally remembered to stop at BevMo to look for the key ingredient -- Pearl Persephone Vodka. (While mixing the drink, I checked out the bottle and discovered that it is a "Product of Canada.") And joy of joys, they had it. Oh, and in case you're wondering, Persephone's Bees is a mixture of Pearl Persephone Vodka, lemon juice, and honey. It went well with dinner.


Yes, I went with the duck.

Loved how the duck was cooked. The raspberry was a little too sweet for my tastes though. And I didn't get the joy of watching the guy cook because I had to get canned food for Her Royal Uppitiness and the Porn Star. (Some of you may refer to the pair as "Natasha and Boris." I live with them; I know their true selves.) And of course, while there I had to pick up the very necessary lemon juice.

I've always been against the whole moving to Canada thing because they have this thing called winter. But I think that the fine products from Pearl could help me get through that ugliness. I just don't know if Natasha will allow us to move.

Some surprises

Looking at the tags for this post, one might think that I had a very busy weekend. Not really.

Let's start with the truly depressing stuff. I promise that it will be uphill from here. Friday morning my mom asked if I would be willing to give up a kidney. (My mom would get tested but years ago she discovered that she had a cyst on one of her kidneys. Not life-threatening but it precludes her from donating.) Apparently it has become that time yet again for her younger brother. Because after two or so years of not speaking to my grandmother, my uncle decided to call up my grandmother for Mother's Day. Or maybe it was her birthday. They were a week apart so it's kind of confusing.

Anywho. It seems that his kidney is failing once more. If he can find a kidney, this will be his third transplant. He partied his way through the first one. The second transplant he was a little more serious about the whole thing. Well, he was after his daughter was born -- third child, third woman. Did I mention that my uncle is a player? Well, he was until his daughter was born. Then he found Jesus and likes to sit in judgment of the rest of us. Except me. Because I am the keeper of all of his secrets. Well, until he blabs them. Like when he impregnated a coworker at the same time that his fiance was pregnant. The coworker had an abortion. When the rest of the family found out about the other woman, I had known about her for months. (I guess it helped that I lived in the town in which he worked. It's hard to hide stuff in a town of 10,000 folks. Although I did threaten his co-workers with great bodily harm if they ever revealed my bar activity to my uncle. I assume they didn't because no guys suddenly died in town.) He always liked how I didn't blab to the rest of the family about "his business." I have mentioned before that I grew up in a very dysfunctional family, didn't I? Just call me "The Enabler." Of course, I also learned how to kick game from my uncle. I know how to spot his type at a thousand paces -- just how he'd like it. Because my uncle would kick the ass of any guy who I dated if the guy turned out to be like him. And he always told me to avoid men like him. Seems his type was OK for other women's families but not his own. Funny how that works. I love my uncle but I don't think that he can have one of my kidneys. I'm using both to full capacity currently.

But back to me. Thursday night was the spring concert at school. Since at least half of my students are involved in either band or dance, I felt obligated to show up. After the concert, I was talking to a couple of parents. Believe it or not, we were talking about places that are not too ghetto. That's one of the problems in Oakland. A nice African American place will open and then those folks find out about it and ruin it all. I have developed serious issues with places that insist on searching my purse before I enter. Who else are they expecting in the place? This only seems to happen in the places in which the crowd is predominantly African American. I know places in the Excelsior that could benefit from this policy.

And I was going somewhere with this. Oh yeah. The one dad who was a part of the conversation, who is apparently a professional musician, -- There was talk of taking the kids on tour with him in the summer in Europe. Why couldn't I have had a dad like that? -- was trying to place my face. I get that a lot. Folks are always saying that I remind them of someone. Lately my stepmom and my uncle's wife have been trying to convince me that I look like Condaleeza. Ewwwww!!! But this dad scored points. Sure his second comment was one I've heard before -- Whitney Houston (I like to think that this is Whitney without Bobby.) -- but his first guess? Totally original. Marilyn McCoo. Loved her as a kid. Because who didn't just love The Fifth Dimension? Of course, I loved "Up, Up, and Away" but my absolute favorite song of theirs is the Laura Nyro song, "Stoned Soul Picnic." I played it over and over on my portable phonograph. (I kind of permanently borrowed the album from my parents around age four or so. Along with some Supremes and Johnny Mathis. My parents never seemed to miss the LPs.) Oh, and let's not forget "Solid Gold." That is some classic TV.

Friday night for the first time in a long time, I headed out. Ran into a freak I met last summer. Too bad his friends are so cool. They were heading to the Greek for a concert so didn't get to spend much time with them. I was ready to write off the evening but then one of my fave bands showed up and I knew the evening was going to be OK.

There was a little hitch in the evening. Sports Guy had the audacity to show up. And tried to talk to me like we were friends or something. I think he got the hint the second time he showed up trying to talk to me and I said something along the lines of, "Get the fuck away from me! What part of 'I don't want to talk to you ever again' did you not understand?" There may have also been threats of telling to bouncers to permanently ban him from the place. Because it's my bar, damnit!

So I had another cocktail and met a group of boys. Who were wonderful fun. Especially since they were happy to get things started on the dance floor with me. Later, the lead singer said that he appreciated my dancing efforts. I aim to please.

Saturday I was not feeling that well. There was lots of rehydrating involved. And then there was the mandatory greasy food. In this case it was calamari rings and fries.

By Sunday, the hormones had kicked in and I was feeling fully lethargic. Then Boris was kind enough to remind me that he was out of food. As in the cats were licking crumbs off the floor. If it had not been for that, I would not have left home on Sunday. But I had visions of being killed in my sleep.

Since I was going out, I figured that I may as continue the fried food thing. This time I took some cod out of the freezer and used that Budweiser that Grasshopper left in my fridge -- I was never going to drink it -- to make a beer batter. That's right. Beer-battered fish again. Yep, a weekend of repeats. And now I'll let you in on something. I suck at making fries so I have recently taken to using a childhood standby -- OreIda. Imagine my hormonal joy today when I went to pick up a fresh bag of fries and noticed the onion rings. I could never talk my mom into buying them when I was a kid. But I'm a grown-up now -- sort of. And if I want onion rings, I can have them. So I had the fish with fries and onion rings. Oh, and some coleslaw. Washed it all down with a mojito. I felt completely satisfied.

Oh, and to get your week started right, here's the video for the kids' new fave song. Yep, I get to hear it at least a couple of times a day. I must admit that I was rather surprised that they like it. Probably because it kind of grew on me the first time I saw it on MTV -- at least a week before the kids started singing it.



And just in time for summer, there's this song. I haven't heard the kids singing it yet. I think it just hit MTV during this past week. Nah. I'm thinking more like summer theme song.



Only two more weeks to go...

Coming out of hibernation

...or how I needed a lot of stuff.

Monday I decided that I was ready to face the world. Actually I think it was Natasha who told me to get out. Something about how I was pleasant company and all but that she was used to having the bed to herself in the daytime. Besides I need to start facing the world again if I hope to head out to Tomales later this week. Because as much as I love the place, there is not a wealth of folks that look like me out that way. Which made me a bit apprehensive the first time I headed there alone. But the people? Really warm and accepting.

My first stop with my money was B&N. I really needed a copy of The Problem Child. Just like I really needed the two cookbooks I found in the bargain books section. I may have to read the Sisters Grimm book slowly though since the next one is not due out until May.

Then it was off to BevMo because I really needed a couple of bottles of Reds. But I was foiled. There was no Reds to be found in the store. And it wasn't until after I left that I remembered the Avalon Cabernet Sauvignon. Maybe I'll have to go back there later in the week.

Next stop was Chipotle -- carnitas burrito. And then I did the real monetary damage -- Andronico's. Because the crack cheese was calling to me and I was too lazy to head cross town to Berkeley Bowl where I can get my crack cheese at a lower price. I was also craving the curry chicken salad but alas they were out of it. So I settled on two different kinds of pate. And brie stuffed with cranberries and honey butter. And a bottle of pinot noir as well as a bottle of orange muscat. And then I really needed the raspberry chiffon cake from Rubicon. Because I was planning on getting a quart of Haagen Dazs vanilla and the apple struedel was almost gone at home and what else was I going to eat with the ice cream. Besides all proceeds go to support their programs. And what can be better than a delicious dessert from folks with a social conscience?

After filling my gut with lots of goodies (Which was really a shame because while out shopping I caught my reflection in a store window and realized that for the first time in weeks, I looked like I actually had a waist. Well, I've always had a waist but I think this one is the one I vaguely remember from age 30.), I decided to take the big plunge for the evening. Yep. I was going to head down the street to my usual spot. I hadn't been there since meeting Sports Guy there. It was time to remove his taint from the place. And I decided to live dangerously by walking. Because this would mean that I would have to pass the two places that he hangs on a daily basis. But damnit! This was my town long before it was his. And I know how to cause a big ugly scene if necessary.

But then I ate too much and my bed started calling to me. I awoke around 9 p.m. Somehow Boris had managed to oust Natasha from her usual spot while I was asleep. I realized that I could still go out. Then the cake started calling to me. Besides Monday is not one of the nights for my favorite bartender. Such a lovely example of melanin-challenged eye candy. And now you know the real reason why I go there. That and the fact that he often yells a greeting to me as soon as I enter. And then gives me a hug. And puts lots of limes in my drink. And occasionally gives me drinks for free. And sometimes lets me stick around after hours. So I'm thinking I'll hold off until Wednesday night when I know he'll be around. And then there's all the other eye candy. Who will buy me drinks if I smile and talk nicely to them. (Didn't I tell you that this assimilation thing is tough?) But maybe I'll get wild and crazy and venture out tonight.

Let's talk about something interesting...

me.

It's all about me right now. I got home from work last night and for once I did not feed the cats first thing. Instead I took out the can of food and set it on the counter while I took care of me. (As you can imagine, there was a great deal of howling.) First I put some chicken in the microwave to defrost because I was too out of it in the morning to think of putting it in the fridge. Heck! In the morning I could not even think about lunch, let alone dinner. I then poured myself a glass of wine. Then I fed the cats.

As I was typing this, the cats finished their meal and began a round of smackdown. I really must capture this on video one day. Of course, it's not nearly as much fun as it was a year ago when they liked to come flying at each other -- yes, it was really like flying -- from opposite sides of the room. They would actually meet midair. I miss those days. Now I have to content myself with television for evening entertainment.

I think this evening I will break down and do laundry. It's not that I don't have clean clothes; it's just that all my favorite things are dirty. Oh, the joys of owning over a month's worth of underwear. "What? It can't possibly be time to do laundry. I still have clean underwear." Of course, doing laundry requires energy (and time) that I haven't had lately. I really must do it because having my fave stuff clean always makes me feel better.

And I need to come up with things that help me to relax. Like maybe I should start working on my knitting projects some more. And after reading Neil's post, I think that maybe I should spend a nice afternoon at Home Depot. (My mom and I spent a lot of quality time there when I was growing up. In fact, my mom still drools over the power saws. We'd go there with nothing specific in mind and check out all the things we could do.) I could stroll down to the library, but then I'd have to pay off those fines I still owe. But that could work -- except for the fines -- because it's warmed up enough that I can justify a stop at the gelato place.

I have started listening to music again in the evenings. Headphones on so I don't have to hear the cats. Well, so I don't have to hear Boris. Natasha is huge on napping. Because I have been feeling the need to escape "middle America," I've been listening to a lot of old garage/house. Because that's the kind of chick I really am. And how can you be sad while listening to "Happiness" or "Pra Manha." I'll admit it that last night I did end up diving into the 80s as I usually do. And got a chance to reconnect to my love of Teena. And then somehow I slipped into Afrika Bambaataa, Marshall Crenshaw, Art of Noise, Bronski Beat (Isn't normal for a guy to sing Cole Porter in falsetto?), Kraftwerk, Oingo Boingo (How would I have survived senior year of high school and my mom pissing me off if I had not had "Who Do You Want to Be? And Danny Elfman still rocks in my opinion.), Shriekback, Suicidal Tendencies (I fell in love with "Institutionalized" the first time I saw "Repo Man."), Violent Femmes, The Talking Heads, Siouxsie, Ofra Haza (For fun, you should play Ofra back to back with Public Enemy. Oh, and the two best albums with which you may torture drunken souls requesting a ride home -- as I learned living in Virginia -- are Ofra's "50 Gates of Wisdom" and "The Best of Patsy Cline."), Peter Gabriel (In the 80s I thought that either he or Sting would be my future husband. On some days Bryan Ferry was thrown into the mix.), and then Ultravox. But of course no tour of the 80s would be complete without my theme song -- Ministry's "Everyday Is Halloween." From the 80s I somehow segued back into a Brazilian sound -- "Samba de Flora" by Airto Moreira, "Samba de Verao" by Marcos Valle, "Batuacada" by Towa Tei (from Deee-lite) along with Bebel Gilberto. How can you go wrong with Bebel? Also, maybe I should stop reading liner notes. Nah. I would have kept going but then I thought that I should get some sleep at some point. The good thing is that I managed to stay awake for the first time in weeks past 11 which meant that I was actually able to sleep through the night.

My friends in college mostly worked for the radio station and were art majors. They DJ'ed at underground clubs or they ran their own clubs. While briefly in law school, my friends worked bars or were musicians. Actually this group often overlapped. I went to frat parties because there was nothing else going on. Or perhaps because I needed a good laugh. This is why I pierced my nose last summer. Because that's what the person who still lives inside of me would do. I've also made a pledge with this person that as soon as I get tenure, we're going to get some ink. And it's going to be visible. Maybe I'll go even wilder and go even lighter on my hair. It's just hair and it will grow back. Or can be re-colored. Some days I hate having to conform and I think about doing something that won't require me to make compromises about my appearance. But then I like the stability of my paycheck.

One of my coworkers is trying to get a bunch of us to go out dancing tomorrow night. At first this sounded appealing but the more I thought about it, the worse the idea sounded. First of all, I have to attend a workshop on Saturday that starts at 9 a.m. Then there's the whole 80s theme. Now don't get me wrong. I loved the 80s. But I looked at the bands playlist. Reminded me of a frat party. As in the only Simple Minds on their list is "Don't You Forget About Me," a song that the band has said in interviews that they hated. I was more a "Sparkle in the Rain" and "New Gold Dream (81-82-83-84)" kind of girl. I think I've done enough of the "frat party" kind of scene in the last few months. I think this is part of what has left this empty feeling in my soul. Because frat parties? They lack soul. And I don't mean the music because your average frat party these days usually includes some soul music. No, I mean the vibe of the folks around you. As my friend, La Nicoya, would say, the vibe is definitely lacking in flavor. And before you jump all over me, I do have friends who are pigment-challenged with plenty of flavor. Case in point is Kate. Damn. Why did I have a flash in my mind of folks who say, "You know I have friends who are black/latino/Asian." But I still believe it is different if you are speaking from a position other than that of the dominant group.

So that got me thinking on Wednesday night. Because I remember a time when my life was filled with people of all ethnicities, religious backgrounds, socioeconomic backgrounds. Our common bond? The groove. I discovered that one of my old favorite haunts, the End Up, is having a special night the Sunday before President's Day. Now that is definitely my kind of scene. So my thought is that I will save up my energy so that I can go there. And maybe in between I'll head into North Beach one weekend so that I can go to the Royale. Omigosh! I was just catching up on the latest happenings at the place and discovered that on Wednesday nights that they have live hip-hop and on Sunday nights, it's hip-hop open mike. I have always been partial to this place since the first time I went there back in '01. That was the first night I wore the infamous skirt in public and was told that I looked like "a Catholic schoolgirl gone bad." My friends had flaked on me so while I was smoking at the curb, the guys seated at the table near the window told me that I was welcome to join them. After getting seated, they explained to me that the table was the owner's table and that he would be coming in soon. Maybe I had a strange look on my face because they then added that he wouldn't mind. He didn't. I think I left the place sometime between 3 and 4 that night. Yes, they close at 2. One of my friends who had flaked that night marveled at my ability to always get to know the folks in charge. Yeah, it gets crowded on weekends but from what I remember the music was always on. Back in 01-02, when I hung there hardcore, it was the kind of place where you knew you were hear stuff like Mos Def and The Roots. And if you haven't figured it out yet, I love to dance. So yeah. I'm going to pencil in a night at the Royale because it is sure to cure some, if not all, that ails me. If not, I'll hit some places in the Mission. And maybe I'll end up going to the 80s night after all. Because the place is across from the bar that used to be my home away from home. The place in which I am usually worshipped properly.

And so maybe Queenie is pissed off with me over Monday's post. Paraphrasing what I said on yesterday, "No regrets." And maybe now she has a better picture of my San Francisco. Because I know that our views of the City probably differ radically. Tomorrow I'll explain why -- because I have a feeling that Queenie has no clue as to our differing viewpoints. So think as a lesson for all.

And to eleviate some of my stress, I am thinking about "coming clean" with the kids. Because I realize that in some ways, they have might been the victims of my fluctuating moods. Not that they have not behaved in a way deserving of a pissed off mood. I just think that they may be, at times, be taking more then they fully deserve. (Of course, if you saw my kids, you would probably say that I am too easy on them.) Like I said, probably not. This thought does not stop my feeling of guilt though. Part of the reason why I have thought of taking "mental health" days. I have managed to reach kids who last year did not show any respect. I'd hate to damage all of the progress that I have made with my current emotional state. And yes, I actually shed a few tears as I wrote these last words. The first tears I have shed in the last two weeks. The scary thing is I know there are so many more left inside of me. I've just been holding them in for so long that I'm not sure that I can get them out at this point without a complete meltdown. And I know that I can't let things get to that point. Because I may have made it back from that point before but I just don't think I have the strength to come back from there anymore. It was kind of like a one-shot deal. Maybe I needed to acknowledge that because suddenly the floodgates have opened.

So today I will say no to a request that was made of me because even though it was put in a way that it would be a benefit for me, right now it really isn't. Right now it's about taking care of someone else's needs, not mine. Right now more than ever I need to really look at these kind of requests. And maybe I'll change my mind about the whole 80s night thing tomorrow night.

The end is near

Today is the last day of school before the winter break. Can you feel my excitement?

The past week has had some stress. One normally expects the kids to go wild right before a break. That's why you plan the hell out of the time for the week. Part of these plans has been completing the cookbook. (I meant to take a photo of the finished products for you but I forgot in my stupor.) I stayed at work until 5 last night finishing those books. Why did I feel that they needed to be spiral-bound? Do you know how tiring that is on your arm when you have to complete 40 or so books? Thankfully two-buck-Chuck can get rid of that pain.

And I am looking forward to not seeing rain. Rain sucks in an elementary school. It means that the kids are stuck with you at recess. And my kids? They need to run free a few times a day. Wednesday morning started as the most perfect day I have ever seen from the kids. Honestly. Then I had my prep period at the end of the day. My kids were supposed to be at PE but it was raining. This meant that PE was heald in my classroom. The PE teacher found them to be trying but no one could have expected the end. (Well, maybe I could have because I know my kids.) She dismissed them as a class -- something I never would have done in my most brain-dead states. I dismiss them individually. Complete havoc ensued. I have heard tales of chairs flying and overturned desks. Think drunken rock band trashing a hotel room. Somewhere along the line the principal showed up and made them clean it all up. By the time I saw my room, there were no signs left. Today the students turned in statements about what they had witnessed per the principal's instructions. Four of my kids ended up suspended as a result of the statements. I will not be seeing them again until January. I would be completely stressed out if this had all happened under my watch but it didn't. Therefore, I am feeling OK. Especially since others had reported how perfect the kids were in the morning.

So today is the last day before break. A break that I think is well deserved. Three teachers have birthdays within a week or so of each other. Today after school we are heading out to celebrate. By contract we have to stay at school until 3:09 pm. (The kids leave at 3:00 pm.) One of the teachers wrote on the invite that the festivities start at 3:11 pm. Show's you where all our minds are. The plan is that we will be out the entire night at various spots along College. I cannot wait. Just as long as I can wake up for my hair appointment tomorrow.

Oh. Here's a bonus, thanks to Tami. A day early. But there will still be another quiz tomorrow.

So I will keep this in mind as I am out tonight. Because I need to keep my thoughts light today so that I can stop crying. My dad called last night. My aunt's cancer is back and she is starting chemo again today. This time it's on her liver.

An empathetic soul

Last week I was able to confirm something that I have always known -- that I am empathetic. Part of the reason why I have always been guarded around people is that I know that I have the ability "to soak up the emotions of others." This can be a dangerous place to be.

In those days when I thought that I wanted to be a lawyer, I was told that my greatest strength was my empathy. I had the ability to put a potential client at ease because I could understand how they were feeling and could communicate this. I also had passion, due to this, that made me fight for them to the fullest of my abilities. This is part of the reason why I left law school. I felt too much. I was starting to feel like Danny Elfman and crew.

And then somewhere down the road, I found myself in education. Talk about soaking up pain. I have been able to mask my emotions but I cannot turn them off completely.

Last Tuesday, I checked in with the science coach. My students go to science on Tuesday but last Tuesday I was at the vocabulary skills workshop. When I told the science coach that I would not be around, she was reticent to have my kids in the lab. As it turns out, partially due to the preparation work I had done with them in class, my kids were near perfect in lab. They had ideas to share and were able to complete the work.

The science coach told me on Wednesday when I asked about the student behavior that she had been worried about me. She was the one who had hired me for summer school. and she said that the reason for hiring me had been because of my motivation to teach -- my heart. She shared with me that over the last few weeks, what she had seen was someone who hated her students. This seemed contrary to the person who she had interviewed. I explained to her that I was feeling frustrated but after following the changes suggested by my mentor I was feeling better. When I spoke to my aunt, a veteran educator, she said that she had noticed the same thing. My aunt then mentioned that once I started making the recommended changes in my classroom that I seemed to return to my former self.

I have learned from this process that I cannot disconnect completely emotionally. I have learned the hardest lesson for a natural pessimist -- to see the positives in all things. My mother has tried to make me see this for many years but now I finally understand. It's not just a question of other people. It directly feeds into my energy.

Part of the reason why I left law school was that I knew I felt too much. I learned to shut off my emotions on some level to protect myself but not enough. When my students became truly frustrating, I became afraid of being sucked into something from which I could not extricate myself. Many thanks to the mentor teacher for showing me ways in which I can feel "normal" again.

And I did head out over the weekend. Well, at least on Friday night. It was the district holiday party. I was about to bail but my aunts told me that I had to show up. I ended up in a long conversation with one of the members of the school board. No, I did not approach him. He stopped me. If I didn't know better, I would think that it was my silver silk pants. Because of course I looked hella cute. (For those of you elsewhere in the country, "hella" is a completely Bay word to use. As in, "That calculus test? Hella hard." In college, this is what sold me out as a native of the Bay. Not sporting silver and black like the Nation. And crap. On Friday that's exactly what I was wearing. I also realized that the district art teacher is married to the high school principal. We had never put together the fact that they have the same last name until we saw them dancing together at the party. And they are so cute, you just can't hate.

Queenie and I headed over to Kitty's after the party. Lots of fun there. Although it took some time for the DJ to start spinning. Eh. Just meant time for me to have a Persephone's Bees before the dancing started. My one regret is that I blew off this really nice 42-year-old for some boy toy. Back in the day, I would have said that he was cool enough to hang with me. I'm not sure what made me not recognize my own kind. Wel, actually I do but I don't want to go into it now. One day I will learn.

Oh yeah. Your eyes are not playing tricks on you. I switched over to Blogger Beta yesterday and then procrastinated by tweaking the template some so that it would look closer to what it used to be. And there was quite a bit of tweaking and research involved. It is perfectly hellish trying to bring Haloscan over to Blogger Beta. Luckily I found a link to someone else's blog who had already solved the problem. I would not commit to the new features, which entail a change in template, until I could solve this problem. I guess that's the joy of beta though. You get to be the guinea pig who works out all the kinks.

Thanks to Hilly, I have added a new toy in the sidebar. It's a message recorder from Snapvine -- listed under "Talk to Me." All you have to do is call 1-641-985-7800 and enter the code *2483138 to leave me a message. (This same information can be obtained by hitting the "Record by Phone" button.) The things I do when I am procrastinating about finishing my work.

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!

Keeping the lines of communication open

So many things going on. Where to start?

First of all, I must set the record straight. Yes, my coworker met a hot-looking guy last Friday. Things did not end well though. Apparently while I was off flitting around the place being a social butterfly, they got into a discussion about religion. A heated discussion. In which they were almost screaming at each other. For an hour. People, how many times must I tell you? Never discuss politics or religion if you are trying to flirt. It always spells disaster.

Yesterday I got a day away from the kids. I went to a seminar on teaching math. Yes, a day away from the kids without using a sick day. It seemed kind of weird to read Neil's post yesterday in which he mentioned statements made about women and scientific and mathematical abilities. I will concede that men are generally naturally better spatial thinkers than women. It doesn't mean that women can't learn though. This past week the kids and I have been reading a story from their anthology. One of the focus questions for the story is whether one needs natural ability to be successful in something. (Have I mentioned how much I love y'all because the universe just seems to fold continually back upon itself? The older I get, the more I think that Jung may have been onto something.) By the end of the story, the majority of the kids thought that this wasn't the case; all one needs is to practice and to work hard.

In the morning of the seminar, we were given a problem. After half an hour of work, many of us did not have an answer. And that was frustrating. It gave us insight into how our kids feel. It also made us stop and think about how we always need an answer. Then I sat down and watched the latest episode of House. This guy was admitted with a mystery illness -- as is always the case on the show. He just wanted the doctors to let him die. The doctors wanted to keep running tests because they were sure they could treat him. They finally got their answer and found that the guy was terminal. So much for answers.

What I got out of the training was that sometimes the journey is more important than the destination. It's not about the kids finding an answer. (All answers all valid.) It's all about the process. And verbalizing the process. And hearing how other people's minds work. A couple of folks in my group said that they remembered a mathematical function that included an exclamation point. I quickly exclaimed, "Factorials!" and then said that this would not apply to this situation as we were dealing with a series instead of a permutation or a combination. It was like I was speaking in tongues. Then there was much discussion on our own math instruction. I happen to love math but then I love all things logical. Many folks took different approaches. When I heard theirs, I realized that if I had started off at the same point at which they did, I would have reached an answer. So next time I might be willing to take another approach.

We did one of these kind of exercises with my kids on Monday. One student did not get the right answer but after listening to her explanation, I quickly realized that she had been on the right track. Luckily they have been going through these kind of exercises for years so they are not reluctant to share their thought processes with everyone else. That's a huge thing. Having an environment in which you feel comfortable in going out on a limb.

And me? Sometimes I like to throw stuff out there because I want to hear what others have to say. Yeah, I'm an instigator. (Excuse me while I sing Prodigy's "Firestarter" to myself for a bit.) I don't exist in a bubble. I also know that I am always changing because of my interactions with others. Sorry, but this is the kind of thing that really excites me.

And to end this philosophical rant, I'd just like to say that I had previously thought that the universe had sent me the Chef as an answer to the whole dating thing. I'm starting to think otherwise. Perhaps it was to show me that I was open to the idea. I would like to think that I always was but after looking back over the last few months and recognizing the bitchiness I was doling out, I know this was not the truth. So I have a date on Friday -- with the Drummer. Because he called last night. Just like he said he would. And I was pleasantly surprised.

Oh, and the Oakland Arts Clash event that I previously mentioned (You know. The one at the Malonga Casquelourd Center for the Arts, formerly the Alice Arts Center.) is being held on Friday, October 6. Not that Saturday as I previously stated. Besides being a benefit for youth arts programs, the event will also feature a two buck Chuck and PBR bar. How can you go wrong with that?

Rock and roll lifestyle

I've been accused of having just that many a time. Some days I think to myself how I'd like to be someone different. Other times -- usually while I'm in the moment -- I'm perfectly happy with the label. I think the thoughts against it happen on the days that I don't feel like keeping up appearances. Or I just start thinking that there should be more to life.

Friday night only one teacher was able to make it out with me. We had loads of fun though. Eventually Grasshopper showed up. I didn't see much of her though. I was in full social butterfly mode by then. I ran into this one woman I met weeks ago. Don't ask me her name. I really don't remember. I was busy having a smoke at the time with the lead singer of the band even if their keyboard player was not present becasue he is currently playing with his other band -- one that I am sure that y'all have heard of. (I learned that real musicians play because they love music but that they rarely make money from music. Actually, I suspected this but the guys were able to confirm this for me.) She wanted to know if the band was any good. We told her that they most certainly would be. She then asked if the music would be ass shaking good. The lead singer suggested a couple of songs and she had a puzzled look. We then explained to her that he is in the band. The lead singer then told his wife that she should probably get out and shake her stuff as well. I ran into this hot guy who still works at that bad place. Apparently while he was walking in, he bumped into Grasshopper. She said that her thought was, "Please feel free to run into me anytime." I just kept reminding myself that he spent that year we worked together seeming to suck up to the powers that be. No matter how hot I think he is I just can't stand that. OK. I'll admit it. I did hug him though. Because he's hot. Once the music started, things became a blur. I do know that I was in slightly past closing time. A couple of the guys from the band gave me a ride home. And the drummer stuck around. I know. I'm supposed to avoid musicians. I don't recall ever dating a drummer before though. Usually it's guitarists or bass players. There was that sax player with whom I was obsessed in college too. But no drummers. He doesn't live in the immediate area but now he's planning trips back. Poor thing thought that I was younger than he is. And he's 28. Kind of the upper limit of my span. Kate, my college roomie, says that he's still too young. She keeps trying to remind of her ten-year rule. I just laugh in her face when she mentions it.

Chef guy was supposed to call on Sunday. He never did. I thoght that I would have to figure out how to juggle the two guys. I've never really done that before. I tend to be a one guy at at time kind of chick. They were both cool in their own ways so I couldn't figure out which one to keep. Now it's a no-brainer.

Oh, and on the 30th the band is doing a benefit show in SF. And BWB has assured me that it is a totally cool organization. Somehow I just knew that she would know the organization. Cause she's hip to the nonprofit scene like that. The next weekend there will be a benefit for what was the formerly known as the Alice Arts Center. Alice Arts was known for introducing kids ot the arts. I'll probably be at that benefit as well. i know that the arts are very important to kids. I could probably write a whole post on that -- as well as why I think the current season of Survivor is detrimental to education. And let me remind folks that the show comes on at 8 p.m. I guess if I was a part of the dominant "race" in our society, I would think the whole thing was kind of neat -- kind of like how Jim Crow laws were neat. I would like to argue that we were more advanced as a society from those times but I often doubt that we have made much progress. Especially when folks proclaim how cool the new season of "Survivor" is. I like to think that those folks are delusional. (Bring on the attacks. I can take it as well as dish it out. Just don't cry after I smack you down with my response.)

Now I'm off to the challenge of the kids. And letting them know that my classroom is not about "racial" division. We are all one people and we are here to get along. I will also need to let them know that I won't be at work on Tuesday because I'll be gone at a training. They'd better treat the sub OK. I'd better not hear some crap about how the sub had it out for them because s/he was racist. That's their favorite excuse, you see. The current season of "Survivor" just feeds into this thinking. All I know is that if I hear that anyone has given the sub a hard time, heads will roll. And I don't care about "race" -- as I have told and shown my students on numerous occasions over this last three weeks.

What I did over the weekend

Ideally this post title should have had the word "who" in it instead of "what" but alas, it was not that kind of weekend.

After going through hair hell on Friday, I finally managed to get my butt up around 6 p.m. on Saturday. I woke up before then a few times but B&N kept convincing me that it was time for another nap. This gave me just enough time to clean myself up so that I could head out. I met up with Grasshopper only to discover a bar full of ugly men. *sigh* But our fave bartenders were there -- and they're hot enough to make up for most of the ugliness that was around us. Bottom line is that I am still a frustrated girl.

When I finally awoke on Sunday, I called my dad to see when I needed to show up in Sack of Tomatoes. (Sunday was my stepmother's birthday. Also I needed to make my payment on the money I received from B of D. B of D requires personal appearances in lieu of monetary payments.) I hit traffic so I was 30 minutes late. I went with my dad, stepmother and stepbrother to a new restaurant in Elk Grove. The restaurant probably will not last long. The food was OK. The service was great. The manager is a brainless twit. We had finished our meals and had received the check when two of my dad and stepmother's friends showed up. They just wanted appetizers and so joined our table. The manager took it upon herself to take back our check to make a correction. It seems that now we were a party of six and so she had to add the gratuity. Never mind that my dad had had the check for a long enough period of time before the arrival of the friends that he could have paid it. She did the same to their check as well. My dad questioned her on this. She said, "But now you have six people sitting at the table." The gratuity was for 15%; my dad had planned on leaving at least 20%. He told the manager this. She said that she would "do us a favor this time and remove the gratuity." My dad said he would pay it but that she should let the server know that by her actions, she cheated the server out of extra money. The whole ride back to the house my stepmother ranted about the whole thing. My stepbrother, the photojournalist who used to occasionally dine with a food critic at his newspaper, and I said the whole problem was that they added the gratuity after they had given us the check. We also said that if this was their management style, they probably would not be in business six months from now.

I just realized that I probably have not spoken of my stepbrother and his ordeals. A few weeks ago, he was leaving work and passed out. He was rushed to the local hospital where they discovered that his kidneys had failed. He just got out of the hospital a week and a half ago. Because he is not completely well, he needs someone to drive him to his dialysis treatments. His apartment is a studio so there is no room for someone to stay with him. His mom and my dad decided that he should stay with them until he is well enough to take care of himself. Thankfully my stepmother just retired back in May so she has loads of free time.

Oh, and while in Sacto on Sunday, I found out that my cousin in Nashville's husband is now in the hospital. Something about congestive heart failure. Ummm. He's in his 40s. I am so tired of illness in my family. Just when I think that I am out of tears, I discover that I was mistaken.

On my drive home, I decided that I needed some entertainment. I called up the Chef. He hasn't had a day off in so long that he can't remember when his last day off was. He has promised to call me next Sunday. He thinks that the following weekend, he can finally take a day off and we can go out. If he wasn't so cute and cool, I would have written him off long ago.

And today? The morning of September 11, 2001, I was hopping into a rental car in Hampton, Virginia to drive up to DC. I had a flight out of Reagan National that afternoon. I had been attending the second funeral of a close family member in a three week time period. I ended up staying in Hampton and flying out of Norfolk. Nothing like staying in an area with loads of military installations while the country is under attack. And I will never get the image of the second tower collapsing live on TV out of my head. During that same time, my father had had a heart attack and it was the one year anniversary of my grandmother's death. Oh yeah. And I was interviewing for a new job because I was about to be laid off. By November of that year I was in therapy because I was so depressed. The therapists told methat I was supposed to be depressed. December I flew to London for a week because I had sworn that the next time I got on a plane, it would be for a happy occasion. January I decided that I hated my new job and that I would go back to school to get my teaching credential. Actually I decided in December that I needed to find a new job; January was when I knew what the new job would be. 2001 was a painful year but I also know that I would not be who I am today if I had not gone through that pain. The next time I need to make a major life change, I hope it's a little easier. And no one should have to die.

Free at last

Well, not quite but soon. When 3:09 hits today, I will be ready to run for the door. But I won't. Because I should meet with the other teacher for my grade level. And because happy hour at Kitty's does not start until 4. I have managed to convince at least two of the other teachers with whom I work that we should all head there after work. I hope to recruit more before the day is over. Because teachers? We party harder than almost anyone else. The only other folks that I have found who can hang with us are police officers and firefighters. Perhaps this is why Arnold has it out for all of us... Oops. I just got political, didn't I? Sorry.

So I have almost made it through the first week of school. Yesterday was the most memorable. About ten minutes into class, a kid raised his hand. When I asked him what he wanted, he told me he was about to be ill. I told him to run. He almost made it. About four feet short of the door, his stomach emptied onto the floor. It took the custodian about 30 minutes to show up to clean up the mess. What did I do during this time? I kept on teaching, of course. Once I had to leap over the puke. And believe me it was a true leap because I was wearing sandals.

I thought that would be the end of it all but near the end of the day I had another incident in my classroom -- ten minutes before school was out. I ended up sending a student to the office. I am tempted to go into details but I even though I write anonymously, I am afraid to go into details.

The good thing is that I was able to get enough done yesterday that I was able to sleep in this morning. No photocopying for me this morning.

So what are my plans for this long weekend? Originally I had planned to head south to hang out with Kate, my college roommate. Her fortieth is next week. Instead I will be sleeping in and getting organized. I have learned the hard way how crucial it is to get organized as early as possible in the school year. I may even find myself at work tomorrow since the school will be open then. So if you are one of those folks who thinks that teachers have a cush job, think again. Between the time I spend at school and the time I spend working on stuff at home, I usually work about ten to twelve hours a day on average. Funny thing is I only get paid for six hours. You do the math.

I am going to try to live up to my true nature this weekend as well. I'll be starting Friday night at Kitty's and will probably end up at the pub. As far as I know, Grasshopper will be available for her co-hosting duties. Awww. Crap. I just checked the music schedule. Like I even know the band. And since I'm surfing the crimson wave, I am sure that I will be bitchier than ever. *sigh*

Here's to hoping that I have a calm and peaceful weekend.

Easily distracted

I had all these plans for Friday night -- cleaning and laundry. Then Grasshopper called. She was in need of a burger from Triple Rock. So of course I had to go meet her. Then it was off to the pub. I told myself that I would leave early. Then I got into conversation with a cute and charming guy. So much for leaving early.

I overslept on Saturday and when I called into work, they said they didn't need me anyway. So I was supposed to be cleaning and doing laundry. But I really didn't feel like it. There was lots of cheesy TV viewing. Don't ask me what I watched because I can't even remember. There was something lacking in this procrastination, though, so I went flipping through the directory of my cellphone.

You can warm up the tar and break out the feathers now. I called the Child. Because he's fun to talk to. Well, and he's also 6'4" and kind of cute. We met at the pub and talked about all kinds of stuff -- including the huge age difference. We agreed that we would just keep hanging out until one of us gets tired of it all.

Sunday rolled around and I actually got some cleaning done. No laundry but there was some cleaning. Then Grasshopper called. She needed chocolate. She was going to call me once she hit downtown. After a few hours, I called her. She had already had chocolate and had moved onto Guinness. There was only one answer to that. I had to join her. When I arrived at the pub, she was working on a Guinness and talking to this group of three guys. There also was a new bartender. All four guys asked if I was the other one who commanded the corner seats along with Grasshopper. Well, duh. As I was sipping my second Chimay, I felt someone tap on my back. It was Chef Guy. I told him about the change in my work schedule for the next week. He swore that he would call me about dinner. We'll see.

There probably won't be much partying this week. I found out on Friday afternoon that I have to go to a training class all this week. That means I have to be there at 8 a.m. every morning. I think that's why it was so easy for me to say OK to Grasshopper on Friday. And so now I'm back to waking up before the sun rises as opposed to just coming in at this hour. That just shows you how much I love my job. Because I am definitely not a morning person. I guess summer is finally over.

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.

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.

School's out!

Friday was the last day of summer school. Basically it was an all-day party. Therefore, it was only appropriate that I continue the party that evening.

I was supposed to be doing the happy hour scene with Jade and Emerald. Jade ended up being a no show because per usual she had childcare issues. I keep wondering if she's ever heard of a babysitter. So where do you go on a Friday if you are hip and have just gotten off work at Leap Frog, Pixar, or one of those other wonderful companies in Emeryville? Why, Kitty's of course. And Friday evenings Kitty herself mans the turntables.




The view from our booth.

Of course, one of our favorite things about Kitty's is this lovely creation.


Persephone's Bees

Eventually Emerald had to head home to her husband and son. Just as well. It was about time for me to head to Beckett's to meet Grasshopper.

I arrived before Grasshopper did. Nothing new there. I ended up chatting with a group of guys -- two from San Francisco and their friend who was visiting from Boulder. They kept trying to convince me that I should go to San Francisco with them, especially after I did a fairly decent pirate's, "Yar."

Shortly after they left, Grasshopper showed. Then her latest guy showed up. I don't think we'll be seeing him again because I don't think that he can really hang. Well, maybe he could but he just didn't seem to get with the program.


Kinsella -- one of our fave bands.

We lost the new guy sometime after the band started playing. Or maybe it was the four Irish guys who started talking to me and Grasshopper that caused him to suddenly disappear. Yet more men trying to convince us to go to San Francisco. We told them that they'd be back to Berkeley and we'd see them then.

Around this time Grasshopper received a text message. (I may have to keep a scorecard soon to keep up with guys.) I was kind enough to give her a ride. That's when I realized that I was hungry. At 1 a.m. that can only mean one place -- Nation's. Besides I like to torture the cats periodically with the sight and smell of a 3/4 pound cheeseburger. With fries and a shake, of course.

Grasshopper and I agreed that Saturday needed to be mellow. For me that meant lazing around with remote control in hand -- after I woke up at 3 p.m.

Now I'm down to working part-time at the University. And I have money thanks to the school district. I feel some more partying coming on.

Grasshopper-palooza

I can already see that this is going to be a very long weekend. Wednesday night Grasshopper and I headed out to bring a birthday cake to our fave bartender. He appreciated it. Well, I assume he did since he only charged us for a total of two drinks that night.

And then there was yesterday -- Grasshopper's birthday.



I took a photo of this place for the neighborhood post but I decided to get a little closer. Grasshopper is always commenting on the nice smelling stuff I have at my place. I decided that she deserved some nice smelling stuff of her own.

Grasshopper had told the various guys she knows that we would be at the bar 8-ish. We got there around 9. For a change, she looked like Patsy while I looked Eddy. Sorry Gloria and David. No pictures. I did think about it but no one wanted pictures taken. The place is so dark I would have had to use a flash, making it completely obvious.

The guys slowly started trickling in. And then the band showed up. One of our fave bands. The best part is when our fave bartender showed up. He doesn't work on Thursdays but he specifically showed up because it was Grasshopper's birthday. The good part for me was that Travel Writer showed up. He said that he would get in touch with me about going out sometime next week. Woohoo! Oh, and his birthday is next month. I don't think the party is ever going to stop.

Right now I want to slip into a coma. Because yesterday and today? I had to be at work at 8 a.m. With little kids. Do you know how tiring that is? Besides I have to rest up for tonight. First it's happy hour with Emerald and then it's off to the usual place to meet up with Grasshopper. The same band is playing tonight -- and tomorrow as well.

Taking names

I know that I normally don't post on Sundays but this one couldn't wait. Sometimes there's stuff that you just have to get out of your system so that you can move on.

Little did I know what would be in store for me this month when I read my Hor-O-Scope. So I can be a bit intrusive but does that mean that giving up that behavior should turn me into prey?

Friday night I got myself dressed up and headed to the usual place to meet up with Grasshopper. She was at a movie and wouldn't get there until later. I ended up at the upstairs bar because that's where my fave bartender was working. I eventually went out to have a cigarette and who do I run into? Yep. You guessed it. Stalker Guy!

Stalker Guy: Hi. How are you?

Me: Ummm. Hi.

Stalker Guy: When you gave me your phone number you didn't think that I would actually call, did you?

Me: Ummm. I'm not sure.

Around this time I was wishing for one of those cigarettes that Janeane Garoflo's character invented.

Stalker Guy: Well, I was really flattered when you gave it to me.

Me: Ummmm. Thanks.

At this point, I decided that I really did not need the nicotine. I quickly put out the cigarette and went back into the comfort of the bar. I also promptly ordered another cocktail. I then sent a text message to Grasshopper to let her know that the creep had returned.

My bartender introduced me to the guy sitting next to me at the bar who as it turns out is a law student. He asked me about my day. I told him about Stalker Guy. As if on cue, Stalker Guy came strolling past. Once he spotted me, he took up a position within view.

Law Student: The guy who just walked by is the guy you were talking about, isn't he?

Me: Yep. He's pretty creepy.

Law Student: He lives in my building. You're right about the creepy. He gives me a weird feeling. When he walked by, I was happy that you were sitting here. It thought that he was going to come up to me to talk. It's not you. The guy is just weird.

See? This guy creeps out other guys. We discussed Stalker Guy some more and then started talking about living in California and law school. During all of this, Stalker Guy kept hovering. I got up to go to the bathroom. While I was waiting in line outside the door, Stalker Guy passed by as if he was checking to see where I was. When I returned to the bar, I shared this tidbit. I started debating whether I should say something to the staff. Then Grasshopper showed up. I caught her up on everything and she decided that enough was enough. Since I had his phone number, she sent him a text message. "Leave my friend alone." Our bartender told us to not mess with the creepy guy. We laughed. Grasshopper went out for a cigarette. Law Student was going downstairs to meet up with his friend but he was going to wait for me so that I would not be alone.

I went out only to find Grasshopper having it out with Stalker Guy. As I slipped past, I heard her say, "Sociopath." Neither one of them saw me so I slipped over to the stairs with my cig and cocktail. I was able to watch everything perfectly from there through the safety of the railing. I also explained what was going on to the guy sitting near me. This guy's older brother walked over and wouldn't you know it? I had met this guy previously when I had had the brilliant idea to head out the night before my birthday. We heard Grasshopper threatening to have Stalker Guy banned from the bar. Not an empty threat. We have that kind of power. Then Grasshopper walked back into the bar. By then Stalker Guy had spotted me and came over to apologize. I told him to go away. He did. Hopefully I will never see him again.

Once Grasshopper returned, the guys on the stairs and I shared another story with her. I had last seen the older brother on Sunday night when I was walking home. Paramedic Boy had volunteered to walk part of the way with me. Older Brother said that he came up to me that night because he had been behind us and had realized that there was someone following us. Say what??? Around the time that he came over to talk, Paramedic Boy got a call on his cellphone. It was his friend who was back at the bar asking where he was. I told him to go and rejoin his friend. Obviously I made it home in one piece. So back to the guy following us. By Older Brother's description, the guy was Paramedic Boy's friend. You know. The one who was supposedly back at the bar. Now I am completely freaked out. I also wish that Paramedic Boy would call. I so want to rip him a new one at this point.

I toyed with the idea of going out on last night but I just couldn't seem to get motivated. Part of it was the heat. Part of it was the nervousness, the fear. I didn't want to admit the last part. But I've made a vow to go out tonight because I refuse to let the fear rule my life. And I'm going back to stalking and snooping and all that other stuff. Because it sucks to be on the other side of it.

Will I need a liver transplant?

Grasshopper is still around in case you didn't read my comments on the previous post. Wednesday evening she called me from work to ask if she could drop by. (I live a few blocks from her current job.) I told her that would be no problem but that I was also in the process of changing clothes to head out. We watched some TV and chatted about her date on Monday. She also played with the cats. Especially Boris. He, of course, showed up to beg when Grasshopper pulled out the chips and guacamole. I explained to her that Boris is a stoner cat and perpetually has the munchies. Or maybe he has a tapeworm? Whatever it is, all I know is that the minute you put something in your mouth, there he is begging for a sample. You would have thought that the Chinese hot mustard incident would have cured him of this. Then again he was back begging 15 minutes later then (and received the same treatment).

Naturally we headed to our bar. I mean it was Wednesday. Our favorite bartender works on Wednesdays (and Fridays and Saturdays). Our highlight was when we overheard him say to a couple of other women, "Just let me know if there is anything else I can do for you." We laughed hysterically, proclaiming that he would never be stupid enough to say that to us. Grasshopper has already written the list of the things he can do for her. I keep mine in my head because I occasionally need to change the priority of things.

Grasshopper has this way of meeting guys on HellSpace as well. One of them started texting her while we were sipping on our first drinks. He eventually showed up. He was OK but we had issue with the fact that he could not see going to a pub as being a part of someone's culture. Confused lad. At least he kind of made up for the fact that there was no entertainment that night. I really wish they would hurry up and hire a new manager. Oh, and their website changes? So not happy with them.

After her second pint, Grasshopper had to say goodbye. She was in need of Midol and was opening at work on Thursday. It had been my intention to leave shortly after she did. Then I got to talking to the bartender. He was having a slideshow of his recent trip to China once things slowed down in the bar. The way things were going in there on Wednesday, that was going to be around 2 a.m. This would have been fine if I was going to work at my office job in the morning, but not for going to a school. Fortunately there will be a repeat of the show on Friday and/or Saturday nights.

At this point, I knew I really needed to go. (It was nearing midnight.) Then this guy walked up to me. He had looked vaguely familiar when he walked in. As soon as he started talking, I suddenly remembered. He was one of the two guys who had walked me home when I was out and about on New Year's Day. (Hmmmm. Why was that post title about my liver as well? I'm starting to see a pattern here.) Actually it was more like I forced them to do a imitation of The Wizard of Oz down the street. Because that's what drunk people should do. Re-enact movies in public.

So Mr. Travel Writer and I started slowly remembering various tidbits about each other over cocktails. Then our glasses were empty and he insisted on buying another. Around this time I told him about the pain in my shoulder. (Yes, it was still lingering. I no longer had need for flexeril but it was still a bit annoying.) The dear man was able to get rid of the pain for me. It was at that point that I started thinking that this could be the start of something great. Then again I had had quite a few cocktails by that time so lots of things were sounding great. The other thought that crossed my mind was that in wishing that I'd her from Paramedic Boy, the universe decided to send me something possibly better. I must try this more often. Thursday morning I remembered that I actually had his email address from our previous meeting. I also discovered that he had written about going out for drinks sometime but there was no follow-up from him. Or maybe there was. This was close to the time when I met Musician Boy. Anywho I wrote to him to say thanks for fixing my shoulder. Maybe I'll actually get a date out of it all this time.

Thursday was a bit rough at work. When I got home, I had planned on taking a quick nap but then Grasshopper called. She had only seen the first episode of Hex and I have them all saved. We ordered enough Chinese food to feed ten or so people and settled in for a marathon. We actually watched something like six episodes of the show. Now she's all caught up. We also laughed about all the things our bartender should never say to us. "I'll do anything you say." There were also a lot of comments about how hot Azazeal on Hex is. World destruction? Who cares if you could have him?

As I said before, tonight I'm off to the usual place. I think Grasshopper has a date but she said that she would eventually make it to the pub. I just hope I don't get myself into too much trouble before she arrives. Hmmm. I haven't danced on a bar or table in a few years... It's going to be a long night what with the slideshow and all.