Hot Mess in the Haight

Kitty corner to my last apartment there were flashing neon lights above the corner market. You know this corner market. The one with 4 cans of tuna, a random assortment of sewing accessories and a box of cereal from 1996. The only merchandise recently updated is the fully stocked refrigerators with overpriced beer and the top door ice cream freezers...the two, I think, go hand in hand. I suppose you couldn't say these lights washed our walls in red and green but you could see them from 10 block away and they were ever present, at least until 11pm each night. This apartment also had glazing in the windows from the late 1800's when it was probably a brothel or something more interesting than an apartment building. So even when the windows were closed the blinds would flap in the breeze. I have fond memories of 1400 Washington St. where the cable car shook the windows as it passed by and Oh! the garbage men and their bi-weekly life updates that you could hear carried up through the trash shute loud and clear on Wednesday and Saturday morning at around 5 am. It's city living and San Francisco, just like any city, has its idiosyncrasies. The ones that make you laugh and scream and keep you up at night.

We carved pumpkins at 1400, which I hadn't done in about 15 years. I had bought a carving kit at Walgreens and just found it unpacking my extraordinarily random assortment of kitchenware I have collected over the years of living with roommates and hand me downs. We carved pumpkins 2 years ago before, LA, Australia, New York and Tahoe. Before couples began cohabitating and the engagements began (Congratulations Liz and Eric, Jessica and Nate!)

It's been a year since I have lived in the city, and a year of living out of bags, in temporary situations not really knowing what, where, when but I always had a bag packed and ready. So now I'm here. New neighborhood, a brother for a roommate, a new and not entirely pleasant smell to the lobby entry. New bus sounds and neighborhood resturants, cafes and corner shops with nothing but beer. All still to be discovered... and a new kitchen to carve pumpkins in with old friends!

Happy new beginnings, for whatever that means to you today! For me it's amazing water pressure and the apparently ever present challenge of navigating Market St.

See you soon with a new recipe and on Kiki, my neighborhood tranny.

13.1 Miles, Live it, Love it then take a cold bath in ice and get back on the horse!

Way back when, 2 years ago or so, some random weekend when I was probably residual drunk from the night before and KM was staying over for the weekend at my old apartment on the Embarcadero (living with Caro and Rusty the evil flesh tearing purse puppy…may he rest in peace. Actually I don’t know if he died yet but there are a few people with enough physical and emotional scars to hope he is. But that’s for another day) Kate was all do you want to do the Nike Women’s half marathon with me… she said “it’s supposed to be good and at the end they give you a TIFFANY NECKLACE.” – sold - . And I was like sure without even stopping to remind myself that while I had run a mile here and a mile there on the treadmill, road running 13 miles is really another ball game. So she entered us into the raffle which I pretended to be excited about meanwhile the whole time I was praying to sweet baby Jesus that we wouldn’t make it and then of course we made it. So we started training long distance together. We had a motivational excel spreadsheet with the miles we ran through the week and a pump song to go with it and every Friday Kate would drive down from Sacramento for the weekend and we would do a run together on the Embarcadero. One time we went for a really long run in Golden Gate Park (9 miles maybe?) and then within 45 minutes of finishing went to go drinking on a sailboat on the bay for the day. I would council against this – long runs make you a lightweight and also a little bit nauseous – Anyway those runs on the Embarcadero are some of my favorite memories. The happy hour crowds we would pass longingly at the ferry building and Americano, the water on our right the city scape on our left. When we moved into Casa Hot Mess in Nob Hill we trained at the Lyron street steps which is probably the most stunning place to inflict physical pain upon yourself. I miss them and the opportunity we had to catch up on our week while walking that mofo of a hill on Pacific. But enough of the nostalgia. Kate has apparently recovered from it and is doing it again with CS, LM and LG and I am pretty sure they've stepped up the training for this one.

I can't be there to cheer them on even though they try every time I see them to sell it as a great way to celebrate my Birthday. The truth is I have been on the road for over two weeks now and I have laundry to do for days, plus I miss Tahoe a little bit. Can you imagine! Anyway doesn't mean I won't be cheering you on from up North ladies! In fact I might even do a short run in solidarity since I intend to take it up again. Just stay on the look out for the news story "Girl passes out from running 3.1 miles at altitude along the Truckee river in Tahoe city... is rescued by gorgeous fireman who happened to be mountain biking by after just receiving news of substantial inheritance from very wealthy previously unknown deceased Great Uncle. The soon to be married couple fell instantly in love after she awoke to him sitting at her bedside in the hospital. When asked where the couple will live he said "We will be sharing our time between the half dozen estates that my Great Uncle kept all over the world until we decide on a more permanent home, but I will continue to work on a volunteer basis where-ever they need me."

So good luck ladies, have fun! Drink the water when they have it and if they offer you chocolate at mile 12, it seems like a good idea but trust me...it's not.

*Image from Lululemon

I am going to Be punished for Posting these photos

So I spent this weekend down in San Francisco and Sunday, a beautiful sunny Sunday was spent brunching and then after barely resisting the French Toast at Sidewalk Cafe was spent figuring out this bridesmaid dress. It's a convertible dress, one size fits all (which is frightening). See above us reading the endless possibilities that this dress claims to have...until you realize this comes with contingents including but not limited to particularly not moving. It takes two people to assemble but better to have three, safety pins and a lot of patience. We all took turns in it and I have to confess the material is nice against the skin, and if you like to spin on the dance floor this will do it. But I think it's safe to say the gripes outweigh these positives. Lucky the unnamed bridesmaid can pull anything off and has killer shoes (see above) to take the emphasis off potential dress malfunctions. The last two photos of the dress are what she's going to wear. We still have to write directions on how we did this (if we can remember).

Universal Rule #1000 and A little bit of Lovely San Francisco

Why is it when there is so little to do it is harder to get the few things you need to do done?

For Example I have nothing to do all day and can't seem to focus on giving you an actual post so instead photos it will be. You might prefer this to actually having to read my long and mostly pointless rants. So be it just don't tell me this to my face. Thanks.

*Berkeley Flowers growing in unexpected places.

*The Bay Bridge, risked my life to take this photo. You know drive and click...Actually we were dead stopped so mom don't lecture me.

*A cozy cafe/bar in San Francisco's Hayes Valley for Sangria Happy Hour!!

*Pink chairs, I want them for my non-existent patio.

*Brunch at Jovino on Union St., Drink of the summer a "Shandy" Hefeweizen with a splash of lemonade. Yum!

I'm a lookin both ways before I cross

Est-ce c'est possible? Is it. Did I leave? Did I go to Australia for 8 months, pick bananas and gain "life experiences" only to come home and feel like I never left? I think so. There is evidence to the contrary of course. Like sometimes even if I don't say it out loud I am thinking "Ya reckon" I know yuck. Also I made some friends over there (the only concrete evidence of this is on facebook) and also several near death experiences from looking the wrong way when about to cross the street (you know left then right, well I'm all looking right then left) But there are things that make me feel like I never left too. The way I picked right back up with everyone, the easy and instant way I felt at home in San Francisco. Oh and (sorry Mom, Dad) my parents bathroom, that beast of a 20 square foot project (insert sarcasm here) that was one year in the making before I left isn't finished yet. Neither is the gas firepit in the backyard. Weirdly I remember using it during my farewell dinner. I won't dwell on these little confusing facts that make it appear as if I never left...I might get kicked out of my free digs if I do and I just finished unpacking so that would be unfortunate.

I'm not sure how you're supposed to feel after an extended period of time away from home. I thought maybe I would have a little more to show for it than a haircut and a new allergy but anyway I'm onto the next thing. A house in Tahoe City awaits, 5 months for some new adventure. New job, new city, new something to pack for. If all else fails at the end of this one I can probably cut my hair again, I might just have enough grown back to do something new!

In the meantime I have been re-writing my resume to include the 4 years of swim coaching I did from 2000-2004 which has just taken me on a wild trip down memory lane in which I recall even tans, swimsuit confidence I would pay for today and getting to play with kids who loved us coaches. Is there anything better than that?!

More on dream jobs that pay peanuts later. I'll talk to you soon, maybe from Tahoe if this whole snowing into the month of June thing stops. In the meantime my bed awaits.

*The photo above was taken late night walking home through Hyde Park in Sydney. I only got like 8 crazy looks.

"You girls were just lucky enough to stumble upon us dudes. Good looking and fuckin shit-hot helicopter pilots. You struck gold."

Hello all. I am back. I have taken a much undeserved break. Actually there was no break because actually I have nothing to break from but then that's part of the problem or so you'll hear. But before that I wanted to take a moment to honor my current state of homesickness and self-pity by sharing with you some San Francisco nostalgia I was recently reminded of way out here in Sydney by what I can't remember.

About 7 months ago or at least sometime in early August as the West Coast summer fades and tourism is at it's height, with the end of school holidays, I was riding the #45 bus to yoga. Normally not as risky in the way of tourists as the cable car at this time of year. Well Anyway it happened about one block after the descent on Union St. begins. I noticed an unattached 6 year old girl curled up on the seat across from me covering her eyes out of shear terror. I removed my headphones from my ear to ask her if everything was alright just in time to hear, from a couple seats down, her father speaking with his older daughter. "See honey isn't this better than Disneyland?" Well I tell you if it wasn't for my comatose state of afterwork lethargy and my dislike for confrontations I would have made a scene. Poor girls will very likely grow up with a fear of the bus, disneyland or resenting their father. Oh either way I suppose I don't blame the guy, bus's in San Francisco are similar to rollercoasters in Disneyland and they are way cheaper. But actually I am getting off track here because that's fucked up. And he was definitely a team member with his wind breaker tied around his waste and we really can't confirm or deny the existence of a fanny pack but let's be real the guy is trying to reason with his two under 10 year old daughters that a trip to windy, foggy San Francisco in which he didn't even spring for the cable car is better than Disneyland.

You're team for sure.

Well now that I have gotten that off my chest I might as well tell you about the time CS and I (about two weeks ago) very nearly got a free helicopter ride from these two guys who were helicopter pilots - I know it sounds suspicious but they had photographic evidence - well two days of flirting and one serious conversation about who was going to put out for the helicopter ride and it turns out they probably pull this shit every week. No heli ride and here is the best part, it took two full days for us non-blonde bimbos to figure this out. At least we got a couple of 4x Golds (Australian for Natural Light) out of it. And no don't worry no one lost their dignity for a fake helicopter ride. We gave up before it got to that. But the point is that the helicopter ride would have been better than Disneyland. I wonder if you can flirt your way into Disneyland, maybe not - hmmmmm- is that sacrilegious...

So now I am exhausted from writing and actually posting a blog. It's kind of like how I felt yesterday when I walked up a hill and was huffing and sweating and I did the knee crouch, hands on knee thing to take a break and I looked back and it was more of a mild incline that didn't even look like a hill at all. That's how I feel now.

I missed you, hope you missed me too but more importantly I'll be whipping myself into shape so I don't have to turn down perfectly good apartments just because they are at the top of a mild incline. Wish me luck cause it's going to hurt.

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!

Seniors & Buses, A Right not Privilege? And On Why When I Am Filthy Rich I Will Have a Driver

I am going to call my favorite senior bus riding citizen Ron because it sounds like a crotchy bitter old man, which he is. Last time I took the bus with Ron this is how it went– he hops; I use the term hops loosely because it is more of a slow painful stagger that delays the bus several minutes, onto the bus and instantly the dread of the smell of riding through Chinatown disappears...Ron smells much worse; although, it is debatable whether I have become immune to the fish carcass in a pink bag smell. Ron's assault weapon #1/ Is his halitosis which he unleashes with several coughs and grumbles as he shuffles down the aisle of the bus parting the sea of people. Now you can be sure that while the bus driver intentionally accelerates right after I step up onto the first step that the driver lives in fear of Ron and has therefore not moved an inch and won’t until he sits down. Ron scans the area and begins navigating his way through the crowded bus using his handy assault weapon #2/ his barely called for cane. Helpful Hint: Ron means for you to move out of his way when he swings his cane at your calf’s. He shuffles about half way down and for no reason whatsoever stands over me, whacks me in the legs with the cane and says “seats are for seniors”. Oh right of course you wanted MY seat. One moment let me grab my laptop case, purse and bag of recently re-healed shoes (I keep carrying them downtown to Jacks on Market because if you reheal 7 shoes there you get the eighth free, but I always lose my card before I get to 7...I digress)

Apparently Ron doesn’t have sympathy for my hot mess self because I get another reminder tap to move my ass out of his way and at that I jump out of my seat and before my hand grabs the pole the bus lurches forward and thrusts me into several unsuspecting fellow riders who probably would have been more annoyed at my accidental body check had they not just witnessed my physical abuse by an old helpless looking man.

Of course when I get my balance and gazillion bags in order I look back to see whether Ron made it into my seat unscathed and there he is cane on lap with the evil smile on his face he will wear with him to hell.

If I prayed I would pray for you Ron but lets be honest in Hell seniority doesn’t mean shit.

Parka in the Park & Other Random Thoughts

Doesn't Molly Ringwald look good on my page? I mean she just kind of works there. After noticing this I briefly considered making her the main image on my page even though she has very little to do with anything I write about - I could insert her here and there more often I think - I realized there was potential for confusion that this was actually a Molly Ringwald fan site, which would probably trick unsuspecting readers into reading about my inconsequential life instead of THE it girl of the 80's (why though why) which while I secretly think that is genius I realize it would be a tad bit manipulative and I won't sink that low. At least not yet. But speaking of Molly I read that Dolores Park's film in the park is playing Pretty in Pink on August 1st and I think, although I cannot imagine why they picked that over Sixteen Candles even though they are essentially the same plot line - Jake Ryan is so much dreamier than Blane McDonnagh and well Sixteen Candles has Michael Anthony Hall which is always +10 bonus points as long as it is prior to 1990 - I might go. You have to give San Francisco credit for doing that kind of shit. I mean film in the park in July and August sounds really picturesque. Except we are in San Francisco. They should rename it Parka in the Park because that is what you need to stay warm after sunset in San Francisco during the summer months. Speaking of warm weather I have departed from my usual blogging at Nook and decided to stay in the House of Hot Mess for several reasons the main being that last time I was there I kept getting the evil eye from the owner because I was taking up valuable real-estate - a table for two and the bench on both sides of me - and all I ordered was a cappuccino. I mean I get it okay, but after 2 hours there they finally made me and some other girl committing a similar offense share a table and then we were just sitting there each on our laptops trying not to accidentally look up at each other and have awkward communal table moments while we were "working."

So about that warm weather, I always feel obligated on the few rare sunny days in SF to get outside at least a little bit, today in lieu of the outdoors I have opened all the windows in our dining nook and am pretending it counts. There are two fatal flaws about pretending to be productive in the apartment a. The refrigerator b. my bed. Case in point in the time it took me to write the above I visited the refrigerator 4 times. And now I am feeling a little tired from my food binge so before I sign off for a much undeserved nap I'll leave you with this one thought. Remember when, not too long ago, I wrote about my secret love for designer fanny packs and casually admitted I have capri length black silk overalls and you judged me. Take a moment and think about your worst fashion faux pas and fuck off.

Union Street Festival/ Insomnia

I am not happy about this. It is 2:30 am, my head hurts and I can't sleep. But I guess that's what I get for drinking all day as if I was still in college; when I never used to get tired or hangovers. Back then God didn't punish me for drinking a fifth of Popov (woof) with little more than a piece of toast to tide me over. I could wake up and go to class after sleeping for two hours. I didn't get that puffy residual drunk look that is so common to me now after a day of drinking in the sun. Dear God why the change of heart? Is it because you want me to grow up and be an adult or because you have finally realized I am never going to join your team? Is this the same reason you have finally allowed my cheese habit to catch up with me and why when I went through all of adolescence zit free you have finally decided to curse me with adult acne? Who knew you were as vindictive as me. I forgive you all this if you would just let me sleep right now.

So yesterday (as in several hours ago) was San Francisco's annual Union street festival. There are several of these festivals during the season. For your reference please search Folsom street festival images. The morning started at LM's friends house at Greenwich and Laguna but in an effort to actually see the festival instead of skirt around it all day attending parties in the area we headed to union to wander around before things got too crazy. Fairly typical street fair but add more drunks than usual and less music. Seriously the amount of live entertainment was a little disappointing, although above average people watching really filled the gap. We headed over to a friends friends apartment that was in the thick of it but ended up at the wrong party. How we found this place I don't know but it was a frat house in the middle of San Francisco. Literally reminded me of a pike house in SLO. It was wall to wall people, men in tank tops and acrylic nails everywhere. I was given a stamp that says friends which I am sure when I finally do fall asleep and wake up will be on my forehead. So we finally find our friends but the apartment is out of beer so we agree to go to the Bus Stop where there is a huge line which we don't want to wait in so we walk around the side of the bar to the back entrance where for no bribe at all you can walk right in. Genius. 

My friend John Tuttle, is saving us a table and when he sees us he stands on the bench to greet us and low and behold two naked white legs. He is wearing short shorts and has a popped collar. I don't know Tuttle are you pretending to be one of them or are you actually one? We finally agree sitting inside a bar on a sunny SF day at a street festival seems wrong and so decide to explore which really means eat some food and 20 minutes later head back to the house party with fresh cold 18 pack in hand. The house has a beer bong tied to the stair railing and a beirut table set up in the living room. I love both of these things (but when am I going to grow up?) I walked home alone at around 7:30 p.m. up Union to Hyde. I almost died walking up the hill and if you think I am exaggerating then you A. don't live in San Francisco and B. Didn't know what I didn't tell you which is at the fair I ate a chicken skewer with the meat of half a whole chicken, Pad Thai, a hot dog, and 2 slices of pizza. I wasn't going to tell you because I am trying to pretend it never happened. I can feel you judging me right now...just stop that's what I have God for. Anyway I hop on the cable car at Hyde (thank god) and I am home and in bed by 8:30 p.m.. But not before I can text several friends to let them know I will be going out in 2 hours which is pretty adorable if you think about it since I woke up at 1 a.m. trying to figure out where I was.

Still can't sleep, I think I will watch the last episode of Parks and Recreation. If you haven't seen it go to hulu and watch it. It is genius, I hope they don't cancel it next season.

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.