Apparently, I've been doing it all wrong...

Our dryer is currently on the fritz. I can wash clothes at the house, I just can't dry them. And I refuse to call the service company again, because we're always the ones who have to call. Otherwise, as evidenced by the fact that it remained broken for close to four months, it doesn't get fixed. But we still need clean clothes. Even though I hate the laundromat with the fire of a thousand suns, off I went today...

As I dragged my heavy bag of dirty stuff over to the single-load washers and started unloading, an old man in the corner barked at me, "You're wasting your money doing it that way". Ummm, OK. Whatever, old guy. I told him that I was doing juuuust fine and continued doing my thing. I walked out of the laundromat to get a Vitamin Water and when I came back, old guy came over and said, "You're overloading my washers! You're burning up the motors in my machines, kid!". It was then that he introduced himself as the owner of the laundromat. I felt like an ass for brushing him off earlier.

He explained that I should be using the larger capacity washers for the amount of clothes I had to do. I admitted that I was a bit intimidated by those things and didn't really know how to use them or how much soap to put in. As he paraded me around from machine to machine, I got a fifteen minute tutorial on how to operate the 25, 40 and 60 pound washers . He informed me that I've been "doing it all wrong". After his convincing lesson, I concurred. I will try it his way next time. Old guy was super nice, friendly and was just interested in helping me out.

Strange side note: As I was waiting for my clothes to dry, I noticed a super slim Asian man wearing plaid shorts, a contrasting striped shirt and sandals. Whatever, I thought...after all, it's laundry day. But then, for whatever reason, I looked at his feet. He had possibly the BEST pedicure I've ever seen, complete with shiny navy blue nail polish (not unlike my own) and red and white flowers that were hand painted on, no doubt. The nails were longer, but very evenly filed. So weird. Didn't see that one coming at all. LOL! Gotta love the laundromat.

Just your typical bay area Saturday afternoon

It was supposed to rain this weekend. I love it when the meteorologists are wrong. On my way to pick up some new nail polish at the local beauty supply store, I drove by the beach and saw this:

Alameda beach with San Francisco and the Bay Bridge in the distance...

Two kitesurfers with Sutro Tower in between...

Super zoomed in close up of one of the kitesurfers...

Alameda beach is always pretty windy and on Saturday afternoon, there were so many kites in the sky that I had to stop and watch for a little while. The pedicure I was going to give myself could wait. I stood with my toes in the water and and a smile on my face as I watched numerous kitesurfers come out of the water and then attempt to walk their kites back down the beach. In the wind, it was difficult and required two people most of the time.

It was a gorgeous day. Not a single rain cloud in sight. (Make sure to click on the pics to see the larger versions. They're worth it.)

Dogs EVERYWHERE!!

DJC and I went out to Danville tonight. He was in serious need of a haircut and the only lady that he trusts with his locks is located in a shop situated smack in the middle of what he calls "Status Symbol Lane". Visiting Danville is always an adventure, even though I grew up there.

Since my parents still live in the area, we've been known to frequent this area of town for weekend brunches outside in the sunshine. On any given day, we've seen some of the most *ridiculous* mid-life crisis cars driven by men who are clearly too old to properly enjoy them. I liken it to renting a Ferrari in Las Vegas and then only driving it up and down the Strip...ya know, just to be seen in it. They don't actually drive them into the ground they way they should or even push the gas pedal down enough to get the motor purring. Its a shame.

Anyways... tonight, Status Symbol Lane was overtaken by THOUSANDS of canines. You see, tonight was Danville Doggie Night, where owners bring their four-legged friends to a place called Molly's Pup-purr-ee (I can't make this shit up, folks) for a gathering of people and pets. No matter which way I turned, there were dogs, dogs and MORE DOGS...little Chihuahuas, Great Danes and everything in between. I took pics of my favorites:


This is Kiley, a 3 year old adorably poofy Chow Chow. She was totally kicking back outside the local Starbucks, just chillin'. I rubbed her head and ears for about 5 minutes and she was possibly the *softest* thing I have ever touched in my whole life.

This is Sampson, a 6 month old Akita, whose owner was also getting a haircut in the same salon where DJC was. He sat patiently and quietly during the whole cutting process...right up until the girl cutting his owner's hair took him to the back for a rinse. Once his owner was out of sight, Sampson got a little edgy and started barking, but when his owner returned, he jumped up and down in delight. Such an adorable puppy...such HUGE paws.

This was definitely the strangest thing I have ever seen in Danville, but Drew's hairstylist had it right when she said that its good for the community and great for local businesses. And these days, I'm all for anything that stimulates the economy, even if the town of Danville has no idea what the word "recession" means.

On the house FAIL

Friday night started out innocently enough. DJC and I took a nice relaxing walk to dinner at the local pub, had wine, beer, a delicious cheeseburger and Wattie's. Aaaah, happiness. I was content with calling it a night right then and there, but DJC suggested that we head over to a bar across the street that "had a good beer selection". I'm not much of a beer drinker anymore, but I figured I'd indulge the boy for a little while. I was sure they'd have an acceptable wine or two.

We took two seats at the bar and ordered. Almost immediately, DJC and the bartender struck up a conversation about beer. The bartender, Chris from Chico, said that he had never tried a certain kind of beer that DJC mentioned, and next thing we knew Chris brought a bottle over along with three glasses. He stated that he was allowed one free bottle a night and that this was his. We thanked him and he wandered off.

A bit later, Chris noticed our glasses were empty and asked us what beer we'd like next. By this time, I had had two glasses of white wine, one glass of red wine and one small glass of beer. Sure, I thought...more beer sounds like a great idea. When Chris returned with our cold beers, he slid them across the bar and said, "These are on the house". WOOT!!, we thought. Free beer! All was right in the world.

A little later, Chris came by with another open bottle and set it down in front of me after stating that his boss had opened it so that they could try it, and neither of them liked it. It was a large 18.5 oz bottle and they'd wasted exactly .5 ounces of it deciding that it was no good. Fortunately for me, I thought it was great. It was also "on the house". This was turning out to be an awesome night full of bonus beer. We thought that Chris was the greatest guy in the world...

...until we got our tab. Somewhere along the line, he must've forgotten about all of the beer that was supposedly "on the house". In reality, we paid for the exact number of beers and glasses of wine that we had consumed. It wasn't quite the deal we thought we were supposed to be getting. But we were totally hammered and it didn't really matter so much. We stumbled home laughing the whole way and happily went to sleep.

When we thought about the supposed free beer we should have gotten the next morning, we were a little more than pissed and horribly hung over. I mean, really...WTF?! Here's the lesson of the day, kids: When paying for drinks at a bar where the bartender is a total douchebag, pay in cash after each individual round. That way, you can keep track of what you're paying for and what you're actually getting "on the house".

And Chris...here's a big middle finger to you, dude. Stop promising shit you can't, or won't, deliver. Ass.

Noise! Noise! Noise!

DJC and I hate our downstairs neighbors. They are the rudest sort of people. You know, the kind of people that let their kids scream at the top of their lungs at all hours, speak in obnoxious, outside voices at all hours, talk on the phone in obnoxious, outside voices at all hours, leave their cigarette butts EVERYWHERE (we refer to the man as "Big Tobacco"), and, did I mention that they let their kids run out of control morning, noon and night? They don't talk to each other the way other civilized humans do. They yell. The slam doors. It sounds like the kids bounce each other off of the walls. The kids are fat and hardly ever go outside to play. Instead, playtime consists of hours of video games played at ear-shattering volumes. The kids are overfed, overrested, and understimulated. AND LOUD.

The four of them basically act like they're the only ones living in the building and couldn't care less about how much noise or commotion they create. At 7:45am on a Sunday, its easy to see how DJC and I want to do unspeakable things to these people and their devil spawn.

We've tried everything to get them to understand that their noise really bothers us. We've knocked on their door at 8am on the weekends (in my nightshirt and Uggs, no less), we've written them letters politely asking for them to keep it down. Unfortunately, there's a huge language barrier...like Mt. Everest in size. Figuring that we weren't getting anywhere with them, we began complaining to the property management company every month when we dropped off our rent. Thankfully, the property management ladies, K and P, are super nice and totally sympathetic to our issues. They've sent letters to the family and made several phone calls about the levels of noise. Still, nothing has changed. The family gets a slap on the wrist, but they know that they don't really have to change because the management company can't really do anything.

This month, when I went in to pay the rent as I usually do, K asked me how things are going at the house. I told her that there was no change and she casually mentioned that there was now a legitimate reason for them to evict our downstairs nightmares. Apparently, they're behind on their rent. From what I could gather from K's vague description, quite a bit behind. They pay what they can every month, but its never the full amount. K was thrilled to finally get rid of these people and when she talked to the landlord about her planned course of action, the Quiet Train stopped dead in its tracks. The landlord stated that she wanted the family to stay, because with the state of the economy, she'd rather have some money coming in than none at all.

Holy shit. My mouth fell open. Everyone's going through hard times right now, including myself. Can I only pay what I feel I can for rent month after month? NO WAY. We'd be thrown out on our asses. But these people are now getting away with making as much noise as they want while paying less than the full amount for rent. I was fucking floored. There was a legit reason to get them out, but nooooooooooo. What kind of world is it that we live in where people get away with only paying "what they can" for rent? That's not how it works. If you can't make the full payment, you're out. Why should they get a break and not us, too?

There's nothing we can do. We can't reason with them and the property managers can't throw them out. Sweet.

I was so upset after my visit to the management company that I went grocery shopping and came home with gummy bears, gummy worms, frozen pizza, two chocolate donuts, and two packages of Crystal Light iced tea (WTF?!). Like somehow, all these junk food items would make the earlier hour go away. FAIL. DJC and I just don't know what to do from here. Move out, so that the landlord will lose money either way? Go downstairs with a roll of duct tape and tell the family how its gonna be from here on out? Help!!

Enthusiasm makes all the difference

Throughout my academic career, I've taken a fair number of classes from professors who seemingly couldn't care less about the material that they had to teach. Those were the toughest classes to make it through, let alone earn a decent grade. Its hard to care about the material when the professors, who were supposedly experts, didn't care. My undergraduate physics professor comes to mind. I have no doubt that he did at some point love physics, but he was clearly PISSED that he had to teach it at the undergraduate level. That was a tough class. His teaching energy was all kinds of whack.

Every now and then, though, I was lucky enough to get a professor who truly loved the subject they had chosen to devote their lives to. My exercise physiology professor, Dr. George Brooks, though despite being damn near older than dirt, LOVED the things he taught us and made lectures and labs exciting. I wanted to learn. I wanted to earn good scores on the exams. Class was fun. It wasn't really work.

Recently, my pharmacology professor, Sally Brooks (hey, maybe it has something to do with the name) reminded me just how important enthusiasm is for a teacher to be truly effective. She loved what she was teaching and it rubbed off onto myself and the other students. Most of all, she had a unique way of explaining new concepts:

"I always say that Prozac likes to talk. No action. No, thank you! No sex here! Just talking. Lots of talking." This was her way of explaining that sexual dysfunction was one of the more unfortunate side effects of anti-depressant therapy.

"For all beta blockers we'll be discussing, just remember that they end with 'Oh Laugh Out Loud'. Or for all of you that aren't as versed in internet speak, that's -olol."

This next one is my favorite, but it's a bit vulgar when taken out of the medical context it was intended for, so try to keep it clean, mmmmkay...

When asked why vaginal yeast infections are common with antibiotic therapy, she replied with this gem: "Think of it like this...Normally, there's both bacteria and yeast cells living in the vagina. The yeast live over here in their little section of condos, and the bacteria live over here in separate condos. When the bacteria is killed off by the antibiotics, that leaves a whole new section of condos vacant. The yeast see these vacant condos and say, 'Hey! More space to live!', and so they multiply and take over the condos...and so on, and so forth."

Yeah. Freaking hilarious. But it made sense. I looked around the room and saw people nodding with sudden understanding. That's the sign of an excellent teacher. If people fail to grasp the original concept, re-word it and find different ways to explain it until people do.

I learned this highly valuable tool during my early athletic training days and would frequently integrate it into my high school class when the kids just weren't getting it. It also demonstrates just how well one comprehends the subject matter at hand.

Sally Brooks teaches several classes in Contra Costa College's nursing curriculum and the fact that I would get to see her again is a big part of my decision to apply to this particular school. I really feel like I could learn a lot from her. Her enthusiasm makes learning a pleasure.

Worth sharing...

While trolling my fave internet sites earlier (instead of studying for my final tomorrow), I came across a link for possibly the AWESOMEST site in all of the world!!

Please click to experience the joy and pure hilarity that is Fuck you, Penguin. The only way this idea could be any better is if it were called "Fuck you, snot-nosed child", "Fuck you, smelly hippy" or "Fuck you, hipster". Of course, all of those things are easy targets and the butt of many a joke. Cute animals, however, get suck with, well, cute comments and jokes (a la "I Can Has Cheezburger", which I do love). It may be weird, but I like the idea of telling cute animals what's what. Clever. And oh so funny.

When I excitedly told DJC about it, he flippantly said, "Oh, I've already seen that". Of course he has. I'm always one step behind the cool internet kids...

Back!!

Ok, so its been forever since I've updated this thing. Yeah, I've had a lot going on recently. Here's a brief rundown of just the last week:

Saturday: Hit up the Wine Mine's two year anniversary party. We partook of the BBQ and $1 tasting. I came home with 5 bottles of wine for under $50. My new favorite grape is the torrontés. So light and delicious on a hot summer day. Believe me, Saturday was definitely a hot summer day. DJC and I were supposed to start cleaning the house. We didn't.

Sunday: Despite the outrageous Bay Area heat, we spent nearly all day cleaning our house. His father was due in town the following day and we had accumulated sooooo much stuff over the years that needed to go. Somewhere in the mix of everything, I needed to study for my first final, pharmacology. I didn't get much studying done, but thanks to a mad sale at Kohl's, our house looks pretty nice. BTW, thanks to square pieces of foam, I DOMINATED the slip cover on the couch. WOOT!

Monday: Laundry. Finishing touches on cleaning. Studying...in theory. Dinner in San Francisco at Farmer Brown with DJC's dad. Man, what a great night. If you live in the area and like cool restaurants, Motown tunes spun by a live DJ, unique drinks and good food, you really should check out Farmer Brown. What's interesting, though, is that it was nearly empty. We didn't have reservations and we were seated right away. In past visits, its been so crowded that we can hardly move around, especially near the bar area. I guess the economy is such that SF's hipsters prefer to drink their shitty cans of PBR at home now (which really isn't a bad thing). Anyways, dinner was great, complete with red velvet cake at the end. Oh, how I love red velvet cake!

Tuesday: More studying...this time for real. I staked out an area of the local Starbucks and didn't move for several hours. Later that night DJC and I headed out to a farewell party for JZ, who is now in Hawaii for her Masters. The party was held at her father's house up in the hills and was just breathtaking. Recently, they had added a new full kitchen to the garage, which opened to a lovely open-air patio/BBQ area with plenty of comfy seating. JZ christened it the "garage-mahal". So clever and funny she is. I will miss her dearly. I guess we'll just have to go to Hawaii one of these days to visit.

Wednesday: Took the pharmacology final first thing in the morning. Bombed it. I needed at least a 90% on the final to maintain my A in the class. Needless to say, I ended up with a B+ after a dismal 82% on the final. I wanted an A in that class so badly. I just wish I would have budgeted more studying time instead of spending hours dusting and vacuuming. Oh well. The rest of Wednesday was wonderful, though. we picked up DJC's dad and took him to La Note for a late brunch. Mmmmmm...pancakes. Wednesday night, we traveled out to the East Bay to have a delicious mexican dinner with my parents. We ended up at my parents' house for dessert...port, brie, fruit and American Idol (Adam, you were ROBBED!!). It was a great night.

Thursday: After picking DJC's dad up, we met up with BL, who had brought his Ferrari up for service. But before that, there was some high speed frivolity to be had in the Berkeley hills. DJC's dad had never ridden in a Ferrari, and he was thrilled with this part of his trip. After many twists and turns, all four of us settled down for lunch at the Paragon Cafe at the Claremont Hotel. It was a sunny day, and there was nothing on the schedule but soaking up the rays on the deck, and enjoying a few cocktails (white grape martini!!) and each other's company. The food was so-so, but it didn't matter. Later that night, we hit up Swig in San Francisco for a night of Below Zero beats and a tasting of Ploom's innovative products. I'm not a smoker at all, but this stuff was pretty cool. It was like a small, hand held vaporizer for tobacco and herbal pods that produced zero smoke. As we puffed away, we all commented on how we were standing in a very small circle and no one was blowing smoke on one another. We liked the flavor called "Gold", which tasted of honey and cognac. Again, it was an excellent night.

Oh yeah, at some point on Thursday I took a tumble down the back stairs of my house. It hurt my pride more than anything, but I did hit pretty hard. I laughed then, but Friday morning was a different story.

Friday: Seeing as that I did nothing but eat for the past week, I hit the gym. I was SORE from my fall (back, right hip and ribs), but I tackled a 90 minute class of kickboxing, dance and yoga. It hurt, not gonna lie, but it also felt really good. Check out the new video from my gym!! Its awesome, although the music leaves a little to be desired. The rest of the day was spent doing things that I didn't have time for earlier in the week.

Today, I'm catching up on the blog thing. Sorry for my lack of posts. I promise to get back on track this week after my lame communications final on Tuesday. We're heading back out to the East Bay today for a birthday BBQ for my mother...and then, at some point I should try to care about this next final and study a little. We'll see how that goes. LOL. Talk to you all soon!!

The great slipcover debacle of 2009

Our living room couch is ugly. I mean REALLY ugly. It was once green "leather". It's now a sorry shade of grayish green that is most certainly cannot be found in Crayola box. DJC and I have considered investing in a new couch for some time, but with me being in school and not working, our only option was to buy a fairly expensive stretch slipcover and suck it up for a little longer. Luckily, Target had a sale on slipcovers this weekend. I jumped without looking, apparently.

We decided on a lovely (not so much, actually) shade of brown called "oar" and anxiously drove home to give it a shot. Thankfully, the package included directions and markers on the front and back center, and the arms to ensure correct alignment. DJC and I placed the cover over top of the couch, lined up the seams and according to the instructions, tucked. And tucked. And pulled. And stretched. And cursed. And tucked. There seemed to be no limit to how much the fabric would stretch! Pretty soon, both of us were a little out of breath and visibly sweating. How'd the couch look? Wrinkled. And wonky. Covered and somewhat better, but wonky.

So, we removed the slipcover entirely and decided to take another swing at it. We followed the directions very closely and resumed tucking and pulling, more tucking, more sweating, infinitely more cursing and still more tucking. The result? I can live with this attempt. The couch looks pretty good. Not perfect, but OK.

Then I sat down. All that hard work...GONE! Gone as soon as I planted my ass on the velvety soft fabric! NOOOOOOOOO! As nice as the cover has made the couch and the room look, I think it's going to be a hell of a lot more work than its worth to keep it looking like an elephant didn't just sit on it.

Has anyone ever tackled one of these before? Any tips you'd care to share? Please. Help me. I feel like I'm drowning in yards of stretchy fabric....

Pennsylvania thoughts and stories

Ok, Ok. So I've totally been slacking when it comes to updating this thing. Its not that I haven't had things to write about. I just haven't had the time or the will. Most of my writing mojo these days has been directed towards my little side project with my good friend, LoveBadReality. We have fun talking smack. Good times, good times.

But, I realize I owe you all some long overdue Pennsylvania stories. Yes, they're old and not really relevant anymore, but some are still pretty remarkable. I'll keep them brief, though, so you don't lose interest...

-During an extended coloring session with my little second cousins N and V, ages 3 and 5 respecitvely, they informed us that they had just seen "The Wizard of Oz". My sister asked what the Wicked Witch of the West says and right as N was beginning her answer, my uncle, who has been a prosecutor for his entire professional career, popped his head in the kitchen and said, "The Wicked Witch of the West?! Don't you mean Nancy Pelosi?". He was serious. 100% serious. My jaw dropped and I shot my sister a look that said, "For the love of god, AGREE. Do not get into this right now. Or EVER, for that matter". Fortunately, she read my face correctly and agreed. My uncle trailed off out of the kitchen, satisfied with the "funny" he'd just made. My family and I would talk about this moment for weeks after the trip.

-After more family time than we could handle, my sister and I hijacked the rental car and headed down to Quaker Steak and Lube. This place is famous for its ridiculous selection of wings, but we had just finished a dinner of cabbage rolls (ick) and needed a cold drink (or 3) to wash them down. Plus, there was hockey on and it had been made very clear that there would be no sports watched in my aunt and uncle's house other than golf. I didn't even try to argue that golf is not a sport. Upon arriving at the 'Lube, sis and I each ordered the most obnoxious drink we could think of. For me, that translated into a Ketel One and tonic...in a PINT GLASS. For sister, it was a 24 oz. Bud Light. After round one, we decided that we were in fact hungry so we ordered a basket of fresh pretzels and some fried zucchini strips. Sis went for another beer, but I decided on a mango Lube-N-ade, which is one of the most ridiculously wonderful, but lethal, things I have imbibed in recent memory. If you're keeping score, that's two huge drinks each and two appetizers between us. The bill? $34. TOTAL. My vodka pint nightmare was a whopping $6. LOL! You can't get a bartender in San Francisco to spit on you for $6. It was a good night.

-One night, sis and I were supposed to stop by Cousin D's house to check out the digs and meet his kids, Lil' D and MJ, ages 5 and 18 months. When we got there, we were greeted by a very distressed D and wife J. Apparently, D had just tripped over the baby gate in a Superman effort to save MJ from the top of the stairs. In the process, he hurt his thumb, although he could not tell me how exactly. Upon examination, I decided a trip to the local ER was in order, as the thumb at the base was about the size of a golfball. D downed a 9% beer, two Advil and begrudgingly got in the car. Once at the ER, we didn't wait long to see the triage nurse, who actually asked him if he objected to having an X-ray. "Ummmm, that's why we're here", I said. Seeing as that I know my way around a thumb and an ER, D let me do all of the talking. When the ER doctor, who did not introduce himself, came in to the exam room, I told him exactly which parts of the thumb were affected, pointing to the swelling. Mid-sentence, he cut me off and hauled D off to get an X-ray, stating, "I'll X-ray it, but I know its not broken". He didn't even touch D's thumb. We waited all of two minutes before the "doctor" came back to say, "Yup. Not broken. I've been doing this for 30 years and the minute I looked at it, I knew it wasn't broken. You want to know how I knew? When bones break, they bleed. Where's the bruising? Mmmm hhhhmmmph". He was so sure of himself. All I could do was sit there with my mouth hanging open. He then continued, "All you need to do is start moving it around, and put some heat on it tomorrow". At that point, I grabbed D's good hand and told him that I'd heard enough and we were on our way out. Fortunately, D knew a good hand surgeon, and I advised that he get a second opinion in the morning. Sure enough, D showed up to dinner the following night with a cast on his hand. Fuckin' A.

-If I have to sit on an airplane for more than two hours, I always pick up a copy of In Style magazine in the airport before boarding. Its the only mag with enough substance to both keep my occupied and put me to sleep, all at the same time. I had just paid for May's issue when a book caught my eye. Before I knew what I was doing, I turned back to the register and purchased Confessions of a Video Vixen by Karrine Steffans. Yes, the woman also known as "Superhead" in the hip-hop industry had apparently written a controversial tell-all book about damn near EVERYONE and I had to have it. As I read the opening pages, I learned that this book was written not only as a tell-all, but as a way for young girls to avoid making the same mistakes that the author had made in her lifetime. I felt badly for her in the early chapters. But as I eagerly turned page after page, devouring juicy gossip about everyone from Shaq to Fred Durst to Ice-T to Ja Rule to Jay-Z, all I got out of it was that this chick slept with A LOT of men for money and that she lived a super up and down life, without taking much responsibility for herself or her actions. The tone of the book was not at all one of "Don't do what I've done. Do better for yourselves". Steffans seemed to be bragging about all the shit and people she'd done. There was no lesson to be learned, here. During the last few pages, I hoped for light at the end of the tunnel. When none came, I ended up feeling like I had just put money in her pocket to allow her to continue living the exact same life depicted in the pages of the book. In retrospect, I should have just stuck to my copy of In Style, which remained in my carry-on for the entire flight. I feel like I got played by the author the same way all the men in her life played her. Not cool.

Ok, that's all for now. Hopefully, you're still with me. Sorry for the length of this post. I probably should have broken all the stories down into separate posts, but I can't say that I'd have had the motivation to write that much in separate instances. Meh. Hope you enjoyed, anyways...