How Could You NOT Need a Gorilla Suit?

Well, people, my gorilla suit is in high demand. I'm "renting" it out to someone who needs it for a gorilla go-go dancer to be part of a performance by a band called The Chimpanzees. When we discussed the rental, we had a very funny conversation, and it here is a snippet.

Gorilla Suit Borrower: Hey so where did you get your gorilla suit?
Me: Oh, it was part of my entry packet for the Great Gorilla Run. The whole reason I entered the race was because I got a gorilla suit to keep keep for all eternity.
GSB: Maybe I'll go on Craigslist see if someone is selling theirs.
Me: Really? You think? Why would anybody sell a gorilla suit? How could you not need one?
GSB: Well, Cardelia, some people aren't as forward-thinking as us.
Me: Some people are really weird.
GSB: So true.

Now I suppose you are wondering, why does one need a gorilla suit? And here are a few examples of how a gorilla suit comes in handy.

1. You always have a standby costume for all occasions.
2. You are always available should a local record store need to use a gorilla in one of their commercials.
3. It's cold outside, but you don't want to wear a coat. A gorilla suit on the other hand...
4. You ate too much pizza, so now your clothes don't fit. But the gorilla suit does.
5. Bad hair day, pimple on your nose....all these things can be hidden by a gorilla mask.
6. You never know when a Monkees cover band might need a gorilla go-go dancer.

Have I forgotten any?

I Ride MUNI for the Drama

And here I thought it was going to be just another boring MUNI ride…

Last Friday, I was on my way home, and I went down to catch the J-Church home. Lucky for me, I scored a seat in the waiting area, so I could give my feet a rest. You see, I chose to wear cute shoes that are easy on the eyes, but not so easy on the feet. After waiting about 20 minutes for a train, ye old J-Church finally decided to show up…just like Old Faithful, except for the part where it always shows up on time.

I boarded the train with the hordes of others that were waiting, and I was forced to stand and hold the bar above my head. As I stood there, I looked down at the guy sitting in front of me, and he was reading a travel book on Peru. A guy standing next to me, wearing his gym clothes, reached across me and tapped Mr. Peru on the shoulder.

"When do you leave for Peru?" Gym Guy asked.

"Oh, hey," Mr. Peru looked up. "I leave in four days. How are you?"

"Good." As Gym Guy responded, he backed away and shifted his body away from Mr. Peru.

Mr. Peru continued. "I've been really slammed lately. It's hard getting ready for this trip. I'm having deal with the fact that I'm totally ending my life in San Francisco."

"Oh."

"Hey, you went to India for a long time didn't you?" Gym Guy didn't answer. "Didn't you go to India? I'm wondering about your trip because I may be going there for work. How long were you there?"

Reluctantly, Gym Guy replied, "It was about 10 years ago. I'm sure things have changed."

"Nah, it's India. It hasn't changed that much. Where did you go?" Still nothing. "I'm hoping to extend my trip and travel."

"Oh."

And that's when Mr. Peru decided to stop trying since even though Gym Guy started the conversation, he clearly wasn't interested in actually participating. We pulled up to the next stop, and the girl next to Mr. Peru stood up from her seat, complimented my shoes (because they really are cute), and I took her seat. As I sat there, I kind of zoned out and didn't pay much attention to anything that was happening around me. Little did I know that drama was unfolding right before my eyes. We pulled into the third stop, when I noticed Gym Guy talking to Mr. Peru. He was angrily pointing and talking about how awful someone was. As I listened in, I realized that he was yelling at Mr. Peru.

Gym Guy stood over Mr. Peru, pointing at him accusingly. "You suck, you know that right? What you did was wrong. You're an asshole, and I hope you know that."

Mr. Peru just sat there, looking somewhat surprised (though not entirely). "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"No. You can't just weasel out of this. I hope you got all of your stuff out of that apartment when you came back from Madrid. You deserve whatever comes to you."

"I'm not going to talk about this here." Mr. Peru was still fairly calm, trying to not make a scene on the packed train.

"You don't have to talk. I'm talking. I want you to know that you're a jackass."

"I'm not going to apologize for anything I did…"

Gym Guy cut him off. "You don't have to. I needed to make my peace with you, and I saw you on the train. That's the only reason I said anything to you. I just want you to know that you're a real shitbag."

And then there was silence. Now, had everything gone as Gym Guy planned (or at least, as I believe he planned), the train would have reached the next stop just as he finished his tirade against Mr. Peru. Unfortunately for him, the train made an unexpected stop in the tunnel for what felt like an eternity, but was probably just five minutes. Still, five minutes is a long time to sit there in awkward silence after you've just handed someone's ass back to them on a pupu platter.

No one spoke. No one. Mr. Peru stared at his hands in silence. As I sat next to him, I desperately wanted to ask him what he'd done while he was in Madrid. But then I remembered that time I pitched a big screaming/crying/jumping-up-and-down fit in the airport and felt the need to apologize to the gate agent an hour later for my behavior when a nosy passenger started harassing me, trying to force me into telling her what I did that required an apology…and I didn't want to be that person. So, I just wondered quietly to myself.

The train finally started moving and we eventually made it to the next stop. Gym Guy was off the train in seconds, and Mr. Peru jumped up, trying to grab him, saying, "We need to talk." There was a part of me that wanted to trail them, but I wanted to get home more than I wanted to witness any more drama.

Once they were off the train, things went back to normal on the train. Well, sort of normal. At one point, the girl standing next to me handed me her cell phone and asked me to listen to her voice mail and tell her the number that was left on it. Thanks to my superior listening skills, I managed to decipher the digits. Then, as I finished that task, I overhead some crazy guy talking to someone else near the exit. I didn't want to look in their direction fearing that I might fall instantly and madly in love with him. What was Romeo saying? "There sure are a bunch of beautiful white women on this train. Look at that white woman. She's beautiful. See all these beautiful white women. I like white women. I like beautiful white women. She's beautiful. Look at that beautiful white woman."

After hearing this for entirely too long, the crazy guy got off the train. I then felt it was safe to look over and saw (as I suspected) that he was a crazy, dirty, homeless man. Then I looked over to see to whom he was talking. She was a regular-looking Asian woman. Boy was I wrong about there being any possible friendship between those two. Okay, so I suppose a normal-looking Asian woman COULD be friends with a crazy homeless man who clearly likes white woman over other ethnicities, but it really doesn't seem likely.

And then, after all of that…the train made it to my stop. I scrambled off the train, went home, changed shoes, and headed to a faux baby shower. What a ride!

And what did I learn? Well, I learned my favorite new word that may be on par with, if not better than, "asshat", and that's….."shitbag".

Maybe I DO Belong on the Short Bus

Okay, so I'm pretty open about all of the bad choices I make in regards to food--especially suspicious food that I find in random places, and you'd think that given all of the experience I have acquired through trial and error, that I wouldn't consider eating something that seemed odd or unusual...but you'd be wrong.

Yesterday I took a quick trip to the grocery store because I decided that I needed to start making my own lunch instead of relying on a diet of bread, cheese, and cake. It's doing nothing for my figure, nor is my lack of exercise, but we'll get to that later. I jumped back on the healthy train and it's full steam ahead!

Or is it?

Okay, on with the show... I went to the grocery store to purchase some sandwich fixings to add to the fruit I purchased the day before. I gathered up the bread, turkey, and lettuce. Then I wandered over to the tomatoes. To be honest, I'm not sure if we can eat tomatoes, but I've always thrown caution to the wind in regard to food poisoning. And, well, I teased some random guy at the store the day before for buying 10 pounds of tomatoes. If he was willing to celebrate the end of an epidemic, I was too.

I sorted through the tomatoes and selected a couple, when something caught my eye. There was a plastic carton with a few "food" items in it. It wasn't even half-full, nor was it marked to indicate what was inside. My first instinct was to assume it was candy. My second instinct was to want to eat it. And my third instinct was to believe that it was a free sample. I quickly looked around the produce section (which was packed), trying to determine whether or not I could partake in this curious free sample that was randomly placed in the middle of the tomatoes, was unmarked, and of mysterious origin.

As I reached for the lid, I suddenly remembered that dreadful day at the QFC in Seattle when I ate something that I determined to be a free sample in the middle of the cheese section, and it turned out to be something rancid. Reluctantly, I put my hand down and quickly walked away so as to avoid any temptation. In all honesty, if the place wasn't so crowded I probably would loitered by the bananas until I saw a clearing, then would have tried a bite, and if history holds, I definitely would have regretted it.

What's wrong with me? And what was it anyway? Maybe I'll drop by today to see if it's still there.

Today's Bad Idea Bonanza

I know it's shocking, but somehow I managed to act on several bad ideas today. How do I do it?

Good idea:

Pack my own lunch.

Bad idea:

Eat it at 10 am

Bad idea:

Go to McDonald's at 2:30

Bad idea:

Order their "sweet tea".

Bad idea:

Attempt to drink it.

Good idea:

Write hilarious blog entry about last Friday's train ride.

Bad idea:

Attempt to post it without first saving a copy on the off chance that Myspace loses all of the information and I have to start over.

Good idea:

Go to coffee shop to use internet because my neighbors figured out that I'm an internet thief.

Bad idea:

Attempting to purchase new internet plan without reading the details.

Now I have a headache and no internet....because I'm cheap and impatient.

I'm out of ideas now, but I do have a bit of advice. Do not drink the sweet tea from McDonald's. They give you a gallon and it's so sweet it gave me a headache for most of the afternoon. However, if you're in the mood to watch some crazy man have an outburst in a restaurant, go to McDonald's. Some dude just started yelling at another guy saying, "F- you! I can't see my family and you say that to me? How dare you! F- You!"

As I left the restaurant, I passed the yellee, and he just looked sheepish. I wonder what he said.

Preppy Cliche or Possibly Gay

Today I led a private tour of the wine country for a law firm's annual summer associate's retreat. For those of you that aren't versed in the hiring practices of large firms, let me give you a brief rundown.

As you may or may not be aware, law school takes three years. After the student's second year, they have a summer internship. During this summer internship, they are known as summer associates. Basically it's a test run for doing the work. The students apply to several law firms, and they get hired on in the summer (hopefully) by at least one of them. Once they are hired on, they do some work; however, their workload is nothing like that of a full-fledged attorney. Often these summer associates come from a variety of law schools across the country, so the law firm provides them with housing in addition to paying them for their work.

Since this is essentially a 3-month courtship, the law firm also sets up a variety of activities for the associates: fancy dinners, cultural excursions, happy hours, parties, weekend trips. They do all of this to show them how fantastic their life will be should they get hired by the firm. How do I know all of this? Because my friend is a lawyer, and I got to be her date to all of the associate events she attended when she was working in New York for the summer. See, her husband was in DC, so she was allowed a guest to all events. I totally lucked out. I must say, I ate quite well that summer, and I had the opportunity to see quite a few Broadway shows, symphony concerts, ballets, and baseball games. The only drawback was having to spend time with soon-to-be lawyers who were being coddled for an entire summer and believed that they truly were cooler than Jesus (if not cooler, definitely smarter and more highly skilled).

Grab a seat and listen to this example, bearing in mind, of course, that not all future attorneys are like this, but there's always at least one in the bunch. There was a guy, we'll call him Reginald, who was at my friend's firm. He and his fiance, we'll call her Harriet, attended a couple of the same events to which I was invited. Unfortunately for me, I generally sat next to them. At first glance, this couple seemed a bit dorky, but nice enough. Then, I actually talked to them and discovered that they were intentionally pretentious snobs. Quite honestly, I don't think people can be as snobby as they were without making a real effort.

Often when speaking with them, the fact that my friend and I came from Oklahoma was brought up. Even though they were both raised in rural Pennsylvania, they seemed to believe that anyone from a flyover state such as Oklahoma must be a know-nothing hick. We always had to go through my educational background, which, in their eyes was sub-par. No, I didn't go to an Ivy (nor did they), and I ONLY had a Bachelors. Can you imagine? They constantly talked down to me as though I was far too stupid to catch on to their pretensions. When they asked about my friend's educational background, they brought up the fact that she attended Georgetown Law, but were horrified to learn that she attended a state school for her undergraduate degree (as did they). I had to step in and defend her intelligence to them a couple of times (along with my own). Now one night in particular, I was forced into a car with them. I was trying to just take the Subway, but my friend and her fellow lawyers insisted that I take the car. Unfortunately for me, I had to share the car with those two delights. As we drove, they put down the fact that I came from Oklahoma, that I only had a Bachelor's degree, that I worked as an assistant at a record label. They were especially disgusted by the fact that I knew so much about hip hop and rock (since, at the time, my employer was making quite a bit of money off of those genres). I had to listen to them carry on about how classical music is the only REAL music. Rather than spout of my knowledge of classical music (which is broad, since my degree focused on Historical Musicology), I just listed as they constantly put me down. Then we passed through Times Square. Just so everyone is aware, driving down 45th St past Broadway on most nights is a TERRIBLE idea. Why must drivers do it? Anytime a cab driver took me that way, I simply exited the cab. There was no point in sitting in traffic for a half an hour when I could just walk the 2 ½ blocks home.

On this particular night, as much as I attempted to get out of the car, I was denied. No no no…I had to just sit there with Reginald and Harriett. And what did we talk about? Musical theater. What specifically? Well, first we passed the sign for Saturday Night Fever, a play that my aunt had taken me to see a few months earlier. Now, just to be fair here, I'm not a huge fan of movies-turned-musicals, but it was entertaining. I enjoyed it. Harriet saw the sign and said, "Ick. Saturday Night Fever? That must be terrible."

"Oh yes. Can you imagine the kind of people that would go see something like that? Low class." Reggie replied.

I sat there quietly, wondering what to say. Then they asked my opinion. And I responded, "Well, it's pretty popular. My aunt took me to see it in January, and I have to admit, it was entertaining. The dancing was really impressive."

They looked at me with silent disdain. As the car sluggishly moved through traffic we got to the theater where Jeckyl and Hyde was playing. During my time in New York, Jeckyl and Hyde went through three lead males, and it was the brunt of all of my jokes. The commercials were not to be missed. Who were these leading men? Jack Wagner. Sebastian Bach. David Hasselhoff. Of all of them, the Hoff was, by far, creepiest. I've never seen Jeckyl and Hyde; however, at my brother's college graduation ceremony (well, it was really his EMT graduation ceremony), a group of musical theater students sang the love song from the play. And that's as much as I know about it….which is enough to know I never want to see it. (See, I can be a snob too, but I'm rarely malicious.)

On this particular day, Sebastian Bach was playing the title role. Since I often liked to laugh about it, I pointed it out.

'Sebastian Bach? Who's that?", Reggie asked.

"He was the lead singer of Skid Row. Now he's a Broadway star apparently."

"I assume that's not his given name." Harriet was not impressed.

"Uh, no. Stage name. I just think it's funny that he's starring in it and took over for Jack Wagner."

"Who's that?" They both seemed horrified by my knowledge and didn't see the humor in the whole thing.

"He was on a soap opera and had a hit song in the 80's."

"And they think these people are qualified to be on Broadway?" Reginald pondered.

"I wonder what the real Bach would have thought about that?" Harriet wondered aloud (and when she said Bach, she chose to pronounce the "ch" as a gutteral sound, much like Channukah would be pronounced, as opposed to the more standard "k" sound.

"Yes, what would Bacccchhh think of that? I'm sure he wouldn't be pleased that some hack from a, what kind of music did that band play?" Reginald jumped in on the cccchhhh train.

"Uh, they were a hair metal band."

"A what?" Harriet asked. "I don't think J.S. Bacccchhh would appreciate that."

'Not a chance. I enjoy the music of Bacccchhh. You probably aren't familiar." Reggie added.

"To be honest, I took an entire course on Bach. I know quite a bit about him. But that's really neither here nor there."

"Oh, so you are familiar with Baccchhhh? I don't know why anyone would listen to anything other than classical music. It's just a waste of time."

And that's when I stopped talking. The next part of the conversation revolved around the fact that I only had a Bachelor's degree with no solid plans to go to graduate school while Reggie was in law school and Harriett was getting her PhD in English. I had never been happier to get out of the car and wave hello to the hooker in front of my building.

Now before I give ALL summer associates a bad name, many of them are very nice. These two were particularly dreadful. And, just so you have an update, Reggie was fired in his first year on the job. No one was ever fired from that firm. Apparently, he wasn't a good fit.

Now, back to my tour. The morning started off with a bang—literally. My driver and I set out early to go up to Napa, and I've never been happier for having such foresight. As we drove along the 80, we heard a loud "BANG" and the sound of shattering glass. I looked behind me, thinking that a car hit us, where I noticed that one of the windows appeared to be gone. Not believing it at first, I stuck my hand through the windowless window. Yep, no window. We turned around and switched to a new bus. Since we set out so early, this little setback wasn't a problem in the least. We arrived at the resort exactly on time.

I spotted the group, and they started to board. As everyone was getting on the bus, I noticed one summer associate in particular, and I wondered if he had recently auditioned for the remake of the made-for-TV movie, "The Preppy Murders". I kid you not (because this is the kind of thing I could never make up), he was wearing penny loafers, white shorts with a woven brown leather belt, light blue Polo shirt with the collar flipped up, and a white sweater tied around his neck. He topped the look off with sunglasses that rested atop his blonde head. Once on board, he sat with his crossed (man-style) in the middle of the aisle, as he leaned back reading his New York Times. Seriously? The guy wasn't even 25 years old. What is that? At first glance, I wondered if he were gay. No straight man would wear that get-up? And surely it was a joke! But alas, his lady friend, who was a bit taller than him and thin and cute, wearing a plaid dress and white sweater tied around her shoulders acted as the perfect beard.

Once everyone was aboard, I welcomed them, offered them water and air conditioning, and asked if they wanted commentary. Of course they didn't, but they said yes, putting me into the awkward position of giving them a very brief history of Napa Valley. Once I finished my uncomfortable history lesson, they asked me to turn on the air conditioning, and I obliged. Then, they asked for water, so I started passing it to them. As I got to the back of the bus, Prep School Murders was complaining about how cold it was (as if I were deaf).

"I know we asked for the air conditioning, but we don't need to feel like we're in the Arctic. This isn't a ski vacation. We're in Napa. I'd hate to have to put my sweater on. I didn't bring it for that. This is ridiculous. They clearly aren't concerned about our comfort. I don't see why it has to be so cold. I mean, the least they can do is oblige our request. This is unreasonably cold. What are we? In the Arctic?"

I was standing next to him the entire time he was talking.

"It seems a little chilly in here. Do you think we should turn the air conditioning down?" I asked the group.

"That would be nice. It's freezing. You don't have to put it on full blast."

"Right. I'll fix that for you." With that, I went to the front of the bus and adjusted the temperature. It was at that point that I decided to make myself scarce. While making myself scarce, I started getting very irritated by everyone on the bus. Why? Because I know these people, and I'm just as smart and educated as they are…and my background is not that much different…and I too went to a hoity-toity school. Yet, they chose to view me as a lesser human being and treated me as a servant. Is this what my life will become?

As we arrived to our first stop, PSM decided to take over the tour-guiding duties because he found himself to the most hilarious person on the bus. He wondered aloud why I was there since he did such a good job on his own. My day was going downhill fast.

We toured the art gallery at the winery then had a tasting. I stood in the back, desperately wanting a drink. Luckily for me, the wife of one of the firm's attorney's handed me a glass saying, "Here. You need this. It will make us more tolerable."

Try as I might, I can't hide anything on my face. Open book.

We left that winery, and some members of the group abandoned the bus, so the numbers changed. Our next stop was lunch. We got there, and I secured tables and wine for the group. I managed to weasel my way into a on-the-ground picnic with one of the firm's attorney's and her husband. They were quite nice and made an effort to learn a little about me. Hopefully they determined that I'm not an uneducated idiot.

As everyone finished their lunch, I attempted to gather them up to leave. At one of the tables, the picnickers made no effort to clean up after themselves. They just sat there and waited for me to pick up their trash. Little did I know I was also a busboy. I started picking up their trash, and the girls thanked me. I certainly felt appreciated. As I was walking the ten feet to the trash can, a couple of the guys noticed that I was picking up their mess and started helping. They even went as far as to apologize for the bad behavior of their colleagues.

Our journey continued on with a final stop at another winery. We toured the facility, and the group ended up talking so loudly that the tour guide gave up and abandoned his attempt at giving a tour. It was a damn shame because he was a really great guide, and everything he said was quite interesting.

We left that winery and dropped the group off at their resort. Most of them said goodbye and thanked me. A few chose to ignore my existence. Man I love 2nd year law students with a ridiculous sense of entitlement.

Moth Wars: The Battle of the Ugly Rug

Well, at long last, I packed up my computer and "other" office equipment. It took quite a bit more time than I first expected. Who knew there were so many wires back there? Well, I guess I did. And that's probably why I kept putting it off. Okay, so I kept putting it off because I was so darn tired after a long day of tour guiding. Today, I finally did it though. Boy am I glad I did!

What did I find, aside from a mess of wires and dust? Moth World USA. Yep. I found the campground on which my moth rivals set up land grants. Words cannot do justice to the feelings of disgust I felt when I found them. Nor can I describe how disappointed and grossed out I was to see that they had eaten a huge chunk of my rug. Gross. Totally. Gross.

I went on a murdering spree, killing pupas all over the place, but as I moved the computer equipment, I discovered that this job was going to require much more than I was going to be able to handle armed with nothing more than a random business card (that and the corner of the rug was totally falling apart because they had been feasting on it). Did I mention how nasty it is over there? So. Disgusting.

It's a real shame that my vacuum cleaner caught on fire a few months ago. I sure could use it about now. Luckily for me, I do own a Shark handheld vacuum, so I took some time with that powerful machine. It did a pretty good job, but I still had to touch the pupas when I emptied it. Eww.

This time it was 10,000 times more gross than last time. Last time, I picked them off of a different rug. I found a couple hundred. But this time....there were way more. And they were, in some cases, soft and slimey. Ick!

Now before you start thinking I'm some sort of slovenly blob of nasty, let me explain myself (and please don't drop in on me in the next few days because my house might tell a different story than I will here). Much in the same way that my ankles sprain at the slightest sign of goofiness, I have endured a slew of house pests.

When I moved here, one of my friends was kind enough to give me a potted tulip. Little did she know that tulips were my favorite flower, so it was a very nice gift. Unfortunately, it was harboring unwelcome houseguests. The tulip was hosting white flies, and then my house was infiltrated with them. At first I didn't know where they came from, but when I attempted to transplant the tulip, I was horrified to discover that the soil was very...active. So active that I had to take a closer look and discovered that it wasn't soil, but thousands of white flies! Gross. It took AGES to rid my apartment and plants of those little pests. They killed a few plants. AND, they led to spider mites. Ick.

I finally took care of that problem, and I thought I was in the clear. One day I purchased a peach from Albertsons. The next day, I picked up the peach, just to find that it was rotting because it was a fruit fly love den. What happened? My kitchen was stricken with fruit flies. Blah.

Then there were the mice. Oh the mice! I discovered them because one of them crawled up into my vacuum (pre-fire) and I kept hearing it scratching around in there. Not sure as to what the issue was, I let it sit for a couple days and just watched the vacuum suspiciously. At long last, I determined that the sound must be a mouse, so I picked up the vacuum to move it, when the little f-er came running out. I set up about 15 traps to try and catch it, but I was far from successful. When I woke up one night and saw a mouse run across my bed...where I lay my head...I knew I had to do something. I ended up catching the disgusting creature with a glue trap. I woke up in the morning to find it almost completely detached from the trap, trying to free itself. I re-stuck it and tossed it in the trash, not because I'm an awful human, but because I didn't know what to do. After consulting a few people, I decided to check on it in the trash. When I got there, the only thing on the trap was a penny, leading me to wonder if the mouse turned into a penny, or left me a tip (perhaps it was privy to the advice I was given--run over it with the car).

Once mouseville was shut down, I thought I was in the clear. Then the moths came. I was afflicted with these awful creatures for months. My plan of attack was to fumigate my apartment with moth balls for two weeks while I was in China. At first it didn't work, but then, after airing out my apartment and probably giving myself some terrible respiratory disease by breathing the moth ball air, I noticed that the moths had gone away.

Success!

Well, apparently not, because they are back. Luckily, my moth-killing skills have dramatically improved. For the longest time I would just run around my apartment madly clapping about. Now I actually kill them instead of looking like one of the "special" kids.

So, tonight I found their new home, and I'm going to toss out the rug. That is going to be my solution. It better work. I'm sick of them. It's time for another pest. Bring on the locusts!

My First Day Off

For an unemployed person, I sure do work a lot! Friday was my last day of work, and yet, today, Wednesday, is my first day off. I gave tours Saturday through Tuesday. Thank the good lord I had today! So how did I spend my day? Well, let me recap:

4:15 am - Opened eyes and was very dismayed to see that not only did I NOT sleep in, I woke up earlier than usual.

6:45 am - Couldn't keep eyes closed any longer. Decided that I may as well get up.

7:15 am - Wandered around the house trying to figure out what to do with myself.

7:40 am - Showered and washed hair. What a fete!

8:15 am - Ate oatmeal

8:30 am - Watched Today show

8:45 am - Checked email

8:50 am - Dried hair

9:07 am - Realized that I dried hair too long and was late for important phone call at 9.

9:08 am - Dialed number, but couldn't get through.

9:14 am - Dialed another number. Still no dice.

9:21 am - Tried again. Nothing.

9:23 am - Emailed friend in Ireland to say that my calling card was a defective piece of crap.

9:27 am - Surfed the web for information about celebrity dads.

9:35 am - Considered getting dressed.

9:38 am - Called AT&T to disconnect work phone just to find out that I was right in the first place and that it wasn't my responsibility, but my former employer's responsibility, to do that.

9:44 am - Emailed private tour wineries to confirm upcoming tour.

9:47 am - Got IM from friend in Ireland

9:52 am - Panicked because I was chatting with friend, but needed to get dressed and ready for facial appointment.

10:07 am - Got dressed.

10:14 am - Applied mascara.

10:26 am - Left House.

10:31 am - Boarded train toward downtown.

10:33 am - Joked with mother of child that was having a temper tantrum over not being allowed to eat anymore bunny crackers.

10:35 am - Annoyed by the class full of 4th graders that were taking up all of the seats because I wanted to sit...and I AM an elder.

10:36 am - Really annoyed that the teacher did not force the kids to evacuate the handicap seats when a HANDICAPPED person boarded the train.

10:41 am - No longer think temper tantrum is funny. Not the only one either.

10:43 am - Relieved when the embarrassed mother left the train with temper tantrum child.

10:46 am - Waited way too long for 4th graders to exit train.

10:48 am - Waited too long for train to cross 18th St.

10:51 am - Very nervous that facial appointment was in 9 minutes, yet was about 10 minutes away.

10:51:30 am - Very concerned about tardiness.

10:52 am - Getting angry that train is not moving.

10:53 am - Wishing for a time machine of some sort.

11:00 am - Exited train and called salon. Then ran through city to get to appointment.

11:06 am - Entered salon, just to find out that facialist was late too (and was aboard same train).

11:20 am - Began facial

12:15 pm - Purchased products because am sucker.

12:23 pm - Went to restroom and admired clear pores on face.

12:27 pm - Walked over to Macys.

12:35 pm - Wandered around cosmetics section hoping someone would offer to put makeup on naked face.

12:39 pm - Got tired of waiting for someone to offer to apply mascara and went to get food.

12:44 pm - Stood in line at Wolfgang Puck's because wanted Veggie sandwich with Goat Cheese spread.

12:46 pm - Listened as sandwich man told all patrons that tomatoes were inedible in California because they all have salminella.

12:48 pm - Ordered veggie sandwich.

12:48:15 pm - Informed that the veggie sandwich was not available because of the tomatoes.

12:48:17 pm - Confused since tomatoes are a minor ingredient of the veggie sandwich.

12:48:23 pm - Ordered pesto chicken, but really wanted the goat cheese spread.

12:51 pm - Took fully prepared sandwich (sans Goat Cheese Spread) and got iced tea.

12:53 pm - Sat down to eat sandwich

12:53:07 pm - Disappointed in sandwich. Wished there was goat cheese spread.

1:06 pm - Disposed of waste and refilled iced tea.

1:11 pm - Purchased cookie.

1:15 pm - Went to shoe department to search for friend.

1:17 pm - Abandoned search in favor of sitting outside and eating cookie.

1:22 pm - Sat in Union Square, eating cookie.

1:24 pm - Made some phone calls.

1:27 pm - Devised plan to walk the cosmetics section again in hopes that someone would apply makeup to naked, yet unbelievably smooth, face.

1:34 pm - Received phone call.

1:52 pm - Hung up phone

1:52:12 pm - Noticed two people dressed as cows in front of Macy's.

1:52:17 pm - Called the person with whom I'd just spoken to discuss the cows.

1:54 pm - Wondered if they would invite a gorilla into their gang.

1:56 pm - Watched them go into Macy's

1:56:08 pm - Decided to trail them.

1:58 pm - On way back into Macy's, happened upon a video shoot with young girl all done up to appear older and hussy-like walking down street and hailing a trolley.

2:01 pm - Wandered back into Macy's.

2:03 pm - Sauntered around cosmetics area, attempting to look at makeup in hopes that someone would want to apply SOMETHING to my face.

2:06 pm - Circled back around cosmetics area.

2:08 pm - Gave up and went to bathroom in basement.

2:12 pm - Walked by Ben & Jerry's and located the cows. Discovered they worked at the ice cream counter. Suddenly it all made sense--except the weird video shoot, of course.

2:18 pm - Decided to go to Sephora and apply own makeup.

2:22 pm - Got sidetracked by H&M

2:43 pm - Found self in dressing room, naked and dismayed by own appearance....especially from behind.

3:01 pm - Decided to purchase 3 items.

3:06 pm - Received call from shoe department friend.

3:09 pm - Met him while at register.

3:15 pm - Went to lunch with friend.

4:07 pm - Wandered back to Macy's

4:16 pm - Allowed self to get caught up in shoe search with friend.

4:28 pm - Tried on 12 pairs of designer shoes, knowing full well I wasn't going to buy anything because I'm cheap.

4:46 pm - Called another friend to alert her to my planned tardiness to our drinks appointment at 5pm.

4:52 pm - Tried on the full pair of Marc Jacobs shoes that I had no intention of purchasing.

5:04 pm - Purchased the Marc Jacobs shoes.

5:16 pm - Went to board MUNI train toward home.

5:28 pm - After much train drama, finally boarded my train.

5:47 pm - Got off train, feeling totally motion sick.

5:49 pm - Got home and dropped off newly acquired clothes and skincare products.

5:51 pm - Applied mascara.

5:53 pm - Got in car to meet friend for drinks.

6:07 pm - Went to wine bar and drank too much wine, while regaling my friend with all of the reasons why I hate Facebook....starting with the fact that people I don't know keep finding me claiming we were friends in high school....and while we may have attended the same high school, I have no clue who they are...and my memory is good...excellent in fact.

7:48 pm - Went home and tried on Marc Jacobs shoes.

8:02 pm - Decided to make brownies.

8:06 pm - Got sidetracked by IM.

8:34 pm - Decided to write blog.

8:39 pm - Attempted to kill moth in hallway by throwing a cardboard box at the ceiling where it landed. Completely failed at the task.

8:48 pm - Decided to write blog.

9:29 pm - Finished blog...almost.

9:30 pm - Feeling guilty for not having packed up and mailed off computer equipment.

9:31 pm - Decided not to make brownies...and may just go to sleep.

9:38 pm - Reviewed writing and posted blog.

The End.

And that's how I spent my day. Now I have another moth to attempt to murder mercilessly.

I Think I Just Divorced My Job

Well, it's here.  I hung up my uniform (if you call my bathrobe and slippers a uniform), and now I'm done.  It's all over.  And I feel a little weird.

My DSL is still on, so I'm not sure when that will change.  Tomorrow?  Monday?  Who knows.  What I do know is that I have to pack up my stuff and send it away.  Well, it's not my stuff; it's someone else's stuff that's been inhabiting my living space, and has consumed my entire life, for seven years now.

Seven years.  Did I get an itch?  Perhaps.  To be honest, there's a part of me that wishes I could have held on for ten...that would have meant a plaque.  And who doesn't need another one of those?

Anyway, I turned in my "cool" card, so now it's up to me and my sparkling personality to see if I'm "cool" without being a high-falutin' record weasel.  Hopefully I pass the test.  Now I can be a freelance tour guide...and really?  That's kind of cool in and of itself (and no, there's no paycut either, which just shows that I was always paid in glamour...and sadly, it was never that glamorous (Of course that is all dependent on one's idea of glamorous.  If glamorous is forgoing your name so a pop star can just call after you as "girl", then sure.  If glamorous is hanging out in dingy backrooms at record stores or getting into physical altercations with a fax machine, then yes.  If glamorous is receiving as many XXXL promo t-shirts as you could ever possibly want, then definitely.  Most importantly, if the glamorous life is one where you never leave your studio apartment and spend your entire day sitting next to the refrigerator on a computer solving issues that are quite minor in the grand scope of things, then I'm all that and a bag of chips.  Viva la glamour!)).

So, here I am.  And there are the boxes.  In just a couple of days, the last decade of my life will be officially evicted from my home.  Well, that's a little dramatic.  I do still have my Sevendust and Snoop Dogg gold records.  I mean, come on!  How could I possibly part with those?  I just don't have the work anymore, and that's really strange--even though I was ready to let it all go.

Don't get me wrong here, I'm excited about my new adventure.  I mean, come on!  If it works out as I would like it to, I'm gonna have the whole world in my hands.  I'm just sad to close this book.  My friend said, "When you're 17, and you decide you want to work in the music industry, there is no plan B."  She's totally right.  There was never a plan B for me.  All I wanted was everything I achieved.  It may not have turned out exactly as I imagined, but I never knew exactly what I wanted in the first place.  I just knew that I wanted to work in music, and I'm lucky that I made it happen.  Up until now, I could never picture myself doing anything else, and, suddenly, I'm doing just that.

Often, I would laugh to myself at shows, wondering what my 17-year-old self would think of me.  There I was, standing at a show, just as I hoped to spend all of my free time, and yet, I still wasn't that cool.  What would my 17-year-old self have thought if she looked into the future and saw me standing there alone in a room, entertaining myself with the ice in my drink that I slurped down entirely too fast because it was the only thing I had to distract me from the fact that I was trying to kill a half an hour between the bands' sets?  I'm guessing that it wasn't quite like I imagined it, but I still wouldn't trade it in for anything.  And would that 17-year-old be disappointed that I threw in the hat?  Would she have wanted me to carry on and fight the good fight?  It's hard to say.

Now I'm 32, and I've got this whole new plan A (again with no plan B).  As I said before, hopefully I can make it a reality, but I do wonder (and experience is bringing this question), what happens in 15 years once I've achieved the goal?  Will I find myself back in this place?  Who knows.  That's not something I need to worry about right now.  It's just time to get over the hump.

Besides, the true battle is only in its infancy, and that's "Moth Wars 2008: This Time it's Personal".

Zoo Poo

Ew.

Ick.

Yuck.

I just got back from a little errand to the post office.  Being that I arrived a mere 20 minutes before closing time, it was packed. I'm glad the post office was my second stop on this little whirlwind trip down the street; otherwise, I would have missed the UPS pick-up time for my very important papers that I had to drop off at the UPS drop-off.  Phew.  What a relief.  I always feel like a sage when I choose to do something like go to the UPS place first and the post office second where I find that that there's going to be a long wait.  Go me.  Way to plan!  (Of course, we're not going to consider the fact that I had my packages ready to go by 10:30 this morning and managed to waste the majority of my day in a "meeting" that I technicially crashed just for kicks, which resulted in my missing a phone call that I told someone they could make (to me) today (though, in all fairness, I really thought they'd call in the morning before I left for my important meeting after which I decided to treat myself to a "coulda been" delicious melted cheese sandwich), but none of this plays into my tale today).

Back to the post office.  I walked in and the woman who would be my line buddy gave me an odd look of welcome.  She was older and supported her weight on a cane, while holding a large box (presumably to be mailed) in her other hand.  Her clothes were covered in lint or cat hair or something.  I didn't pay her much mind.  Then someone else came in after me and engaged me in small talk about the length of the line.  Then, I smelled poo.

My eyes got all shifty as I tried to pinpoint the origin of the stench.  There were a couple dauchsunds at the front of the room.  Could they smell like poo?  The smell kept wafting in and out.  Maybe I was imagining it.  Back again.  Hmm..I wondered if it was me for a second.  I mean, I am sporting 5-day old hair today...and my jeans probably would have been better off in the hamper than enduring a quick Febreze fix on the way out the door.  But no.  I most certainly was not the origin of the offensive odor.  There are plenty of times when I certainly could be.  I do have a habit of not showering if I don't absolutely have to (read: be around others).  Still, no.

Was it the baby in the carriage in front of the woman in front of me?  I pondered that for awhile as the little dogs left the premises.  The line moved, and the smell was back.  I kept trying to back away from it so the people behind me didn't think I was the bearer of this atrocious scent.  And then, I faced the grim reality.  It was the lady in front of me.  But what was the smell--aside from bad?

Well, I went through a number of things.  Poo?  It definitely smelled like poo.  But not pet poo.  It kind of had the smell of stale old poo.  Musty poo.  But how could it be?  She wasn't homeless.  Crazy, perhaps, but not homeless.  And, as far as I could tell, her pants weren't soiled (and I've been behind that action before, so I know what that smells like).

As I stood there in line, trying to avoid the stench, but also trying to place it (which really put me in an uncomfortable place nose-wise), I finally figured it out.  It smelled like zoo poo.  You know, like when you go into the indoor area of the hippo quarters where they swim around with enormous birthday-cake-sized poo, and the whole place stinks of it.  Could she be a zookeeper?

No, she struck me as more of a crazy cat lady.  Then, I sensed another smell.  Old cigarettes.  Perhaps she was a smoker?  Yeah, probably.  But that wasn't the only smell.  The lady smelled like zoo poo, and if it weren't so important to me that I mail off the chocolate chip cookies that I baked yesterday (if for no other reason than to get them out of my house, so I stop making meals out of them and eating them as bedtime snacks, which leads me to wake up at 3am feeling all sugar-buzzy for hours), then I might have bailed on the line.  But I couldn't.  And I was so close to the front.

I don't know what kind of complicated transactions people do at the post office, but, as I've pointed out before, it is very similar to the time-consuming transactions that took place at the Bank of China while I waited 90 minutes to exchange $50.  Maddening.  And when there's a foul stench next to me?  Unbearable.

Finally, the two people at the counter cleared away, and Zoo Poo and I were able to be helped (seperately, but at the same time).  The zoo poo smell lingered, and I worried again that it might be me (or it got stuck on me somehow), but then...there was a glorious smell.  Vanilla candle.  Oh thank you postal employee for burning a vanilla candle earlier in the day!  What a relief.

My package was mailed, and I high-tailed it out of there.  No more zoo poo.  Then I went to the bakery next door even though I wasn't hungry and the last thing I wanted was a cookie, or cupcake, or cheescake, or muffin, or scone, or tart.  But, I just had to go somewhere that smelled nice.  And then I just had to buy a Mexican Wedding Cookie and a Quake Cookie (oh, delicious chocolate hazelnut cookie covered in powdered sugar--so chewy, so decadent, so right.) because it would be rude not to.  Sure I ate my weight in chocolate chip cookies yesterday (and treated myself to one this morning with my eggs), and I did look in the mirror the other day only to be confronted with a complete stranger because I KNOW that I'm not that chubby, but I really had no choice.  When the girl got my cookies, she offered to put them in different bags.  I'm not sure why (aside from being nice) since they're 1) cookies, 2) not soup, 3) both are covered in powdered sugar, 4) not at risk to contaminate each other with their flavors since one is chocolate hazelnut and the other is pecan shortcake, 5) will be consumed quickly and simultaneously.  And that's how I got over the zoo poo.

Now I just need to get over the stress eating.  My pants don't fit anymore.

Bad.

Maybe I should go to the gym like I keep planning on doing, huh?

We'll see.  It depends on what bad tv is available for my viewing pleasure this evening, and if I choose to just go back to bed early.  Or if I decide that I should start obsessing about changing my life any more than I already am.

Such worries.  At least I don't have to worry about smelling like zoo poo...or do I?