Insomnia and On Why 3am is a Totally Obvious Time to Turn on the Fire Hydrant Below My Window to Clean the Street

It's 3am and my third to last night in my Nob Hill apartment and I woke up in a panic. At first I thought it was raining and then I thought LM was taking a late night shower and then I realized it was neither and jumped out of bed to confirm that the fire hydrant below my window had burst and call the fire department and save the world with my knowledge - you know a couple of psychologists' did a study in New York about a woman who was killed while 37 people witnessed it but know one called because everyone thought someone else would have already called - I was not going to assume anyone had called. Except actually the fire hydrant had not burst rather a SF City employee had turned it on intentionally I imagine to clean the street or something. So from 3:00 - 3:10 am I got to pretend I lived next to a soothing waterfall which is when I decided the Chinese food in my fridge had probably, with age, gotten better (because it wasn't very good the first night at all).

And late night eating is best done in the dark because then it doesn't count.

I am already feeling a little nostalgic for this place because while these disturbances are irritating once in a while I am going to miss hearing the fog horn and cable car outside my bedroom window. The sound of excited tourists being taken for a ride by the cable car drivers who favor single young women - getting on the cable car in SF is like getting into a club in Vegas if you're cute, and without men they let you on for free even when it is packed - and ring their bell at 11pm all the way up Washington St for no reason at all. Even if I could drown these sounds out by shutting real double pained windows instead of the single paned ones we actually have (that even when shut you can feel a strong gust of wind through) I wouldn't. Silence is glorious but there is something comforting about knowing that the world is going on out there with or without me. If this sounds sentimental that's because A. I am hormonal - which according to Wikipedia, among other things, is responsible for mood swings and food cravings... and B. It is 4am.

It's foggy out there; I know because I can hear the horns blowing. The chinese food wasn't better tonight than it was last night but the waffle I am going to get at Nook tomorrow morning will be delicious.

Good night and good morning all!

Totally Awkward Tuesday - Friday Night Pizza Affair

Dear Coworkers,

Thank you for planning that audacious happy hour bar hop. It was a long week and I really needed it. What I didn't need was the two slices of pizza that were inspired by the 5 pub challenge and the stiff drinks that Joe Bartender was pouring me at the Royal Oak - my new favorite bar mainly because of all the indoor foliage they have - What you, dear coworkers didn't see was the after party. I put myself in a cab around midnight and after letting my cab driver get halfway home (I was only 5 blocks away to start with) I requested that he turn around and take me to Escape from New York pizza. I ordered two slices one veggie and one Hawaiian and as I always do I requested -fat kid style - the extra pineapple on the pan be scooped into my box onto - shameful but delicious.

As a rule I like to picnic in my bed with an episode of Arrested Development playing when late night snacking. Which requires me to have enough self restraint to not eat in the cab. This is hard. I indulged myself a few pieces of pineapple but managed to make it back to the house of hot mess with two pieces fully intact. I realize however while exiting the elevator on at my stop on the second floor that I am absolutely ravenous and cannot wait to get into my apartment to eat the pizza. What any girl knows is that my keys will take a two handed search party five minutes to find at the bottom of my black-hole of a purse. Five minutes is too long.

So I picnic on the stairs in my buildings corridor - instead of my bed - where midway through my second slice - Hawaiian of course - I am abruptly interrupted by my neighbor with the USC flag hanging on their door. They always have midweek parties and never invite us. Just last week in fact I came home to a keg sitting right outside the elevator and two USC alums giggling in their doorway looking at the keg - Hello get that tripping hazard out of my way or I will move it for you, straight into my apartment -

Sorry anyway he asks me if I am locked out. And here the awkwardness ensues, clearly as I am not locked out but too ashamed to admit it. So I simply nodded my head no. I can only imagine the hot mess he saw sitting on the corridor stairs eating her dinner - me. Silence ensues for several long moments in which I want to take another bite of my pizza but felt it might be inappropriate. Neighbor boy finally says "no really you look like you're locked out.............. And then I realize the only way I going to Shake this guy, maintain a smidgen of dignity (to be sure most of it was already gone) and get back to my pizza was to lie and let him help me by breaking into my apartment through his via the fire escape -

I pick up my pizza box and overnight bag of a purse and walk through his apartment. He opens the window to my apartment for me. I thanked him for his help - that is making me climb through two windows and across a questionably safe fire escape to break me into my own room while the keys were safely in my purse - As soon as my back was to him I had the other half of the pizza in my mouth. Can you just imagine if I was sneaking in from breaking curfew. Had my parents seen me taking an enormous bite of pizza while literally climbing through my bedroom window...the looks of embarrassment that I would have seen would have shamed me well into my forties.

Instead the next morning my roommates found the morsels of pizza cleverly trailed through the corridor and elevator in the manner of Hansel and Gretal.

On another note apparently any stranger can get into my apartment through the fire escape. We discussed this when I recounted the events to my roommates. LM thinks they might occasionally come over to the house of hot mess to watch TV and eat our food. And it just dawned on me apparently that keg I wanted is just a fire escape and unlocked window away. I wonder if we could get it through with some rope, a strong man and a really good diversion. But how awkward would it be to be caught stealing a keg through a fire escape?

Nob Hill Musings

There has been much debate about whether the House of Hot Mess (my apartment that is) is located in Nob Hill or Russian Hill. I like to think the invisible line dividing the two is at Hyde and Jackson. Our favorite dive chinese restaurant U Lee located at this very juncture captures both worlds. It is Zagat rated but still tiny, cheap and a little questionable. It has the flashing neon lights - that in my mind define Nob Hill and a sorry attempt at the twinkle lights that so characterize and separate the two. At this juncture you cross over from slightly seedy liquor stores and cheap ethnic dives to "markets", wine bars and formal world dining. How the two can coexist so closely together is the mystery of any city I suppose. So by my own boarder definition sadly (or not sadly but I will debate that later) the house of Hot Mess despite being posted on Craigslist by our miserly low life landlord as located in Russian Hill is actually in Nob Hill. I should have know this sooner I suppose but it has taken almost 7 months for it to be okay. I should have noticed it the night that Little Asian Man dumped his trash bag full of cans onto the sidewalk underneath my bedroom window and one at a time set each can up on end and proceeded to crush it beneath his foot. I should have known I wasn't in Russian Hill everytime I walked up our entry stairs (which BTW we fondly refer to as the death trap) and was greeted by the smell of urine. Marissa did actually discover that our 1st floor neighbor couldn't be bothered to walk his dog past the entry steps to pee. I have been devising a threatening note in my head that will hopefully scare the old man that lives there - and who is probably paying like $150 a month for the entire apartment thanks to SF Rent Control - into taking his damn dog for a walk. This will be delivered at the same time as the death threat to the upstairs neighbor who walks around in heels 24 hours a day. I imagine she owns healed slippers with fur on them similar to Carrie's when she is trying to have good sex with Burger (that was doomed from the beginning and we all saw it, I mean Burger....really?) So anyway I digress but what I was at one point getting to was, as I sit at Nook (located in Russian Hill, but barely) Is that I kind of embrace living in Nob Hill. Now thank god we are not bordering on the TenderNob or China Town but I like cheap food I can afford and more importantly restuants that I can bring my own beer to. I like divey goodwill stores not disguised as high end boutiques. I like the can lady I see in the morning engergetically collecting her recycling, please note this is entirely different from Little Man can crusher. I like the stoners who work in Le Beau our market... hello they put extra cheese samples out and don't care that I try each one twice. I have nothing else to say about it except I wish I didn't end this post with cheese. But whatever I am a little hungry and Nook has a delicious cheese platter but it isn't really for one...hmmmmm.