On My Bed – And Why I’m Going to Miss You

Not you. My bed. I am going to miss my bed.

For the last two years it has been just you and me bed, oh how I tried to fill the void in our relationship - the right side that is – never with very much success though and now I must forsake you altogether. My Australian visa will not let me take you with me. The fact that I called in sick today just to spend an extra 2 hours with you should be testament enough to how much our relationship means to me. I will be devastated if you are not waiting for me when I return home. You better be though I paid good money for you at Dirt Cheap Mattresses, took you out of the ghetto and that suspect warehouse, clothed you in only the best linens and then spent entire Sundays with you literally never leaving your fluffy but firm pillow top for more than the mere moment to get leftovers or cheese from the fridge to eat. Please don’t forget this while I am gone.

And this is how my minor panic attack began. I was lying in bed feeling like I was sleeping on clouds when I realized there are no cloud filled beds in Australia. And also I realized at the same time that I can’t carry all of my beloved clothes in even (3) suitcases (I could never take 3…could I?) Which means…I am going to have to choose. And then there was the dilemma, 2 suitcases or one. How big, how much can I carry on my own? One small, one large or two small. Are my friends going to judge me my new favorite Le Sportsac backpack that I bought completely without cause or need and have been hiding from my roommates. And which purse, I can’t take more than one and what about jeans, jeans are heavy but I want, wait need, all of them. And here I am panicking now and really what about shoes?

On another note I realized I never even commented on Mystic Pizza in my last post even though I referenced it in my title. So here it is, of course it was on TV 14 times between last weekend and I watched it probably twice through intermittently and the entire time I just wanted one slice. Seriously what is so fucking mystic about it? I don’t know maybe I am just hungry but it doesn’t seem right.

Mystic Pizza and More Molly Ringwald

I just saw St. Elmo’s Fire for the first time, and while Molly Ringwald isn’t in it most of the Brat Pack are. Demi Moore is her replacement I guess. And who wouldn’t choose Demi over Molly? Molly could never play an in-debt investment banker who is addicted to cocaine and sleeping with her boss. Molly could however blend into any wall of Demi’s completely pink apartment – Oh the 80’s…sigh – speaking of has anyone been to Urban Outfitters lately? It seems they are coming back – the eighties that is - more so than ever. Urban is infected with neon and floral printed ruffle dresses, one of which looks just like a dress I wore at the age of 7 with a side pony tail and jelly sandals. God I was skinny back then.

But what I was really getting at is have you seen For Keeps? I haven’t yet but I intend to. Molly plays a highschool girl who gets pregnant with her highschool BF. Don’t worry though it is not Anthony Michael Hall – wouldn’t that be disturbing –

By the way I am back at Nook today after a long absence during which time they didn’t miss me at all, and it feels so good. Except that I am here because Stevo our building manager is showing our apartment for (2) hours during the middle of the day and I think people are going to be interested since it is listed at $400 less than what we are currently paying….so that’s nice.

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.

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?

Batter Blaster and Why the World is Coming to an End

Just last Monday, while watching daytime television on my "day off" I realized my American cheese habit isn't so bad. While American cheese is called cheese but really isn't - although I can't tell you what it really is and would prefer no to think about it - the fact of the matter is in some forms it still resembles what it is suppoese to be akin to (sliced cheese).

Just because Kraft thought I might prefer not to cut it up myself and individually packaged them for my convenience does not make it resemble cheese any less. However, never have I thought to buy Cheese Whiz, which perhaps makes me a little bit of a snob. I just don't want to squirt my cheese onto crackers. I want it to start in a solid form so that I can - after I have unwrapped several slices, toasted bread and buttered a pan - feel like I actually worked for my gooey grilled cheese sandwich. Where would the satisfaction lie if you just squirted some cheese whiz onto bread and had an instant grilled cheese. This brings me back to last Monday and the revelation that while I unwrap individual packets of american cheese and hastily throw away the wrappers so that my roommates can't count how many slices went into a given sandwich, someone is squirting not cheese but waffle batter onto a hot griddle and instantly, without more than a mere shake of the can, has a perfect waffle 3 minutes later (actual directions as follows...Shake, Point, Blast, Cook). It's called Batter Blaster and if you haven't seen the extended commercial for it please click on the following link for a demo video that has auto replay in case your mind goes too numb to hit play a second time.

http://www.batterblaster.com/

What's next Hambuger Blaster? Ew sorry that's disgusting but okay if they come up with that just remember where you heard it first.

So anyway you can see why I might think the end of the world is near.

Speaking of prophesizing the end of the world I just started reading "Under the Banner of Heaven" and while all of me says read this it will be interesting I am only 3 chapters in and I am already so horrified I just don't know if I need to read the rest of it. Its like trying to take your eyes of off a car crash though and so I will probably finish it or at least try until it hurts too bad and finally I will revert back to some piece of trash novel that makes me want to go shoe shopping and start a family and then I will - instead of having nightmares about incest, teen pregnancy and religious manipulation - dream of making perfect fluffy waffles without even breaking a sweat and that is how I will get my children to love me.

By the way... Batter Blaster is organic. Do what you will with that information.

*This is not endorsed by Batter Blaster, nor is it intended to recommend its use in anyway. In fact, use at your own risk.

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.

My Day Off

It's Monday morning and I brushed my teeth at 11am. My "day off" that I have incurred as a result of the current economic downturn - the same economic downturn I thought couldn't touch me with a 10' pole - is Monday. At first I was extremely upset about the day off, among other things it stifles my ability do my job the way I would like and, of course, comes with a 20% pay-cut. But now I am working towards embracing some of the things it allows me to do. And after all I still have a job. 

The perks of having Mondays off include of course brushing my teeth as late in the day as I want. No one else is around to smell my foul breath, and besides I wake up around 10am with no where to go. I have also taken to shaving my legs twice a week (does it alarm you that it was previously once a week, saying it out loud kind of alarms me), I have more time in the shower these days so in addition to shaving I also exfoliate my feet on Mondays which is nice since pedicures were the first thing to go with the pay cut. Also Monday is a great day to do laundry, clean up the apartment and what I am far more likely to do which is watch TV all day - like right now for instance I am watching Sabrina; Pretty in Pink is on next, maybe Molly Ringwald will inspire me to make my own clothes thereby helping me to live on my now smaller budget!- And there it is; the rationale of a someone who is actually sore from being in bed pretty much for the last 24 hours. 

Well Pretty in Pink is calling me as is the american cheese in my refrigerator. Can someone please tell me who thought Molly should be the it girl of the 80's, I don't get it.