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?