R.I.P shoes

Parting with my belongings is way low on my list of things I like to do on my spare time, just above donating bone marrow. Growing up means saying goodbye, learning how to say you're sorry, and worrying about your credit score. Growing up also means dressing appropriately for work and, more specifically, caring about the state of your shoes. Only a year ago I had the luxury of wearing sneakers to work whenever I wanted. NOW-a-days, wearing sneakers to work incites a slew of off hand comments of the "is this your Lily Allen look" variety.

Fine, Job. You win.

I rounded up all the shoes I shouldn't be wearing anymore (but do) and tossed 'em out.

But not before saying goodbye...



Brown shoes I bought for real cheap at Kohl's, you will be missed. I liked that you looked kinda vintagey and everyone thought I bought you at a vintage store but really you were just cheap and school marmy. You're lining fell out right away, but you pressed on, like a champ! I will miss you, but I definitely won't miss your smell. Love Always.



Brocade shoes I wore on sooo many first dates, you are my rock. Your mustard colored brocade absorbed dirt, smog and dust without ever showing a single spot. More importantly, you made my feet look smaller than they really by at least half a size. Even one of the really snobby ladies at work complimented you not knowing that there's a fatty hole in your sole. Tricked her! We're a great team, but this is San Francisco, there are syringes on the floor, and I can't walk around with holey shoes. XOXO 4EVA.



Black shoes Jackie gave me for my birthday, where would I be without you? I wore you to every interview that I wore jeans to, also known as the interviews I didn't care much about. You are, by far, the most comfortable flats I own. You started out as black shoes but have faded away to a dull gray. Nobody likes things that gray, but I will never forget you.

And finally...



Weird pilgrim shoes I bought the first month I moved to the bay but have NEVER worn, why did I buy you? You seemed like a good idea at the time, but the truth is, we are just not right for eachother. You are too pointy for my feet and your soles are so slippery that I'm convinced you're trying to kill me. You remind me of the shoes my dad used to wear in the 70's but aside from that I am very sorry we ever met. meh.

No Such Thing As Free Parking

I'll preface this story by saying that the lot I park at near (NOT AT) the BART station charges $6/day for parking. Its my only choice since all other lots fill up before I arrive and monthly BART parking is snatched up faster than I can say "$200 a month to commute to work makes me die a little inside".

Luckily I befriended the parking lot attendant and after months of exchanging pleasantries he started to let me park for free. He's my dad's age and has a very strong dad vibe so I never take this gesture to mean anything but, "hey, you're probably poor, let me help you." Others who have heard me talk about this situation beg to differ.

Today I got dressed, put my $6 in my pocket (never one to be presumptuous) changed clothes after deciding I didn't like my outfit and then ran out the door. When i arrived at the lot I realized that my $6 were in my blazer....on my bed...in my room. I had decided to wear a coat instead of a blazer at the last minute. I figured I'd hit up my homie and all would be well. Except homie wasn't there. At this point it was too late to go to an ATM without being late to work.

I had no choice but to park my car, get on the train and hope I didn't get towed. When I got back to my car in the evening I was very pleased that my car was still where I had left it. And no ticket! Once in my car I noticed a small note on my windshield.



Translated it says, "Hi Dollface. It pleases me to say "hello" even if it isn't in person. Hope you are well. Antonio"

Friendly Father Figure or Creep. Please discuss.

Laney College Flea Market

Laney College Flea Market takes place every Sunday morning at Laney College in Oakland. Mayhaps I never understood the true meaning of a flea market but its basically one big garage sale where people take the shit they no longer want in hopes that you'll want it.

Don't get me wrong, I've had one or two garage sales of my own and I TOTALLY get the concept of pawning my unwanted shit off to some unsuspecting dimwit. But some of the stuff these people were trying to sell was just plain silly.




(Clears Throat)

Okay, you know its used because the tube is visibly half full (I'm an optimist). And chances are this man paid less than 3 bucks for this Johnson and Johnson brand tube-o-lube. Is it REALLY imperative that he get a little return on this botched investment? Can't he just call it a loss and move on? It was so bizarre. For those of you who are curious, he was this fat, short and very jolly looking mexican dude with dad style water sandals and a straw hat. Thought he'd be some creepy old white man, didn't you? Didn't you?! You racist.

work

So I've been very hesitant about divulging any details about New Job in fear of being fired over something I say. But honestly, its not that kind of place and anything I have to say about it, they would probably agree so here goes:

Three things that annoy me about New Job

People who kiss up to boss' children:
I'm talking like 5-7 year olds who still believe in "times tables" and don't know the difference between their left and right shoes. People trip all over themselves trying to make them smile and laugh and ostentatiously remember their names. They can't give you that 12% raise you want. They can't even sign off on the Neil Young CD you're trying to expense, so give it up.

Clever Community Emails:
Its not funny when your one of the office darlings and everything you say is accepted as hilarious and you decide to poke fun at the Partners via agency email. You know what would be funny? If you got fired or suspended for wasting our time with that garbage. It doesn't enrich my life. it doesn't make me laugh. in fact it just reminds me of how much free time you have and how you could probably print out your own google maps.

People who kiss up to boss' pets:
This annoys me above all else because I don't like animals to begin with (unless they are on the end of my fork) so treating one with extra care and respect on account of it belonging to a Boss makes me wanna puke.


That's it for now. But I'm sure there are more on the way.

BARF > PEOPLE

BART is a very interesting social experiment.

Not only does it force people from all walks of life to crunch together (armpit to face, crotch to face, butt to face, face to face, butt to butt and so on...) but it does so during man's weakest hours --- weekday mornings.

Students, worker bees, Executives, Executives to be and the like, willingly step into crowded, and often stank, spaces just to make it to work on time. We do it with pleasure! "What?, I have to stand next to a guy who's gonna yell 'meeetyaaaa! gagagagagagagagagagaga meeeeetyaaaaaaa!' the whole way. What? I might still hear him over my headphones and perhaps feel his breath on my face. Oh and he smells like the shoe section of the Salvation Army? ... well at least I caught the train!"

The BART ride home is generally less crowded. Sometimes there are even.. *gasp* seats! The funny thing is, when presented with a standing room only BART car, most people just stand wherever, unafraid to get too close to the "meeeeeeeetyaa!" guy and grateful that they made it on at all.

When given the choice of where to sit, however, the average BART rider becomes a total retard.

There was this one time that I sat behind an empty row (each row is comprised of two seats). One of the seats in this empty row had vomit on it. Every other row in the entire car had at least one person sitting in it. This means that anyone who stepped into the bart car was presented with two options:

a.) Share a row with a stranger
b.) Have your own row but sit next to the vomit.

To simplify this dilemma I will phrase the options like this:

a.) sit next to a person
b.) sit next to vomit

Everyone* who came into the BART car (while I was there to observe**) CHOSE THE VOMIT. EVERY SINGLE ONE. They would scope out the car, take a look at the vomit, SHRUG and then sit down next to barf. Eventually they'd change their minds and move...just in time for some other jackass to show up and chose barf over people too.


*about five or six people

**about 25 minutes

Bad Momma

After months of reckless fun (and an alarming disregard for my Comcast bill) I've decided to reintroduce a little discipline to my life. This entails scraping all the dust bunnies together to form one BIG dust bunny and throwing away all of the vegetables in my refrigerator that I neglected to use.

It's funny how doing something as simple as paying Sallie Mae or putting the recylables in the normal trash can make me feel so accomplished.

Part of Reckless Spring '07 was getting to know/ falling in like with San Francisco proper. Obviously, Oakland is home and I love it and will never leave it etc. But some parts of SF are certainly tempting. Namely the puestecitos (little stands) of Mexican food in the Mission. Sometimes when I walk around the Mission I feel like I'm in Guadalajara. No place in LA resembles Guadalajara the way the Mission does.

God, no.. I can't! Oakland 4 life! Oakland 4 life! If only they could fix the potholes, lose the one way streets and take down this godawful confusing sign.

No No Ro Ro

When I first moved to Oakland I made a mental list of what I wanted to accomplish while here. Nothing too lofty; little things like Learn to make my own frosting and Organize my CDS by color. One of the most ambitious tasks on the list was Watch entire Sex and City series in order.

I kind of OD'd on it and crapped out after season 3. Suneal was very relieved.

I did, however, catch the episode that talks about romance and how modern women are respulsed by it. I feel like my tolerance for loveish/lovelike things is especially low. I am a generally warm person, I appreciate romantic comedies and sometimes I end my emails with xoxo, -- so i'm not made of stone. But the thought of receiving a single red rose (barf) or having the car door opened for me or slow dancing in a public place where there isn't any music is all YUCKY POOPS TO THE MAX in my book.

Things are really looking up for me though. When a guy sends you flowers at work and then prefaces the note with "I hope this doesn't embarass you too much at work" -- its definitely a step in the right direction!

Eventually, I'll stomp ALL the romance out so that subsequent notes read something like, "hey turd, i bought these flowers using your credit card. I ordered myself a pizza too. thanks sucka."

La Vie en Rosso

Joanna, Curt and their battalion of cameras visited San Francisco this weekend. We played the part of excited tourists and made as many Full House references as possible. I miss Luz already.

skank

Adjusting to power-suit, carry-your-heels-in-a-bag-and-put 'em-on-at-work San Francisco style has been a challenge for me. I'm no mess, but Comfort is high on my list of priorities nestled in between Being a Loyal Friend and Eating Meat.

So when I went shopping on Haight and found a cheap dress that could ALSO work for work, I was really excited. I wore it with thick gray stockings (obviously) and flats.

Halfway through the day I was approached by one of the older women at work. She suggested I wear pants underneath my dress next time or maybe even, "one of those cute legging things that are so popular nowadays". I couldn't tell if I was embarassed that she thought I was trying to flaunt the cooch or offended that she was giving me style tips. (She wears bongo brand platform slippers!!)

I went home, dusted my mirror and really gave this issue some serious consideration.



Upon closer inspection, and a lot of bending over, I realized that the dress is INDEED too short.



Lesson: What is good for ventilation isn't always good for reputation.

MUSINGS

Ridiculous things Norcal people say:

"I would've never bought my SUV had it not been a hybrid"

"Joseph Schmidt makes acceptable truffles but everything else is so pedestrian"

"It might be overcast but this weather makes for exquisite photographs"

"I don't drive"

Karen's Gone :(

Karen has gone back to the SGV for now, but I know she'll be back soon. As forecasted by my horoscope, we had a fantastic time. I could get into what we did but instead I'm going to make vague inside jokes to make you feel left out:

Man, I hope israeli zach and Emile (a true scholar!) hit us up. holler!

Thanks for teaching me all about plastic > cardboard, I'm a changed woman.

Let the mocassin be your guide!

The A's ain't got nothin' on the Dodgers. The elephant guy is pretty cute though.

East Bay Lost

As much as I love San Francisco, I can't see myself ever moving there. Makeshift trashcan urinals aside, I just don't like the car situation. Maybe I'm being picky but I don't like having to circle a block for 15 minutes only to park at a spot that some homeless guy CLAIMS to have been saving for me -- now he wants a tip.

The funny thing is, whenever people come to visit, we spend most of our time in San Francisco. I guess staking out the Monterrey Market in hopes of a Michael Wild siting doesn't really scream "I'm on fucking vacation!"

Karen's visit to the Yay required a good balance of tit and tat, meaning sf and east bay, respectively. We did the hipster Mission thing one day and reserved the following day for supa'nasty oakland dancing. Fine, I may not be in the know as far what the hot shit is in the east bay but I'm not completely clueless either. The place we went had the potential of getting the job done had the crowd not been:

a) uggly as shit
b) subpar dancers - patrons of color, you disappoint me the most
c) accepting of the fucking awful DJ who played NELLY. N-E-L-L-Y!

The good thing is the drinks were strong. At the end of the night I couldn't even change into my jammies. But I pulled it together enough to make ravioli and cookies for Karen and I.

KAREN'S COMING! KAREN'S COMING!

Picking her up within the hour!!!

Tiny San Francisco!!

I flew home last weekend to attend a good friend's wedding (its happening all over the place isn't it??) The only available flights were the butt mother earliest ones. I ended up waking up late, skipping the shower I desperately needed and barely brushing my teeth on my way out.

I parked in the "Economy Lot" ($15.00 a day!!) jumped on the shuttle and was nearing the terminal when I realized I had left my suitcase in the car. I rushed back, then rushed to the airport, lost my new hat in the process, but made it to my flight in time.

My weekend was great -- with the exception of a tummy ache caused by a king taco burrito. I can't blame KT though. I would make me gurgly and gassy too if I had forsaken me.

Here are some pictures from the plane. I work in one of those buildings in the middle.

Trashcan't believe my eyes

In the two weeks I've worked in the city I've seen a record number of men, mostly homeless types, peeing in trashcans. I was COMPLETELY shocked the first time I saw it happening because it was broad daylight and his aim was very poor. There was no attempt to hide what he was doing and he wasn't the least bit startled that I was watching him.

What I thought was interesting was how committed he was about getting the pee INSIDE the trashcan. Sure, he was relieving himself in the middle of the street with children and virgins and hungry dogs around but he was careful not to spill on the floor. Peeing outside a trashcan is so uncouth! That's what separates man from beast, you know.

Then again, I've been known to pee my christmas dress so I'm not one to talk. Damn musical chairs and the laughter it caused!!!

WAAARRIORS!

I hate to admit it, but sports are kinda fun. Especially when an entire town bands together in support of the local underdogs that are pitted against the (so called) #1 team in the country. --eff you charles barkley--

Just when I thought my sports mania couldn't get any worse, I went to an A's game and sat in a box seat. New Job hooked it up. Let me tell you something....its much better in the shade. I sipped cool water and sat in a cushioned seat and thanked my lucky stars I wasn't down with the scary, angry people. A's kicked ass so the crowd wasn't angry for long.

I guess the next logical progression is the... *gulp*...raiders. I don't think I'm ready for that just yet. Good thing I have a couple of months to prepare.

Weekend

Again. I don't think I can reiterate this enough: Bay Area Thrift Stores Blow My Mind.



HOW CUTE IS THIS?! You are so jealous. Yes you are. It's okay, I would be too. Except IT'S MINE! I won't even tell you how much it cost. ($11)

I cleaned my room and laid in my bed, not sleeping, just laying there. I took stupid pictures, finishing up the last of my AA batteries.

Age Aint Nuthin' but a Number

Working in PR/Marketing/ZabbityDo whatever you wanna call it, I've learned a couple of things. One is, being young can be the kiss of death. If you are too young people automatically think 1 of 2 if not 2 of 2 things:

1.) You are a totally naive, know-nothing idiot

2.) You are an over eager, cut throat tracy flickesque drone who's spirit deserves to be broken

Working in a office with several young women, we're all walking around like underage groupies backstage at a concert, thinking older thoughts and being very careful not to disclose our ages.

How I celebrated:

For the past couple of weeks I've been cooking all of my meals at home. My once impressive savings had been bitch slapped into the 3 digits. When I finally got a job offer from new job, that from here on out will be known as "New Job", I decided to let the purse strings loose and splurge!

First I bought the new chicken fries from Burger King. I had been wanting them for weeks! That "Spongebob No Pants" commercial KILLS me. Plus they come in this box:



Then I went to Longs and bought a book of Mexican masks. You carefully cut out and paste the masks together. HOURS of fun. Really.





The masks really creep Suneal out so I can't wear them around him. I might hide one under his pillow though.

WE'RE SAVED!!

After 2 long, tumultuous months of raised hopes, lost hopes, bad interviews, bang issues, nail biting, and a little soul searching...i finally landed a job. I'll be working at an ad agency.

what does this mean for you???

It means you don't have to hear me whine about not having a job anymore!

For Goodness SAKE bomb

When Alice said she was coming to visit, I promised her a good time. Little did I know that a "good time" would include a sake induced mini-coma, losing $20 dollars to Suneal, and throwing up on my new suede pumps.

Things I remember:

• Drinking 7 or so sake bombs
• Needing to pee 7 or so times
• Kindly replacing the roll of toilet paper in the Michi restaurant bathroom

Things I vaguely remember:

• Losing my napkin early in the night and discovering that the table cloth works just as well.
• Paying Suneal $20 to drink a cup of water that had ginger floating in it (in retrospect, not that difficult a task).
• High-fiving, a lot.

Things I don't remember but believe are true:

• Throwing up on a toyota tercel, rinsing my mouth out with fanta, and then blowing the fanta on the toyota tercel.
• Losing a bet to Alice on who could pull a number at Rosie McCann's first. (Damn you Alice!)
• Swishing my hand around in toilet water for fun.

I think that about covers it. I'd like to thank Jackie and her sister Jen for having fun and reckless bday parties. I'd like to thank Suneal for taking care of my drivers license and offering to buy milk with his winnings. I'd like to thank jeff for making sure I didn't die and putting up with drunk-girl-on-the-bathroom-floor shennanigans. Finally I'd like to thank Banh Mi Alice for being her usual fun and crazy self. You are the will to my too-drunk-to-talk guy.

Wham! Bam! Thank You SPAM!

A couple of months ago I went through a really intense spam musubi phase. Any time I was hungry the only food that would whet my appetite was SPAM SUSHI. After spending many, many monies at various Hawaiian food spots, Alice suggested that I just make my own.

At first I was totally befuddled. How could I make my own Hawaiian food? Its such a foreign culture, I don't know anything about it.

Then Alice reminded me that its SPAM we're talking about and it hardly counts as cooking.

So I gave it a try and guess what? Its DELICIOUS and CHEAP and EASY. I highly recommend it to anyone on a budget, lazy and not on a diet.

Hotel Jojoter

In the two months I've been at my new apartment I've hosted 10 different guests, no samesies. Having people over is a delight, especially since I have the time and energy to make sure we have fresh fruit, clean sheets, extra toothbrushes etc.

Suneal hasn't mentioned anything about it yet but I wouldn't be surprised if he thought I was running a hostel to make extra cash.

Here's what I can promise if you choose to stay at Hotel Jojoter:

Luxury paisley print Luxury Futon with Luxury velvet pillow
Breathtaking balcony view of downtown Oakland
Somewhat less impressive view of Bay Bridge if you hang out the balcony a little bit
The charming sound of whistling pipes with every flush!
Easy access ot 880 and 580 freeways
Free Wi-Fi

Let me know when you wanna come. Book early, spots will fill up!

Separation Anxiety

With all the extra sleep I've been getting lately (still no job) my dreams are outta control. Its like my unconscious knows my brain is bored so it has to make up all this drama when I'm sleeping.

I had your typical End of the World type dream a couple of nights ago. The entire planet had been torn apart by a WW III: Return of the Fascists. My family and I were all on the losing side so we, and hundreds of others, were forced onto a disease ridden fugee boat. The oppressive fascist "bad guys" were played by an ALL BLACK army led by Puff Daddy. ---I'm not even kidding--- To ensure that our side would remain weak they separated all of the families, shipping individual members to different countries.

My parents were allowed to stay together and were shipped away to someplace. My sister was sent to Denmark alone and I was forced to stay on the boat, with the "bad guys". Ten or so years pass and I escape the boat and head for Tennessee to reunite with an aunt who was never forced from her home in the first place. I never quite figured out why she was allowed to stay and live a peaceful life but I clearly remember being very bitter about her good fortune. She explains to me that Karla struggled in Denmark and was very lonely but had recovered and now had two children and a Danish husband. My parents were never heard from again.

It was a sad effin dream. But the worst part was feeling so disconnected from my sister. I can't imagine being away long enough to miss her having kids.

I think we can skip the interpretation part of the segment as it is all too obvious. Let's just say my brain has the kind of lips that sink ships run by fascist black pirates.

Blockbusted

Whenever I forget to return movie rentals to Blockbuster the Reminder Robot calls my parents' house.

It goes a little something like, "We have not yet received ___(title of movie)___ if you do not return it by ___(random date)___ we will charge you...blah blah blah.

The first time Blockbuster called my house for a late movie was when I forgot to return "Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex but Were too Afraid to Ask" by Woody Allen. My dad called me that night was was like, "Um, (cough) you umm (cough) you forgot to return a movie to blockbuster" and then he quickly changed the subject. I doubt he's ever heard of the movie and was very surprised to hear a robotic voice telling him that his daughter had forgotten to return a movie called "something something something SEX something something something".

My dad called me again today to say that I, "ummm (cough) forgot to ummm (cough) return SOME movie to Blockbuster." I took a look around the apartment and realized I hadn't returned "SEX and the City: Season 4, Volume 1" yet. Now that they assume I'm some sort of deviant, me moving away is the least of their worries.

No Woman, No Lie

My downstairs neighbor Laura is quite a character. She hates Oakland and is VERY bitter about having to move here because her husband was accepted to Berkeley. She has a pleasant enough demeanor but hehind those hazel eyes I sense a very angry woman.

Suneal can't stand her. Mostly because Suneal is a positive guy with a positive attitude and negative attitudes are just not his deal. I don't really mind her - -- except that she wants to be my new best friend. She is "so glad that nice people moved in upstairs" and is very confused by Victoria in Apt #2 who "used to be so friendly but lately seems too busy to talk".

Oh Brother.

The worst part about living in a creaky apartment with hard wood floors and squeaky pipes is that our downstairs neighbors can hear what we're up to. Normally this wouldn't bother me so much, except that it makes lying about not being home very impossible. For those of you who know me and my proclivity to social lying, this situation is very frustrating.

Laura came up the other day and asked if I wanted to hang out. I said, while still in my pajamas, "Oh, you know, I'm on my way out." So she smiled and said, "Well, some other time then" and returned to her apartment. That left me with no option but to leave my apartment and find something to do because otherwise she would know I was a liar.

Does anyone know where I can get those footsie slips Mark Wahlberg used at the end of The Departed??

Frat Guy Philosophy

When people ask me where I'm from I almost ALWAYS say "LOS ANGELES", no abbreviations or nicknames. Then they usually respond, "Oh, L.A. huh?" Followed by some sort of deprecating remark about southern California.

I cringe when they say, "L.A". I don't know why.

I remember in college a frat "bro" once saying that he would NEVER call his Fraternity a "Frat" in the same manner that he would never call his House a "Ho".

I can't believe I remember that.

Loot! Soup! Broke!

Being unemployed doesn't make people broke. Being bored and going shopping to pass the time is what makes people broke.

The good news is, I'm spending most of my money at thrift stores. Most of you already know this, but for those of you who don't here's a little fact about Los Angeles: the thrift stores suck. ESPECIALLY the ones on the Westside.

Thrift stores ANYWHERE else have a lot more to offer. Here's what I found last week:



Highlights include: Owl cookie jar, squash cookbook, bag of misc giftcards.

Sometimes I would play the intellectual and peruse the book sections at these thrift stores. It was interesting to see the kinds of books people wanted to oust from their lives. After the third thrift store I began to detect patterns. Here are the top 5 types of unwanted books in countdown style order:

5. Christian fiction (Left Behind-esque) dealing with the apocalypse and second coming etc.
4. French cookbooks where all the food is covered in sauces and silly decorations.
3. Bibles
2. Oprah book club books (oprah sucks!)
1.


I bet the "Chicken Soup" guy eats his "Gold and Money" soup with a "Gold and Diamonds" spoon.

East Baybies

It's no surprise that hippies raise their kids differently. They name their kids something ridiculous like Snowpepper and let them have boy/girl sleepovers in junior high.

East bay hippie parents raise their kids to be snobbish baby-hippies. They wear matching Crocs and go grocery shopping together.

Monterrey Market (my favoritist market) is baby bonanza. All the progressive East Bay parents come out with their kids and babies in strollers or, better yet, one of those snazzy hippie baby slings. You know, the kind that you'd see in those National Geographic images of subsaharan African mothers.

I was in the bread aisle and this typical East Bay mom (glasses, kind of greasy but stylishly messy hair, rolled up khaki pants, tribalish necklace) walks by with her kid. This little boy was YOUNG, like could barely walk YOUNG, maybe 2 or three.

Mom says: Sweetie, what kind of bagel do you want? White? Wheat?
Baby says: Uhhhhhhh....sesame.
Mom says: Alright we'll get the sesame.


Joanne says: Whhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat??!!

Sesame wasn't even an option! He wasn't just repeating what mom wanted! He was asking for what HE wanted.... because he actually KNEW what kind of bagel he was in the mood for!

This is all very dangerous. The day will come when Mom will ask, "Will you take care of me now that I am old and vulnerable."

Baby will say, "I can't. I'm currently focusing on all of the business ventures I had the confidence to pursue thanks to my first rate upbringing. Sorry ma!"

Home is Where Your Shit Is

After toying with the idea for hours I decided to drive down to LA last Thursday. I spent most of the time with my mom who was feeling under the weather.

I spent time with my family and saw some friends but in the end, I missed "home" a little bit. Home meaning that place where I keep my clothes and cooking appliances. Its weird that a place, Oakland, where I have no family and no close friends can still feel like home.

After 5 weeks of making it my own, here are some aesthetic changes:

Here's the Livingroom. Good place to pound fists furiously into futon while watching NCAA basketball. Just ask Suneal.



Dining Room - pretty much the same except I bought a vinyl tablecloth



View from the front door. The little plants in our plant vestibule are real.



This is the crap nook where we put all the orphaned, unwanted, and displaced shit in our lives. If only there was an emotional crap nook.



My room




My TWIN (ugggh) Bed



Old Briefcase turned KnickKnack holder

BANG! You're Dead!

So here's the deal with the ad agency I really want to work for:

They are cool.
I met with the HR woman.
We hearted eachother up the ying yang. Instant BFF.
She fixes me up with an interview with the Creative Dept.
I spaz out during the interview, fiddle with my hair and eff it all up.
HR woman calls me and tells me Creative lady is going to pass on me. ( I cry, a little bit)
HR woman calls and says that another position is opening.
HR woman fixes me up with Accounts dept.
I get my bangs trimmed.

HR woman calls to pass along message from Creative Dept: "Don't hide behind your hair. You seem distracted with it"


So basically, my long bangs cost me a job. Losing my long bangs cost me $50 bucks. God, throw me a bone wouldja!!

GaoPham

When Yessie Penny told me that she and Jpham were coming to visit me I peed a little bit in my pajamas from the excitement.

It was a spectacular weekend spent eating delicious food, laughing at dad jokes, and playing several rounds of "what body part am I touching you with?" with jessica on the futon. she might not have been awake while we played but it definitely happened.

Highlights!!

New friend Jason Shiga showed us his Lego Arm Wrestling device. The two opponents furiously crank the knobs at the side to move their respective arms at the top. Winning the game means focusing on turning the knob as fast as you can without slowing down or breaking the knob. Cranking too hard and breaking the knob results in a default loss.



We found and fed this groundhog at Golden Gate Park. He would've been much cuter had he worn a tiny yellow construction helmet. I know he has one.



This is what a Peking Dinner for 10 looks like:




All in all, a great weekend. Can't wait for Jgao and Jpham to come back. We'll hit up the taco truck on International again. It's no KT but it'll do.

Popscene

The last time I attempted to go to Popscene (SF version of Cinespace) was in 2003. I was supposed to see the Zutons and then pass shit out after the concert, all courtesy of Filter. Lo and behold they didn't have my name on the list and even though I was holding Zuton promo items IN MY HANDS they didn't let me in!

So when I found out that Albert Hammond Jr was playing at Popscene last Thursday I was a little hesitant about going. I figured I'd give it a shot, if they didn't let me in I'd buy myself ice cream to cheer myself up.

The line was undoubtedly long but it moved rather quickly and sooner rather than later I was in! Reasons Popscene is better than Cinespace:

1. People dance during the concerts
2. Drinks are cheaper
3. Patrons are charming and polite
4. No aloof bouncer picking and choosing who gets in first
5. Disco ball

AHJ was very cute and fun. He kept pressing his lips against the microphone like he was frenchy kissing it. that was a little distracting.

Bigger is Better!

Okay, so in between darting around town for interviews I had a little fun in San Francisco. Paul was in town so he came along.

This is the arboretum in Golden Gate Park. Temperature outside that day was about 72 (too cold!) but INSIDE the tropical arboretum was just right at about 85.





They had a double headed cocount in one of the glass cases.



Upon closer inspection I discovered that "double headed coconut" is a euphemism for vajayjay.



There are a ton of plants and orchids and lilies and flowers and plants and plant and plants. So if you like that sort of thing, you should visit. Otherwise just skip it. Who wants to pay money to look at plants?

P.S. Ask for the student discount, even if you're not. They don't check.


**** Correction. The arboretum is ACTUALLY called the Conservatory of Flowers. Thanks Jenn!!

Bleh

After a very exhausting week of interviews (1 great, 4 whatevs, 1 awful) I'm very unmotivated and, I'm not gonna lie, a little depressed.

So i'll leave it at that. The jobs and their descriptions don't matter so I'm not going to get into it. But I will tell you this: Don't EVER, EVER get caught up with a placement agency. They might as well be scrubs because they ain't gonna get no love from me.

Would you rather?

Take a entry level job at a young, cool and successful advertising agency where you'll be groomed for a creative-type position.

or

Work for the marketing department of a tuna fish company for $17,000 more a year.

Weakend

So there is possibility I may have a kidney stone.

That's all I have to say about that.

My family came up this weekend and despite my best efforts to get them to hang out in the east bay we spent most of our time in San Francisco. We almost crashed twice because my dad refused to follow the traffic laws. He thinks turning lanes are optional, more like suggestion lanes.

My parents slept on a blow up bed in my room, giving them the chance to get to know Suneal, my MALE roommate.

Prior to my move, my parents fought me tooth and nail about living with Suneal. "You don't know him, maybe he has bad habits (code for drugee), maybe he is touchy feely (code for rapist) maybe he is narrow minded and disagreeable (code for racist against mexicans).

Upon finally meeting Suneal, undoubtedly one the coolest people ever, they wouldn't shut up about how nice he is, how great he is, how lucky I was to get such a amiable, respectful roommate etc.etc. Any and all of their grievances regarding my scandalous male roommate were replaced with variations of, "what a nice young man" and "he seems so sweet".

To top it all off my dad had a talk with me about how Suneal (who he has only known for 22hours) has such direction in his life! It's time for me to settle down and find direction too! can you believe that?!

On Saturday night my mom overheard Suneal playing his guitar in the living room. Knowing that Suneal is part Indian she leaned in and very earnestly asked me, "Is he playing a guitar or a sitar?"

Idle Wives and Their Lives

Now in my third week of unemployed bliss, I've settled on the idea that work just isn't for me. Sure, it may have once been the source of my self worth but is it possible to work a 9-5 AND take 3 hour long trips to Walgreens on Wednesday afternoons? There's nothing like walking up and down EVERY aisle just because I can, its not like there is anywhere I need to be.

Then there is Emeryville. Emeryville is yuppie shopping mecca. From what I've read and heard it used to be a shithole back in the day and they've recently renovated, built lofts, kicked out the bums and brought IKEA in. That's how you know you're on the yuppie consumer map: IKEA comes to town.

Here's what the Target looks like:



Nice huh? This Target is technically in Albany, not Emeryville but the two places are total BFF's.

The whole place has a very distinct Riverside-ness to it. Everything is new, no real history, cookie cutter housing projects, lots of parking. I spent most of this week running around buying shit left and right. But I wasn't alone. Housewives were out in droves, some with babies, most with bad outfits made worse by their Louis Vuitton purses. Much like me, they were pushing their carts as if they had nowhere else to be. I mean, does spending someone else's money really feel as satisfying as spending your own?

I'd like to be one of those women that considers "housewife" a real job and believes that a housewife is entitled to half of what her husband makes, but I just don't buy it. I need the check to have MY name on it. The only way I could be okay with the housewife bit would be if I invoiced my husband every month for services rendered. Then the check would have my name on it and I could do whatever I wanted with it. Buy baby chicks perhaps and put them all in gold lamé suits. Who cares? It's my money.

Eventually, the on-the-job sexual harrassment would become an issue and I'd have to take him to court. Luckily, the settlement check will cover the cost of the sweatsuits, LV purses, and scrunchies I'll need to fit in with the other crusty moms walking around IKEA.

Miraculously Heeled

Last Thursday I was freaking out about my first interview scheduled for 3pm the next day. I stupidly forgot any an all interview attire at home. And by "interview attire" I mean the ONE pair of black heels I own (but never wear) and some sad, cheap, clam digger length slacks I bought 2 years ago.

Jackie, professional shopper extraordinaire, came to my rescue and took me to the Stanford Shopping Center. Yes, it's just as upper middle class wasparific as you think it is, and it saved my life. The cosmos aligned and I found the perfect interview outfit including a pair of heels that I can actually walk around in for more than 10 minutes.



I don't have a printer at my apartment so the day of the interview was spent scrambling around town trying to print and copy my resume. THE FUCKING AWFUL PROBLEM WITH DOWNTOWN OAKLAND is the totally absurd lack of parking. Imagine that there is a Walgreens, a Ralph's, a Wells Fargo, a FedEx Kinkos, a Bank of America, a Coco's and a 7-11 all lined up next to eachother. Now imagine that there are only 15 parking spaces for all of them. Now give all of these spaces a meter. Now make each meter 5 MINUTES per QUARTER. That was my problem last Friday.

I finally get my shit done and I head over to the BART station to park my car and head over to the city for my interview. BECAUSE NO ONE DRIVES TO SAN FRANCISCO - THERE IS NO PARKING THERE. Guess what? there is no parking in the Oakland Bart stations either.

So I have no choice but to drive to San Francisco.
Brave the one way streets.
Park in a lot that charges 3.00 per 20 minutes. (But don't worry there is a 32.00 maximum!)

I stepped out of the parking lot and stomped down the street in my heels, pretending I was on my way back to the office from a leisurely lunch. It felt great to walk around in a ACTUAL city with cabs and bike messengers and hustle and bustle.

After all that trouble: finding the outfit, finding the printer, finally finding the parking, I walked through the big glass doors and into the marble lobby, completely convinced that it was ALL worth it.




Heading into the East Bay from the Bay Bridge. Traffic was slow enough for me to take this picture.

Older New Kid

When I first drove into Oakland two weeks ago I felt like EVERYONE was staring at me. It didn't matter than I was in my car and that the windows were wet and foggy, they all stopped to look at me when I drove by. And by everyone I mean every person in every other car, people on the street, people hanging out in front of their houses, people jogging, ups, fedex, little babies in strollers, people with blindfolds on, everyone. They were all looking through my car at me thinking, "She is new and doesn't know where she is going. We should rob her. I bet she just got into an accident last November and is really scared of rearending someone again. She looks like the kind of person who would neglect to put a new alarm in her car after the first alarm died. I bet she forgets to check her backseat before getting into her car."

I can thank my parents for this level of crazy.

Good thing is, it's getting a lot better. Me and my car feel more and more invisible with each passing day. Soon I'll be a mere ghost. Not that there is a shortage of those, seeing as how my apartment is full of them. But I'll save the rest of the crazy for some other time.

Ballin'

I've been scanning the radio since I got here (thanks Karla for teaching me what the scan button is for) and I've made a couple of observations:

1. Bay area loves the reggaeton
2. Apparently, there is no such thing as too much cheesy 90's R&B
3. Pussycat dolls "Buttons" is still considered a current hit.
4. The very prominent cowboy hat/cowboy boot wearing latino population can choose from dozens of stations to listen to mexican polka. used to be called 'quebraditas' in my day. I don't know what the kids call it now.

Judge me if you will, but I really miss Kevin and Bean.

Bum of all Fears

Los Angeles has its share of bums. Most of the LA bums can be sorted into two categories, Laid Back Bums and Don't-make-no-sense Crzzzzy Bums. Most of the Laid Back Bums ended up in California because they saw the beach in the movies, fell in love with the culture and had dreams of being called Moondoggie.

The Crazy Bums all hang out in Westwood and threaten to shank you if you don't tip them after they sing to you.

The bums I've encountered in the Bay are very angry, confrontational even. Generally, the statement, "Sorry I don't have any money" is understood as the end of the conversation. Angry Bay area bums, however, see this statement ONLY as a challenge. "Oh, yeah, if you got no money how are you going to pay this Taco Truck you're standing in line for?"

Touche Bum.

If you pretend you don't speak English and just shake your head, they are prepared for that too! "Hola amigo, por favor una peseta para un taco?" You can't say no to that. So I just gave him the damn money.

Downstairs Neighbors

Our downstairs neighbors, Tom and Laura, are a youngish married couple originally from Los Angeles. Tom is studying some liberal-type garbage at Berkeley while Laura works in an office and studies to be a nurse. They are some chatty cathy's.

Yesterday I decided to walk down (about a mile) to the nearest ATM in order to avoid having to find a place to park. At first I had planned on walking the perimeter of Lake Merritt but I wasn't in the mood for the 3 miles. I had dinner plans at 8 so walking the whole thing wasn't on the agenda.

Then I passed Laura on the way down. We did the requisite polite chit chat. Then she asked me what I was up to.

Now here's the part where I tell the truth, right? I just say, "well I'm walking down the ATM to get cash before meeting my friends for dinner". Right? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

I figure that's too long and involved so I say, "I'm going to take a walk around the lake." Concise. Not too much information. A LIE. Easy way to cut the chit chat and get on my way.

Then Laura says, "Oh, well I haven't done that in months! I'd LOVE to come with YOU!''

By this time I'm in too deep. Its just too late to say, "oh my bad, I meant I was walking down to the ATM, I don't have time to walk around the lake." So I just went.

It took only an hour and I had a good time listening to her stories.

My favorite was when she said, "I usually leave for work early so that I can look for free parking. You know how us Jews are, we're reeeeal stingy" Then she looked over at me like she wanted me to fall into her racial joke trap. So I played it cool and commented on how I would've never guessed she was Jewish, given her normal sized nose. Good thing I got my wits about me. That could've been awkward.

Neighbors

The last time I can remember being friends with my neighbor was back in the fifth grade. Her name was Claudine and she was a year older than me. She and I taped Fresh Prince of Bel-air when it first came out just so we could write down and memorize all of the lyrics from the opening credits. Her mom made the BEST spaghetti and when we became GOOD friends she introduced me to her grandma, who was a pile of ashes that sat in an urn on the mantle.


I haven't befriended another neighbor since. There really isn't a need or chance too since I rarely see any neighbors. Until I moved to Oakland.

This is the view from our diningroom.

"Hello there! My name is Joanne. I didn't mean to stare! It's just we are so damn close, I can't look out the window without seeming like a creep. I wasn't watching you wash your dishes compulsively. I swear I'm not judging you. But maybe you should get a girlfriend or something? Or you can come by and wash my dishes. ohhh, no I didn't mean that in the dirty way. Maybe you're gay. Okay have a good one!"

I doubt I'll actually befriend any of them but chances are very high that I will make a few enemies.

Tuesday, February 13th

Today was the first day on my own. I couldn't leave the house because the maintenance guy was scheduled to fix our microwave. So I just found things to do around the apartment. When he called (about 3:30pm) to let me know he'd be late I got pretty ticked off. After all I had waited around all morning.

Then he asked me if we had plugged in the microwave yet. Turns out nothing is wrong with our microwave. There IS, however, something wrong with two adults calling for maintenance help before thinking to plug the damn thing in!

I fixed my room a little, went to run errands and then got REALLY LOST trying to find a specific produce market. After being lost for about 1.5 I topped off the night by driving against traffic into a one way street. In my defense, this street was recently turned into a one way street and when I used to frequent this market it was a very successful TWO-WAY street.

Note to the Bay Area: Please use some of the gagaziliion dollars you charge for the bridges and repaint the names on your street signs.

Here's my apartment! I'll post pictures of the progress. It's still pretty raw.

View from Front Door!

View from green chair in the corner. Kitchen at far left. Front door at far right.

Kitchen!

Bathroom!

Dining Room!

My Room View #1

My Room View #2