Best of '08

In no particular order:

1) Sarah Palin Barack Obama
2) Tina Fey as Sarah Palin
3) Glasvegas

4) Dlisted.com
5) This kid:

6) “Return to London” trip
7) Amsterdam
8) AMA Reunion in San Fran
9) California Supreme Court repeal of ban on gay marriage (only to be overturned a few months later by Prop H8, but hey - baby steps)
10) Rielly Blair Sorenson

Au revoir 2008

First and foremost: In the wake of Mixwit's untimely demise, this is the latest discovery on my quest to enjoy free music:

Fresh Start

So, moving on - I'm back from a trip to Salt Lake, having enjoyed four days of gazing out a window from the security of my parents' home as the Valley was blasted by snow. It's been years since I had a white Christmas, and I certainly appreciated it to the fullest, just as I also appreciated getting off the plane at SFO and immediately ditching my heavy down jacket. The sentiment I have toward snow and proper winter weather is much like that which I have toward children: I'm able to enjoy both on a short-term basis, and then when I'm done - I'm done, thank you very much.

That being said, if I could have fit my youngest niece into my luggage and smuggled her home with me without the concern of smothering her or inciting kidnapping charges, I would have. Bold statement coming from someone like me, but it is the truth. I wonder how many people are born as naturally addictive and lovable as she was.

I'm looking forward to the coming year. More specifically, I'm looking forward to telling 2008 to GET THE FUCK OUT. I do believe Jasmine and I declared early on that this year's motto would be "I HATE 2008," and as the year is coming to a close, this is still very much the case. It was certainly THE most challenging and difficult year of my life. With all its challenges, though, my life is still very blessed, and spending the holidays with my incredible family was yet another reminder.

So - here's to gratitude, personal velocity, love and loss and all the many beautiful tragedies that make up our lives! Happy New Year!

First Day of My Life

Remind Me

Cheers!

Happy 75th Anniversary of the Repeal of Prohibition!

The Secret of Happiness is....

With the recent pub crawl and Thanksgiving madness (and yes, 'madness' is the most appropriate word), Madame Booze has been rather busy with reinstating her title. Today she finds herself in an all-too-familiar place of once again nursing her delicate head in the midst of a rather hideous hangover. (Btw - I think we might rename this blog: "The Story of Madame Booze and Me", and the header quote will be: "I am schizophrenic and so am I.")

Company holiday party tonight, which means no rest for the wicked. Apparently, if history is destined to repeat itself, at least one person will throw up all over himself, and another will be found passed out on the restroom floor. Perhaps Mr. Booze (no relation) will even break a glass or two by 'cheersing' a bit aggressively, and maybe a top exec will make a few sleazy remarks regarding the size of a certain employee's breasts. Oh, the joy of getting trashed with people you actually have to face every day! Hopefully we will come nowhere near a microphone so Madame Booze won't be given the chance to sing 80's new wave songs much too loudly and in a British accent....

Madame Booze makes a comeback

"And she was doing so well for a while there..."

Well, I am back. The black hole I fell into has spit me out again.

First and foremost, there is a pub crawl tomorrow evening hosted by none other than my alter-ego, Madame Booze. Madame has been sporadically off the bottle as of late, and amidst threats by the alcohol gods to revoke her title on these grounds, she has stepped forth to be the first woman in the running for a position on the Non TOK-sponsored Pub Crawl Committee. I heard a rumor that the committee members eat babies, or at least the Chairman (Master Bates) does (lightly toasted, with ketchup even), but I choose to find these things out for myself.

The pub crawl should most certainly be messy for some, debaucherous for others. I swore some time ago that I would never drink with my co-workers again (for the record, I think this pledge lasted all of a week). If I can show my face in the office Monday morning without having to do any damage control (an all-too-common practice for me following work events), then we'll consider it a good night.

I'd like to revisit the pre-established Tips for Surviving a Pub Crawl, just as a refresher.

And I'm curious as to why I always schedule a hair appointment the morning following a pub crawl. My stylist knows me in no other condition than when I'm sleep-deprived and reeking of alcohol. Oh, what he must think....

Save the Date - April 11, 2009

Costume Shopping

Wasn't Halloween once meant to be scary? Ghosts and ghouls and blood-sucking vampires, right?

Apparently Playboy has bought out the Halloween costume industry. Or so I was lead to believe as I was perusing the racks at the giant Halloween superstore on Market Street tonight, and feeling rather...prudish....

So let's see; I can be a Slutty Devil, Slutty French Maid, Slutty Nurse, Slutty Schoolgirl or....a nun. I guess this is what I get for waiting to the last minute.

"Excuse me, does this outfit come with the implants? No? Damn."

I could go as something hideous and bloody, but who wants to be THAT girl at the party, surrounded by pretty little half-naked bunny rabbits and kitty cats, and blatantly disregarded by every man in the room?

In the fitting rooms, the woman in the next stall over was wailing about how she wouldn't be able to eat the night she wears her pirate costume, which was really just the eye patch and not much else.

I found a fabulous Cleopatra wig, but the outfit to go with it was more or less a tiny strip of fabric that would just barely cover my girl parts, with slits down the sides of the pants for my ass cheeks to peek out and say hello to the world. The sales girl handed this get-up to me with a straight face, even after I'd told her I would want something I could wear to work. Maybe I should have specified what I meant by "work."

Finally I managed to find the least slutty, and yet still at least vaguely feminine, costume possible - save the nun's robe. I paid a small fortune for it then fled the store, leaving behind a gaggle of girls who were moaning over the impossibility of losing ten pounds from their thighs and having it injected into their breasts by Friday.

We, the People, of New California

Oldie but goodie....

Best of Craigslist:

Dear Red States...

We've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us.

In case you aren't aware, that includes Hawaii,Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and all the Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches. We get Elliot Spitzer. You get Ken Lay.

We get the Statue of Liberty. You get Dollywood. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss. We get 85 percent of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get Alabama. We get two-thirds of the tax revenue, you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22 percent lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. You get a bunch of single moms.

Please be aware that Nuevo California will be pro-choice and anti-war, and we're going to want all our citizens back from Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals. They have kids they're apparently willing to send to their deaths for no purpose, and they don't care if you don't show pictures of their children's caskets coming home. We do wish you success in Iraq, and hope that the WMDs turn up, but we're not willing to spend our resources in Bush's Quagmire.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80 percent of the country's fresh water, more than 90 percent of the pineapple and lettuce, 92 percent of the nation's fresh fruit, 95 percent of America's quality wines (you can serve French wines at state dinners) 90 percent of all cheese, 90 percent of the high tech industry, most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools, plus Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT.

With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88 percent of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92 percent of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100 percent of the tornadoes, 90 percent of the hurricanes, 99 percent of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100 percent of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia.

We get Hollywood and Yosemite, thank you.

Additionally, 38 percent of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62 percent believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the death penalty or gun laws, 44 percent say that evolution is only a theory, 53 percent that Saddam was involved in 9/11 and 61 percent of you crazy b*****ds believe you are people with higher morals then we lefties.

By the way, we're taking the good pot, too. You can have that dirt weed they grow in Mexico.

Peace out,
Blue States

keeping tabs

Well, good ole Wyoming and Utah are predictable as ever. It's looking promising overall, though....

Election Update

Stay tuned....

work in progress

The new design of this here blog of mine is still a work in progress. I'm aware that the links along the top are all buggered - that's because I ripped this layout off of somebody else - except the heading, that's MINE MINE MINE - and I'm not design-savvy enough to know how to fix it yet. That, and I simply can't be arsed right now.

I realize I have been somewhat MIA recently on account of being here, there and everywhere, not to mention very wasted busy for most of the last three weeks. I'll post about London and Amsterdam and other such mayhem soon (censored version, of course).

In the meantime, enjoy this amusing distraction from the presidential election insanity and dream of happier days gone by (more specifically, the 80's):

God Bless Tina Fey

Redheads and Hooligans

You had me at "The National."

Quote of the Day

This is why I'm concerned for my country:

"A lot of men have fought and died for my right to not give a shit about politics."

-direct from the mouth of my co-worker

I can't wait for the debate

“I have to admit, though, he’s a great debater, and he looks pretty doggone confident, like he’s sure he’s going to win,’’ Ms. Palin, 44, said of Mr. Biden, 65. “But then again, this is the same Senator Biden who said the other day that University of Delaware would trounce the Ohio State Buckeyes. Wrong!”

- New York Times, Sept. 29, 2008

Welcome home to Crazyland

I'm back on U.S. soil again, where anybody - and I mean anybody - can run for vice-president, even this kooky bird:


Watch CBS Videos Online

VOTE OBAMA

Thoughts for the Week

1. London
2. London
3. London
4. Work London
5. London
6. London

...you might say I have somewhat of a one-track mind these days....

sadly, this is not a joke

This is the breaking news headline that I was greeted with on Yahoo this morning, mixed in amongst other top headlining stories about Maasai warrior hairdressers in Kenya and algae-dyed polar bears in Japan:

Eyes turn to Sarah Palin's glasses from Japanese designer Kazuo Kawasaki

May I please take a moment to remind the headless masses that this is a woman who may become the next VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES (and yes, this means she would also be next in line to be president when Grandpa McCain kicks the bucket) and we're discussing her eyeglasses?? Who fucking cares where she got her glasses?! WHO THE HELL IS THIS WOMAN?? This is a woman whose existence went relatively unnoticed by the rest of the country until she supported the proposal to build a $398 million bridge to an island of 50 people and an airport, aka a "bridge to nowhere" (she later rejected the proposal after the state of Alaska was ridiculed for being full of morons).

She's the governor of a state nobody wants to live in anyway, she probably couldn't locate Iran on a map, and she's not talking to the media (although she did get rejected by Oprah - go O!), so apparently the best they can come up with is what kind of a fashion statement she's making. The media in this country infuriates me to no end.

So, anyway - Did you all see what Cindy McCain was wearing to the RNC? Ghastly!

New and Less So Mix

This is my new favorite thing and you can expect to see more of it coming your way....

if you can't cry, laugh

oh my head

I woke up this morning with this feeling of gripping dread. Maybe it was because it was 5am, and it's become painfully clear that even on the weekends, after days of perpetual sleep deprivation, it's still impossible for me to get a full night of restful sleep (note: my definition of "restful" is something between 8-10 hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep - an apparently impossible feat). When my internal alarm clock doesn't go off on its own, there's always my fail-safe back-up - the nutjob upstairs who has remarkably succeeded in being both the smallest and loudest person on the planet. I think someone may need to explain to her that closing a door does not require thrusting your entire body weight against it. Also, do the front steps NEED to be sprayed with a hose every single morning at 6am? Really?

Maybe this sense of dread this morning came because as I blinked my eyes open, I initially thought it was Monday, which would mean my two days of pretending responsibility does not exist has officially ended and it's back to turbo mode, which feels a bit like falling through the air with a steel anvil strapped to your back.

Maybe it's also that I'm admittedly more than a little troubled by the direction my country is headed in, and if I really overthink it, my planet, for that matter. It's enough to make me - ME! - contemplate praying, just because I think we can use all the help we can get. (The prayer would start out something like this: "Hi, God? Remember me? It's Amanda. Can we just let bygones be bygones and say for a minute that I have a legitimate favor to ask...?") Honestly, I think if you aren't at least a little terrified, you're not paying attention. I'm holding my breath for the next 8 weeks or so, and just hoping for the best. I don't know what else to do but hope, really. My own father, classic conservative that he's always been, suggested the other day that I join the Obama campaign. That's gotta tell ya somethin.

Maybe it's just a combination of all this, along with the unmentionables, which fall into the category of "Stuff I Don't Write About in My Blog", i.e. specifics about messy topics like romantic relationships, exes, etc. If the fate of the world isn't scary enough, then all I have to do is dig into the unmentionables bag, and I'll find all sorts of goodies to set me well on my way to Crazyville.

These are the dark alleyways my brain takes me down when it's torturing me, which is often, and inevitable at wee small hours of the morning.

I think I'll work on making a mix for my darling Kirk, who is here visiting now and is still, after 8 years of knowing him, one of my favorite reminders that all is not lost and life is still good.

Vote Obama 08 for the love of God and the rest of you Non-Americans who can't vote, PRAY (you can use my sample intro to a prayer above as a template).

moving poetry

Quote of the Day

Saw this on a T-shirt today:

"SARCASM: It beats killing people"

Rockin Beantown

Being booked for the 6 a.m. flight to Boston was beyond my control. So was the fact that I hadn't made it to bed until 2 a.m. the night prior. As was the additional fact that I slept through my alarm for the first half an hour that it went off. It's not my fault that I lack that biological trigger that propels one swiftly from sleep mode into wake mode; my transition into the land of waking is an excruciatingly gradual process, which the snooze button was actually designed to accommodate. I know people who bound out of bed in the morning, click their heels and do a little jig, then burst into song as they are greeted by bluebirds at their window with the sunlight pouring in. I am not one of those people - in fact, I very much try not to loathe those people. My room, aka "The Cave", gets no natural light, which means I could quite possibly sleep straight through the day without even realizing that daylight had come and gone. I do not sing or dance or smile first thing in the morning. For the first hour or so that I am awake, you're lucky if I will look you in the eye or say anything to you at all, and even then, you're likely to get little more than an unintelligible grumble of sorts.

Imagine then, if you will, my state of being this one early morning after something like three hours of sleep when I arrived sans coffee at the airport at such an ungodly hour that even the birds were like, "Seriously?" My roommate had insisted that we needn't be to the airport more than an hour in advance of take-off, and because his theory worked so well in my favor as it allowed me to oversleep that much longer, I went along with it, despite some lingering reservations I had. I may be chronically late for some things, but flights have never been on that list, right up there with movies at the cinema. I will go early and sit through the thousands of previews just to ensure that I get the seat I want. Likewise, I will generally arrive early to the airport just to avoid the quiet panic that sets in when being told I'm too late to check my bags, and I have to take the next flight, which is two hours from now and packed full, so basically, I'm fucked.

"Um, no, I have to get on this flight."

"The flight is boarding as we speak, and you can't check your bag."

If there's one way to wake me up that does not involve a caffeinated beverage or a gun, it's telling me I'm about to miss my flight to my first work conference ever. I went into instant 'go' mode and in the middle of the airport, I threw open my bags, shoving this and that here and there, emptying all liquids with which I could build a bomb, and at one point, sitting on my suitcase in order to get the damn thing to zip closed. I managed to consolidate my three bags into two, and miraculously breezed through security, which is slightly unnerving because I later discovered all the gels and liquids and sharp objects still left in my bag with which I could have caused all sorts of mayhem but had gone undetected on the security screens.

I was literally running down the concourse to the gate in my knee-high boots that are in fact not made for walking, let alone running, and I got to be that person who is last onto the plane after everyone is all settled in and already contemplating their drink orders. All eyes up front to the jackass who's delaying our departure.

I located my seat (conveniently at the back of the plane), and as the plane was taxiing onto the runaway, I had a private laugh with myself, in a mix of utter disbelief and relief that I had actually made it onto my plane, bags and all.

For most of the four days I spent in Boston, the city consisted of little more than the Hyatt Regency hotel, where the conference was being held. I was obligated to flash smiles and pleasantries for a multitude of new people, most of whom I had little to nothing in common with, beyond the fact that we happened to be sharing the same breathing space. The days consisted of business talk and formalities, while the evening consisted of booze, booze and more booze. The conference attendees in general were spouses and parents who clearly didn't get out much, at least not since their Sigma Chi or Kappa Kappa Delta days, so they were letting it all hang loose as this was more or less a vacation for them. Our firm, being arguably the youngest and hippest of them all, despite our affiliation with retirement planning, kept up the fast pace and made our presence well known, particularly on the night scene. For two and a half days this went on, and I essentially went along in a sleep-deprived daze, juggling my professional mask with the party one, and managing to sneak away to my room now and then to do some work and catch a few minutes of sleep.



One night, while riding in a cab sandwiched between two guys whose names I couldn't remember, I declared that it was my goal of the trip to have a Boston boy "talk Boston" to me. Talk Boston? they asked. Yeah, like when Casey Affleck says in Good Will Hunting, "My boy's wicked smaht."

One of the guys proceeded to disagree with me that it was actually Ben Affleck who said that line, and a full-fledged debate ensued, which carried on for the rest of the night and surely annoyed everyone around us. My opponent, who was very clearly wrong, foolishly bet me $50. He then managed to rope in someone else who was even more foolish and declared that she would bet her house that it was Ben.

Here are the results, my friends (wait 'til the end):



Indeed, I rest my case. I never got my $50 or the house, though. Bitches.


Andy and I managed to make some cool friends from the conference though, and that last night in Beantown we ditched the hicks from the Red states who were looking for a face-to-the-pavement kind of evening, and went off on our own to hit every variety of bar imaginable for a true sample of Boston nightlife. We wined and dined in Little Italy, rubbed shoulders with the blue blazer boys at Liberty Hotel while they were on dates with Buffy and Cricket, visited the frat boys over at Whiskey's and crunched some bared sandal toes with the spikes of our high heels, then stalked Andy's doorman at Whiskey Pete's - who was ultimately straight and quite content with his girlfriend, which meant all of us were simply S.O.L., so we just danced the night away instead.

The last day in Boston, after the tedium of the conference had come to a close and everyone scattered like ants, a few of us went on somewhat of a speed tour of the city, devoting some time to traumatizing the Christian Scientists and dancing in public fountains.



Before Boston and I were able to get very well acquainted, however, it was off to the airport (an hour and a half early, this time).

As it usually goes for me, my trip home couldn't simply be normal, and my flight was overbooked by 60 people (still not quite sure how that happens), so I got bumped to a later flight. I gave my most pitiful, doe-eyed expression to the lady behind the counter, and said, "I need to be spoiled. Can you tell?" She happened to agree and set me up with a first class ticket and a voucher for a free flight. Victory!

I sat under a solitary light in the darkness of first class, while everyone around me slept, and I read my book and sipped my English tea, feeling rather content with things. I never did find the Boston boy to talk Boston to me, but I'll be back.

Check this out

As someone who believes the art of making the perfect mixed tape is highly underrated, naturally I can appreciate this immensely.

"The making of a great compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don't wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. There are a lot of rules. Anyway... I've started to make a tape... in my head... for Laura. Full of stuff she likes. Full of stuff that make her happy. For the first time I can sort of see how that is done." - Nick Hornby, High Fidelity

Thoughts for the Week

1. I turned to my friend the other night - I believe I was in the midst of constructing luminescent jewelry in an Irish pub - and I said, "For the record, I love my life." My friend hadn't questioned this in any way - I think I just needed to hear myself say it out loud. He smiled and said, "I'm glad - you should."
2. We're meant to go through various stages of self-reinvention. That's why God invented hair dye.
3. If the Republicans win the Presidency, I'm headed back to England. Just ask my friend, Karl - he might actually refuse to have anything to do with me otherwise. He still hasn't gotten over Election 2004 - but then, who really has?
4. Every time somebody says, "McCain for President!" a little baby panda dies. Remember that.

How to survive a pub crawl

We have another non work-sanctioned pub crawl tomorrow night (oh dear, my liver), which means I should be sleeping now to rest up for a late night - but we all know that's not happening (see previous post), so I thought I'd compile some notes in preparation for tomorrow night's hedonism.

Tips for surviving a pub crawl:

1. Eat first.
2. Establish the "buddy" system, i.e., "you hold my hair back for me while I puke, and I'll hold yours."
3. Never have more than one drink at one location (2-for-1 at Badlands to kick off the night would be considered a terrible idea).
4. No shots without a chaser.
5. For the love of all that is holy, do NOT say at any point during the night, "I'm not even drunk," because someone will hand you a Long Island Iced Tea and you will drink it. And thus, the night for you will end.
6. No cameras. Unless YOU own it and control the rights to all images captured. Do NOT pose for pictures taken by anyone else.
7. Don't even try to meet up with anyone or wait for them. Because while you wait, you'll need a drink at all times, and you will inevitably break the one-drink-per-venue rule because people are flakes and who knows how long you could be waiting.
8. Somehow along the drunken trail, have some pizza. Grease helps to soak up booze, thus prolonging the evening.
9. NO RED WINE - you will get emotional or sleepy. In either scenario, the fun will end.
10. End the night with some dancing to work off the potential for hangover.
11. Deny everything tomorrow.

I am Amanda's one firing synapse

I'm currently conducting a study on sleep deprivation, and the idea is to go on as little sleep as possible before I just collapse in mid-stride like one of those Sims characters who's been awake for too long. Pretty soon, I'll be in the middle of fixing breakfast then I'll just pass out on the kitchen floor and no one will be able to wake me until I'm back in the green on the Energy meter. And yes, I am a bit of a computer geek - if I haven't made that abundantly clear by now.

A recap on my Boston trip is soon to come, but not just now - not while I have one firing synapse working overtime.

"With insomnia, nothing is real.
Everything is far away. Everything
is a copy of a copy of a copy."
- Fight Club (a flick I need to watch again soon, as it's been awhile)

And just because I went to a viewing of this last night and I'm still laughing, here's an episode of Yacht Rock:

Thought for the Week

It felt great to come home to San Francisco tonight.

Hangin with Wendy

So I've been in Boston for two days now, and so far, the height of my excitement has been paying a visit to Wendy's. "That's just plain sad," you say. Well, you clearly have never had french fries, soggy with grease, dipped in the smooth chocolatey goodness of a Frosty. That there is a lil bit o' heaven, my friends. San Franciscans, being all healthy and shit, have apparently banned Wendy's from the city or something, as there are none. What is the world coming to!

Having just gorged myself on fries and ice cream, I'm now off to dinner where I will be that girl who just pushes lettuce around on her plate with a fork and bitches about how fat she feels all night.

Hard Knox life

Brunch at Hard Knox Cafe this morning transported about 15 west coast snobs to the Deep South, complete with aluminum walls, Telemundo and our server, E.T. ("Extra Tooth").

We didn't quite know what to make of the menu at first; spare ribs, ox tail and grits were among our many options ("Where are the mimosas?? And the blueberry pancakes?"). We considered ordering the intriguing-sounding ox tail, then with further discussion of it likely being delivered to the restaurant in a cooler of ice, freshly chopped off the ass of a poor southern ox, it lost any semblance of appeal to us, so we opted instead for the spare ribs as a starter. Our young mustached waitress with the protruding extra tooth (aka E.T.) grew weary of our snooty inquisitiveness about the source of their meat, and proceeded to all but entirely ignore us from that point forward. We begged for water, then dared to request straws as well, and eventually they spared us some cornbread muffins to chew on, but only because Bryan had begun to lick the walls.

While the patrons at every table around us were being served their meals - including other members of our party who were sitting at separate tables - we were being restricted to meager rations of cornbread and water (Bryan had started sucking on the butter tablets at this point). We'd begun fighting over the last crumbs of cornbread, snarling and gnashing our teeth like wild animals. We gazed longingly at the plates of food on nearby tables and begged shamelessly for french fry donations just to keep ourselves from wasting away.

Needless to say, half an hour later, we still had no mimosas - the key ingredient to any Sunday brunch. If only we'd been drunk off mimosas, we might have forgotten food altogether. However, our stomachs were grumbling and our collective blood alcohol content was entirely too low for our liking. Our busboy had a fascination with delivering things to us in phases (more specifically in threes, even the straws), almost as a sort of cruel tease. First came the empty wine glasses, which sat in front of us, empty, for a good five minutes before our personal mini champagne bottles with their plastic caps arrived. We got to stare at those wistfully while the staff stood back and contemplated the orange juice that would complete our mimosas. Eventually we said fuck it and declared "Cheers!" before tearing off the plastic caps and drinking straight from the bottles. The orange juice arrived at long last in three mugs (for five people), each mug with its own straw, which meant siphoning the oj from the mugs and splashing it into our wine glasses for build-your-own mimosas, one teaspoon at a time. My mimosa ended up being approximately one part orange juice, nine parts champagne.

The spare ribs finally came, and we started eating them with forks and knives like true queens, then succumbed to the impatience that generally comes with starvation and resorted to ripping them apart with our teeth like savages. Our breakfast plates arrived to a round of applause and sheer jubilation; we proceeded to all but lick them clean. Bryan was even chewing the cheese off the ting of his fork.

After having eaten everything but the table itself, we sank back against our seats, feeling fat, happy and satisfactorily tipsy off our build-your-own mimosas, and declared to the world our undying love for the Hard Knox Cafe. Maybe that's all a part of their ploy - take the wise-cracking cynics and starve them to the point where you could serve them a plate of cardboard and they will tell you it's the best thing they've ever tasted. Well, it worked; we love that place.

Happy Birthday Madonna baby

No artist had greater influence on my childhood than this woman.

Rock on sista

mesmerized

this is wicked.

in search of inspiration

Here are some photos from today's walk through the Mission and Noe Valley. I've never seen such a city oozing with so much artistic inspiration. I love this city.

I'll get all of them up on flickr eventually, but this will give you a taste.

life in a movie montage

I've had two major love affairs in my life - one turned out to be a major car accident, the other a big fucking train wreck. And then, in between, there have been some rather unpleasant fender-benders and missed opportunities. I think it's safe to say I might be a bit jaded; however, despite this well-known fact, I still love to be in love. Because falling in love is the fun part, and if I can relive that feeling a thousand times over, it won't be enough.

I will see a man on the street and instantly devise in my sick little mind some elaborate story about him that is probably nine tenths untrue, but I'll convince myself of his amazingness and pretend to know everything about him. When you love to be in love, the daily routine becomes speckled with chance encounters and flirtatious opportunities that bring a little rush to your otherwise ordinary day. In the three minutes it takes that sexy coffee barista with the gooey brown eyes to pump the vanilla, brew the espresso, and steam the milk to create a foamy cup of deliciousness (read into that all you will, sickos), I have already traveled through a whole movie montage in my mind of the passionate love affair I could have with him, consisting of every sappy cliche imaginable - from kissing in neon-laced streets, to playing and splashing in the surf at the beach. I take comfort in the fact that I’m still capable of daydreaming and romanticizing because it means the romantic inside me hasn’t completely shriveled up and died yet, despite having taken some repeated heavy blows to the gut recently.

I'm so grateful to have been in love in my life and truly know what it feels like - and here I don't mean random, superficial "love" with strangers on the streets, as fun and girlish as that is, but I mean the kind where you actually know the person well enough to appreciate them for being perfectly imperfect. There is nothing that will make you feel more alive than to absolutely adore someone for just being a human - crazy, imperfect and all. Same goes for the excruciating pain of a broken heart. I have never felt more alive than when my heart was splayed out on the floor and completely trampled on.

It helps while I'm missing someone terribly to think of the way it made me feel when I once felt so blissfully in love with him, and I can appreciate having that experience. A simple song can trigger a memory of soaring down the street in Ziggy (my old Civic), windows down, singing at the top of my lungs because I was so disgustingly in love. We bitch - or at least I do - about being tormented by our memories, but I do think that sometimes memories can help us through as well. And the sweet memory of what it feels like to be so insanely happy and enamoured of someone is enough for me - for now.

heartsick crazy talk

I just finished talking to my mom and my heart fractured a little as we talked about our family friend who has recently been diagnosed with cancer and may not be with us for too much longer. She's just the sweetest person, and she's so amazingly upbeat about it all - despite all she's going through. Every day she takes a pill that costs $1000 - and yes, I mean the pills are $1000 EACH. Imagine if you dropped one down the sink drain - for $1000 a pill, you'd be breaking out the tools and tearing that bitch apart. Our dear, sweet friend is popping $1000 pills daily and taking chemo and getting poked and prodded and put in and out of the hospital - and despite the nightmare of it all, she's being such an amazing soldier - just further testament to what an incredible person she is. My heart is so broken for her and her sweet family.

Talking about all that was making me just really miss my family and want to be closer to them. I mentioned to Mom - very hesitatingly, mind you - that Mark and John and I had been discussing over dinner the other night that there is a chance we all could end up in - gulp - Salt Lake again someday. Her response: "Ya - HOOOOOOOO!!!" I think she'd be cool with it.

It could be just my rapidly progressing insanity combined with this perpetual state of sleep deprivation I'm in, but at the moment I actually kinda believe it. It wouldn't be for years from now - seriously, I just moved and am not looking to start fresh yet again so soon - but could be in the long term plan. It did kind of get to me when a couple of weeks ago the boys and my parents were all in SLC with Dennis and his whole crazy brood, and I was the only one not there. Poor Mom got to deal with me blubbering on the phone to her, but that's nothing new.

Anyway, just feeling extremely grateful to have a family I not only love, but actually kinda like, too - and I feel like I'm missing opportunities to enjoy them more, particularly Dennis's kids who are just so amazing. I haven't even met Gracie yet, and she'll be turning one in a couple of months.

Two of my fantabulous nieces who can't help but be natural badasses:



I do love SF at this stage of my life - not really feeling like home yet, but we're getting used to each other, and it's been a perfect healing place for me. I got a view of the city from across the bay today and it took my breath away. I mean, seriously, it's ridiculous how picturesque this city is. I wouldn't be opposed to spending maybe 4-5 years here then possibly moving on at that point, and SLC is just a thought. When you discount all the psycho-mormons, it's actually not a bad place. If there's one thing I've learned though, it's that you can't really plan for anything too far in advance. I suppose you never know what life is going to bring; anything could happen.

Like Mom said on the phone tonight: "What is life, anyway? It's a damn mystery, that's what it is."

I really like her.

Thoughts for the Week

1. Hell hath no fury like that of a diva who doesn't get her way, particularly when that diva is my brother-in-law. He has proven that I have much to learn in the ways of tantrum-throwing. Likewise for a certain diva-esque co-worker/friend of mine, known best as Master Bates. When I informed Master Bates a couple of weeks ago that I would not be having a drink with him as I was giving Madame Booze a break (and by "break", I meant abstaining from alcohol for more than 24 hours), suddenly the earth began to tremble and I saw angry little gremlins dancing in his eyes. His face turned a deep shade of furious and his features contracted into this piercing glare that could have shattered glass. At that point I would have shot heroin if he'd asked me to, simply to spare myself from his wrath.

As for the aforementioned brother-in-law, he still refuses to speak to me directly and will only screech at me through text messages - something to the effect of "fuck you and the horse you rode in on" - all because I didn't meet him for happy hour last night. His tactics are working, too, because my guilt trip is enormous, and I am officially convinced I am the lowest life form on the planet. You win, bitches. I will never defy you again.

2. New favorite person: Chuck the Italian with the bottle-dyed red hair (which makes him a bit like a wanna-be-Irish Mario Canton); his ankle-biting dog, Satan's Little Helper, whose reputation precedes him; his famous cat, aka The Fiercest Cat in the World, with its E! True Hollywood story; and the beast of a Durango that kills pedestrians for fun. Cue Niecy Nash impression: OOOOHHHHHHHH!!! You made my night. Heart hug! Love, Miss Castro.

3. Quote of the week: "Don't carry stuff. That's why we have straight men."

4. Being back in the dating world again, I'm reminded that there are definitely good dates and bad dates. You forget how good the good dates can be until suddenly you forget you're on a date in the first place and the last thing you want is for it to end. On the other hand, you don't know just how bad a bad one can be until it's all you can do to keep from excusing yourself to the ladies' room to drown yourself in the toilet. Yes, the bad dates certainly make you appreciate the good ones.

5. San Francisco is one big small town. It's just an island full of people you think you'll never see again, and in some cases wish you wouldn't, but inevitably do, i.e., that anorexic lady with the grapefruit kneecaps and toothpicks for legs, whose bones you can hear grinding together as she walks; the homeless con man with the elaborate sandwiches-for-the-homeless scheme to get you to follow him to a parking garage where he will likely kill you and eat you; and every guy you've ever made an ass of yourself in front of. (Talking hypothetically here.)

6. You may think your life's a hot mess, then you look at people around you and see that you're not the only one with issues - everybody's struggling in one way or another. We're all living the same life - we just have different stories attached. You're never the only one.

7. We love you, Susan.

into a land of fantasy i wandered

I visited the Chihuly exhibition at the de Young museum yesterday and had an orgasm of the eyes.

Click here and enjoy

coffee elitists and me

I randomly decided the other day that instead of hitting my usual Starbucks locale for my daily caffeine fix, I would pop in to a locally owned coffee shop just a few blocks from my house. It's the kind of place where regular patrons congregate each morning to wax political over their cappuccinos as their dogs throw their own early morning doggie party on the sidewalk. I stepped over a yellow lab sprawled across the doorway and tried to pretend I come here all the time too, because after all this is my 'hood - shocking as it may be considering I'm female AND straight.

Fielding glares from some rather territorial-looking regulars, I walked up to the counter where a barista who looked like he hadn't smiled in weeks gave me a quick look-up-and-down, as one might any tourist in the wrong part of town. I instinctively spouted off my coffee order, which to my horror came out as: "Grande vanilla latte, please."

The shrieking of the milk steamer immediately stopped, the emo music that was playing in the background fell silent, all politically-soused conversation stopped midstream, and the dogs ceased their yapping and turned to look - I think I actually heard a Chihuahua let out a tiny gasp.

I felt like somebody who had wandered into a vegan restaurant and ordered a hamburger. Not only was I fully exposed as a tourist, but an ignorant one at that. Like the tourists in London who, try as they may to blend, will attempt to pronounce "Leicester Square" and butcher the hell out it - at which point there’s simply no saving themselves from inevitable ridicule.

I wanted to explain that I've been frequenting the Starbucks across the street from work for about four months - primarily for the convenience factor of it, mind you - which is why I've fallen a brainwashed victim to their trendy little euro-chic lingo, like "grande" and "venti". But really, I do support the locally owned shops in my community, and I'm against corporate monopolization of the market, and I swear to God I don't shop at Wal-Mart, and I support free trade and all that, really, I do.

Then I think, why do I have to be apologetic? Starbucks started on the ground level just like you elitist snobs, and just because they're now taking over the planet like the plague doesn't mean I can't enjoy their coffee and spare myself the discomfort of walking that extra half-block in heels to buy a latte that's going to cost as much but taste half as good, does it?? It's 8am and I'm cranky and I know I'm over-thinking this but please, I just want my fucking coffee, sans the guilt trip for being a part of the problem and not the solution.

The barista then actually cracked what in some cultures may have been considered a smile and said, "Sixteen-ounce vanilla latte, coming up."

The music started up again, and I let out a breath. When that latte finally came out ( what - are you growing the vanilla beans?), I promptly got the hell out of there, with the "Starbucks Whore" tattoo on my forehead blazing. The Chihuahua called out after me, "Die yuppie scum!" Or it may have been “Take me with you!” I’m not too sure. I don't actually speak Chihuahuan.

This is what talent looks like

Another reason why my coworkers rock

...for introducing me to this:

And they wonder why women struggle to be taken seriously....

“You know what? I am actually not that much into voting. I think it’s kind of crazy that a woman is running because I think that women deal with a lot of emotions and menopause and PMS and stuff. Like, I’m so moody all the time, I know I couldn’t be able to run a country, because I would be crying one day and yelling at people the next day, you know?”

-Brooke Hogan (on Hillary Clinton's bid to be a presidential candidate)

Only in America

Not even our lawn mowers are safe anymore.

Lawn Mower Killer

(*WARNING: Image may be disturbing to some viewers.)

Straight from the sailor's mouth

No matter how old you are, it will always bother your mom if you use bad words.

This morning while having a lovely phone conversation with Mama Wanderlust, I was being repeatedly dive-bombed for no reason whatsoever by a rather rude fly that had wandered into the house like he owned the place. While in the midst of discussing plants and my knack for murdering them, I suddenly can't take the assault from Beelzebub the fly anymore, and I shriek, "THIS FUCKING FLY IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!"

Dead silence on the other end of the phone.

I laugh awkwardly and apologize, and am reminded of the time when I was about seven and informed Mark rather loudly that he was a "bastard", with Mom standing right there. The two of them gave me matching looks of surprise, and Mom said, "What did you say?" I wasn't exactly sure at the time just what that word meant or where I'd heard it, other than it wasn't unlike something one would gather from the stream of pseudo-obscenities spewed by Yosemite Sam. The mortification I felt when I realized that this seemingly innocuous word was an actual curse word - not of the fake, cartoon variety - was enough to make me feel like a terrific shame of a daughter. Now, twenty-plus years older and very well-versed in the use of expletives, I kind of feel that way all over again.

There's a moment of awkwardness on the phone as Mom recovers from the searing f-bomb that has assailed her poor, unexpecting ear, and I make a pitiful attempt to return to talk of plants, but it's too late - the damage has been done. I have shamed my mother yet again.

Hours later, the fucking fly is still hanging about the house - I think he's fixing himself a cup of coffee right now.

Be my muse - yeah, I dig that

Thank you, Andrew. And yes, you are the barrier - er, I mean gateway - to my happiness.

Words of motivation

The 24-hour fitness trainer told me tonight that I'm in "reasonably decent" shape. This was when I dropped my dumbbell on his face. Repeatedly.

The 43rd President of the U.S.

The man who should have been President shares some more insight on the energy crisis and what we can do to help...

practicing gratitude

so tonight in the Church of Oprah (of which I am an unabashed member, and may her Holiness strike you down with her microphone if you speak ill against me for it), I was taught to have gratitude and make note of five things every day that I am grateful for. So, here you are...

I AM GRATEFUL FOR:

1. the French (It IS Bastille Day, after all!) - for their lovely language that I so desperately want to know, their butter croissants that kept me (blissfully) alive on my travels, their brilliance with wine-making and the many joys it has brought to my wino life, their warm hospitality whenever I have visited their country, and their good genes from which have come many god-like creatures who make this world a more beautiful place! See: Melvil Poupaud


2. Page France - (another French reference, I know, but NOT intentional) for giving me little-girl goosebumps from your songs, and for being so goddamn repeatable.
3. the Internet - without which I would be lost, a mere shadow of myself - and without e-mail and networking sites, I would quite possibly have no friends because I, Master of Communications, am a not-so-good communicator.
4. San Francisco - for coming to my rescue when I needed you.
5. popcorn shrimp - just because it tastes good.

coffee and cigarettes

i gave up coffee and cigarettes
i hate to say it hasn't helped me yet
i thought my problems would just dissipate
and all my pain would be in yesterday

i poured my booze all down the kitchen drain
and watched my bad habits get flushed away
i thought that that would keep my head on straight
and all my pain would be in yesterday

but it's true
i'm still blue
but i finally know what to do
i must quit
i must quit...you

-michelle featherstone

Uh-huh

Early, foggy San Francisco morning. Trickling fountain at my feet. The rush of traffic breaking the calm. Hit play on the Ipod...and all was right with the world.

June - in review

In retrospect, the month of June consisted of three monumentally embarrassing moments, one daring move that paid off, and the best weekend of the year thus far.

Over the course of those 30 days, I reconnected with several old friends and made several new ones (may have even lost a couple, too); nearly killed a person with a golf ball (don't ask); nearly killed myself playing tennis (no really, don't ask); got my hair done for $235 - only to have it look slightly different than it did before (wtf?!); went to a Giants game that I can tell you absolutely nothing about (I think they lost?); tried "sipping tequila" ('twas surprisingly good) and shooting Jameson (not quite so good); had more than one memorable American Beauty moment (i.e., plastic bag scene); smoked on a hookah for the first time (mmm...watermelon); was moved to tears in a symphony (twice); booked a flight to my beloved London town after nearly three years of being away (come September, woo hoo!); witnessed the debauchery and exhibitionism of Pride Weekend (somewhat frightening, and yet oddly refreshing, too); did "the right thing" twice (and was surprised by how good it felt); and took pause more than once to say to myself, "Remember this moment."

All things considered, I'd say it was, in fact, a very memorable month.

Voice of the past

So I was digging through some old files, and I stumbled across some poetry of mine that I haven't read in ages. I love that - it's as though the writing belongs to someone else, and this is my first time ever having read it. Anyway, here are a few snippets from a previous life of mine, a life I remember clearly and yet seems so distant to me now.

-------------
There's the disgustingly romantic:

I am yours and I am mine
Where you are dark and dark is light.
I choke on words I keep inside,
Your face a poem I’ve yet to write...
Who could ever be so vain
To dare to speak aloud your name,
To say those words to make you stay
When your heart tells you to fly away.
I won’t be the one to drown your will,
To change your mind and break the deal,
To act according to what I feel
When I’ve not determined just what is real.
I’ve miles to go before I’m through -
With you to gain, nothing to lose -
I’ll search the world if I have to,
To find the words to describe you.



Dazed by what I can’t believe-
A fusion of sweet energy-
Lost is logical reasoning,
While you are as near as you are to me.
Stowed away are all reservations
And thoughts of recent revelations,
As I marvel at the constellations
And forget to ponder our destination.
As star explode and worlds collide,
I kiss the moon, embrace the sky,
And soar across that dividing line
Into what once was yours but now is mine.
A piece of heaven to revel in,
A tangled mesh of skin on skin
In a flash of time when I can’t determine
Just where I end and you begin.
-----------------

The bitter and jaded:

With washed-up dreams and strangled screams—
I am torn between rage and an epiphany--
all this hot air suffocating me, and
I accept that I have been beaten.
I see that I am sliced up and twice fucked,
worn out and listless and
I think that I missed this when I let my ears fold,
when a sweet, salty kiss made my eyes close,
and I bought into all those lies that were sold
at the bestseller rate for those sociophobes
who can’t get a date-just sit home and masturbate,
wishing the world would implode to end their heartache.
Now, somewhere in my head, amidst all the regrets,
all the what-ifs, should-haves, and words I never said,
lies the notion of Romance as it has fallen dead,
taken with it the chance of repeating this dance
of the one-legged fool who gave in to circumstance.
-----------------

The angry political:

The sun rears her head
And we are all living dead,
Waking to a world of fear and dread,
Lamenting lost youth while tumors grow in our heads,
Here in the land of the free and over-fed.
So let’s give a hand to the man with a plan,
Who smiles and waves at his flag-toting fans,
Slaps his bible and takes a stand,
While jerking off with his free hand.
Glory, hallelujah! The world is saved!
The forests burned and the fields all paved!
The children are dead and their murderers reign
But the sun goes on rising just like yesterday.
----------------

The mildly amusing:

"Cinderella's Fashionable Tardiness"

So I’m late for the ball cuz the tire went flat,
but I'd never tell Prince Charming that;
that guy don’t know what the magic mirror shows,
which is I've got me a run in my pantyhose,
and yes, my friends - they're all long gone,
lured away by the Pied Piper’s song,
to a crystal castle overlooking the sea,
far, far away and there's no vacancy,
but now and then they send a postcard to me,
just to remind me of all that I'm missing,
so I’ll stick out my thumb and catch me a ride,
cuz I hear life’s better on the other side,
and soon I’ll be dancing with the man of my dreams,
and we’ll see if everafter's all it’s cracked up to be.
---------------

And a bit of haiku:

Kisses taste sweeter
When there is a foreseen end
To receiving them.

----------------

So, anyway....

5,357 miles

Happy Birthday. I love you.

Sprinklers

Have you ever seen some sprinklers going and you’re suddenly compelled to run through them – although you are, in fact, well beyond the age of ten? You completely let loose and dance through the spray, all the while getting soaked from head to toe. You feel exhilarated and alive, and suddenly the world no longer exists, and you don’t think for a second about where you’re supposed to be at that moment, or what you have to do when you get there, or how uncomfortable you’ll be when you inevitably have to return to your car and sit in wet underwear. Nothing else matters but this very moment. You may even pause for a moment, as the water showers down on you, and realize that you are in fact….happy.

Yeah, that’s kinda what it feels like.

Thoughts for the Week

1) Sometimes it's better to just SHUT THE HELL UP.

2) I think that everybody, every now and then, needs to know that they're doing ok. We all bust our butts in different ways on a daily basis, and sometimes you really need someone to pull you aside and tell you how great you are. Not even great, actually - just...fine.

3) Comfort zones are highly underrated.

4) One of the most frustrating things to me in life is trying to translate my thoughts into spoken words. It will make perfect sense in my mind, then I'll speak, and I'll sound like something between Dr. Seuss and Yoda. This kills me.

5) Kerouac said that life is a "great, strange dream." With that in mind, I sometimes want to do something crazy just to test whether I really am here or if I'm just dreaming. Just to see what would happen. Like tear down the street with no clothes on, or go onto the Muni when everyone is quiet and avoiding eye contact, and just scream, or start dancing and singing. In San Fran, it's fairly common to see someone standing on a street corner, shouting out to those who are streaming past with their heads down. You know the guy I'm talking about - the one who everyone tries to ignore as he's either belting out a Stevie Wonder song at the top of his lungs, or calling out to specific individuals and laughing loudly at his own jokes. I think to myself that that guy has slipped away from what the rest of us would call "reality" and lives in his own. Yeah, that guy has probably gone completely mad, but I'm willing to believe that in some respects he's probably a helluva lot happier than a lot of us.

6) “People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.” - Jim Morrison

7) What a difference a day makes.

Thought for the Week

Lately, various people from my past lives have been resurfacing into the present. Reconnecting with someone means you're suddenly faced with the impossible task of summarizing your experiences since the two of you last spoke. What's even stranger is to see someone out of context; there's a correlation between certain faces and certain surroundings, and when things get a little mixed together, time and distance get a bit lost and your brain can't quite compute.

Throughout my twenties, I've generally picked up every 2-3 years and started anew - because of this, I have pockets of friends in various cities who are all somewhat symbolic of different stages of my life. I know everybody has friends from different periods of life, but I think when you move around a lot, the distinction between your groups of friends and your relationship with them is much clearer. What has really rocked my world is having certain people from all stages of my life resurface NOW of all times, considering the recent madness, as I'm trying to piece Amanda back together again.

I was reunited with an old friend from a previous life last night and nearly burst into tears as there was this sudden, beautiful rush of familiarity - not just in seeing him, but in remembering who I was and where I was when he was a constant in my life. It was amazing. I want to bottle that feeling and store it on a shelf.

Little things like that have been helping me to, slowly but surely, get back to feeling like myself again - or the better version of myself, that is. Friends are good like that - especially those who know you in ways that nobody you meet today or tomorrow will quite grasp. They've seen you change in some ways and stay the same in others. There's power in that. And sometimes there's nothing they even need to do to help you to get a grip on yourself again- just being there as a sort of "souvenir" for where you've been is enough.

a sort of reawakening

your homecoming will be my homecoming-

my selves go with you, only i remain;
a shadow phantom effigy or seeming
(an almost someone always who's noone)

a noone who, till their and your returning,
spends the forever of his loneliness
dreaming their eyes have opened to your morning

feeling their stars have risen through your skies:

so,in how merciful love's own name, linger
no more than selfless i can quite endure
the absence of that moment when a stranger
takes in his arms my very life who's your

-when all fears hopes beliefs doubts disappear.
Everywhere and joy's perfect wholeness we're

one's not half two. It's two are halves of one:
which halves reintegrating, shall occur
no death and any quantity; but than
all numerable mosts the actual more

minds ignorant of stern miraculous
this every truth-beware of heartless them
(given the scalpel, they dissect a kiss;
or, sold the reason, they undream a dream)

one is the song which friends and angels sing:
all murdering lies by mortals told make two.
Let liars wilt, repaying life they're loaned;
we(by a gift called dying born)must grow

deep in dark least ourselves remembering
love only rides his year.

All lose, whole find

silently if,out of not knowable
night's utmost nothing, wanders a little guess
(only which is this world)more my life does
not leap than with the mystery your smile

sings or if (spiralling as luminous
they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams,
less into heaven certainly earth swims
than each my deeper death becomes your kiss

losing through you what seemed myself,i find
selves unimaginably mine, beyond
sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit's born:
yours is the darkness of my soul's return
-you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars

e.e.c.

O how I love thee

Thoughts for the Week

1) Stella + Vodka + Tequila = Crazy Amanda
2) Connect 4 connects 2 (connects 3?) then disconnects 1 and suddenly, the game is over. I didn't like this fucking game anyway.
3) Everybody has an ugly side. Some people's ugly side is uglier than others, but we've all got it. And it can rear its head at the most inopportune time. The question is: Can we truly expect others to forgive us our ugliness if we refuse to forgive them theirs? When is it time to distance yourself from a "friend" who has suddenly shown a very ugly side? Just how much is forgivable? Yeah, I don't know. That's why I'm asking.
4) David Cook is going to obliterate David Archutah.
5) Trust the universe and don't fight the forces. Either something is going to work or it's not. You have to trust in that or you'll just be beating your head on concrete. Be patient.
6) Patience is a virtue I lack.
7) It's easy to take your rights for granted. You're simply born with the right to do certain things, and it's hard to imagine otherwise. Then, when you see someone else given that right you've always had but taken for granted, you realize just how very blessed you've been over the years. (Happy Day. Let's drink!)
8) I'm still not convinced my phone is working properly.

My girl

Back from the dead

What, I ask you, is the purpose of having a blog if you never actually...blog? I'm sorry to have let you down these past few weeks, dear readers (all three of you). I do have a legitimate excuse, I assure you (starts with a D and rhymes with "remorse"; a word which, in and of itself, bears a rather sickening relevance to the situation). For your sake as well as my own, I'm going to omit the gory details. Up until about two days ago though, I had that kind of washed-out, hollow look about me, all apparition-like, as if my spirit had been vacuumed right out of me. I looked and felt like I'd been through an emotional holocaust. The fact that I'm even able to write about this proves the possibility to heal and move on. I do still feel some of the residual effects, so I'm treading carefully, wary of aftershocks. When emotion does get the better of me, I feel it in every nerve of my body, and a chill goes through me as if winter has settled in my body and my insides completely freeze up. I have to just ride it out because there's really nothing anyone can say or do to make it pass. Only time.

My world has completely flipped like a pancake. My brain has yet to fully compute the vast change of direction my life has taken. Somehow over the course of a few days, I managed to score a fantastic apartment and an equally fantastic job, before I'd even had any time to adjust to the idea of moving to San Fran. Once I started in that direction though, as lost and confused and emotionally broken as I was, things seemed to just fall right into place. Now, I'm somewhat skeptical when it comes to fate and destiny, but, if I were a believer, I'd say the universe and the powers-that-be have been pulling some strings. Before you could say "discombobulation", I was packing remnants of my previous lives into a few suitcases, while working to adjust to the prospect of a new life altogether.

And so, here I am. Sitting in a foreign bed, in a foreign apartment, in a foreign city, and asking myself just how the hell I got here. I start work on Monday and it's still so surreal to me. The job itself is terrifying in theory, but seeing as my psyche has yet to fully accept that I'll actually be employed again as of next week, the concept isn't having too much of an impact yet. I imagine the horror will set in around 7 a.m. Monday morning.

My neighborhood is incredible, busy and thriving even on a Tuesday evening. Fun restaurants and shops - windows full of gourmet chocolates, a wide range of international wine, and plenty of jock straps and rubber penis key rings. What more could a girl possibly want? We visited a coffee shop just blocks from my new home, where I managed to confuse the hell out of the French barista with my silly nonsense about "ounces" and what-not. I suddenly felt I'd been transported to Paris as I was experiencing that all-too-familiar, cheek-reddening awkwardness of being the ignorant American idiot. We were able to eventually establish the size I would like, and I was then served what was quite possibly the best vanilla latte I've ever had. God bless the French. They know their coffee.

If the hill leading to our house were any steeper, I would need a harness and some rope. I do know that although it may be torture right now (considering that during the last few weeks, my idea of exercise was walking into the kitchen to grab a sandwich), I know all of this trekking up and down hills will pay off when i have an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. Until then, I'll be huffing and puffing like a pack mule.

I'm off to bed now - have to rest up for another day of leisurely wandering around my new city. San Francisco and I are still getting acquainted and trying to determine if we like each other. My new roommate suggested we go grocery shopping, and my brain initially rejected the idea because my dear, confused brain has yet to accept that this is home. It's going to take some time. Although my brain never did accept Olympia as home, even though it had two (long, painful) years to do so. But who can blame it, really.

Heart day

Tonight my body is in Olympia, my head is in San Francisco, and my heart is in London.

ssshhhhhh

Thought for the Week

“To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping” -Chinese Proverb

Gratitude

i've been on a brief hiatus on account of my life being thrown into complete upheaval. details are irrelevant; suffice to say, my heart aches and i'm having to change my course in life. i have this overwhelming sense of uncertainty and angst about it all. i can do it, i can be strong when i have to be - sometimes i just get tired of having my strength tested.

watched a documentary on darfur tonight, and i really shouldn't be complaining about a damn thing. i live quite a blessed life. it's not without its challenges, but i certainly am blessed to have all that i have. i'm grateful for every chance i've had to become a better person, to learn from my mistakes and to love with all my heart.

all that being said, nights are the worst.

-------------------------------------------------
Oh you, you have been loved by someone good
Yeah you, you will be loved
Oh will you ever know
That the bitterness and anger left me long ago
Only sadness remains
And it will pass

Phantom

"A large proportion of amputees (50-80%) experience the phenomenon of phantom limbs; they feel body parts that are no longer there. These limbs can itch, ache, and feel as if they are moving. Some scientists believe it has to do with a kind of neural map that the brain has of the body, which sends information to the rest of the brain about limbs regardless of their existence. A similar phenomenon is unexplained sensation in a body part unrelated to the amputated limb. It has been hypothesized that the portion of the brain responsible for processing stimulation from amputated limbs, being deprived of input, actually expands into the surrounding brain, such that an individual who has had an arm amputated will experience unexplained pressure or movement on their face or head. The individual may also experience some trauma as well as emotional discomfort."

-Wikipedia, under "Amputation"

Thoughts for the Week

(I'm borrowing some thoughts from other people because my head's a little tired of thinking...)*

1) "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." -Dr. Seuss
2) “Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.” -?
3) "I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes." - Edna St. Vincent Millay
4) "If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days." -Sylvia Plath
5) "Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up." James A. Baldwin
6) "Love that is not madness is not love." -Pedro Calderon de la Barca
7) "I usually get myself into situations that cause sparks. I mean I'm a girl that likes the storms. I love feeling alive, I love walking out in the cold in my bare feet and feeling the ice on my toes." - Tori Amos
8)" ... take care of the problems now, or else you'll just have to suffer again later when you screw everything up the next time. And that repetition of suffering - that's hell. Moving out of that endless repetition to a new level of understanding - there's where you'll find heaven." -Elizabeth Gilbert
9) "There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them." - Sylvia Plath

*The image comes from http://postsecret.blogspot.com.