killer shoes

Oh, G.W. . . . looks like you're not as retarded as I thought you were. I still loathe you though.

simply perfect

I’d heard mixed reviews about Bakesale Betty’s signature fried chicken sandwich. Someone told me it wasn’t worth standing in a line that wrapped around Telegraph Avenue; others chided me for not having tried it yet. I must admit that after living in Oakland for nearly four years, I was slightly embarrassed at not having made the effort to try the sandwich.

The key to avoiding the massive lunchtime line is not arriving for the noon rush. There was still a cue when I arrived, but it moved quickly as the attentive staff seemed to almost guess what I needed. Fried chicken sandwich: Check. Add to that a freshly made pecan shortbread cookie and lemonade slushy. Seven bucks and change; I was good to go.

Heeding the warning of a colleague who made the mistake of taking his sandwich back to the office, I decided to stay put to enjoy the meal at its freshest. The restaurant doesn’t have any indoor seating. Heading outdoors to the colorful wooden ironing boards that line Telegraph Avenue sidewalk, it suddenly dawned on me that this was a perfect fall afternoon in Oakland. The sunlight was intensely bright in my eyes, but nothing could distract me from this sandwich. Even the street performer playing Neil Diamond’s greatest hits on his guitar could not distract me from enjoying this simple pleasure.

Some of the best foods are the simple ones that provide three component ingredients: sustenance, flavor and comfort. This seemingly simplistic sandwich, reminiscent of the New Orleans Po’ Boy because of the French roll it’s served in, is possibly one of the best chicken sandwiches I had ever devoured. (Yes, devoured. As in “Finger Lickin’ Good”.) Its “Southern” charm is definitely evident in the crispy and tender chicken. The subtlety of the spice hits you only when combined with the tangy cold slaw. Forget the poultry, the slaw is the main attraction. Crisp and full of flavor, it hits all the right notes with the help of cilantro, vinegar and pickled red onions – because everything tastes better with pickled red onions.

The only thing that could possibly distract me from enjoying my sandwich was a brain freeze from the lemonade slushy. Note to self: Enjoy with a PBR next time. The sandwich is huge, so I suggest bringing a friend to share it with if you’re going for lunch. I made the mistake of eating the entire thing myself. This sandwich is not something you want to eat a few hours later either. This meal was simply the best thing for this perfect fall day in Oakland.

i am in good hands

There are some things you can control in life like ending toxic relationships, avoiding eating seconds, and doing something completely unethical to elevate your status.

Then there are those things you cannot control in life like ants invading your desk, the vending machine going crazy and being rear-ended on a Friday morning on your way to work.

Great. I just wrote copy for an auto insurance advertisement. That's what I get for having thought those commercials were cheesy. But I have to say that I'm seriously glad it's law to have insurance , especially when you're at a stop light and someone hits you from behind at 40 miles per hour because they lost control of their breaks.

The first thing I screamed in my car as I sat up from my fully reclined driver's seat was, "Omigod! Omigod! I've been hit. I hope they pull over to the side." I've had issues with people hitting me and running. (The old bitch in Burlingame with the red Cadillac, you know who you are!) Not to be ageist, but I flinch every time I see someone with gray hair behind the wheel. My grandmother is eighty-four and still driving. She probably shouldn't drive, but I understand the independence thing. The difference is that she doesn't drive around areas she doesn't know.

I also remember watching this thing on Dateline a while back about how people involved in collisions where the seats reclined were more likely to be paralyzed because of the strain on the neck and vertibrae. I was in shock, but was able to drive my car to the side of the road and get out of my car mumbling and freaking out because I couldn't find my left flip flop.

It seems the only parties that suffered any major injuries in this accident were our cars. Mine got the brunt of the damage losing part of the bumper in the middle of the road and the other part was kicked off by the CHP at the scene.

But not being hurt doesn't mean that I'm not traumatized or that I didn't have that life-can-be-gone-in-a-blink-of-an-eye moment. But it does make you realize how short life is. I don't believe in coincidences, but I do believe that things happen for a reason. Maybe this was a wake up call. And just like escaping the pink slip these days, there's something surreal about coming close to ending up on the other side and escaping it. The whole thing just makes you want to start living life to the fullest - whatever that might mean. I'm sure I have a purpose in life and I'll figure it out some day. In the mean time, I'm just going to take deep breaths, cut out the bad and let in the good. Kudos to my guardian angel.

For someone who functions on crisis mode this was not my idea of a rush. I'm not a fan of waiting in an ER room next to someone getting a catheter inserted who knows where. Too much reality for one morning.

Now I have to sit tight and see what happens to my Honda. I was able to drive it to work and the body shop two blocks away from my office. All my coworkers were in agreement that it was totalled. You know it's bad when it sounds like your car is going to fall apart if it goes faster than 35 miles per hour and the seat doesn't want to go up all the way.

None of this surprises me, I guess. There was a full moon out this week and I did find a cracked mirror in my purse. Not being superstitious I tossed it in the garbage can. But now I know why my desk was the only one invaded by ants, and it would also explain why the vending machine went mad. Maybe the insurance companies should mention those variables when helping people choose their policies.

learning to live within our means

They were playing that "Money, Money, Money . . . Money!" song at Semifreddi's this morning. As I stood in line for my latte and almond croissant one of the girls that worked there told her coworker: "Like the song says, money do change people."

Not having any myself, I would not know this from personal experience. But I'll take her word for it. I wonder if rich people even know the meaning of "living within their means"? It's a sentiment that has been echoing this nation, and especially throughout my office today as we laid off three more employees.

Our company, like many other small businesses won't get the benefit of the $7 billion bailout. But then again, it seems like the wealthy always get the perks. (Just like those bitches that get free designer dresses to walk down the red carpet with! You know who you are . . . Paris Hilton!)

I digress, the real issue here is not fucking "Joe the Plumber" who's real name is not Joe and who indeed is not even a real plumber. (He's actually an IRS delinquent who owes $1200 in back taxes.)

The economy sucks ass indeed. Thanks, Dubbya! It's great to see a president leave such an enduring legacy.

land time forgot . . .

I really wish someone had warned me about Eugene, Oregon before I made the Amtrak reservations. I wish they had told me how it’s a tiny little middle of the road town with no real attractions or sights.

Had I been warned, I might not have requested a stop in the Godforsaken two-horse town. I would have stayed on the train to Sacramento.

But c’est la vie. And I’m not all-together that upset about it now. I’ve had a few hours to mope around the town, kill time at a Japanese sushi bar that only served imitation crab meats in its rolls, and loiter in the Hilton ordering another Pepsi – my greatest vice these days.

Not nearly as impressive as Seattle or Portland, but decent nonetheless. At first impression, it’s the sort of town that seems a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll all in one. It reminded me of home, which is not necessarily something I want to be reminded of.

We stayed in The Hilton, which looked like it might have been the fanciest hotel in town. I’m not complaining –it was only two blocks from the train station.

Having arrived on a Sunday there was not much open and the city was not particularly erupting with a vivacious nightlife –or any signs of life, for that matter.

I settled into what I imagine to be our four-star hotel (by their standards, I’m sure) and after looking over a map of the city decided to check out the various amenities.

There was a pool. Sweet. The whirlpool was not hot and it was outside in the crisp night air. Suck.

The saline pool made be so buoyant that I couldn’t really enjoy a good swim. Needless to say, I was incredibly thirsty after my float through the Dead Sea.

Pizza and a movie were the order for the evening. The hotel room service actually delivers a fresh, non-Di Giorno pie. So, after getting our one-topping pizza, and realizing that there was nothing better on TV than the Hilton Channel (It’s exactly what you think it is – a channel devoted to the life and times of Conrad Hilton, Paris’s great-grand-daddy) we ordered Mama Mia! OnDemand.

We were forced to evacuate, er, check-out of the hotel room by noon. So, after a quick breakfast at the hotel coffee shop, which included Tillamook cheddar cheese on every menu item.

Note to chef: just because we’re in Tillamook territory does not mean you have to oversaturate the menu with cheddar cheese. It does not pair well with Dungeness Crab – a’ight? Next time try a Jack cheese. (I will not apologize for my Californian culinary sensibilities and stoicism.)

Then it was off to explore the area. Bleh. I felt like I was back in Millbrae. Even El Sobrante has more charm. They do have emission-free busses though. That’s a plus.

Since we had like ten hours to kill until the train to Sacramento arrived in town, we moseyed on over to the waterfront park, since my mother seems to be obsessed with the Willamette River. (Pronounced: Wil-la-mette. I had been misprounouncing it this whole time.) Whatever. I have to admit it’s a really peaceful place.

Once you cross the pedestrian bridge to the park, you see a mini waterfall coming from a little lagoon toward the river. In the distance there were a bunch of geese squawking. The river itself took on a life of its own. With its gurgling mini-rapids and crystal clear water, I suddenly felt at peace. By the side of the river grew wild blackberry bushes – a sight you see all along the Pacific Northwest into California. I picked a few ripe ones as a quick snack before heading back into town.

There was more life in the park than there was all over the city thanks to Columbus Day. (Seriously, who celebrates this holiday anymore?) But just like I’ve experienced in my few days in Oregon, people are friendly, helpful and down to earth. Coming from urban-California, I find it extremely refreshing to have a complete stranger greet you with a simple “hello” and a “are you looking for something?” when they see you staring blankly at a map of their two block city.

Hmm . . . I wonder if it’s the ban on sales tax that makes them so peppy. And lucky for them, I like bridges.

spendy nice

Portland is a nice city. People are nice. The food is nice. The architecture is nice. And the weather is nice. Well, okay, the weather is a bit nippy. And the prices are a bit spendy, as Oregonians would say.

Oregon as a whole is a nice state - and not just because they don't bother with sales tax. Portland seems to be quite the environmentally friendly place with distinct neighborhoods and great public transit. I'm a big fan of the streetcar that takes you to the Pearl District and the light rail that takes you to the 'burbs. But needless to say, I've become fond of the Pearl District. It's like Emeryville without the ghetto thugs hanging outside the Public Market and it also has a slight hint of Buenos Aires. It also has a cafe on every corner in the retail spaces below the condos. Emeryville has attempted this, but it just looks like an amusement park. This is organic, cohesive and sincere.

It's quiet, cool and collected. Portland seems to be one of those cities that has its shit together. (And more breweries per square mile.) As well as luxury condos that lease at $995. I'm tempted to move here now, especially now that the new trend in the Pacific Northwest is to turn condos into apartments.

It's also one of those unassuming cosmopolitan cities with a flare for the unpretentious. People still dress in jeans, beanies, sneakers and windbreakers. It has been so chilly here; however, that I had to make a pit stop at the Nordstrom's Rack where I found a decent Miss Sixty hounds tooth coat that fit me perfectly for less than $200. Scarves and gloves are also apropo in this city as you watch the elm trees lose their leaves front of Portland State University.

The food is also quite nice. The first evening, after unpacking at the chi-chi Modera boutique hotel, we hitched the #12 bus into the center of the city for dinner at the Portland City Grill on the 30th floor of a really tall downtown building. The view is amazing. As was the food. Not surprising since it's the same company that owns Berkeley's Skates on the Bay and a few other mid-enders in the Bay Area. I especially like the fact that I could enjoy California Roll as an appetizer before my seared Ahi tuna arrived - both perfectly paired with a Columbia River Riesling. (My mother predictably had the Napa Valley wine.)

Yesterday in the Pearl, we stopped at Caffe Delizia, a gelateria with elaborate pastries and desserts. The inside of the cafe looks like a piazza in Tuscany, with a faux olive tree to make its point. I have obviously tasted better desserts in the Napa Valley, of course. However, I was pleasantly surprised with this offering and ate it graciously. It was also quite full of heavy coat clad strollers ordering the fancy gelato offerings.

And, yes, people do stroll around here. They head into town with their families and friends for coffee, dinner or a brew no matter the hour or the weather. It's refreshing to be in a city where people actually walk down the wide side-walked avenues and where you're not smelling or hearing traffic jams and horns honking.

the siren got larangitis

Exactly how many coffee shops are there in Seattle? I don't know exactly. There's one on every corner though. And considering there are about 600 Starbucks Coffee shops within the metropolitan area, that adds up a to a fairly nervous city. You would think.

But being the sappy corporate consumer that I am, I had to make a pit stop at the original Starbucks at Pike Place Market. And having devoted six years of my life to the company, I felt a bit verclempt when I realized that they still pull their espresso and say "thank you" after handing you your coffee. I would have like to have seen them call out my drink "double-tall nonfat extra-hot latte". But no such luck. Instead the register person throws the cup at the barista. I miss the good-old days.

I still got teary-eyed though. It must have been a great place to work at back in the early Schultz days before they over expanded to middle-America. I still got my mug. I collect Starbucks Coffee mugs from around the world. It's something I started doing when I worked for the company and grew out of collecting stuffed animals.

The rest of Pike Place Market is wonderful. It's a feast for the senses. So many sights, smells, sounds . . . you get the picture. I saw the biggest Alaskan King Crab legs I've ever seen and wished I had a kitchen to cook them in. Instead, I settled for Pike Place Chowder on the other side of the market, hidden behind some brick buildings and a couple of stoned street musicians playing Journey on an accordian a' la Weird Al. There was a line around the corner. Always a good sign.

The chowder in a sourdough bread bowl hit the spot. Creamy, cheesy and chunky with a fair share of Russet potatoes. Perfect for a cold and windy afternoon. Wish I could say the same for the bread. What can I say, I'm from San Francisco. Nothing compares to the sourdough from the City by the Bay.

After a quick stroll through the flagship Nordstrom's store in downtown, I headed back to the hotel. Just in time before the northern wind and rain started. First it hit Lake Union and then moved its way into town. A beautiful sight to see.

I took it as a sign to enjoy the Westin Hotel's swimming pool and jacuzzi one last time. And of course since it was raining - well, it was Law and Order marathons and room service to the rescue.

caffeine overload

So, exactly how many coffee shops does Seattle have? A lot. I don't have an exact number of total coffee shops including independent and mom and pop shops, but I do know there are at least 600 Starbucks Coffee shops in Seattle. (And that's not counting Seattle's Best also owned by Starbucks.) Being a former SBUX employee, I just had to get my ass down to the original store down at Pike's Place Market. And being the complete sap that I am was somewhat moved by the whole experience.

cheapless in seattle

Um, I meant to say "Sleepless".

The first thing I saw when I landed in Seattle, aside from the Boeing facilities, was this cheesy night shirt that had the title of the above mentioned movie. Bleh. Never a huge fan of that movie, per se, I'm still trying to figure out why the hell after 14 years people are so enamored by it.

Never underestimate the public's love for mush. However, I happen to have formed a little love affair myself thanks to that cheeseball movie. Being the materialist that I am, of course, it's not a person. Nope. I'm in love with the houses on Lake Union. They are the cutest thing ever! And guess what? The raft house that Tom Hank's character lived on is for sale. All yours for $5 million bucks. Now, tell me that's not romantic.

Sure about as romantic as drinking four lattes a day. No wonder they don't sleep around here. (And I thought it was due to the over-tucked bedsheets at the Westin.) I made the mistake of ordering a double-shot twelve-ounce latte yesterday at a bakery on Bainbridge Island. Hey, being used to weak-ass Starbucks Coffee, I assumed all Seattle joes were the same. My bad. The good thing is that it gave me a jump start to run down the last leg of the loading ramp before the ferry left port and I was stuck on the Orindaish looking island for another hour. Cute town but I wouldn't want to die there.

Besides I had already had my fill of quacks earlier in the day when we took the Duck Tours of Seattle. I really do like having an excuse to laugh and act like a total loser -especially when I'm somewhere other than where I live. It's a great way to see the city and go into Lake Union. I still want one of those duck whistles that make quacking noises. You know, the ones they give kids?

Prices here are pretty outrageous by Pacific Northwest standards, I think. I mean, you're not exactly living in Mediterranean climate. Prices aren't quite up to New York level yet, but definitely at San Francisco level. Still, just like there's Brooklyn and Oakland, there's got to be an affordable area to live in if you can handle the sporadic rain all year.

I do think I could get used to living here though if I had to. People are pleasant, though not incredibly out-of-their-way nice. I blame it on the cold weather. (Think Anchorage in the summer.) Right now it's like 50 degrees outside and I'm freezing in the hotel room staring that the dark rain clouds looming around the Space Needle. Seattle is the kind of city you'd move to if you don't particularly enjoy talking to people on an hourly basis. Although I'm sure once they've had their fourth espresso of the day they're ready to party.

in the spirit of irony

I had dinner last night with an old childhood friend. We're the same age and have the same upper-middle-class upbringing, but living two completely separate lives. She's got a great career, thinking of starting a family and purchasing a house in our hometown with her husband. Meanwhile, I'm single, no prospects for a serious relationship, have an ambiguous career path and can barely afford to deal with my monthly rent. She's still upper-middle-class. I'm lower on the totem pole. (Another reason, I have no interest in attending my high school reunion.)

Anyways, we got to talking politics at dinner and she turns to me and says with all seriousness, "I always vote, but I can safely say this is the first time I'm actually looking forward to voting." My thoughts exactly. Although there was never a time I didn't feel like ousting the current fascest regime. I thought my friend had become politcaly enlightened through the course of leaving her upper-middle-class family for the real world. "Seriously," she said, "Obama scares me!"

I always find it amusing to encounter someone with different political views than me. I figure most of the people I know are in the same situation as me: broke, single, disenfranchised, jaded and hating on "The Man". Being surrounded by people just like me most of the day, it never occurs to me that someone my age could be a conservative Republican.

"What do you mean, he 'scares' you?" I asked hoping somewhere that I wouldn't hear anything remotely absurd, or some word vomit I'd already heard on Fox News. "All this talk of change," she said.

Yes, change is frightening. I agree. But at this point there are two ways we can go in this country: 1.) dive head-first into the macro-chasm that is the inevitable doom of our civilization as we know it by staying on the path we're already traveling or 2.) make some drastic changes where everyone chips in for the greater good. Oh, and of course, there's secret option #3: nuke the damn country and start from scratch.

That's not going to happen. (I hope.)

I've become a bit of a socialist these last few years. Perhaps its the fact that I can't afford to buy a house, pay up the wazoo to have less-than adequate HMO healthcare, and don't see the point in fighting a war that shouldn't even involve us. Maybe it's because of the people I surround myself with. Or, maybe I've always felt like this.

So, turning to my friend, I said, "Well, you know what scares me?" She was incredibly astonished at my answer. "Oh, I think it's brilliant what McCain did by choosing Sarah Palin as his running mate," she said to my horror.

Brilliant, yes indeed, as far as strategy goes. He obviously figured that if the Dems play the black card, he'd play the female card. (I'm not writing anything people don't already know.) I went into my "I hate Sarah Palin" tyrade. If I'd had a soap box, I would have stood on it for sure. "She hunts wolves from helicopters, she doesn't believe the ice caps are melting and that polar bears are endangered species. She doesn't believe in sex education in public schools, preaches abstinance while her 17 year old daughter ends up knocked up. She doesn't believe in equal pay for women and is anti-abortion even in cases of rape and insest." I forgot to add that she also practices witchcraft. But why make witches look bad?

Anyways, in the spirit of irony we're having a promotions contest to see which East Bay resident and reader of our paper could come up with the best and most catchiest ode to Sarah Palin. I really like this one. Hope the rest are just as awesome:

things are not FINE!

 www.thingsarefine.org

Palintology

Ah, Keith Olberman - liberal muckraking at it's best. Sarah Palin, you never cease to amaze.

revenge of the nerds

Bill Gates responds . . . finally



VERSUS

i was right all along

Ever since the Republican National Convention I've been saying that Sarah Palin looks a hell of a lot like Tina Fey from SNL.

See for yourself:

in search of nice people

Remember that bumper sticker that read "Mean People Suck"? I think I might have had that sticker on my first car back when I plastered the damn thing with stickers I bought on Haight Street.

Anyways, I was thrilled to learn that there are human beings behaving humanly online of all places. And why not? Most office people spend the most time online. I calculate roughly 6 of the nine hours I'm at work. (Although, now that I'm in charge of online advertising it's more like nine out of nine hours.)

So, as you can imagine, I manage to take some time off and surf the 'net while I'm at it. You know, the usual - IMing friends in New York, checking to see how many friend requests I have from old high school classmates on Facebook, and choosing what song I'd like on the Myspace profile. And of course, I have to get my daily dirt on Sarah Palin and update my blog or plan a getaway.

Sometimes, however, I need some advice on important and significant questions like: "Where should I eat for lunch?" Thank Jebus for forums like Yelp.com. (Yes, I'm a member there too.) It's always interesting to see how many people reply to a post. It's almost like doing an online social experiment.

I was craving some spicy soup today. Blame it on the change of weather. (Saturday was 100 degrees and Tuesday was 50 degrees). So asked of my fellow Yelpers, what soup would they recommend in my area that was soothing enough for the scratchy throat I was suffering from.

It just goes to show that I have more online friends, as Myspace and Facebook will show, because I got at least 40 responses within fifteen minutes of my original response. I got everything from types of soups, to restaurants to recipes. I even got a nasty response from someone who answered "warm jizz". How is one supposed to respond to that? "No thanks, semen gives me indigestion this early in the day."

But aside from that remark, I got a warm fuzzy feeling from my online experience. Although he probably already had a warm fuzzy feeling when he suggested that entree. In the end I settled for a health store version of instant freeze dried soup. (Ahh, organic potato leeks!)

polar bear hater

By now anyone who reads my blog, or has know me since infancy knows my obsession and respect for the all powerful and majestic polar bear. I heart and respect Ewan McGreggor - not only for his awesome acting skills, but also because he dared to explore the bears in a documentary.

Sarah Palin, on the other hand, is on my shit list because she and the State of Alaska are sueing the U.S. Department of the Interior for adding the polar bears to the endangered species list. Well, fuck . . . I'm sure that if global warming weren't responsible for their demise, she can always arrange to hunt them from a helicopter, or something.

I like Alaska and feel honored at being one of the few people I know to have actually ventured to that gorgeous state. They have the tallest mountain in the country, awesome natural light shows and summer days where sunlight lasts way past midnight. I just don't understand how a place filled with so much natural wonder and beauty can be run by a small handful of ignorant white trash assholes. How is that fair?

I've spent eight years trying not to read or inform myself of anything political. Usually because I figure I can't change anything, so why bother. (Thank you George W. Bush for single-handedley unempowering my generation!) There's no use in having my blood boil over something that's inevitable. But this woman enrages me! I don't consider myself a feminist. Never have. Never will.

But this woman is so anti-feminist that I wouldn't be surprised if she revoked our right to vote. Anti equal pay for equal work and against a woman's right to choose she goes against everything my gender has fought for these last 80 years.

And my blood wouldn't be boiling right now if I wasn't getting harrassed with right-winged propaganda from the only member of my family who is obsessed with Palin and who actually voted for "The Shrub". (And yes, this is why I'm sending your calls to voicemail!) And the main reason I'm doing my research on this woman as well.

I work for an uber-liberal alternative newsweekly. What in anyone's right mind would have them believe I am anything but a liberal democrat? I'm not going to change my stance.

democracy . . . going once, going twice . . . SOLD!

I'm not really looking forward to this election. I'm normally a glass full kind of girl, but at this point there have been so many greedy people using my cup to get endless free refills that I've become apathetic. And excuse me for being a pessimist, but I'm part of the generation who has lost faith in her country.

And I can tell you the exact date it all went down. Ok, I don't remember the exact date, but it was the second that Al Gore conceded the presidency to "The Shrub" as my leftist commi-lib uncle refers to him. I don't care if the chads were pregnant, hanging or constipated - I lost my naivete and all the pride I ever had for singing the Star Spangled Banner and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance every morning since grade school. (Yes, we did sing every morning in elementary school).

That said, I'm a little concerned that history will repeat itself and that again my vote will not count. Oh, I'll still vote, mind you. I just won't be thrilled about it. I'm already bitter that Hillary didn't win the primaries.

I have nothing against Obama. But now the Democrats look like sexists, especially since the Republicans have a female VP candidate. It just goes to show that Republicans have a ridiculous double standard when it comes to women in power. If she's a smart liberal woman like Hillary, she's seen as a power-hungry man-hating bitch. But if she's against a woman's right to choose and hunts moose, it doesn't matter if her teenage daughter is pregnant because she's a conservative who believes abstinence should be taught in schools. (A lotta good that did her daughter!)

Anyways, that's my two cents. And if I add it up with a bunch of other people's I might be able to buy my own democracy, or at least that book I saw on at a used book store in Oakland a while back.

Ahh, Food Porn

I've been going through another one of my existential crises lately. This time it revolves mostly around the fact that I'm not someone who is meant to be chained to a desk for 9 hours a day. Just because I am good at Excel doesn't mean I enjoy compiling spreadsheets all day. And unlike my fellow coworkers who doodle on their note pads and yawn during sales meetings, IMing all day with friends who have more exciting lives in NYC is not going to make me a happier person.

So, what exactly does a girl who can't help rolling her eyes at management and sigh way too loud: "Oh, Gaaaaaaawd!" in the middle of a meeting then shrug it off as stretch do?

She get knives.

Now, I'm not rich. Obviously. But I try to make do with my budget. So, I headed to Target last weekend and purchased some decent knives. Now, they're not Top-Iron Chef quality. But they've been doing the trick so far.

This of course has gotten me even more interested in cuisine. I'm totally proud to say that I now cook and prepare all my meals at home. That's right: breakfast, lunch and dinner. I'm saving roughly 50 bucks a week, if not more. And I feel so much healthier.

It's my own version of Slow Food.

And speaking of which. I was privileged enough - or, quick enough - to grab a pair of tickets to the opening night of Slow Food Nation at Fort Mason. This is an all weekend event, but I only got tickets for the first night which was mostly for the hot shots of the trade and media. (Yes, there are some fabulous perks to my job that do make those mundane meetings worthwhile.)

A whole pavilion dedicated to all of my favorites: beer, wine, spirits, breads, olive oil, ice cream, tea, coffee, chocolate, honey, jams, fish, salumi. Total and utter food porn, as my future boss Tony Bourdain would say. This is hedonism to the tenth degree in foodie world.

So, for an event of this magnitude the extra ticket had to go to someone worthy. I chose my old Oakland roommate, culinary student, and connoisseur of all things gastronomic, J-Man. There's nothing better than having a fellow foodie who can lead the way to the good stuff.

We started with raspberry beer, made our way to the tandoori naan, then on to the fish. I have to hand it to Yoshi's for creating something that looked like, and had the texture of udon noodles out of squid. Then it was on to the cheeses, the wines, and olive oils. Some were sampled with bread and others were just sipped in cups. That's just hard-core. I did finally get to try Absinthe from Paris among other cocktails.

Now, I consider being a slow food foodie akin to being a Free Mason. I was actually five feet away from Alice Waters. Talk about wow factor. She's responsible, not only for the Gourmet Ghetto in Berkeley with Chez Panisse, but also for championing local and sustainable food as a way of life.

I have yet to dine at Chez Panisse, but everyone knows that the Alice Waters' disciples who end up opening restaurants are the most successful. You work for her, you're pretty much set for life. The East Bay inside joke among foodies is that even if her janitor were to open up a cafe it would someday earn a Michelin star. (Who knows if that's true, Chez Panisse only has one.)

But of course the best thing about being a VIP at any event is the goodie bag. A girl could get used to being pampered like that. Now that gets me off.




Yeah, I totally tried these pickles . . . the salmon roll was bomb. Pickles not to my tasting.

kicking squealing gucci little piggy

I was super excited a few weeks ago when I got the free tickets from Another Planet, er, actually my office since I beat out everyone at work for the only pair of first night passes. I think my coworkers hated me a little more because of it. Like when I said, "Oh, can't you guys change the night for the after-work pool night because I can't make it?" They were like, "Fuck you, we feel so bad for you." and "Oh, poor baby, you're going to miss pool night because you're going to see Radiohead and Beck instead." Oh, right and how could I forget this one: "Haha, you're going to get all emotional." Yeah, I would have slapped on the heavy eye-liner if I hadn't started the day with a killer eye infection.

Yeah, it's tough being me.

Although not as tough as trying to enjoy a concert. I don't think I've ever had to work this hard to listen to a band in my life - and that includes all those times I sat by the radio to win tickets.

I'm not so young anymore. And that's why I'm really in pain. You can pierce your nose to make you feel young again, but it's just not going to do the trick when you have to go to an outdoor rock festival. The truth is I'm not 18 anymore, unlike my cousin, who's only complaint was the "creeper" standing next to her asking if the band was British and who they were.

I'm really glad she didn't tell me that during the show or I would have cut him with my compost-friendly cup of Heineken Light. I was already on-edge from having to walk to the other end of the park just to get my will-call tickets. And then having to stand in line for thirty minutes, followed by more walking, then another line to get in, followed by more walking, and a line to get my ID checked, more walking, a line for light beer, more walking, a line to order my flat bread pizza with nitrate free pepperoni, and then a line to pick it up, followed by even more walking.

I missed seeing Beck. That's one artist I'd really like to see in concert. But it was either going to the other end of the park and seeing him or missing Radiohead. We all have to pick our battles. Luckily, I did get a chance to see Oaktown local, Too Short. Groovy. I have a tiny crush.

But it was definitely all about Thom Yorke and the rest of the guys from cabeza de radio. I did feel bad for them because the sound system kept breaking up. They kept playing, but none of us losers in the back could hear any of it. Then he would have to apologize for the damn thing after the massive booing and random cursing: "Fuck Meyer Sound!" Aw, poor Meyer Sound, small Berkeley company gets a largely publicized gig and they fuck up.

Still, I asked myself last night as I crawled into bed after a hot shower, and two Duane Reade PMs if I would do this again given the chance. And you know I definitely would because "you do it to yourself, you do . . . that's what really hurts."

one shot

We have this cool side-project going on at work. There's this camera the editorial department got as part of a circus promotion. So, we put film in it and are passing it around throughout the office to make a collage of East Bay images. Since there are roughly 30 people in my office and about 36 pictures in a roll of film, we basically get one shot. The best shot makes it into the paper.

So, imagine my frustration when I was handed the camera one day by accident. Great. I've had this thing for almost a week without any images coming to mind. I have tried to get rid of it by handing it off to another coworker, but was told to keep it a bit longer.

This really sucks because I've taken so many random images throughout the East Bay on my cell phone's camera. Good images too.

The pressure is intense. But I have a few ideas up my sleeve.

woke up this morning and 10 years had gone by

A few years ago I left my hometown, which up until then was my one goal in life. Most people ask me where I grew up and I normally hesitate. The last time I said "Millbrae" one of my coworkers looked at me intrigued, "Norway?" I shook my head and corrected. "No, Millbrae," I repeated, "you know, across the bay . . . by the airport."

"Oh," he looked disappointed, "that would have been more interesting."

Yeah, well, we can't all be interesting. You can take the girl out of the Peninsula, but, well, you know . . .

I don't head into Millbrae much, unless it's for a trip to the airport because let's face it, that's pretty much all there is out there. Although, I believe they've opened a Chipotle where the Lyon's used to be. Ahhh, Lyon's, the only restaurant down the street from our high school and the place of so many fond memories. (Think Peach Pit)

Speaking of high school . . . apparently my class has decided to hold its reunion this October. (Wow, it seems like only yesterday that I was standing in line waiting for my Freshman student body card.)

Anyways, I was hoping they'd settle on December because that would have given me a little more time. But now, I only have two months to lose those fifty pounds I've been trying to lose these last ten years. Let's look at the check-list of all the things I should have accomplished in these last ten years, shall we:

1.) Lose 50 pounds --- working on it.
2.) Graduate from college --- check
3.) Move out of Millbrae --- check
4.) Get my own apartment --- check
5.) Have a "grown-up office job" --- check

Ok, so four out of five ain't bad. I'm leaving the marriage and kids for the twenty-year reunion.

Like any teen I had bad times in high school, but ultimately a great experience. It should be interesting to see what everyone is up to considering I already know what everyone is up to thanks to Facebook and MySpace. But it should be interesting to see people I've known since preschool all grown up.

In the meantime, I'm going to sit back and enjoy this YouTube clip and plan my diet of carrots and water for the next two months.

beers, bongs and barbecues

I feel like I totally lost a month. July was here, and then it just disappeared. I'm sorry my dear readers if I have neglected all three of you. Not my intention. I think Mercury was out of retrograde and Jupiter had aligned with Mars coinciding in a super busy month. Needless to say both my liver and my sanity are slowly recovering. I blame it on the weed. No, the beer. No, the barbecue. Oh, fuck it. I blame it on all three.

Here's what happened while I was away . . .

Cried my eyes out at the six gay weddings I helped put togehter. Later celebrated with a drag king show at the White Horse Inn. Got hit on by my favorite peppy Puerto Rican, Papi Gil. By the time the "guys" came on stage was completely hammered.

As always found some time to unwind and detox in Sonoma. Nothing like watching fireworks between a row of grape vines.

The rest was much needed because the following week was the East Bay Express Best of the East Bay Party! Too much good stuff would have been the tag-line for that event if AM/PM hadn't already copywritten it. Totally excited about next year's. I'm all about parties. I was just happy my coz came to help out from Sonoma. Having a guest always gives me a great excuse to head over to The Dead Fish in Crockett. Brunching on crab benedict and other seafood goodies while sitting outside right above the Sacramento River is a perfect way to kick-off the weekend.

Discovered a new more distinguished Happy Hour at Periscope Cellars Wine Wednesdays. I believe my group was actually caught on camera scarfing down cheese and downing the wine. I'm still trying to find CBS 5's "Eye on the Bay" segment.

Had to have my fill of Kitty's of course. It had been a while since I'd gotten my $2 PBR on. I like to save the mojitos for our staff meetings.

Fell in love with Feist at The Greek Theater on the UC Berkeley campus courtesy of Another Planet Entertainment. She's so cute. I heart Canadian folk-rockers from Toronto even if the only song I really know is the one from the Apple iPod Nano commercial.

The next day it was off to The Warehouse Cafe in Port Costa. Sundays are apparently a special day at this bar that serves over 400 beers because they have a delicious barbecue, and live music which is great to listen to when you've had your share of pear cider. I happen to like this place not only for the fabulous view of the murkey Sacramento River, or the thunder of Harley's being started by, but because the owner and I share the same name. Like I say, it's the little things that make me smile.

And it's the little things that keep me smiling when I've had too many beers, pot brownies and barbecues. Or, is it the brownies that keep me smiling?

how 'bout some cheese with that whine?

Because we all secretly wish we were sommeliers for a 5-star Michelin restaurant, we decided to head on over to Periscope Cellars for their "Wine Wednesdays".

It's another excuse for me to pretend I'm actually from Sonoma and that I know anything about wine tasting. Sure, I'm pretty sure you swirl the glass and look at the legs, then smell, then taste then to a thing where you smack your lips with your tongue as if your tasting. And last but not least, you mention that it's "oak-ey".

The tastings are gratis, which in this economy makes me a very happy whino. I recommend the Sangiovese because it's good and fun to say. And they had some wonderful cheeses, including some aged Monterey Jack from Vella Cheeses in Sonoma.

It's nice to change up your Happy Hour routine every once in a while. Especially to head to wineries that have $5 full glasses of wine paired with cheese and crackers.

And since Emeryville is thee hot spot of the Bay Area, this was probably the third time I've been filmed by a television crew in the past month. I'm not exactly sure which TV station it was, but hey, they asked us is they could film us. I doubt we'll be on television though because my group was having some pretty racy conversations. Not quite G material if you catch my drift.

No worries, though. We'll whine about it later. For now, it's all about the wine.

an apple a day

When I was a kid my grandfather had a business partner that worked for Mattel Co., so sometimes when he came over for dinner, he would bring a new toy that wasn't on the shelves yet. I got my second Cabbage Patch Doll from him - one with the "corn silk hair" instead of the regular yarn that passed for hair. I was one of the first people to get that doll, along with a cool Play Dough Factory set.

I'm not bragging. That was in like 1987, but I thought I was the shit back then. All my other first grade classmates had to figure out cool ways to do things with their funky smelling Play Dough - and that didn't include eating it.

Ever since then, I've been playing "keeping up with the Jones'". I'm materialistically insecure. It comes with being a total outsider in a wealthy upper-middle-class suburb.

As a shop-a-holic with an eye for the latest trends, and a B.F.A. in Fashion Merchandising that I don't happen to put to any use, I like the thrill of having something new. Having some thing new and being one of the firsts to have it is a conversation starter. I get a little chill whenever someone asks me what I'm wearing -even if it's a knock-off of a Marc Jacobs sweater.

This wacked-out mentality would explain the insanity that went into getting up early on Friday morning to stand in line for the new iPhone. I had been counting down for this since June 1st. And by the look of the line, so had everyone else.

I got to the Apple store in Emeryville by 7am, thinking that if I got there an hour before they opened their doors that I would have some sort of chance. NOT! The line wasn't around the block or anything drastic like that, but it was pretty damn long.

And just like I had imagined, I was surrounded by a bunch of Pixar dudes. You can't go anywhere in Emeryville without seeing Pixar guys. It's cool though, I happen to have a soft spot for animation geeks. Unlike the ones I rode in the elevator with at art school, these actually smelled like they'd taken a shower. Plus, I get the dirt from within the compound.

At 8am the line started moving and they started handing out water to compensate for the free Peet's Coffee they had already given us. It was obvious that they were trying to see who had the strongest bladder. And then a camera-crew came. As I was sending a text to one of my friends, I got a camera shoved in my face. "So, you're upgrading that phone?" I looked at the chick holding the camera. "Um, yeah." Duh. No, I just thought I'd get up two hours early to stand in line for two hours just for shits and giggles. "Who's the first person you're going to call on your new iPhone?" I shrugged, "My boss because I'm late for work." I was getting nervous and just wanted to have the camera move to one of the Pixar dudes. "What would you say to Steve Jobs?" Um . . . "good job, Jobs?" Hahahaha. LAAAAAAAAME!

Hey, in my defense I was half asleep, had to pee and was running incredibly late for work. I bounced at 9am for fear of losing my job and hence having no cash to pay for the damn phone/ipod. Had I stayed an extra hour, I might have gotten one.

But, being a glutton for punishment, I came back for seconds and then thirds. And I have yet to get one. It's ridiculous. I've turned into my worst pathetic nightmare.

I'm not the type who stands in line for anything. Now I know how the peasants of the Soviet Union felt while waiting in line for bread.

I've taken it as a sign. So, I have decided to wait out the frenzy and get my iPhone in a couple of weeks when I can afford it. Maybe I can get one next week, when I don't have to wait in line hearing people pass by shouting "Losers!" to all those standing there.

Sticks and stones.

i needed this

I've been thinking a lot about this sketch, where it has been, who it is with, is it thinking of me and will it ever return . . . okay, not really. But it did take me a while to find it on You Tube. That's okay though because I really don't have much of a life. I can sympathize Scott Thompson's French-Canadian whore somehow. Although I could give a fuck about where Tony is right now.

a world without tomatoes

Imagine no more fresh salsa to dip your salty lard-fried tortilla chips. It's a terrifying thought. I had a glimpse of a life with no tomatoes this week thanks to a salmonella outbreak throughout the country that sickened nearly 300 people from sea to shining sea. So, for a week there was no salsa, no bagels with tomatoes, no burgers with tomatoes, no sandwiches, no Taco Bell nachos, no . . . well, you get the picture. I was glad to learn that my favorite morning stop, Ruby's was back to being stocked with vine ripened tomatoes - the only tomatoes that were not "affected". It's good because I was about to go insane from missing the red, ripe, not sweet fruit. It was eye-opening . . . and scary. Nothing is good without tomatoes. Sandwiches are missing flavor and nachos are missing acidity. I want ALL tomatoes back. NOW!!

mamma mia! i want to believe

I'm not much a movie patron these days since you end up paying $10 to sit in a dark crowded room with annoying strangers. However, I am very surprised by the blockbusters coming out this year. Indiana Jones returned after 15 years. (I haven't seen that yet.) I'm excited about the Get Smart movie with Steve Carrell. And of course I HAD to sit through two and a half hours of the cheesiest and longest big screen "Sex and the City" episode EVER! Definitely not as good as the show, and I knew it was going to be like that, but I couldn't sit by while everyone said they'd seen it.

But now there are two more movies I have to look forward to . . .

instant karma

I've been thinking a lot about karma lately. You know, what goes around comes around goes around comes all the way back around? Yeah, anyway . . . I'm just trying to figure out what it's all about.

Karma is "the cosmic principle according to which each person is rewarded or punished in one incarnation according to that person's deeds in the previous incarnation."

I happen to believe in past lives and reincarnation. That's just part of my personal spiritual philosophy. Maybe I just find it comforting much like peasants had to believe that if they work hard in their lifetime they would be rewarded in heaven.

It might sound like new age mumbo jumbo, but it helps me get by and understand certain events and relationships I have encountered. I really do need therapy, but this is cheaper. And it's somewhat more productive than blaming what ever is going on in my life on someone else. I can just blame it on my past actions.

With karma, you do good and good things happen to you because you're making up for bad shit you did in a previous life, or previously in this life. But I like to think I've racked up enough karma points in this life to make up for whatever shit I did in the last one and therefore offset whatever shit gets thrown at me in this one.

The sad truth is that I don't do enough good deeds. I recycle, vote, try not to use up too much water and make sure to turn off the lights every time I leave a room. But I'm not saving the world or anything.

Regardless, I am a firm believer in the notion that every bit counts - even if that means donating old clothes to The Goodwill or holding off on printing emails.


I don't frequent Whole Paycheck, er, Whole Foods that often for the obvious reason. But last time I was in there I was on a "green" mission. I purchased two very nifty items to keep me green and on the go.

1.) An aluminum water bottle from Swiss company SWIGG - keeps the water cold and once you get used to the copper flavor of the water, it's pretty rewarding just knowing that I'm doing something for the environment.

2.) A canvas grocery bag that folds up into a little burlap sack. The best part is that by purchasing that bag I not only get a nifty bag to tote things in. I also did something decent. The money went toward feeding 100 children in Rwanda. Sweet.

It's a start I guess. I'll help save the world eventually, but until then I'll pack my Certified Fair Trade organic sustainable produce around in the tote.

glow-stick dungeon

I'm in recovery today. I've been partying since Thursday and I think my liver is about to explode. Well, not really, but it can't be good. After work Friday night, a group of us young-ins from the office headed down to the Missouri Lounge on San Pablo Avenue in Berkeley. It's on my way home, so I figured one PBR wouldn't be a bad idea. Plus, there's nothing like bonding with coworkers over some shit-talking and cheap beer at a hipster dive bar.

We all had the $5 special: a shot of bottom-shelf whiskey with a PBR can chaser. I double-fisted the shot of whiskey with the can of beer. We all did though, so I didn't feel totally uncool. One PBR can turned into 2 and then three. I knew I had to get out of there before I got totally drunk and started flirting with one of the cute boys I work with. That's just a no-no for me. But I do work with some very attractive and charismatic people.

The party continued on Saturday. One of my coworkers had his first gig as a DJ in a Chinatown cave. Seriously. The place was dark when I arrived with another coworker and her friend. We honestly thought the creepy Chinese bartender going down the stairs was going to kill us. So, we ran back to the lounge area to listen to the soothing sounds of the '70s. The bar jukebox was playing Neil Diamond when we walked in and "Nights in White Satin" when our guest DJ found us. Dude, how often do you hear The Moody Blues at a bar in Chinatown? After my second vodka-Red Bull and the jukebox's selection of The Village People hits, we all agreed it was time to conquer the dragon that might be lurking downstairs in the dungeon. People were looking at us funny for doing the hand gestures to YMCA as if we were at some barmitzva. I forgot how uptight people in San Francisco are.

We stumbled downstairs to find our DJ buddy's pals handing out glow sticks. Oh, wow. I was waiting for them to start handing out hits of ex. That never happened, but there was dancing. Oh, yes, there was lots of dancing which apparently justified our mass consumption of liquor. I almost felt 21 for a split second, except that I was with somewhat more mature people than I had known when I was that age. It's great when people actually take turns buying rounds of drinks and shots of whiskey.

Downstairs was where the action was though. By 10 pm, the bottom dance floor was full of my coworker's friends and frat brothers. A room full of cute young frat boys, oh my. I haven't danced that much since drum and bass nights at Cat Club back in 2001. I was definitely one of the oldest people there. (Except the cougar that found a cub to latch on to.) But I don't mind, I act and look like I could still be 25. I didn't think I could still dance. And to be honest, I'm paying for it now. I'm in so much pain. But he spun some really awesome shit, so it made it less painful.

The bar kicked us out right after last call when the music stopped abruptly. A group of us headed back to my coworker's place a few blocks up on Stockton Street to the tallest building in Chinatown. There was cake, more drinks, the biggest bong I have ever seen and the best view of The City I have ever seen. I took a picture with my camera phone but it didn't do justice. We're talking 15th floor with a direct view of the Pyramid and Bay Bridge looking out to Treasure Island and Berkeley. I could have stayed on the balcony forever with the Coit Tower to the left and Twin Peaks to the right.

Good thing it wasn't a clear night otherwise I would have never gotten off the balcony, which would have worked just perfect for me because after pretending to take a bong hit (I was the designated driver), the apartment became like an episode of "The Real World". My companions were slightly baked, so they thought it was just the weed that was making them paranoid and freaked out about drama. I reassured them that I was completely sober and was still weirded out.

That was pretty much our cue to leave anyways since it was 4 a.m. and I live out in the boonies. I feel like after two years of living out here in the East Bay, I'm finally starting to find some cool people to hang out with. Not that I would do this every week, but it's good to know I still can.

ooh, mercy me!

Pretty much everyone at work has a hobby outside of the office. I have my blog and fashion. (That's still a hobby, right?) One of my coworkers is a DJ who is actually spinning tonight, another one is a Lacrosse coach, and pretty much everyone at work has a love for art. However, only three of us have degrees from an art school, including me.

We all share one common bond though. We all enjoy alcohol, erotic art and sex toys. Most importantly, we all get along (even with the office politics and drama). So, to show our support for our good friend and Marketing Director, Terry Furry. Being that we're green and cheap, a group of us carpooled across the Bay Bridge into The City to up-scale sex shop Good Vibrations on Polk Street.

Not having been to Polk Street since that one time one of my girlfriends and I headed to The Lumiere to see a Midnight Mass showing of the John Waters film "Desperate Living", I was totally stoked. (I think there might also have been a time we stumbled out of Edinburgh Castle and tried to buy the ex-BFF a tranny hooker, too, but I'm not completely sure. Maybe I'm just projecting.)

I really love Terry's work. I went to one of his other shows almost a year ago at Esteban Sabar Gallery in Oakland. He works with a lot of blue and has these amazing renderings of life-like images. (See above for my favorite piece.) But it was a total added bonus that it happened to be at a sex shop. Sorry, I mean, erotic boutique. As soon as we had looked at all the pieces, had some wine, cheese and delicious carrot cake, it was on to the actual shop.

I work with a bunch of perverts. That being said, they all seemed perfectly at home touching life-like silicon penises with realistic testicles. One of my coworkers was thinking of purchasing it as a stress ball she could squeeze while making cold calls. We are a very liberal work-place, but I somehow doubt that our boss would approve. As we were giggling and squishing the silicon member, one of the sexologists came over to tell us that that dildo is not incredibly popular. Who cares? It's fun to play with. "Well, it's not very sanitary and can host many forms of bacteria and dust." Way to kill the romance. On that note . . . I decided to wander off to the vibrator section. I must have seemed like a kid in a toy store turning on each vibrator to see exactly how much power it has.

One of my coworkers got a little one with no power at all. My phone has more vibration than that. So, it's kind of weird to be in a room full of coworkers and your boss testing a bunch of vibrators. I blame it on the wine.

After the show we headed across the street to the Casablanca Cafe for some $10 pitchers of Stella Artois, Mediterranean food and hookah! They took real good care of our large group. (Those of us that didn't escape to crash the SF Weekly Best of Party at Ruby Sky.) And the food was pretty decent. We were Terry, but for me it was a new chapter in my job. It's still a little ambiguous, but I'm trying to figure out what my job is going to be now that the person I assisted has left the company.

I've gone through some changes in my life these past few weeks. People that were a main part of my life - both personally and professionally - are no longer there. It's messed with my routine and now I'm trying to just go with the flow. I'm trying to find a perfect balance to my life. And just like a vibrator you can go full speed or a slow pulse, but you'll find that somewhere in the middle is the most pleasurable.

I hella heart new artist Duffy. I just got her CD at Starbucks last week and feel like her songs were written just for me right now. Or, like I could have written them myself. I almost want to give it to a particular someone just to let him know how I feel.

whatta mighty good man

WANTED:
A Fine Looking Man
Must Like Dogs
Likes to Cook and Serve Dessert
Will Watch "Sex and the City" With You
Always Pays for Dinner
Doesn't Act Like a Complete Moron
Never Picks Nose in Public
Remembers to Put the Toilet Seat Back Down
Doesn't Have to Listen to the Sound of his Voice 24/7
Doesn't Need to Have the Last Word in EVERYTHING

Two of my buddies at work have decided that I need a man in my life. It's become their new mission, to try to hook me up with someone . . . anyone. They're taking it as a mission of necessary intervention.

Lucky for me there are more options than hanging out at Kitty's Bar waiting for a biotech geek to buy me a PBR. Contrary to popular belief I am totally working it . . . um . . . well, maybe just 'Net-working it?

I love these wonderful times we live in. I can be proactive in finding a perspective mate on a Friday night without even leaving my couch. And get this . . . it's eHarmony's Free Connection Weekend! Thank God for holidays. Match.com got my information from Chemistry.com, which totally sucks because they both want money from me. Chemistry.com keeps sending me these vague emails with the subject line: "Someone in Sonoma wants to hear from you." But I can't figure out who it is because I refuse to pay my internet pimp. Dude, even the escorts that place ads in our paper have their pimps pay for them. Apparently, Match.com doesn't think I'm putting myself out there enough, according to an email they sent me: "Love is Out There, Your Information Isn't."

Sure. That's what Myspace and Facebook are for. Facebook actually has it's own dating site which has mutated and grown it's own domain. Oh, Zoosk, what would we do without you? They've recently informed me via Gmail that my "date card is missing a photo!" Oh, no. You mean that to hook up with someone you have to show them what you look like? What a fucking concept.

Zoosk was cool for a hot second. You get these little notifications on Facebook alerting you to a new "flirt" on your account. I'm over it. I've only had one decent conversation with someone who works in Emeryville because it was slightly more original than the standard "wink wink" or some cheesy pick-up line.

My new favorite site is the EBX personals. You can actually choose exactly what you're looking for: long-lasting relationship or a sinful one-night stand. Hmmm.

Dilemmas. Dilemmas. Makes me wonder: what would Carrie Bradshaw advice be?