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?

cuz we are livin' in a material world

And, well . . . I am a material girl. I've been thinking and most likely in a previous life I was a Leona Helmsley or some other notorious rich bitch. I probably had a dozen servants waiting on me hand and foot, massive property, endless amount of spending cash for shopping sprees around the world and at least five homes in different countries. And I probably treated everyone like shit.

So, if one takes into account karma and past-life evil-doing, I can pretty much justify being broke ass poor in this one. (And true, you can never say you're poor if your rich in health.)

But every now and I then I do actually like to go participate in the art of consumerism. I don't do shopping sprees anymore, though.

This past weekend, my cousin and I decided to do something a little different than wine tasting at the vineyard up the street from my aunt's house or heading to Sonoma Square. We headed out past miles of rural country roads, cows, and vineyards into Petaluma.

I've never been to Petaluma, unless you count the Premium Outlets. It's an uber cute little town full of old buildings and a salon on every corner. They were in the middle of their "American Graffiti" Days. Not one of my favorite movies, but it was filmed there and it starred a bunch of famous people and directed by George Lucas pre-Star Wars. So, to celebrate, the good people of the town put on a vintage car show and set up some live music stages. It just makes me want to say "Go, Grease Lightning!"

Right. Wrong movie.

We did end up going to the outlets, but I was not impressed. Then we got pedicures and I was still unimpressed. (I've been spoiled by the place I go to in Hercules.) By the time we finally ate something, I was totally unimpressed.

That's not to say that Petaluma sucks. I'm just unimpressed with things lately. There was one redeeming moment, thankfully. We decided to get ice cream after dinner and the older gentleman who served us our waffle cones totally restored my faith in humanity just by getting my order right and not looking like he was going to spit in my margarita or pick the shit out of my toe nails.

But I was unimpressed the next day when I got lost in San Leandro with my good friend from back home. Didn't spend much, but apparently found out I have a case of Tourettes. I wonder what Madonna would have to say about that.

I've had her new single stuck in my head for the last week or so. I was talking about how awesome the single is with a couple of coworkers. Me: "I love the fact that Justin's in it." Coworker: "You guys are on a first name basis?" Me: "Well, I only call him JT in private." He did bring sexy back. See for yourself.

there's no such thing as global warming when you're having a green day

It was incredibly hot Thursday - as in 100 degree temperatures. Apparently there was a heat advisory in Livermore, which is pretty much as far east as you can go in Alameda County. (I don't even want to imagine what it was like in Pittsburg/Bay Point -officially considered the end of the East Bay.) It was hella hot in Emeryville and that's as far west as you can get. Plus, it was a "Spare the Air" day, which was perfect for those folks biking to work.

We're all very green and progressively environmental at my office, so it was only fitting that we throw a beer keg party at Rudy's Can't Fail Cafe for those people who actually rolled into their offices on "Bike to Work Day." Organic beer served in compostable cups makes me incredibly proud of the progressiveness of East Bay communities. Al Gore would weep tears of joy.

But as stoked as my coworkers were about working an outdoor event in that heat, they were even more excited for the make-shift after party. Or, the real party as some of us saw it.

I can't lie. I definitely have some awesome perks that come with my job. I handle the copy for club ads that run in our paper. So, I have contact with a few club promoters. It's mostly via email and I've never met them face-to-face, but they count on me to make sure the listings on their ads are correct. We were a bit passed deadline when the promoter from the Stork Club in Oakland called me in total excitement. "You have to change the May 15th listing. I just confirmed Foxboro Hot Tubs for that night!"

Ok, so, for those of you who have spent the last few months living in a cave somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Foxboro Hot Tubs is a Green Day side project. The only one with all three of the original members playing in it. (Plus two other guys who aren't Billie Joe, Mike or Tre.)

There was this whole hoopla when the singles started surfacing on the internet. Radio personalities were suggesting that the singer sounded a lot like Billie Joe and that it had to be them because Foxboro Hot Tubs is some kind of reference to something in Rodeo. (Not to be confused with Hottubs, a new wave chick band from Oakland, or the Hot Tubs in Berkeley fondly referred to as the "Soak and Poke" by locals.) Ahh, Rodeo . . . the jewel of Contra Costa County and home to the alleged Zodiac killer. The only time I actually go to Rodeo is when I stop for a latte at the drive-thru Starbucks on the way to Sonoma.

But for those in the know and I'm excluding the DJs at Live105 from this, apparently they've been doing this for a while. Green Day started as a small club punk group playing at places like the Stork Club, 924 Gilman and Ashkenaz. They were already huge the first time I saw them play at The Fillmore in The City. I think they were actually on their third major label CD at that point, but they still played like they were in a small club interacting with the audience, throwing beer, getting buck naked . . . etc. But Billie Joe still signed my girlfriends' book and gave us all Green Day stickers. What more could a 16 year old want? Plus, I think he might have winked at us. I heart rock stars that don't act like rock stars. So, I was very disappointed when i went to see them on the American Idiot tour at AT&T Park. It was decent concert, but it made me feel old because there were a bunch of teeny boppers with their parents waving their phones around as if they were lighters. It was incredibly depressing even though they put on an awesome show.

I think this is their way of playing the smaller venues without getting mobbed. And . . . I've also heard from those in the know that it's their great marketing ploy to test out prospective hits with a new audience. Oh, please, as if they need to worry about getting another hit.

The show itself was awesome. I got there early enough to not find a huge line to wait in. (Again, another reason not to trust the dumbasses at Live105). I only paid $5 - unlike the $20 they had advertised and broadcasted. It was probably the awesome East Bay Express wristband I was still wearing from the bike'n beer party earlier. I don't like to flash the fact that I work for the raddest (and only) independent alternative weekly in the EB, but I will, if necessary. I think I even scored some brownie points by inter-departmental guest list adding. It's good to make everyone happy.

The club was fucking packed. Luckily we all found the outside area to chill at for three hours. As chilled as one could get. If it was 80 degrees outside, it was at least 280 degrees inside. One of the "special guests" as I had put it on the ad sang some punk song about . . . you guessed it . . . Rodeo! After this they excused themselves to make room for "the next band". At this point the brave few of us that had stuck together practiced the fine art of throwing elbows -something I haven't had the pleasure of doing in a while. We nudged our way into a little nook between MacSweaty and MacSmelly. Imagine being fully clothed in a sauna full of belligerent hipsters, punksters, skinheads and motorcycle gang members blocking you on either side, sweat dripping from every pore of your body, holding on for dear life to the only source of hydration at your disposal. PBRs are exactly like H2O -but not as good when hot. I loathe hot beer and got even more pissed because my 40 oz. cans kept turning into hot water.

And then . . . finally . . . at 11 pm they came on stage and a tidal wave of terror and fear swept over me. Literally. Before I knew it I was being cast into the mosh pit. I'm not a mosher. The last time I was in a mosh pit was at the Vans Warped Tour during the Dead Kennedy's set. I remember almost getting an asthma attack but somehow being helped up by a cute skater boy and finding a $20 bill on the floor. I started flailing around drowning in the chaos until a hand grabbed me and pulled me back to safety. I love having tall coworkers - they're like body guards. My other two vertically challenged coworkers in front of me were not so lucky. People started pushing me around, so I pushed them back. It was a pretty tame pit for the most part. Five songs into the set sweat was dripping off my clothes and the coworker who saved me suggested we seek refuge in fresh air, sarcastically adding: "Congratulations! You now have hepatitis!" Awesome.

I didn't get to see the encore. I didn't even get to see their faces. But the short coworkers who got swept away made it to the front to see and confirm that it was indeed the three dudes from Green Day. Suck on that Live105! All in all a pretty fucking awesome experience. Not only did I prove that I can still stay up late partying on a "school night", I can also brave the mosh pit. Best of all, I got to see the very first show in the very first Foxboro Hot Tubs tour ever. Friday they played Toots Tavern in Crockett before heading to Little Rock, Arkansas. Now, here's my geography lesson for the day: any idea where Crockett is? Dude, it's right next to Rodeo!

note to self: changing your hair color will not change your life

It started out raven black and has now turned into indigo. I feel like I should be wearing a bunch of tattoos and piercings. And I've been wearing a lot of black, which of course is slimming, but not necessarily great for 90 degree humid heat.

A lot of things can change in a week. Some for the bad. And some for the bad. And then there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I always like to say that things have to get incredibly bad before they can be right again.

The question is: exactly how much ugliness can a person take?

I've had a really strange week, which would explain the bad hair color decision. I picked up the wrong box out of duress. But, like anyone who knows how to make things in her life work out to her benefit, I've decided to "own" the blue hair.

Actually, its a new approach to life, in general. So, instead of shrugging away when the girl behind the counter at the gym asked if my hair was really blue, I should have boldly said. "Yes, it is!" It would have made a difference, I guess because she was all: "that's rad!"

I've decided to speak my mind these days. It's changed my life for the time being. It's made my life better at work and my personal life a lot more chaotic. I guess you can tell who your real friends are by how well they handle your opinions and criticism . . . and emotional breakdowns.

And for the time being . . . I'm rocking the hair . . . blue and all.

amster . . . damn!

Willie Nelson and Snoop Dogg in Amsterdam . . . cosi petite moment of the millenium!

restoring order and law

Ever since I got back from NYC I've sunk into some kind of depression (and utter chaos) that can only be cured by watching a lot of Law & Order. Lucky for me that's pretty much all they give on TV. I'm not as big a fan of the original Law & Order. But I will watch hours and hours of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit as well as Law & Order: Criminal Intent, especially now that they brought back Chris Noth as Det. Mike Logan. Um . . . yeah, he was on the original Law & Order back in like 1990 for like five years before being Mr. Big on Sex and the City.

So, needless to say, the cosi petite moment of my day was when my friend who lives on the Upper West Side called me at work in excitement. "I just saw Munch!" As in Richard Belzer from Law & Order: SVU. "Guess where I saw him?" By now, I've realized there is only one place where you can find Law & Order actors: Nice Matin on West 79th and Amsterdam. That's where we saw Paul Sorvino. (And she's seen Marishka Hagarty there too.) Nice Matin is like the Upper West Side hang-out. Like an upscale diner with quirky staff and famous patrons - sorta like Rudy's but without the punk edge.

I've had one question on my mind for almost 20 years: why do they call it Law & Order? Shouldn't it be Order and Law? I mean the detectives investigate the crimes in the first half of the show and then the district attorneys prosecute the offenders at the end. It's been bugging me for a while. Or is it that the cops carry out the law by arresting perps and then the prosecutors enforce order? It's completely trivial a question, but it still leaves me curious.