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?

Come Back, Dear Readers!

It's true.  I took a little sabbatical from the blogging.  It wasn't my intention.  It just happened.  Things have been a little on the busy side this month; however, that doesn't mean I don't have stories to tell.

In fact, I did post a couple of new stories for your reading pleasure.  They are backdated, so perhaps they escaped your view.  Please see:

Wingin' it! and Stalked by Reality TV Stars

They're good ones.

Now, so I'm not leaving you high and dry...here's an observation...

Today I was in the Haight, and I was stopped a a stop sign, eagerly trying to cross the street to get to a soon-to-be-vacated parking spot.  In my haste, I started to move without noticing the large, frightening, punk rock street girl who walked in front of my car.  She turned to me and gave me a menacing look.  Her menacing look didn't frighten me as much as the FACE TATTOO.

Alright, people, let it be known that getting a tattoo on your FACE makes you scary.  There's no need to shoot people the evil eye.  You will be frightening even if you are smiling sweetly.  And who is going to hire you?  I don't mean to sound like a frumpy old lady, but seriously...face tattoos are kind of off-putting.  I mean, just think of Mike Tyson.  That guy bit off someone's ear, and he has a face tattoo.  It's totally creepy.

I'm not the best driver, and I make stupid moves like that one all the time.  But I think I'll be much more vigilant next time I'm in the Haight lest I get the stink eye from another person with a face tattoo.

Stalked By Reality TV Stars

Uhhh….why?

I spent my week at a record convention, but more importantly, I spent my week being unwittingly stalked by reality tv stars.  That's right.  Dan from The Biggest Loser was everywhere.  EVERYWHERE.

 

Day 1:

 

It all started at a suite party on Monday night.  I'd spent the earlier part of my evening at dinner with the management team of my company.  We had a delightful time, and when we got back to the hotel, we spent some quality time yacking it up in the lobby bar.  In fact, while in the bar, the CFO (who, for the sake of a visual image, has an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Furley from Three's Company) declared himself my dating coach and proceeded to shoo away any potential suitors (well, to be honest, he shooed away anyone male regardless of their intentions, making me suspect that the dating coach thing was merely a ploy to get me to spend time with him exclusively).  The joke went on all week long—especially after one of my clients believed that the CFO truly was my dating coach and started telling other people (in a somewhat bewildered and slightly worried way) that I brought a dating coach to the convention.  Luckily for me, I was alerted to his confusion early on, so I was able to set my poor client straight.  After that, we were friends for life.

 

Once things were winding down in the old lobby bar, a group of us headed up to a suite party.  We walked in, and I immediately spotted a familiar face in the middle of the room.  I couldn't place him at first, but then I realized…that's Dan from the Biggest Loser.  And then I made another realization—I hate that guy!  At first I wasn't convinced that it actually was Dan, but as I wandered around the party (which didn't take too long because the suite wasn't THAT big), I kept walking past him and determined it must be him.  So that's when I started trying to get other people in on it.  I mean, what if I was just seeing things?  I had competed in a triathlon the day before, and I was still a little tired…and it was late after all.  The first 14 people that I approached didn't watch the show, so they couldn't corroborate my story.  Not to be deterred, I soldiered on and started asking people outside on the balcony.

 

Finally, I found a viewer in one of my friends from New York.  "Do you watch the Biggest Loser?"  I asked.

 

"Yeah," she suddenly got excited.  "Is that really Dan from the Biggest Loser in there?!"

 

"It totally is!"

 

"I have to meet him.  I need to get my picture with him.  Come with me!"  She grabbed my hand, and we went back inside the party.  I stood on the sidelines because I had no desire to meet Dan from the Biggest Loser.  None.  I couldn't help but stare though because he was about my height, and while he was a regular-sized guy now…he started out around 350 pounds on the show.  That dude was HUGE.  Kudos to him for the accomplishment.

My friend chatted with him and got her picture taken.  When she came back, she exclaimed, "That was so cool!  My boyfriend will never believe I met him.  We love that show.  I asked him how is mom was.  And did you notice?  He's drinking water.  Good for him.  You know it must suck to be on that show because people recognize you in public and scrutinize everything you put in your mouth."

That was all fine and good, but I had bigger fish to fry and more important questions to ask.  "Now why is he here?"

She handed me a business card.  It read, "I Saw You On TV".  We surmised that he (and a guy from Survivor who I didn't spot, so I was just taking everyone's word on that one) was on a record label by that name.  Weird.  Well, he did like to claim that he was all rock and roll, so I guess it's fitting.

Once the mystery of Dan from the Biggest Loser was solved, I looked at my timepiece (aka my cell phone) and realized that I needed to get back to my chariot before it turned into a pumpkin.  We left the suite, and I headed outside.  Being the klutz that I am, I tripped on myself and fell in front of all of the people smoking outside.  It was one of those magical maneuvers where I was on the ground and back up before I even fully understood what happened.  I walked so quickly that I made it half a block before one of the smokers called after me to make sure I was okay.

Once I rounded the corner to get the garage where my car was housed, I discovered that I was too late.  A pumpkin it had become…well, it was locked in the garage for the night.  So, I hailed a cab and directed the driver to my house.  Then I opened my wallet to discover that I didn't have enough cash, so I directed the driver to the bank three blocks away from my house.  We pulled up to the bank, and I went inside to get money from the ATM.  Upon my return to the cab, I handed him the money, including a pretty hefty tip, and rather than allow me back in the car to drive me back to my house, he turned around and drove off.  Now just so we are all clear, he drove off in the direction of my house.  Considering the fact that it was 2am, and I was alone, and a girl, and I might have been a little tipsy, and I gave him a large tip, you'd think the least he could have done was to let me sit in the car for the three blocks he was driving regardless of my presence in the car.  But, no.  I had to walk by myself.  So distraught was I that I chose to seek comfort in the doughnut shop one block from my house. 

 

Day 2:

I went back to the hotel for a full day of meetings.  Let's not dwell on that.  Instead, let's get to what happened that night.  Once the meetings were over, I wound up in the lobby bar (in between helping to set-up our suite party).  Who was there?  Do I really need to ask?  Dan from the Biggest Loser.  Seriously?

After that, I went up to our suite party.  Dan from the Biggest Loser was not in attendance; however, I wouldn't have been shocked if he was.

 

Then we had dinner at a Chinese place and came back to the lobby bar.  Who was always at least ten feet away from me?  Dan from the Biggest Loser.  That dude was everywhere.  I went down to a special event and he was there too.  Does he have a decoy?  How is he everywhere that I go?  I went back to the lobby bar, and he was there AGAIN!  I kept pointing him out to everyone around me.  It started to appear to others that I had a sick fascination with Dan from the Biggest Loser.  I couldn't stop talking about him.  I constantly looked in his direction.  I was obsessed…and I can't stand him! (The previous statement is based solely on my feelings toward him while watching the show.  Since I never made any attempt to talk to him in person, I have no idea what he is really like on a personal level, so my opinion is based on nothing more than voyeuristic television viewing and snappy editing.)

As the night wore on, I became more and more exhausted, and my contacts became more and more foggy.  It was time to go.  I said my goodbyes and managed to escape the stranglehold that another friend put on me as he attempted to drag me up to a party (that Dan from the Biggest Loser apparently attended as well).  I went outside to the valet and requested my car.  As I was waiting for my car, I saw someone walk toward me.  He was wearing a tye-dyed tank top and had wild hair and a scruffy beard.  No way.  Rupert from Survivor.

 

I kept glancing over, trying to determine whether or not my eyes were deceiving me.  My contacts were really foggy, so that was a definite possibility.  But, no.  It was true.  Rupert from Survivor was standing next to me in the parking garage at 1:30 in the morning.  It was definitely time for me to go home.

So that was the guy from Survivor that was here with Dan from the Biggest Loser.  Weird.

 

Day 3:

 

More meetings.  More talking.  Some shopping.

 

Then…

 

Lobby bar.

 

Who was there?

 

Dan from the Biggest Loser.

 

Who was I talking about?

 

Dan from the Biggest Loser.

 

What was I saying?

 

I can't stop talking about Dan from the Biggest Loser because he's EVERYWHERE.  It's driving me crazy.  I feel like I'm obsessed with him.  I am obsessed with him.  And I don't even like him.  I just can't help but notice every time he is within ten feet of me, which is constantly!  AAAAAAAAA!

 

Next stop: Banquet

 

Who was there?

Everyone including Dan from the Biggest Loser and Rupert from Survivor.

What was the dress code?

Formal.

 

What was Rupert wearing?

Tye-dyed t-shirt, jeans, Birkenstocks, and a sports coat.

What's next?: Lobby Bar.

Who's there?

Dan from the Biggest Loser.

And what did I do next?

I went on a lame party-hopping adventure led by my dating coach.  Here's the story.  My group of lobby friends and I were going to head up to a party when I spotted my dating coach.  I informed him of the plan, and he told me that the parties were terrible.  One was too crowded and the other was totally dead.  Not willing to take his word for it, I insisted that we go.  So, we all piled in the elevator to head to the big party on the 36^th floor.  The whole ride up to the party, my dating coach told us that the party was too crowded and not worth the effort.  We fell out of the elevator and made our way into the party.  A coworker stopped me in the hallway, but my dating coach located me and pushed me into the party.  It was crowded, but not unmanageable (and, yes, Dan from the Biggest Loser was there).  I found someone with whom to chat, and ten minutes into my conversation, my dating coach came up behind me and told me it was time to see the dead party. 

 

He pushed me out the door and into a crowded elevator.  Apparently, it was too crowded because it wouldn't move.  We got out of the elevator and saw that one opened up on the other side.  Who was in the elevator with us?  Rupert from Survivor.  He made some comment about the other elevator being broken in his very gruff voice and we held a polite conversation.  Some of the other guys from our former elevator piled in.  My dating coach insisted on pushing the button for the 4^th floor.  When I glanced at the button, I noticed it said "Massage – Fitness – Center".

"Uh, where are we going exactly?" I asked.

 

"You'll see."

 

"Should I be concerned that you're taking me to the Massage floor?"  Everyone in the elevator turned to look at us and appeared somewhat horrified.

 

Indignant, my dating coach replied, "That is disgusting.  We aren't getting massages.  We are going to something much less exciting."

 

At that point, we arrived on the 4^th floor, and my dating coach pushed me through the hall to the dead party.  Boy was it dead.  The music was WAY too loud for the 14 people that were in there.  I grabbed a glass of wine, looked around for a bit, then noticed that Dan from the Biggest Loser was there too.  WHAT?!

My dating coach declared the party lame, so we headed back to the 36^th Floor.  Before getting to the elevator, we were informed that that party was shut down.  We went back to the dead party.  Then we decided to go back to the 36^th floor just in case.  They weren't letting anybody back in.  So, we headed back down to the dead party.  At some point, my dating coach decided to call it a night, and I located my original lobby friends.  We all reconvened at another party on the 30^th floor. Oh yeah, and Dan from the Biggest Loser was in there too.

We were there entirely too long.  By 3:30 AM, we were all sitting around complaining about the fact that we were there in the first place.  All at once, we made a hasty exit, and one idiot at the door grabbed my arm and chastised us for leaving.  Apparently the party was just beginning.  I, along with the help of my friends, freed myself from his grasp and went home.

I never saw Dan from the Biggest Loser again…  Nor did I see Rupert…  Until I looked up http://isawyouontv.com/.

Wingin' It!

All these months of intense training (okay, so it was more like thinking of intense training but really not doing it), I conquered the Wildflower Triathlon.  How awesome was I?  Well, you'll just have to read on to find out.  I dominated all weekend long.  Now, when most people make a claim of domination, they are usually referring to their superiority at sports or something of that sort.  I dominated at being a Poorly Prepared Princess.  Who rocks the house?  That's right...I do.

After the disastrous training weekend where I became very adept at changing bike tires (after becoming an expert in popping them), I decided that I needed to be more prepared for the camping trip.  Sure it was fun to eat only peanut butter sandwiches for two days straight, but this time I had access to an ice chest.  Who am I to turn that down?  What did I do?  I branched out and purchased other items in addition to my peanut butter (though, I still ate peanut butter at an alarming rate all weekend long).  I purchased trail mix, deli turkey, sesame sticks (which I kind of regretted after eating too many without a steady supply of water near me), those wax-covered cheeses, and I packed fixings for a salad that never managed to get made.  I was so prepared!  This time, I even packed some cups so I could make oatmeal in something other than my mouth or hand.  We're talking professional camper here, people.  I expect to get called for a nature show any day now.

With the camping supplies under control, I tackled the triathlon gear.  Running shoes? Check. Bike? Check. Goggles? Check.  Wetsuit? Maybe I should do something about that.

Now, the week prior to the trip, I was really quite busy.  I didn't have time to rent a wetsuit in advance, so I decided to just leave it up to fate.  On my way out of the city to meet my ride across the Bay Bridge, I stopped at the sporting goods store that has been alternately good and bad to me.  Surely they would have a wetsuit available for rent.  At this point, I certainly had no intention of purchasing one.

Making my way over to the wetsuit rentals, I noticed that almost all of them had hold tags on them.  Perhaps I should have seen this coming.  Seven thousand people do compete in this triathlon, and plenty of them are coming from San Francisco.  But still.

In usual fashion, no one was anywhere near the wetsuits.  I flagged down a salesperson who informed me that this was not his section.  Luckily, he was kind enough to find someone to help me.  That dude took his sweet time getting over to me, and he was a ball of sunshine. 

Me: Hi there.  Can you help me?
Ball of Sunshine: What do you need?
Me: Do you have any wetsuits available for rent?
BS: (without looking at me OR the wetsuits) No.
Me: Really, all of these are rented? (I point at the cluster of wetsuits without tags.)
BS: There aren't any.

And he walked off.

Once again, I was dazzled by excellent customer service.  Perhaps he is related to the other guy that forced me to decide to NEVER buy anything from him EVER in my entire life.  Or, maybe he was just trained by him.

Furious, I stomped out of there, purchased some extra CO2 cartridges and got in my car.  I was going to brave the cold waters of Lake San Antonio sans wetsuit.

Sure I was nervous, but what choice did I have?  I mean, seriously?  I couldn't purchase a wetsuit from that jerk?  I was far too angry, and I really didn't have that much time.  What was my only choice?  Wingin' it!

Back to the journey...

I got to my carpool buddy's house, and we loaded the car.  She was pretty amazed at how little I packed.  Little did she know that it wasn't my camping prowess that allowed me the confidence to bring so little, it was more my amateurish desire to pretend I wasn't actually camping and, therefore, didn't need anything all that fancy.

We drove and drove and finally made it to the entrance of Lake San Antonio.  Feeling confident, yet tired, we handed the cashier $40.  Then, she told us it was $120 for the weekend.  What?!  We thought she was kidding, so we made a joke of it.  Sadly for us, she was dead serious.  And we paid the money and started the search for our fellow triathletes...in the dark.  By some miracle of fate, we managed to spot our group.  We pulled up the car, pulled out the tents and started to set them up.

Now, as you may recall, it took six people to figure out how to set up my tent last time.  Since I was a confident camper this time, I knew I could do it on my own, so I set out to do just that.  Was I successful?  No.  One of the guys that helped me the first time recognized me, as well as the tent, and attempted to help.  We had to call four more people over to figure it out.  Once again, it took six people to set up my tent.  Perhaps I was a little overzealous in my camping prowess.

Once the camp was set, we sat around preparing dinner.  Quickly everyone noticed that I wasn't preparing anything, and that's when I chose to reveal all of the things I neglected to do because…I'm wingin' it!

No, I didn't bring any kind of cooking utensils, pots and pans, or otherwise.  Yes, I do have peanut butter, and I'm already tired of it.  I have no intention of staking my tent because I don't feel threatened by wind.  And of course I didn't bring anything more than my sleeping bag because I'm going to will the temperature to be just right.  A pillow, you ask? Who needs that when you can rest your head on a towel?  No, I didn't bother to get a wetsuit, so we'll just see how tough I really am.  Oh yeah, and I don't have any flip-flops, or a hat.  I did bring a flashlight, but I didn't bring anything upon which to sit.  I only have one towel (which doubles as my pillow) and exactly enough clothing to last me through the triathlon.  Oh yeah, no bug spray.  And yes, when I fix my oatmeal in the morning, I will be using a red plastic cup, and no, I'm not concerned about it melting or emitting dangerous radiation into my oatmeal (that will be prepared with the water that someone else boils).  Why?  Because I'm wingin' it.  That's just the kind of girl I am.

All I can say about the following day is, thank the good lord for a food court.  After lazily watching the professionals run by us on the long course, we sauntered over to the expo area.  While our reason for going was to pick up our registration materials, I knew I was there to eat food from a tent.  Unfortunately for me, I ran into yet another snag.  In my rush to get out of the house with as little supplies as possible, I forgot my USAT membership card.  You wouldn't think that would matter, but it did.  That little error cost me ten more dollars.  I tried to convince the woman that it wasn't necessary to make me pay an additional $10 for a membership I already have (and have paid $40 to attain), but she wouldn't listen.  So pay I did…and then I found out that one of my teammates didn't have to pay the $10 even though he, too, forgot his card.  It was clear to me that the universe was against me, and I should seriously consider purchasing or renting a wetsuit at the event.

Once they got more money out of me, I wandered over to the food court, and stood in line for a hot dog—then I realized that was a bad idea.  So, I got some faux Chinese food.  It did have vegetables, and that seemed like a better option the day before a race.  After eating, I wandered around looking at wetsuits.  The woman at the wetsuit rental tent offered to let me borrow one so I could see if I thought the water was too cold.  Since it was so hot outside, I decided that the water must not be cold, and my choice to go sans wetsuit was made.

That night I slept like a baby.  Okay, I slept as well as someone could when they are camping.  Morning came, I got out of my tent, and there was no sun to be found.  No, no sun.  Just…fog.  Crap!  I don't have a wetsuit!  It was so cold outside.  I got my gear together and threw a sweatshirt on over my race-wear.  My friends and I headed down to the transition area, and we set everything up.  Our wave was an hour and a half after the start, so I had plenty of time to regret my decision to go in the water without a wetsuit.  Did I mention how cold it was outside?  Whose idea was it to wing it anyway?  As we watched the swimmers get out of the water and run up the hill to the transition area, I realized that I didn't have any flip-flops.  This caused me great distress.  I don't like running barefoot because my feet are quite delicate.  I never had a problem running around barefoot as a kid in the 110 degree heat, but now I'm a shoe-wearer (Not only am I  a staunch shoe-wearer, but I get totally grossed out when others don't wear shoes in the city.  Come on people!  I've stepped over needles.  It's just a bad idea!).  And that's when I realized something about myself.  I'm a Poorly Prepared Princess.  There is so much irony in being a PPP, and I tack on more irony because I don't even care that I am so poorly prepared.  I mean, come on, if you're a princess, shouldn't you make an effort to be prepared, and then if things don't turn out right, wouldn't you be upset?  But not me.  It's as though I've resigned myself to the limitations of my own laziness and lack of concern for obtaining the creature comforts that I want.  It's far easier (and somewhat fun) to announce that I don't have something that I want (or, in some cases, need), then slough it off as something unimportant because…I'm wingin' it.

But enough about that.  Let's get to the race!  Twenty minutes before the start of my wave, the sun finally made an appearance.  It was at that point that I finally started to feel a little better about my non-wetsuit-wearing ways.  Of course, I was the ONLY girl without a wetsuit, but that just made me special…and I won't even talk about how horribly unattractive I looked in bike shorts and a sports bra.  The wetsuit would have been infinitely better because I would have looked like cat woman.  Instead, I just stuck out…and the announcers could see my race number printed on my arms, so they announced my name.  Little did they know, I'm a slow-poke.  So, not only did the entire crowd know who the girl in her underwear was (and yes, it was somewhat reminiscent of the naked at school dreams we've all had), they could follow my progress and see that the two waves after me overtook me…and they were 10 years older than me.

I got through the swim, even though I went off course a couple of times, and emerged from the water.  Once again, the announcers called out my name, and everyone was cheering me on, telling me how much I rocked…and I knew, even though I was completely dizzy and wanted to slowly walk up the hill that I simply could not.  I was a pasty-white-soon-to-be-sunburned sore thumb!  So run I did, and once I got to the top, someone handed me water, and I stood next to the trash, drinking it, trying to keep my head from spinning.  Once I had my bearings, I wandered over to my bike and got ready for the ride.

The beginning of the ride is up a 2 mile hill that is very steep.  I took my sweet time, as did everyone else.  Since we were going so slowly, it took people years to pass each other.  I'd hear, "On your left…maybe…well…maybe later…wait…I'll be on your left in about a minute…okay…never mind."  We also cheered each other on, letting everyone know how great they were doing at .25 miles an hour.  It was really encouraging.  Once that hill was mastered, the race was on…until we got to the next hill, and the one after that, and after that, and after that.  Yeah, it was hilly.  I did quite well throughout the bike portion of the race.  Then, as I got to the top of Lynch hill (which was the hill I climbed in the beginning), I was zipping down, calling out "On your left" to runners and bikers letting them know that I was passing them.  I have no idea how fast I was going, but I'm guessing it was about 35 mph.  I should have known, but my computer wasn't working.  I just figured it was the batteries; after the race, I discovered it was because I put my wheel on backwards, so the computer thought I was going in reverse.  Rookie mistake!  Back to the hill.  I was going full speed down the hill when a tragedy almost struck. 

TNT is not dynamite.  Everyone gets a little down on TNT, but I never knew why…until I almost got into an accident with a cluster of them.  I was flying down the hill, when I saw a group of four runners side by side.  Not only is that poor etiquette, it's unsafe.  Next to the four runners was a biker.  How she was going the same speed as the runners is beyond me.  I started yelling, "On your left!", but they didn't stir.  I kept yelling.  I kept telling them to move.  I tried to hit my brakes, but I was going too fast.  I also knew that if I tried to slam on my brakes, I'd fly over the handlebars.  Also, I didn't want to get disqualified (or killed by oncoming traffic), so I didn't want to cross the yellow line.  I also didn't want to hit one of the bumps on the yellow line because I knew that would be the end of me too.  So, I just kept yelling, "On your left!  MOVE!  I'm talking to you purple!  MOVE!!"

Still nothing.  I got within two feet of the cyclist, and screamed at her as I started to lose control of my bike, "I'm going to hit you.  MOVE!"  Finally, she inched over enough so I could pass her.  As I passed, she said, "I couldn't move.  There were runners."

That wasn't a good enough excuse, I yelled back, "They needed to move too!"

Luckily, the crisis was averted, and I made it to the end.  I ditched the bike and headed out for the run.  Man was I tired…and nauseous.  Suffice it to say, I walked the majority of the run.  In my usual style, I did manage to run anytime I saw a camera pointed at me.  It is important to me that there be no records of my walking ways.  After much hill climbing, I got to the top of Lynch hill again, and started the run down.  I was doing so well.  I was almost done!  Then a 92 year-old woman passed me.  How do I know her age?  Well, in triathlons, they write your age on your calf, so, for me, I always know how out of shape I am for my age.  It's so awesome.  It was even more awesome to see the woman pass other twenty-somethings ahead of me and see them point at her calf in shock and awe. 

Finally, after 4 hours and 23 minutes of racing, I crossed the finish line.  I smiled the whole way and almost cried.  I was so excited to be done with that race.  A photographer came up to me and wanted to take my picture.  In my mind, I looked awesome, but when I saw the picture later, I realized that no one looks awesome after 4 hours and 23 minutes of racing.  Once my photo was taken, I stood by the trash drinking water.  Who am I?  Hulk Hogan? (And yes, there is a story to that one…maybe later).  Once I moved from the water, I went straight to the port-a-potty.  Did I mention that I had to pee throughout the entire race?  I tried to just let it go during the swim, but apparently my body is averse to peeing while in motion.  Talk about uncomfortable.

So I finished.  And I told myself that the one thing I wanted when I finished was a hot dog, then I saw the line to get on the shuttle bus back to camp.  Now, I could have walked up the hill back to camp, but I was in no state to do so.  Instead, I opted to wait in line.  I walked over to the line, and a guy came up 2 seconds behind me and asked, "Is this the shuttle line?"

"Yes"

"How long is the wait?"  Seriously?  Did you not notice that we arrived in the line at the exact same time?  Why would I know anything more than you at this point?

"No idea."

Then a couple of spectators walked up.  "Is this the shuttle line?

"Yes.  No I don't know how long it takes."

"Oh," they sounded disappointed.  "This isn't the line we want.  This is the line for people with bikes.  Where's the line for people that don't have bikes?  We shouldn't have to wait with all of you.  It's too hard to walk up that hill, so we should have our own shuttle."

At that moment, flames burst out of my head (and it wasn't the sunburn).  Are you kidding me?  Really, you've had a rough day?  You've been leisurely sitting around outside eating ice cream while everyone with a bike just RACED for multiple HOURS, and you deserve to be on the bus more than us? "There's only one bus."

"That sucks."  Then, they walked away, and I knew that I should eat because I was mad at the world for no reason in particular.

No hot dog for me--just a banana nut Clif bar and a bad attitude.

Upon arriving back to camp about an hour later, my friend approached me.

"Hey, is your tent the one next to the car?"

"Yeah, why?"

He started laughing.  "It blew over.  We saw it and immediately started taking bets on whether or not it was yours."

"Of course it's mine!  Was there really a question?  Wingin' it!"

"Yeah, we figured.  We were all joking around that you were probably in the tent when it blew over, and you were just hanging out in there resigned to your fate to never leave the tent again."

"Well, had that been the case, I probably would have just taken a nap.  Wingin' it!"  I laughed as I approached my overturned tent.

I started to pack up the tent, then decided it was shower time.  Oh glorious shower time!  Once I finished my shower, I saw the 92 year-old woman that passed me.  Upon closer inspection of her calf, I discovered she was actually 72.  Wow...so much less humiliating.

We packed up the car, and headed back to the city.  My vegetarian friend suggested In N Out (which was exactly what I wanted since I didn't get that hot dog).  We both had hamburgers, along with 200 other Wildflower participants, and it was the best darn hamburger I'd ever eaten.

So what did I learn from this race?  It's true.  I do like camping, and I bet I'd like it even more if I wasn't just wingin' it.  Also, I'm still slow.

Triumph!

You know what they say...Bitch betta have my money.  And, by George, bitch did!

The day finally arrived.  I won my battle with Phonies.  I have to admit, for the past few days, I started to question whether or not the battle was really over...and it is!

I checked my mail this afternoon, and what was waiting for me?  A check.  Who was it from?  Phonies.  How much was it for?  The exact amount they owed me.  I have overcome!

And let me tell ya, the timing couldn't have been better.  My bank account was about to be overdrawn, and if you know me and my meticulous financial accounting and conservative view of how much money I should have available to myself at all times, you know that's about as rare as bird poop landing in someone's mouth.  Of course, now I want to know what happened to all of my cash.  I blame Phonies.  Well, except their check allowed me to send off my rent check and the extra $10 that DPT claims I owe them for a parking violation (which I think is total BS because the ticket clearly stated $50, but they are claiming it said $60...and I don't have a copy of the ticket to prove my point, so I'm out ten bucks for a stupid parking violation that, while I did deserve it, was totally annoying because the officer quickly wrote it as I was walking up to my car, then ran to his car and sped away so he wouldn't have to face me...they should have to pay ME $10...but after the Phonies experience, there isn't much fight left...so I wrote the check.) without risking overdrawing my bank account and incurring overdraft fees.  I don't want to admit that Phonies saved me in the end, but maybe it's just desserts for them.  Here they were trying to screw me for months, and in the end, they helped me out by actually doing the right thing.

So, yay!  Now I just need the government to give me my money, and to get those overdue expense checks, and then I'll be back on my game.  And then when I'm back on my game, I need to figure out where all my money went.  Hookers and blow?  Perhaps.