Running on the Run

At first I was hesitant to share this story and only because of the whole Wow that's gross and/or that's a little too much information. I changed my mind for a few reasons.

It is who I am or a part of what I deal with - I know, I thought I was perpetually sexy and flawless too...who knew that's just not true?
Being human and all that comes with it is funny and you need to laugh at that or I do.

I like to run. I do it as often as I can. And as you all know when you run you try to be mindful of what will make your run a pleasant one. Right shoes, right clothes, right diet...especially the right diet directly prior to running. So over the years I've perfected this as best anyone can. There are sometimes though when I just have a bad day.

I took off on my run planning on making it a longer one. All flat and down hill on the way out and uphill the whole way back. I liked my route but on the way out my stomach hurt and cramped a little and a small pain set in. I'm kind of used to this and I thought to just breath it out and all would be fine. I take a couple more steps and I realize I am not going to be fine. I am in severe pain and I'm going to throw up out of some end of my body and I am not prepared to do it in the middle of the street.

I round a corner and I regard the households. I'm so tempted and on the verge of desperation. I play the scenario in my head. I go up ring the bell "Hi. I was out running. I'm sick. Let me use your bathroom. I'm from the Midwest trust me this is nothing perverse. And do you mind leaving I would like some privacy..." No, I can't.

I start breathing deeply and I'm hunched over thinking "Oh dear Lord. No. No. No..." I continue my pathetic shuffle down the street and I see these porta potties and there's a heavenly light shining on them and I will myself over to them to discover they all have pad locks. Oh dear Jesus are you kidding? How does this town cater to the homeless with pad locks. I want to cry and at this point I am literally on my hands and knees. I'm crawling and thinking Why didn't I bring my cell phone? I need to call Lidia and even if I did I'm past the point of no return. I can't be helped. I need to shout out to the happy people outside the bar across the street to where I'm at to call an ambulance and tell them to bring a bag. I am sweating and in tears I'm praying out loud "God, don't let this happen to me. I'm strong I endure so much but I can't endure this. I can't defecate on myself. I just don't know how I'll handle that. I can't." What would I do? Walking up these hills is a slow laborious process and I can't imagine how it would be to attempt to make that walk in soiled spandex pants. Passing people "I'm so sorry. Please, please disregard the stench. The horror. Turn your heads. Don't breath and don't laugh at me!"

I've about given up. Accepting my fate. I'm going to lie down at this point and just take off my pants and let nature literally run its course. I lift my head and notice the building on the corner I've crawled around is to an Economy Inn and there is a sign that is shining, beaming "Vacancy."
I muster up the strength I pray for the will "Please, please let me make it. Let me find a way and I'll start adopt a homeless person a bathroom foundation."
I stand up and take the pained steps to the Inn Door. I don't know if it was my pale sweating pained face or what I just said "Look this is strange but I need to know do you have a bathroom I could..." and before I finished the keeper said without blinking "Come around the corner outside."

I go outside and go around the corner and there is the door to room 11. It opens and the guy steps aside. I think for a split second Oh no. This is some odd fetish of his. Why is room 11's door connected to the Inns Office? Is there a camera here? but before I could think further I am seized by another cramp and I just say "Ok Thank you." and I bolt for the bathroom.

This part is awful so I will spare you. I was just sitting there shaking my head. I hope there's not a maid. I hope she doesn't have to come in here for days. What did I eat today? This is just ridiculous.

Lifetimes go by before I emerge at the same time the keeper and Yay, a maid enter. They see me washing my face and exit. I exit a minute later and they are kind of smirking at me and I smirk back "All better."

I start to jog home when I realize this is no time to push that matter.

I get home and share the story with Lidia who agrees the story is more amusing than it is devastating. I spend the rest of the night lying on the floor a little sore and contemplating if I should get the inn keeper a gift card or something but I figure the embarrassment is not worth revisiting and perhaps my amusement was enough. All in all I survived to run another day.

Public Storage Revisited

You would think one Public Storage story would be enough but this one is slightly amusing.

When I first went to the Public Storage when I got here over a month ago I was a little shocked and slightly concerned about the staff? There was just something a little off with all of them. But I didn't give it too much thought until I was just back this most recent time. I shouldn't say too much about it since all of my highly valuable (i.e. bowling pin and oven mitts) is still stored there. I will let the story speak for itself.

I went back to my storage to pay my monthly rent and to pick up a muffin pan; I was going to bake.

To get into PS I would liken it to getting into the Area 51 or CIA at Langley all technical and secure... You get a code which you use to get in the gate to the entrance and once you're in the building to use the elevator you need the code again to get to any floor from any floor and vice versa. Its not rocket science its just cumbersome especially if you punch in a wrong number in the antiquated system that's had its buttons pushed one too many times.

I get in the elevator, punch in my code am let off on my floor retrieve my things and return to leave. On the way down to the main floor I punch in the code again but when I get to the 1st floor the door does not open. I thought "huh, punched in the code wrong." So I punched the code in again and hit the button for it to take me to the floor I was just at and it does but the door does not open. I thought, "maybe I've confused the elevators highly intelligent system." I hit the button to go down and it does but the doors do not open. I realize I'm stuck and I don't know why so I press the button that says "Call Manager."

Promptly a person responds "Yes, can I help you?" and I think No, no you may not I pressed this button because I found it boring to travel 3 floors and wanted a chat. Instead I respond "Um, yes, I think I'm stuck. The elevator doors won't open."

"OK, I'll be right there."

And so I waited...

I hear all of this ruckus outside the door and then a *knock* *knock*
Knocking?? Seriously?

"Yes, I'm busy in here do you think you could come back later? I'm having friends over for dinner and they'll be here any minute and I've not yet dusted the emergency phone! "

I knock back and as a response I get a knock and a "Are you still in there?"

I'm silent before I answer "No, I'm gone this is my answering service."

I mean, where is the sense in any of this. I wish I were exaggerating but I am not.

I'm then asked "Have you tried pressing the button?"
I can barely gag up an answer "Really? This is my first time in an elevator. I was born 4 centuries ago and am just now visiting the modern era. That's what these buttons are for? You're supposed to press them? And here I'm thinking they are decoration. Well, hell, how about I try that now."

I press all the buttons loudly "Wow, they don't seem to work."

I get back a series of loud noises and "Hey I'm prying on the door are you pressing the button?"

"Am I supposed to?"
"Yes you press the button while I pry and then you push."

I'm shaking my head thinking I should take this service out of my rent. I'm pushing while this guy is prying and my toe is on the button cause there's no other way to do it. I'm crane my head to look at the security camera and think the surveillance tape from the elevator is going to wind up on redtube...wondering if I should ham it up and stick out my tongue, but before I can give it more thought the door starts to open. When it's open a crack he says "OK, put your arm in with me and pull it open."

"No way. No way am I putting my arm in there. It'll get stuck and I'll have to cut it off. I've read between a rock and a hard place." (this is so redtube material, right?).

He puts both his arms in and opens the door. As I emerge he asks "Wow. Were you in there long?"
I don't know what to say to this so I don't say anything at all. I just walk away with my muffin pan and a new found fear for society and public storage elevators.

My New Hair....well 1 week old by now.

I changed my hair color for the fall. I think it works well with the trees that don't change color here. This picture looks ridiculous but it shows the color well.

I had it done at a place called Wak Shack which I mentioned earlier. There's not much more to say to all of this so I will continue with other things...which there are lots and not lots, depends on how you look at it.

My First Concert - Well, in California

My first concert was Bon Jovi - their Slippery When Wet Tour - my mom took me. So thankful to her for this and one of my fondest concert memories. Skid Row opened - and I believe and someone has to let me know if I'm wrong - Sebastian Bach had piercings on his ear, nose, and nipple and a chain connected them all...but I digress.

A few days ago I had the extreme fortune of attending not only my first music show in California - but a damn good one.
Lidia's co-worker and friend was unable to attend the My Morning Jacket show so he most generously gave us his tickets.

The concert was at the Greek Theatre located on the University of California - Berkeley campus. This was my first visit to Berkeley's campus. We had to walk the length of the campus to get to the venue. We decided the best route was straight through the center.


This was a great idea and the worst idea. I immediately became nostalgic (it being on the brink of fall did not help at all) and began thinking of what degree I wanted to pursue so I could attend school again. I started writing my letter for admission in my head. I think my chances are good, well once I determine if I want to study nanophsyical sciences or botany. Lidia was on the same page as me except she decided she was nostalgic for a college keg party. This worked in my head as well. I wondered what the price of a cup goes for these days - especially on a more affluent campus than the one I attended. I thought we used to pay $3 to $5 for a cup, depending on if there was a band or DJ and this makes me laugh heartily that we used to say that "Um, we have a band, so it's going to cost you $5 as opposed to $3" In Chicago I would pay on average $20 for a band and then my beers if I was lucky cost $5 on the low end.

Still, $7 for a night of drinking...is not a bad deal, listening to O.A.R. or NKOTB - boyfriend song...over and over with scrawny college boys...I don't think someone could pay me $70 to do subject myself to that. Although, I am unemployed and $70 would be pretty decent earnings for a night; so I must retract my former statement and say I would subject myself to that and maybe a keg stand or two.
All of the college nostalgia aside. Berkeley is a very large and very pretty campus. They have a clock tower that is larger than any building I have seen in San Francisco and it to my knowledge is completely useless (the clock tower, not San Francisco). I loved this.


We reached the Greek Theatre in time to catch the beginning of MMJs set which was in full swing. The venue is completely outdoors. It looks like a Greek coliseum - hence the name I'm guessing. The lay out allowed for amazing vantage points of the stage and band and the sound was great. Loud enough to not hear your neighbor but not loud enough to leave your ears ringing for days on end.


MMJ did as I would have expected; put on an amazing show. They played most songs from their new album Evil Urges (It is the Evil Urges Tour) and a slew of others from albums past. They played with all the energy they could muster, they jammed out with an energy and vigor that left me wanting more instead of wishing they'd "just get on with it all ready." (sorry - I feel this way about lots of jammy bands - I get that its personal).
The weather was cool and crisp. The crowds energy ebbed and flowed with the bands and it was great. I hope to go to more shows and experience more venues but for my first time out I couldn't have asked for a more perfect experience.





While I realize I look a wee bit drunk in this picture I can assure you its just not so. Not only did I not attend a college party or partake in a keg stand I didn't even drink. I am drunk on good music is all I can think to say and that is so corny it wasn't worth writing. But I did and I was so that is that is that.

Lands End - Really, it's the End

Nothing makes me feel more alive or closer to nature than knowing my imminent death looms around every bend in the pathway I walk and that's what it was like at Lands End.
Lands End Trail in particular. LET is a beautiful coastal trail located at the ocean edge side of Golden Gate Park. There are many 'hidden treasures' along the way that makes all of what I'm about to say worth the trip.
If you enter the park at the Eagles Point trail head there is a huge sign that reads "Steep Cliffs - People have slipped and been crushed to their death by waves. Enter with extreme with caution." I kind of laughed as I rounded the bend and when I sort of slipped almost off the edge of a the cliff I realized it wasn't a joke. Every so often signs like this and the one above would materialize along the way.
If I wasn't worried about slipping and falling and being crushed to death I was worried about how at the edge of California it is extremely secluded and wooded. I wondered why there wasn't yet another sign " Warning - People have been maimed and dismembered by psychotic maniacs. Enter with a sidearm." There are points where the flaura is overgrown on the very narrow path and while fighting claustrophobia and making sure I kept towards the non-cliff side I became extremely paranoid by every little noise I heard. "Is that a wave crushing a body to death? Is that an animal making love?" I wasn't sure what the noises were occurring alongside me I just pushed any thoughts out of my head that they were being created by a psychopath stalking me and waiting to pull me into the woods to bludgeon me to death and then dispose of my body by throwing it off a cliff and letting it be crushed by waves to destroy the evidence. I'm glad I'm putting this idea out there because all of this horror aside it truly is an absolutely breath taking trail. I passed a sparse number of hearty runners and once I became accustomed to the landscape (mostly sand and soft soil with miniature chasms) I made a firm mental note that I planned on returning often to jog the trail; it makes a very nice loop, decent run, and is, need I point it out, very scenic.

Also if I can find a running partner to do an evening run it makes for a gorgeous sunset. And while I love a good sunset I'm not about to carry a glock to enjoy it by myself.

Who Cries Over Football?

This is what I was asking myself this afternoon as I drank my beer and literally bit my hand to keep myself from laughing too hard at the guy sitting next to me having an "episode?"

How to begin...

I was walking down the street when I decided I wanted to watch football. This is no easy task. There is no great abundance of sports bars. Bars that have TVs advertise "We show NFL games on Sunday" because it is a big deal that a bar does. However, that is a different story for a different day as I can't bring myself to write about how awful it is not being able to readily watch and celebrate the Bears when they had such a poor showing today...

I walk into the Elixir. This is a great bar in the Mission District. It's a bit divey, a bit neighborhoody (is that a word?). It has a rich history, an eclectic crowd, chill bartenders, just everything you'd or I'd hope for in a bar. But it is by no means a sports bar and I wasn't expecting a typical sports crowd, but since it had advertised NFL games here I figured people would be kind of into the games. Initially I was just passing by and saw a TV and wanted to check the score of the Jets vs. Pats game. When I did this I spotted an open seat right at the corner of the bar nearest the door. I figured I watch just a little so I walked in and sat down and waited for the bartender to take my order. I glanced over my left shoulder and caught the eye of a very visibly drunk guy who said "Hey there pretty pants." That's exactly what he said. The woman sitting next to him looked at me then him and harshly grabbed his face and being whispering sternly into it "Why are you being stupid. What are you doing? Why are you a little jerk. You are not going to be stupid. You are going to behave. why are you so stupid? Why are you a stupid jerk..." She said a slew of other things all in that vein and I didn't care much. I ignored them and waited for the beer I ordered.

I'm not too long into watching the game when the "couple" next to me begins to have the most peculiar conversation I've ever had the discomfort of hearing. First, it quickly becomes apparent the two are not a couple. They have some history because the girl reminds the guy several times "I've known you so long now. I've known you so many years now. We've known each other years and years..." Second, it becomes apparent that they are much more drunk than I initially thought because she and he are slurring badly "Ish own you, ishownyouooo soooo ong now.. long time." Third, they begin to, for lack of a better phrase, have a pissing contest of who had the greater sob story in terms of their past love lives. Who was more in love more with their ex, who's ex loved them more which led into who understood who's pain better or who couldn't possibly understand the other's pain because of the undetermined who had the greater sob story.

The chick rattles on about her ex...Paul. The guy keeps talking about his ex, Sarah. They are both talking and not listening to one another which makes them talk louder which when you're watching a football game in a bar not meant for football games...well it's hard to ignore them. At one point the girl is gushing on "Paul...he called me, he called me a few months ago to tell me I was his life's greatest love, he's never loved anyone more, and that he just wanted me to wake up every morning with a smile on my face and be happy because he wanted me to just be happy....and," the guy interjects "And where is Paul now?" she tries to answer - and his back is facing the bar so he throws the back of his head on the bar and lowers the octave of his voice as he raises the decibel of it "Where is Paul now? W-h-e-r-e i-s h-e n-o-w? WHERE IS PAUL NOW?" and to stop this childish display she shouts "You know where Paul is now? You know what happened? A woman, an heiress offered him $5 million to give her an heir. He left me because how could he turn down $5 million (at this point my hand is bleeding I'm biting it so hard in an attempt to not laugh and I'm thinking if I were Paul I might take $5.00 and call it a fair payment to not be with her...). He didn't know how involved he'd have to be in having an heir with her..." She seriously is saying this very seriously. In fact she repeated this story about 5 times kind of like she was trying to convince herself that this was true. That yes, heiresses are walking around San Francisco offering hipster guys from the mission district $5 million for a sperm donation. Incredible; a new career idea for me perhaps?

As she goes on and on about knowing such a great love, that a price tag was actually put on it ( maybe she watched indecent proposal one too many times?) he cuts her off because he wasn't listening or caring. "Why do you cut me out of your life? Why do you isolate me?" and he breaks into a chorus of "Why do you isolate me..." except at this point he starts to sob. Like a little kid whose dad just yelled at you and as punishment made you watch as he killed your puppy via stepping on and crushing its head; sobbing. She gathered him in her arms and said "You know I love you. You tell me you love me and I don't isolate you." And he sobbed harder. There is about 10 minutes of sobbing going on when the bartender comes over and sees two drunk people sobbing and blabbing incoherently about their profound love for other people, each other and the universe...and me with tears streaming down my face and a pool of blood from my hand which is at this point bitten in half and says calmly "Is everything OK over here?" She looks up "He's having a bad day." I am speechless thinking "Bad day? You're both having a life that only a freight train to the face can fix." but when the bartender looks in my direction all I can do is bite my hand harder and shrug my shoulder. The bartender glaces at my empty glass, at me, my empty glass again, the couple sobbing and says to me, "The rest of your drinks are on me."

The girl has soothed the guy into a silent sobbing when she actually tugs at my shirt and points toward the pile of cocktail napkins in front of me. She gives me a little frown and all I can think to say to her is "No fucking way." This whole time the atmosphere is a jovial one. Everyone around us is watching football - uninterrupted and my dumbass is stuck in the corner seat nearest the door, the only one that was open and now left subjected to this odd display of what I don't know. Everyone is watching football. Everyone is engrossed in Brett Favre, a man that will play an entire game of football with all his ribs broken and puncturing his internal organs without as much as a grimace and here's me, now contemplating a career in heir womb rentals along with this guy who has been sitting next to me for over an hour crying, correction, heaving sloppy tears all over the place...because he feels "Isolated?" by his jerk friend??

She gathers her things and him and says "Come on, I just noticed the time and you're going to be late for work. You can't be late for work. You have to keep your life in order and you have to get to work."

Seriously? Where the fuck does this guy work? If it's a suicide hot line I quit life.

Golden Gate Park - Beware of Squirrels

It's very hard to summarize in any way that would not be tragically lengthy all there is to see in GGPark when you're walking through all the nooks and crannies so I'll spare your retina.

There is one thing I want to share here.

I dislike squirrels. I always have. I think they are hostile creatures with vindictive motives. Are they scavenging for a nut or burying a land mine? Are they sitting there frozen when I walk by because they are scared or because they are contemplating if it would be worth the effort to gouge my eyes out and eat my face off.


Not long ago there was a feature on Sunday Morning a program that airs on CBS - um, on Sunday mornings. Great program, honestly. The point being they spoke of how in London they have the red squirrel. And here in the states we have the grey squirrel. Well, the grey squirrel are for lack of a better term, bastards. They move in, destroy everything and take over. And in recent history they were introduced to London. Now it is so bad that there is a group that goes out and military style devises tactics to round up and destroy the American Grey Squirrel as the Red Squirrel is being driven from its natural habitat.


This to me just proves my point. The grey squirrel I see every where I roam are no good. They are fooling us into believing they are harmless forest dwelling creatures that sadly are being forced into more urban areas where they are subjected to things like getting run over by cars. All the while they are increasing their numbers and when their population is big enough to overwhelm us they will take over and rule the world.

I know you think all of the above seems like the ranting of someone who has lost their mind; But I hope I don't need to say any more but display the pictures I took from my walk in the park today. These frail old ladies were being maliciously stalked and harassed for what? for walking? minding their own business?...or for being a part of the weaker sect of the human race and the squirrels master plans. What's next our children?

They are bastards.

I do fully realize this belongs in the Rant and Rave section of Craigslist. So I do thank you for putting up with it.

Clinically Helpless

I spend lots of my days walking around. My job should be giving walking tours although since I don't know anything that could be slightly uncomfortable.

"And here we have a sided Victorian home. someone of importance or non-importance may or may not have lived here at some time. And if we continue up the street there will be a house that looks exactly like this one, but in a different color. Around the corner will be a park...I think... for sure a Deli/Liquor Store/Grocer, but maybe not, perhaps a Nail/Waxing/Therapeutic massage hut. I can assure all of you we will pass all of these things along our walk/crawl at some point and they maybe will have or one time had some significance."

In preparation for my job interview, to make myself extremely presentable, I purchased a new tube of deodorant. OK, I should be up front and say I have no self control when I'm in the deodorant aisle so it's likely I went to purchase a bottle of water, wandered down the deodorant aisle and because I'm a bit of a compulsive addict about it, bought it. I have tubes of deodorant every where. I can open any bag big or small and there will be a tube. Every drawer; even the ones in desks of former jobs. When my car was in my possession in the side of the door and for back up one in the glove compartment and a spare in the trunk just in case. For sure I kept extras in my vanity cabinet and closet. It's a problem and I realize that. Some people always have gum on them; I have deodorant.

Mind you the obsession doesn't go unwarranted. I truly believe I have overactive sweat and odor glands in my armpits and that's not crazy to say because there is a whole sub sect of dermatology dedicated to this phenomena. You can have your sweat glands from your armpits removed (a glandiopitectomy). Although since sweating is something the body needs to do you would then sweat else where and I believe there is no place that would be any more desirable. Behind the ears? knees?

Any how, my true belief does not go unwarranted. My past boyfriend once told me "after you run your armpits smell." Just like that. A fact.

I have gone through every type of deodorant. Sprays. Powders. Gels. Both men and women variations and nothing short of going to a dermatologist seems to be effective.

I heard wind of these new clinical deodorants being released on the market and girls with problems seemingly similar to my own swore these new products were the answer. They really worked.

Wrapping back to the beginning of my story I was in the deodorant aisle and there it was. The clinical deodorant. For $9.99 I was sold. I thought with my nerves pre-interview during the uphill walk this would be perfect timing to test it.

Five blocks into the walk my pits were soppy and sad. The did not smell but they were damp. Failure. I think this added to my discouraging post interview blues. My dry happy deodorant dreams were debunked along with any career aspirations.

When I got home I theorized to Lidia that maybe I needed to follow the instructions on the packaging. It says for ultimate effectiveness to apply before bedtime and again during the day, I got this, I was building a base, a system of defense. Like I have super disagreeable and hostile armpits. They need to be tamed via a constant wearing down with an intense barrier guard regiment. I wondered if I should add some extras to the instructions 1. shave armpits directly prior to deodorant application 2. apply 1st coat of deodorant 3. layer with baby powder - extra drying 4. 2nd deodorant coating 5. cool air blow dry 6. sleep with arms raised above head with no shirt or vented armpit shirt. 7. wear clothing made of natural fibers (aka naked)

I did all of the above (except I wore a cotton shirt) and on my travels today - walking the length of and exploring in depth all of Golden Gate Park ( 6 hours of walking) not only were my armpits damp but they "sort of smelled." and I when I got home I needed to take a shower to wash away my shame (aka - girls don't smell - especially after they spend $9.99 not to).

I'm thinking of looking into that sweat gland removal. I'll see if I can work it where my tongue sweats as I think spitting excessively is sexier than smelling.

Goodbye Superman

Today I interviewed for a job at one of San Francisco's many tech firms. I can't tell you exactly what position I was applying for and what exactly I'd be accounting for and not because I have to use discretion but because I honestly have no idea.

After my interview I was left feeling very disillusioned with the whole business of accounting and finance. I wondered why I wasn't pursuing my life's passion...which since I don't know what that is (I am taking suggestions - recommend a passion and I'll pursue it) I put myself in a funky mood.

The thing that's the most upsetting about this is I had worn my interview underpants. I don't know why I'm sharing this other than it obviously has lost it's charm, like in the magical sense. Anyhow in my recent interviewing history I find that I wear the same underpants. Call it superstition, call it having something "on my side," call it neurotic but I've never had a negative feeling during an interview or after and I think they have something to do with it.

They are my superman underpants. I feel that after today I have to burn them. I have 3 pairs in total and I feel I should put them all in the oven and roast and eat them for how awful I felt after today. There is no magic in underpants or in accounting. I am going to pursue an existence where I don't have to exist. I ask how this is possible? The only thing I know is the answer doesn't involve my underpants.

Lake Tahoe - South Shore

This past weekend I had the pleasure of hiking in Lake Tahoe where the residents are "keeping Tahoe blue" and the water is blue. The mountains are blue, the sky is blue, it's like a smurf exploded and the terrain was stained with various smurf remnants (I envision a smurf and all of it's bodily fluids being different shades of blue so this description is very fitting). It's very pretty.


Even the birds are blue (Steller Jays are very abundant).

The terrain is very rocky and there are a lot of dead and dying trees and while this seems a little bleak it's anything but. There is so much going on

with the flora and fauna... and I sound so very ignorant that I'm sure if the ranger I encountered was reading this she'd be murdering the desolation forest's fauna out of frustration. I learned on this hike that Giant Sequoia when you put your nose to the bark and inhale, smells like warm vanilla. This was incredible to me; As was a growth on a shrub Lidia saw while we were walking along a trail and when I went to inspect what exactly it was it punished me for my invasion of its personal space? I'll say I like being in nature but I do not like nature being in me. The evil dry shrub became wedged between my skin and muscle. The result of this was a most terrible and unsightly flesh wound. It was remedied, like my ankle, with tape. I know that Lidia can attest to the fact that when faced with this awful ordeal I put on the bravest face and hiked on like a superstar. However, when I got home to tend to the wound with soap and water I don't know if the same descriptor would apply. Unless you call someone wailing and crying out in the shower with every sud that rinsed over my leg "Oh Lord why me, oh why me...." a superstar. If superstar means drama queen, which it could, then maybe.

I'm alive, until the infection sets in at least, and hope to get to Tahoe when there is snow on the ground and will try not to get an icicle stuck in anything. I will let you know how that goes.

Wak Shack

I know the title implies perhaps the name of an infamous half way house in San Francisco or perhaps a brothel but that is just not true. It's the place where I received my latest haircut and I think it turned out...ok. There is nothing outstanding about this latest haircut but my news is I have found a place in San Francisco where I will safely go to get my hair done.

There's not much about me that's high maintenance but I do have a strict hair regiment. The reason for this is I come from bad hair genes and I think this in many ways traumatized me. My mother, bless her angelic heart, just has the worst hair. She could be the poster child for if your hair went to hell what it would be subjected or changed to. To kind of describe it...If you were to take the mane of 50 horses and stick it on your head and then stick your finger in a socket and dye that all the color of sooty snow that's kind of what it looks like in it's natural state. For this reason I never want to know my natural hair color and I always want it cut in a somewhat fashionable style. I accomplish this every few years but only with the help of a very talented stylist. I found this in Chicago and was terrified to give her up. I even thought to figure in quarterly flights home as part of my hair budget. What I paid for her and what I now have to pay for a trendy salon it almost works out to be the same.

As it stands I am feeling positive about this small milestone towards making this place more like home.

Golden Gate Bridge

Today I talked to my recruiter. He asked me how I was and instead of asking me what I was doing told me what I should be doing.
He said, "I'm sitting here in my cubicle staring at a wall. You need to be outside. You need to be getting a tan. You need to enjoy your unemployment until the weather gets shitty."

I'm smiling on the other end of the phone nodding thinking "Yes, he is so right. I can certainly afford to be getting a tan. I have no financial obligations. In fact, why did I ever bother getting a job in the first place? Why has my job not been getting a tan all my life? He has stumbled upon the answer to all my life's questions. I can answer any thing with variations of "I should be getting a tan."

When I hung up the phone with him I looked at my taped foot looked at the sun shining outside and assessed that maybe he was kind of right. Why not take advantage, just a little? So I decided to walk a path to the Golden Gate Bridge to Sausalito.

Walking wasn't so awful. I took some pictures along the way and I wonder if you'll agree the one below is just so very odd.

It says "object or missle" Is that odd to just me? Why do they have to specify? Was it common at one time for people to be walking about with missiles? When did the state of California find it necessary to create Penal Code sec 2193?
"It seems a lot of people have been walking around with missles, we think they might be wanting to drop them over the side of one of our bridges. Let's make a law prohibiting this."

I would think if you wanted to drop a missle over a bridge you wouldn't so much care about Penal Codes. Just my thought.

The other sign is about the Crisis Counseling. The Golden Gate bridge is very pretty and a little majestic and it attracts a lot of jumpers. And this is kind of sad and I wouldn't be honest if I didn't tell you I morbidly thought walking across it "Will I see someone attempting to jump?" It's an awful thing for anyone to do or want to do...but I fantasized walking up to them "Wait, don't do it, you have so much to live for. I'm unemployed and going broke and I sleep on my friends couch...and...wait...let me join you?" I do think it's a little funny that the sign reminds the person who went out there to jump and die that their decision is "fatal."

Seriously though it is very sad and there's a great documentary on it. It's hard to find. The family folk at blockbuster don't rent it out and netflix has it on back rental for a few months.

But if you have the chance, it is well made.

http://www.thebridge-themovie.com/new/index.html

That's all kind of a downer. Not like in the movie Heathers where suicide is what all the cool kids do. I don't want to end with that.

Today was lovely and there were lots of kite surfers and this has to be my next endeavor. It seems so liberating to surf and fly around with a large kite. Although the guy pictured below, I saw about 20 yards from him this sea creature surfacing and going under the water. I could have been a sea lion but it could have been a shark. I wanted to shout down to him "There's a sea creature, be careful." But I feared passersby would think I was talking to a jumper and they'd think I was insensitive.

A news crew would show up and they'd report

"The jumper was about to jump and all she could think to say was some dumb warning about sea creatures. What an inhumane jerk."

This did not happen but I am inspired to look into this kite surfing...I'll let you know how that turns out.

Gimpy with the Limpy.

I think that could be the name of a pornographic film but only if there was a sub sect of pornographic horror film (although I think all horror films try to incorporate some sort of pornographic feature to them)

The other day I had the pleasure of going to Lodi, CA with my roommate (funny to say that), Lidia, to meet her family for a family party they were having. This was all well and good as I got to get out of the house and see the California country side. It's like Iowa but 90 degrees warmer. Lovely.

While Lidia caught up with her adult family the youthful family (toddlers to teenagers), her cousins, set up soccer nets to play a game against each other.

I've never played soccer, not really. And when I saw them I thought "Well it'll give me something to do and they're little so it'll be fun to beat up on them and feel supremely athletic." Walking over to play I had no idea they all had been playing soccer since they were in the womb and most of them were being recruited by Manchester United.

I was quickly lost and called a cheater several times for not abiding by the rules of soccer, even in this informal setting they had rules? By far the best of them was a 9 year old boy. I made it my goal to own him cause he was a little full of himself. I wanted to prove to him that life didn't work that way. That exercising humility was a good thing thus dashing any hopes he might have for a professional soccer future.

We faced off many times and his teammate (slightly older cousin) said to me "He's going to juke all over you." Being the soccer pro that I am I said "I don't think any nine year old should be doing any such thing." Seriously I had no idea what he was talking about. I knew that I wanted to make him sorry for being a very talented young soccer player. Where did he get off feeling confident about himself and his skills? What was that about? Where were his self depreciating mannerisms?

We were again matched up when I found I had a chance to kick the ball away from him, or so I thought. I extended my left leg over my right and attempted to kick the ball with the side of my left foot, when the ball suddenly moved. I think this is where the juking came in to play. My foot landed not on the ball but smack into the ground. I knew instantaneously this was not good.

I swore a lot, and made an excuse to leave the field as quickly as possible (i.e. my drink was being watered down by the melting ice and this was not acceptable).

The long short of this is my foot; I sprained it. I think. It is bruised and swollen and it hurts. I'm saying it's sprained and not broke because without insurance a broken foot is so not fun.

Pre-broken foot I had been fantasizing about having a completely leisurely life where the purpose for my existence was to be there for my friends and to do what I pleased when I pleased. Unfortunately this is far from the case...well, I can kind of do what I please as I still have no job...but no job = no money so not much to do. So I did and do a lot of walking and exploring; this is true. This hilly city and now with my gimp foot has proved to be a bit challenging. I determined that I was going to use the walking as a form of mediation/focus/healing (more cause I like they way it sounds over than I actually think that would work or make me better) I find myself in some spots walking up the street, literally, going "jesus christ, mother whore, fucking fuck fuck fuck...does this hill ever end. why, why is there a hill, what fuck hill fuck hill why." Something like that and I'm sorry that was so graphic, but it's just very true. When i finally reach the top of a very trying hill with my foot throbbing I do a mini fist pump, point to the base of the hill and shout "yeah. who owns it. who owns it. I own it. I own all of you." it's actually a very pathetic sight to see; me sweaty and slouching down and the fist pump is more like a hand on my hip finger waggle while I suck in deep breath after deep breath relieved that with every large up hill comes a very large down hill. I do hope my foot heals quicker than later my exploring will just be not as fun any other way.