A 30-second phone conversation yesterday. I’m not saying who said what; just sharin’ cause it still makes me laugh:
First Person: Have a good day, and eat some chocolate. You’ll feel better.
Second Person: I would if he’d just sit still long enough!
My friend’s a funny, funny girl. :9
I had one of those marathon, obnoxious errand-running days yesterday, but I stopped to have breakfast at Einstein’s. And as I sat in the back corner of the restaurant, enjoying my panini and coffee, a family with a toddler plopped down next to me.
I winced, hoping the kid would stay quiet and not disturb my peace.
But I was wrong. He was absolutely darling. It was his mother who had no concept of an “inside voice.” Gah. *smack* Of course, the second I left, bigmouth left too.
I usually go to coffeehouses to write. Well, at least I used to — I never have the time anymore and certainly not the energy. But I go now to do mandatory daydreaming. I’m not one of those people who has to sit there with a newspaper or book to pretend like I’m OK with being alone. I really AM fine with having not a goddamned thing to do but people-watch.
It’s like the world going by is a conversation in and of itself, and I’m participating just by listening to it and not missing otherwise-insignificant moments. I watched a woman with a Virginia plate drop off her teenage daughter with a man with a Pennsylvania plate, no doubt switching custody in a public place, and I wondered what it was like for the “happily ever after” fairy tale to burst for them and yet I applauded them for finding a way to keep the family together in one way or another, even if it meant meeting halfway regularly.
And this is why I get annoyed with people who can’t shut their damn yappers for five fucking seconds. Because they miss everything and they force the rest of us to pay attention to them (or, at least, to concentrate really hard on NOT listening to them). Her husband looked like he’d tuned her out, so I was the only one who seemed to be aware of of her neverending litany of bitch, bitch, bitching.
This is why I tend to stop talking in mid-sentence sometimes. When I evaluate whether the rest of my thought really needs to be articulated (and it usually doesn’t), hey, I’m a conservationist — let’s stop verbal air pollution and give the dreamers the space and the silence we need to be inspired by moments we’d otherwise never to be able to be part of, if not for being on the periphery.
I went to the local party. And had an amazing time.
I had a few high-school moments, which I won’t go into. (What strange memories can wash back over you 15 years later when you’d thought you’d never feel that way again.) It was nothing anyone said or did — I just retreated very far into my head once or twice and it was familiar, supposedly forgotten, territory. Bizarre.
Minus my “Inner Goddess” moments on the deck (where I saw a shooting star!), there were a multitude of magnificent moments, wherein the girls and I were discussing “conference crushes” that nearly everyone had developed while we were out of town. (Well, I’m not implying that I had anything to add to the discussion. …) 😉
Anyway, I’ve also been on a big Stevie Nicks kick, and unexpectedly, our humble hostess turns out to be a fabulous singer/guitarist and she started singin’ some Stevie. A sign that I was definitely in the right place.
As if I needed more proof that I picked the right party …
So …
… I met a boy.
Heh.
Well, he made sure to give me his business card, which probably means he’s really trying to sell me something and not necessarily indicate that he’d enjoyed our conversations. Because, really, isn’t that always the way? Or maybe he’s gay and just wants to give me a makeover or something. And let me tell you, I wouldn’t turn one down!
Actually, I’m pretty sure there could be a real business opportunity at hand here, so that’s what I’m expecting — a further discussion.
In all, I wish I could have gone to the psychic at the far-off party, but why wait for some strange person to tell me when I’m going to start having good things happen to me when I can, instead, HAVE good things happen to me?
Strange and wonderful the flood of good people the universe has recently washed ashore in my life, bringing incredibly dynamic souls who were previously on the periphery into my heart with deft, almost-imperceptible force.
I’m worth it, as my girlfriend reminded me on the phone tonight during a quick call between glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon. And as she posited, I need to make sure everyone else is equally worthy of me. …
This tidbit was e-mailed my way today, and it gave me pause:
“If you can’t get someone out of your head I think they are supposed to be there.”
All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about what a powerful statement that is and the imagery it evoked for me. Particularly, the mental sledgehammer I wield when something near-impossible pops into said little brain.
And then you wonder if this is the one thing you can talk yourself out of that maybe you shouldn’t.
The amount of time we lose while we’re not loving is mind-boggling. …
Today’s horoscope:
It’s a great night for a party — your social energy is all charged up and you can match wits with the smartest hotties in town if you feel like it. Things keep getting better for you.
I have two. One out in BFE that is a New Orleans-themed Halloween party, complete with a psychic. (I seriously need to have my cards read right now. Seriously.) One is local and has a handful of people on the guest list who have recently entered my very small circle of people I would choose to hang with.
Both start at the same time. Bah.
It occurs to me that I RSVP’d to the first party with a plus-one. Which is now a minus-one. Which is fine — no crying blah blah spilled milk etc. etc. Which is why I need a moment with the psychic, to give me a little bit of hope in that department. I also want to know that my grandfather will hang in there for awhile longer till I get to see him and also so that I can have a little more time to catch up financially before having to move my mom to my little one-bedroom down here.
(I’ve come to terms with inheriting Mom. It’s been a theme in my family, to take care of your parents. I just wish I would have had more of a life, given that I ran away to have one. But hell, I’m never home anyway. She can help me with cleaning up cat shit pyramids left in inappropriate places while I’m gone!)
But to make that drive to the first party alone? I hate driving at night and certainly not in unfamiliar territory. But there, I know I’m among old friends and that I don’t have to worry about posting entries/pics to which the “censors” could object. But here, I’m among new friends and taking an opportunity to network.
I’m aspiring to try to hit both soirees, although I gots work to do — another empty-apartment day for the furchildren, although Maddie will take a shit right behind my desk chair without me seeing her — what a lovely surprise that smell is. *barf* (Damn the world for not stopping and waiting for me to catch up.) We’ll see if I even feel like going out at all, ’cause I gots some fine California chocolates and a lovely bottle of Port that are calling to me already!
That fabulous Red Fire Bar I waxed so poetically about? Grapevine tells the story that folks who sampled that particular chocolate would KILL to have another taste of it.
I’d bought two bars — one for myself and another for someone else in the office. I understand those dark-chocolate delights can command a pretty high premium ’round these parts. 😉
Oh, and did I mention that I also bought a dark-chocolate bar with cayenne pepper as well? :9
I’ll write off the one given away, but I wouldn’t be opposed to selling my delicious chocolate bars for an interesting deal. …
It’s sad that I saw so little of San Francisco outside of the hotel, although a nice hotel it was indeed — my dream is to own a Marriott bed.
In any event, although we did eat at some magnificent restaurants with outstanding vino (and I somehow got trapped into talking about my past life as a sex-toy salesgirl), our main view of the city was from the inside of a cab. One colleague bought postcards upon which she planned to write, “I didn’t see this, nor do I even know where it is.”
Don’t forget the caveat that we will all be mailing them from D.C.! 😉
I did try to get my Tarot cards read, but I couldn’t find the entrance to the place but ended up inquiring about said Tarot business inside a nice crappy porn store.
A vacation highlight: Flipping through a copy of “Barely Legal” and getting accused by the store merchant of trying to get away without paying for it. Ha! I’ll leave the rest of the story unfinished, but it involved trying to hail a cab with boobs. (Not mine!)
What a strange and fun weekend. Moments of happy were brief, but lasting. After buying garlic condoms at The Stinking Rose (it’s a garlic restaurant that I want to try next time around — it came highly recommended) and reading amazing works by Bell Hooks at the City Lights bookstore, I was hooked on the charm of the city and just the feeling of being somewhere important. (And this is coming from a D.C. denzien!)
Other vacation highlights? There were quite a few, when I think about it. I’m just too tired to type them right now. 😉 I need to have them in my head for a little while longer before the baggage I’d dropped at the East Coast curb gets shipped back to my conscience.
As far as tangible takeaways from the city, I didn’t end up with any San Fran souvenirs outside of some divine chocolate I’d sampled at Bittersweet Cafe, particularly the Red Fire Bar with ancho and chipotle peppers, cinnamon and dark chocolate. (Or. Gaz. Mmmmm.)
The girl who sold me my stuff said that they’re adding a shopping cart to the Web site and it’s going to be launched shortly. Woo!
But finding a souvenir that lasts or has the city name on it? Not so much. But I had a layover in Pittsburgh and saw a cute, sparkly pink Steelers T-shirt, so I picked that up. Because a girl cannot have enough Steelers wear during football season, can she now?!?!
So my plane lands at National Airport circa 8 a.m. today. I haven’t slept in days and am more loopy than a friggin’ cable-knit sweater, yet I get the Bright Idea to drop something off at work before going home.
Never mind that I hadn’t bathed in 27 hours, but my punch-drunk self throws the car in a parking spot at Ye Humble Employment Establishment and hops out. I noticed I’d left the lights on, so I went to open the door. It was locked, but I had no key. Where was said key? In the ignition.
AND THE CAR WAS RUNNING!
There was a mild ray of light in that I’d left the sunroof partially open, but hard as I tried, I could not get my fat ass through it far enough to reach the steering wheel.
I’m lucky I didn’t dent that damn hood. Tawny Kitaen? I am not.
Oh, the humanity.
So I called AAA for help, and I explained my predicament. Which was all null and void when, afterward, I was asked for my AAA member number (um, it’s in the car) and my driver’s license number (take a wild guess where THAT was, too).
And my wait time? Estimated 90 minutes.
*thunk*
Meanwhile, I work in the land of three-piece suits and I’m all scuzzy and casual and shit. Yet, I dropped off my thing and grabbed a cup of coffee. And within an hour, help came. (Yay.)
Last night while we were all scrambling to go from restaurant to hotel to airport within the space of a half-hour, I’d been fretting about my keys. I kept thinking they were locked in my hotel room that I’d surrendered hours earlier. Seriously, I was nuts over my car keys. And when I located them at the bottom of my carryon, I’d thought the worst was over. Nope — I just hadn’t lost them YET!
My little black cloud had lifted for a couple of days, and I knew to be grateful. I did, in fact, leave my heart in San Francisco. But my cats? Left a half-dozen shit landmines and twice as many skid marks here in Northwest D.C.
Oh well, nothin’ really left to look forward to, but a few moments of dare I say joy to reflect upon. And I’ll just be glad the universe gave me a little bit to keep me going and believing that one day, we’ll (OK, “I’ll” — I know y’all will!) laugh about all of this. …
My feet were killing me (read: they were bleeding) so I tried to hobble outside the hotel to buy new shoes. But I couldn’t find the Payless I’d spotted a day or two ago, so I had to waste entirely too much money on a pair of Aerosoles that, frankly, was the pair I hated the least. Ugh.
Too bad I can’t expense the fifty bucks for those shoes. They don’t aggravate the existing wounds too much, but for what those ugly fuckers cost, the pain has traveled up to my wallet and made me practically forget about my tootsies!.
I do like it here in the city by the bay. I would just like to get a day or two to myself to actually do something touristy. Oh well. These trips certainly aren’t all about me, so I’ll get over it. But what I wouldn’t give to have “Denny” (my “GA” buffs will understand) leave ME $8.7 million. I’d be on a plane back here faster than you can ask if you can come along. …
I was telling someone that it’s not going to be a terrorist to take down an airplane — it’s going to be an everyday passenger like you and me.
All right, so I got to the airport yesterday a good two and a half hours before my flight. And given that the airport is the size of a postage stamp, I figured I’d be sittin’ around bored.
Haaaa. Funny!
So I’m flying on an airline that was recently acquired by a Big Airline. So I park and go in to the Big Airline, toss in the credit card and wait to be recognized.
And oh boy was I — as Brandon and not Goddess.
Brandon was going to Nantucket. And while a part of me was eager to go to any destination that sounded vacation-like in nature, I admit that I had always assumed Nantucket was a fictional place.
I tried three more terminals before someone tells me no, to go upstairs and use the check-in stations up there as the merger isn’t complete. So I use a few of those till I realize Big Airline owned those machines too and I had to keep going to get to Little, Swallowed-up Airline.
I checked my one bag and headed downstairs.
I get in line and, BTW, they’re serious about this 3 ounces-or-smaller containers shit. I had my baggie full o’ crap, and they said, nope, not goin’ on.
As this was, oh, PERFUME involved, I wasn’t going to throw it away or leave it there as they’d suggested. I asked where I could FedEx my stuff and they said there’s no FedEx facility on-site. *sigh*
So the girl says I could go back upstairs (for the second time) to put my shit in my suitcase. So I flew up there.
… Only to be told that my suitcase had JUST gone downstairs and was being put on the plane and, no, I wasn’t going to be allowed to add it.
You know, I knew the rules, but I thought it was glass, it was half-empty and hell, maybe I could catch a break.
Haaaa.
So I ran back to the ticket desk (the right one this time) and checked my carry-on so that I wouldn’t have to throw away a bottle of Perry Ellis Woman. (The jury’s out on it. I like it but I don’t think I’ll buy it again.) Meanwhile, I was nervous because the bag was small and not even half-full, but I got it in one piece so woo.
I went back downstairs (third time’s a charm!) and went through security, all barefoot and happy. And another girl I was standing with told me it’s only in D.C. airports, but I had to get blown before I got on the flight.
Heh.
Seriously, you step into a chamber, and they put like a railroad-crossing signal in front of you so you can’t run through. And from your head to your toes, air jets full of cold-ass air bean you on both sides of your body. After all the running around I’d done, I rather enjoyed it, but still, thank GOD I wasn’t wearing a skirt!!!
More stories from the road, but alas, I gots some work to do. Greetings from the left coast and all that happy-ass horseshit. 🙂