pique a boo

New Zealand Chronicles | On The Road Again

2012-01-23T13:48:00.000-08:00

8 December 2011

I'm not sure if it's typical to take a holiday whilst on holiday, but that's what I did. Yes, I had seen plenty, but there were apparently even better beaches further north. So, nearly a week after I arrived in New Zealand, Ang and I set out on a weekend road trip. Step one: load the car. Step two: find my new favorite breakfast. I didn't think it would be so delicious, hence the missing bite from the picture.

It's a bagel with cream cheese, tomatoes, basil, oil & vinegar. It was perfect. I wanted to eat it again. Nothing fancy, just something I had never considered. The bagel was warm and everything else was cold. That may have had something to do with it. I'm not sure. Now I admit I've gone slightly basil - crazy since a bar(tender) in Santa Monica, but that's mostly been about cocktails. But this! This was something I promised I would add to my routine at home. Six weeks later I have yet to be in any sort of routine. Who am I? We drove.

Fascinating thing about tolls in New Zealand, you pay they after the fact. No FastTrak. No EZ Pass. You just drive. The cameras take a picture of your plate, and you have five days to go online and pay your toll. It's brilliant really. No back traffic back ups - important when your highway is only two lanes in each direction. No one has to worry about having cash or change. Tolls get paid without any traffic slowdown whatsoever. It's the epitome of efficiency and I approve. We drove.

Eventually Ang got hungry (I'd say she really missed out on the bagel train, but she doesn't eat any of the delicious parts) and we stopped at a McDonald's. There, I saw the first of a series of confusing pairings. Kiwis wearing athletic apparel from two different American teens. There was a girl wearing a Lakers jersey with a Hornets hat. The clashing brought a tear to my eye. It was hard to watch. Fortunately for you, there was no way to discretely take a picture. We drove.

Inside the restroom.

We stopped in a podunk town, where we were told he had to visit the restroom. It sounded just that odd to Ang when she was told. But after being told more than once, we decided there must have been something to it. So, we set out to potty. It took two passes through the town to find it, and a third pass to find parking. Then, we were there, at the Hundertwasser Toilets. Easily the prettiest restrooms I had seen in a while. Instead of being an afterthought, these restrooms were an attraction. If you ever have to go near Kawakawa, I highly recommend them. Actually, you should visit even if you don't have to go. It may be Kawakawa's only tourist attraction. We went. And we drove.


Outside.

Next stop: Paihia, the main area for those seeking adventure in the Bay of Islands, or for those seeking to leave behind family and friends and move halfway around the world. It was in Paihia where Angie had the adventure that made her love New Zealand. I think her trip there -- more than to other parts of the country -- where the idea of residence became nascent. Paihia changed Ang. I knew that before I arrived there. But there's something extra amazing about being there and watching her tell me all about it.

Our trip through Paihia lasted as long as we were legally allowed to park: 30 minutes. I assure you, we saw plenty.


Pohutukawa blossoms

Helicopter tour from the side of the street.

We stopped at a farmers' market, because that's the Bay Area thing to do. We bought some delicious bread. I also picked up mozzarella and blueberries. Yes, I admit to a "see it want it buy it" ~~problem~~ thing. I'm working on it. I mean I'm working on it now. I was not working on it when I went from the farmers' market to the fudge shop.

Spent a lot. Ate no more than a sample's worth.
I am apparently not a big fudge person.

This reminded me of egg loving friends and XBFJ.
Looking at it also made me gag.

New Zealand Chronicles | Earning Ham

2012-01-18T00:44:00.000-08:00

7 December 2011

The trip flew by after my epiphany. We headed up to Mount Victoria to take a look at the city from across the bay. It was gorgeous. Don't worry, I documented.

Toadstools.

Ang took pictures of me. She did not bother to remind me they were full body shots. She did not think to say "um Danielle you should fix the way you stand." I suppose that means she'll take me as I am, which is typically great. And me -- as giddy and as close to being in the clouds as I was -- did not think to look at the first five pictures. We should all just forget they exist. But I did get my act somewhat together. We had our first encounter with other Americans up there. It was less of an encounter and more of a "let's do our best not to be associated with them." Really America, a little class could do our national image good. Inside voices people, even when you're outside.

We bopped from Mt. Victoria to the North Head Historic Reserve, a crucial military installation in the universe where the Japanese were going to attack. Once we had all the pictures we could think to take and retake, we had to get to the mall.

Brilliant idea. You stand on those footprints and
the camera / monitor shows the truth.

That's right. I was on the other side of the Pacific, in a town called Albany, at a Westfield Mall. It was very un-holiday of me, but we had business to which we had to attend. Ang needed work grown work clothes. It dawned on me that I had somehow become an expert on such a topic, after insisting for years that it didn't matter. We shopped. Well, I shopped. Ang listed every possible reason why we were wasting our time. She talked about how she wouldn't find anything she liked. How what she would find would be too expensive. She mentioned the store wouldn't have her size, and that we were wasting our time because she wasn't going to get a second job interview before the one that was scheduled a few days from then. I tell you Angie's list of glass-half-empty-isms because she was wrong about every one of them. Every. Single. One. She found a grown up something she liked, could afford, and fit. She got a call for a second interview that would happen before the first. Positive things happened in rapid succession. I forced her to notice. It didn't stop her incessant nail biting or brow furrowing. But I like to think there were moments were she had perspective. And then we went to ~~the beach~~ bowls.

Lawn bowling is a thing. It's a big thing. On the night in question, it was the season finale. Ang, The Squash Player, The Ladies' Man and others (like the VERY important Sharron) have a team. Hold on. I'm getting ahead of myself. Lawn bowling is a sport typically played by older people. The (unofficially named) Bowls Association started seasonal leagues as a way to get young people involved. It appeared to me to have been a success. One can never go wrong with 30- & 40-somethings competing over drinks for the possibility of prizes. Now as far as the rules, I did not quite figure those out. Bowls isn't really about the bowling anyway. It's very obviously about the chatting.

So. Ang & I arrived on time and met Grumpy Gus. Grumpy Gus might really be more of a Pensive Pete, but I'm being honest with my feelings here and he seemed grumpy at first pass. Grumpy Gus is a mate of The Squash Player. He also plays squash. Gus may have been grumpy because no one else from the team had arrived. I don't know. I was a guest. And he did not seem like the type to believe in full disclosure. And then there were more. The Squash Player and The Ladies' Man arrived. As did Sharron. Ang did not introduce me to Sharron. I somehow think that's what caused the subsequent confusion. I'm sure of it. I'm not giving Sharron a nickname, because she already has one. Come to think of it, that may also have contributed to the subsequent confusion. I could be convinced of that. I met Sharron. Subsequently, there was confusion.

Angie has told me about everyone. She's told me a fair amount about all of them. I knew about people before I met them. I'd done a really good job of matching names to stories for days. I was impressed with myself, right up until the aforementioned subsequent confusion.

I had nothing on Sharron. In reality I did, but when I first met her, I drew a blank. And what could have been mild confusion was immediately exacerbated by her saying something akin to "I'm sure Ang's told you loads about me," and my replying "no, not really."

Gasps and guffaws, my friends. Gasps. And. Guffaws. Angie was across the field, unaware I was in that boat, up that creek and frantically searching for a paddle. There are no paddles in bowls!

In my haste to use my wits to rebound, I said "oh you work where [The Ladies' Man] lives." While that's true, it's worded poorly. Sharron's office is a house. At the time, The LM was living there after hours. So I should have said "oh, [The Ladies' Man] is occupying your office like a gremlin." Oh hindsight. You hurt me with your clarity. Ang returned from the other side of the field unknowingly on the defensive. She handled it (in my opinion) like a champ. Balls were rolled.


The Ladies' Man.


Us.


Us. Without the zoom.

"Oh that's really good. Danielle get a picture of that." - The LM

As it was the last day of the season, there was a big feeds afterward. I ate as if I belonged, which I very much did not. Once dinner wrapped, it was time for the prizes. I'm going to go ahead and say the prizes were the best part of the evening. I now know what happens if your chief sponsor is a butcher. And I have to say never were more practical prizes awarded.


The prizes.

Ang, Jess(?), Grumpy Gus.


The big winners. Champagne AND ham.


Signing up for next season.

New Zealand Chronicles | Sight & Perspective

2012-01-17T22:26:00.000-08:00

7 December 2011

I woke up and just knew something was wrong. I mean it's normal for one of my eyes to wake up after the other. One just likes to stay shut a little longer. I do not believe in rushing the process, especially first thing in the morning. But on this morning both eyes wanted to open. Both eyes did open. But one could not open as much as it wanted. It was swollen. It was swollen a lot more than it had been on my first full day in New Zealand. I lay on my pallet, poking at it and taking pictures to help my diagnosis. I concluded something was wrong and proceeded to begin to go about our day. Ang knocked at the door.

"Woah."

"Yeah."

"Wow."

My eyelid was swollen. There was no itching. There was tenderness so mild, it could have been imaginary. My eyeball was not red. There was no gunk. Other than the grotesque swelling, all was well. But the swelling was just so grotesque. Naturally I posted it to Facebook and accused Angie of assault. One day, when these words have outlived us and some high school kid is writing about social media and the downfall of civilization, that last sentence is going to help him / her prove a point. But back to me. I was abroad and ugly-ish. This was potentially tragic. Fortunately for me, the cause was permeable. And after a shower, I was sure I wouldn't be a spectacle whilst walking. Well, at least not for anything other than being the only Black person in the country. That, I can handle. Don't forget - I live in Chinatown, Jake.


Ready for the public.

The Eyelid Crisis of 2011 had us right on time to have lunch with The Squash Player. I mean I'm sure we had some other ~~pretense~~ reason to get on his side of town, but this blog is just about reporting the facts. We gassed up, and hit the road. I would like to take a brief moment to explain the significance of this picture. I may have been the youngest in our graduating high school class, but Angie was the unlicensed-est. I know I've mentioned this before. But Angie with a car, Angie responsible for a car and its maintenance, is just something that may never ever get old. Okay. Off to meet The Squash Player. We went to Mac's Brew Bar, where I continued to be on the booze with a lovely cocktail. This might have been where my future plans for a home bar blossomed. I can't tell really.


Pulp Fiction: Vanilla Vodka, Passion Fruit Pulp. Basil, Lime & Soda.

Fish & Chips

Paying the bill.

A few things to note about restaurants in New Zealand. You pay at the register, even if it's a sit down establishment. They sort the bill at the register, making it super easy for each debit card to pay for what each debit card holder ordered. There are no taxes, no Healthy SF type add-ons either. You don't even leave a tip. Angie says it's because wait staff is paid an actual wage. They don't have to work for tips. And since it's not America, they're polite anyway. Fascinating. I did see some tip jars, and I probably got carried away when I decided to use them.


Christmastime.

We lunched. We walked. I went to Starbucks. Full disclosure: I was excited for that. Does a soy latte taste the same halfway around the world? Nope. It's not better or worse, it's just different. I'm sure it has to do with where both the beans and the soy originate. It should also be noted Starbucks stores in New Zealand do not take Starbucks cards. That probably means nothing to you, but to me it meant paying for modifiers and not getting a gold star. I recognize the extreme "first world problem" reality of this. I'm just documenting, because that's what I do.

Then we were off to the beach.

It was what we in "the business" call a "make good" for the Sunday prior. Where there had been rain, there was sunshine. Also, just as you would expect on a weekday in early December, there were young kids in school uniforms all over the beach. Some had taken off their uniforms to tan their awkward bodies. I heard them tease each other and giggle. I saw them walk in their cliques. It was all very normal, except for the number of adults there to witness it. Even if it had just been Ang & I, I don't want to be anywhere near kids in bathing suits or (even worse) school uniforms. We kept walking.

We went back to the Takapuna Beach Cafe for gelato. We sat on a wall and watched the water. I told Angie she had totally changed my outlook on the world. I did my best to explain I had accepted a new reality, that validation is neither career no job related. I had come to realize life is less about meeting expectations (something Ang & I had always done well) and more about finding what we expect from ourselves. In New Zealand I learned I had to determine what I want from life. It's not the same as naming what I want to be or listing what I hope to accomplish. It's not even finding what drives me. It's finding that thing which, at the end of the day, makes me fall asleep with a smile on my face and no regrets in my heart. I don't know what I said to Ang on that stone wall in Takapuna, but that's what I was feeling. It was amazing.

New Zealand Chronicles | Night At The Beach

2012-01-13T15:07:00.000-08:00

6 December 2011

Emergency situations have a way of changing plans. And on this particular Tuesday, my friend Angie was facing what I would certainly call an emergency situation. We spent the morning trying to address it. It was a very obvious team effort, with Angie working her contacts, making calls and developing plans while I captioned photos and began documenting my flight. Once satisfied with our mutual progress, we got down to the business of actually leaving the house. Ang got in the shower. And in walks The Squash Player.

This thing the Kiwis do with the knocking and the walking in is definitely an acquired taste. I heard the knock and froze -- because obviously the person on the other side of the door would know if I were typing. Once the door open I (mentally) sprang into action, thinking of how I was about to fight off a home invasion and protect my sudsy friend all by myself. It took you longer to read that than it took me to think it. And by the time I heard The Squash Player's voice and saw him, I was relaxed enough to say exactly what was on my mind to say.

"Oh you are ridiculous."

The Squash Player had put forth his own effort in response to the emergency situation. He had come during his lunch break to deliver flowers. It was so saccharine, I got a cavity. Unfortunately, someone's timing was wrong - though it's not clear whose.

"Who showers at midday?"

TSP & I chatted, but he had to, you know, drive to work. As the door closed and I started to giggle to myself, Miss Ang strolls out of the shower. My giggles became guffaws. I told her she could probably still catch TSP if she were to run outside in her towel. She did not.

Now I'm not at liberty to say who photographed the flowers. But they were photographed, by a photographer type person. They really were quite pretty. We dawdled and probably ate something, though there are no pictures, so it must not have been delicious. Finally, we went to the beach.

From the side of the road.

We drove to Muriwai Beach. Ang wanted to watch the sunset. Only it was summer, and we arrived more than two hours before that was even possible. We stopped at popular stopping point along the road and stared in Australia's general direction. There's something awesome about standing at the edge of a country. I love doing it here and I loved doing there. We sat there in the sunshine, being on the edge and, well, killing time before we could meet The Squash Player. (You didn't think he was gone for the day did you?)

Well the sand looks black there.

TSP met us and we went for a walk along the beach. The sand was black, but for some reason, my camera refused to accept that. Interesting thing about black sand, TSP says magnets will pull the iron out of it. Ang & I had never heard of such a thing (we studied TV folks). But none of had magnets, so I can't vouch for this purported science.

Watching his person.


There she is.

We happened upon a colony of Gannets, pronounced GAH-nets, and learned quite a bit about them. First of all, they have their chicks right where they were born. But in between being born and having chicks, they fly over to Australia. I imagine it's to sew their avian oats, and I'm not judging. The Gannets have their fluffy chicks on a very crowded rock, and if there was a every a place from which a bird could plummet to it's death, this was it. On the other hand, you could see a predator from a mile away. And I suppose they had all been born there, and they turned out just fine.

No story here. I'm simply telling you I was here.

Just disrespectful.

We also saw a couple taking wedding pictures. I took a few shots for Kate. She likes that sort of nonsense. I took (what I thought to be) a tone of righteous indignation over the groom's wearing of sneakers. Angie suggested these were only retakes, as the wedding party was not there. I conceded that as a possibility. Although her dress was being ruined. Shoes just seemed like the least he could do.

We walked up the beach. We walked down the beach. And still, the sun did not set. The Squash Player went home, and we two sat. The sunset was approaching. But you know what came before that? Clouds. Happy little clouds rolled in and did not roll out. I suppose the sun sets when you can no longer see it, be that because of the horizon or cloud cover. I found the whole thing anticlimactic. However my friend seemed uncharacteristically accepting of the ruination of her plan. I suspect that to be Squash Player related. But what do I know?

Lifeguard training.

Right when we left.

That night we continued relaxation with take away from the "International" Food Court. That's right, I'm questioning its legitimacy. Technically yes, food from a slew of Asian countries does make it "international," but I think that's disingenuous. Whatever. The noodles were delicious. I was just to hungry to take a picture.

New Zealand Chronicles | Flying Solo

2012-01-08T12:33:00.000-08:00

5 December 2010

This day was my moment of truth. It was my first day in Auckland on my own. I would have to cross streets and potentially ask for directions. It was an exercise in straying from the beaten path. I knew exactly what Angie would do in my position. Angie would walk around and hop a ferry and take a tour. Angie would find something unique and interesting that would reward her ventures. Have I mentioned I am not Angie? I had grand visions of leaving myself behind, listening to a long-ago buried inner voice, of finding a gem. Turns out I am no clairvoyant. My visions do not become reality. I braved Auckland on my own and set out for the most typical tourist area: Queen Street.

Along the way (like right on Angie's block), I spotted the most bizarre little flower. It reminded me of an Astro Pop. It almost didn't seem real. Naturally, as an American faced with something new and naturally beautiful, I wanted to take / kill it. There's something innately American I think about seeing something publicly pulchritudinous and wanting to keep it, even if the keeping will kill the object and prevent anyone else from seeing it. But I was not at home. The flower lived. I walked.

Step one: breakfast. I'm a simple breakfast girl. I like carbs. I would eat French Toast with a side of hash browns. I am not difficult to please. Still, I was (somewhat) on an adventure. So I set out to find something I would never make for myself. Enter the crepiere. I love crepes. And not only do I not know how to make them, I don't even want to know how to make them. They're a treat. And on the first Monday of December 2010, I treated myself to something delicious.

Caramelized Apple Crepe.

Once that mission was accomplished, I hit Queen Street with full force. There's not much to report. It's a busy downtown area much like you find in any large city. There was a lot of shopping. There were a lot of chain restaurants. There were a lot of places to exchange money and buy crap and just be busy. It's not a place anyone really needs to go. But - since I'm me - I found a purpose. I exchanged money and looked for a map. It could be probably be okay to say I have an inability to relax. I really did try though. Promise. So let's see. After the money and the map, I sat and stared at the water. I also did my nails, because they were a sorry sight. I spent a bit of time at Viaduct Harbour, looking for shops and taking pictures. I contemplated a walk through the city on a guided trail. Then I realized I would probably get tired halfway through and regret my decision. So I went home to wait for Ang and (though I didn't know it) my intended purpose for being in that place at that time.

I fell in love with the sky.

My little friend had news of the negative variety. The full details of which are up to her to disclose on her own blog - which both documents her amazing photography and is entirely imaginary. I digress. My friend was suddenly in a hyper emotional state. And though she has friends and a Squash Player in New Zealand, they're all of the shoulder-to-cry-on variety. I am of the suck-it-up-and-move-forward variety. Yes, I'll hear the sadness. But I do not tolerate dwelling. Ang was presented with a significant challenge. I felt as if I had been sent to help her get on the path to sorting it out. We drank wine.

Wine is a pensive, very adult drink. It's for solving life's great mysteries and plotting great feats. We drank our wine, solved nothing and plotted plenty. We acknowledged something harder was in order, and ended up at the Longroom. Along the way we ran into the Ladies' Man. If ever a moniker was earned... The Ladies' Man is a mate of The Squash Player, who has found himself to be a hot commodity in the market of younger women preferring older men. He says he can't explain it, but recognizes there is no need to look a gift horse in the mouth. We ran into the Ladies' Man as he and a friend were also on the search for a cocktail. Together, we sat in the courtyard and just were. Another day of adventure in the books.

New Zealand Chronicles | In The Rain

2011-12-27T12:22:00.000-08:00

Sunday, 4 December 2011

It rained. I called shenanigans. When Angie came to visit me (1, 2, 3, 4a, 4b, 5, 6, fin), we had glorious weather. It wasn't entirely my doing, but I helped; we made the most of every day. On my third day in New Zealand, we woke to rain. Not quite a downpour, but much more than sprinkles. We could only think of one indoor activity. But first we had to eat.

I think I took at least one food picture every day. This little stack was perfection. Starting at the top, you are seeing Marscapone, pineapple chutney, buttermilk pancakes and meyer lemon syrup. I could talk about this for at least 40 words. But I won't. I'll just say it wasn't as sweet as one might think. Meyer lemons and pineapple have tart potential you know. And the Marscapone (which always makes me think of Giada de Laurentiis) was a lovely offset. It was really, really good. We ate at the Takapuna Beach Cafe, which is right where you would expect, on Takapuna Beach. Afterward, got dessert (because we needed it) from the store next door. I had a passion fruit cupcake. It was the beginning of my passion fruit awareness. I would grow to love it, though not to understand its seeds, and their hollow crunch.


There's a kite surfer out there.

We ate our dessert in the car, whilst watching the windsurfers. It didn't seem windy enough, but they were certainly giving it a go, eh? Kiwis say "eh" all the time. In Spanish it's called a "muletilla." I honestly don't know if there's a word for it in English. It's a thing people say just to say. But they say it a lot.

Yes you are.

Our rainy day adventure was a trip to the Auckland War Memorial Museum. I dislike war. But I like museums. So at worst the trip would have been a wash. Inside we saw a lot of Maori art and artifacts. I tried to wrap my brain around New Zealand's history. I knew nothing about it. I wondered how similar its native vs Caucasoid history was to ours. Unfortunately, I didn't see anything explaining it all. Angie didn't know either, which was perplexing as she had lived there for two years before I arrived. Ang isn't much into reading (or writing). It's not like she's a math person, she just doesn't like to waste time with words. Yeah I don't know how we work. We just do.

A ship that carried 100 warriors.

He reminded us of our dead friend at Tawharanui.

Angela won this by playing "guess how many marbles."

We killed some time after the museum, and then went back to Chapel. Chapel Sundays is a thing. I would later describe it as a college atmosphere for 30 & 40 year olds (and me, at 29). There were two DJs, playing music I thought counter-intuitive to a bar. Think Queen + title tracks from several 1980's movies. There were heaps of people and a few acting like fools. And then there were celebrities. Fighters and other rugby sorts from Fight for Life showed up for an afternoon of drinking. I wish you all could have seen it. It was like a Friday night with the lights on. People kept asking me if I was alright, because I was just sitting in a corner frowning. I told them I was just trying to take it all in. Once I got it (or at least got close to getting it), I wanted it. I wanted this neighborhood thing where people met and became friends and made bad decisions, but didn't judge. Chapel Sundays represent a pointless good time with people seeking the same. It's brilliant. First item on the "When I Get Home" list, find a silly bar to make my own. It would not be like Chapel; America likes to forget the 80's and their title tracks. But it would be my own brand of silliness.


Moonie. Ang met this classy gem like four years ago. He helped her decide to move there. He's... um... yeah.

One of the fighters who lost the previous night. I told him he should've kept his guard up.

I also met a builder named Dan. He was wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates cap & I asked him if he had ever been to Pittsburgh. Turns out he had. He went to Notre Dame, got a Masters in Architecture and worked in Baltimore for a few years. He said he lived on the "hard" side of town, which was a few houses down the beach from where we had brunch that morning. Must be rough. He gave me his card and invited me out on his boat before I left town. But the boat ride conflicted with my trip up north with Ang, so it never happened. Still, it was a pleasure to be asked.

Just as Chapel Sundays come, Chapel Sundays go. People part ways and go home to get ready for Monday. I (playing the part of a local) went and did the same.

New Zealand Chronicles | Doing It Right

2011-12-27T12:18:00.000-08:00

Saturday, 3 December 2011

The point of the day was to hit two beaches and possibly watch a I know. It's a tough life vacationing in New Zealand. We left Matakana and made our way to Tawharanui, that's taf-ra-NEW-ee. Forget how it's spelled. That won't help you. The "wh" (obviously) makes a "f" sound, just like a "ph." Clear as mud. We drove through all kinds of countryside. There were cows and sheep and horses and a lot of grass. It's all quite lush and while I was looking for something akin to Middle Earth, I was reminded very much of Jurassic Park, the first one. You know the part when Sam & the crew are running with the velociraptors from the T-Rex? Sam is his real name, it wasn't his character's name. But whatever. If you saw the movie, you know the part. And that's what I was waiting to see around nearly every corner; a man and some kids running with a herd of dinosaurs. The whole ride was an adventure.

Tawharanui was beautiful. It was (as I've started saying) beyond. There's not much that happened on the beach. We sat. I read. Angie started planning the next leg as soon as we had the blanket down. It goes back to her "journey is the reward" nonsense. It was a constant battle to get her to stop and take the moment. I'm not sure which of us won.


The view in one direction.

The view in the other direction.

We sat on the beach and did what we used to do on the phone. We talked about people we both know. We talked about our families. We talked about the uncertainty of the future and about years spent chasing things / accomplishments that all of a sudden did not matter. We were quiet. We picked up and went for a walk.


I could go on with these forever.

Dead fish next to a rock shaped like Australia.

The open road.

Eventually we left. I'm not sure why. I could have sat there for two weeks. We got back on our gravel road (that totally connects to a slightly larger road) and headed in the direction of another beach. We stopped at the Okakari Point Marine Reserve and got a look at Goat Island. There were people snorkeling and other people getting ready to surf. Bless them and their ambition.

A stop along the way.


Goat Island.


Birds on some poles.

Yes. I saw those clouds. No. I don't know if Angie did as well. I do know we drove right into them, via a windy road that went up (then down) a mountain. I convinced Ang there would be less cloud cover once we got to sea level. It gave her enough (false) hope to get us there. "There" was Pakiri Beach. Just like every other beach we would visit, there were only a handful of people out. It's as if the Kiwis don't know what they have. Obviously it takes to Americans to really do the country right.

To one side...

To the other side.

That night Ang & I met up with The Squash Player & mates to watch a Fight for Life, charity boxing match between rugby players. And apparently not all rugby players are created equal, some were "league" players, and therefore not "professional" players. I guess I would compare it to NFL players vs arena football players. But I know nothing about arena football. Does that even exist anymore? Irrelevant. On my first Saturday night in New Zealand, we watched a boxing match. I was so local. And I loved it.

New Zealand Chronicles | Perceiving The Journey

2011-12-26T21:01:00.000-08:00

3 December 2011

I slept until I woke up. And with no obvious signs of Angie being awake, I slept some more. Full disclosure: there was no way for me to see any sign of Angie being awake. I lay on my pallet in my room with the door closed, and she did the same. It was glorious, aside from a slight discomfort above my left eye. As with any malady, I believe in poking first, finding out that was a mistake later. There was no pain or itch, just some puff. My eyelid was puffy. It was barely noticeable. I showed Ang, who'd had her own eye thing just a week prior. We (with dual degrees in communications) deemed it harmless, and headed to the markets!


Orewa

Ultimately, we were heading to a beach, so we dressed and packed accordingly. We set out with Angie (of course) behind the wheel, and we headed to Matakana. Along the way, we stopped at every lookout Angie deemed worthy. I suppose now's as good a time as any to tell you Angie and I are not very similar. Where I would get directions and get from Point A to Point B as efficiently as possible, Angie would head in the direction of Point B, and veer off the road at the first sign of a scenic overlook. In the event she was hesitant at the first overlook, she would definitely stop at the second. She has what she & The Squash Player aptly call FOMO: F(ear) O(f) M(issing) O(ut). FOMO is what has led Angie to the secret discoveries she now delights in sharing with people like me, who are typically boring and just follow the rules. Ang is one of those "the journey is the reward," people. I'm more of a "we won't rest until we get there and rest," sort. Her reward is in the sharing. Mine is in the surviving the unbeaten path. Somehow, we work.


Sandbuggy

A very large tree.


I got nothing.

Polenta with peaches, plums, honey and cream.

When Kiwis say "markets," they mean Farmers' Markets. The Matakana Markets are a thing. I thoroughly enjoyed it. There was a great variety of foods. We arrived toward the end, and we hadn't eaten. So we kind of inhaled food first and thought about it later. First, a soy latte. Then a lovely ricotta and something calzone. I had my wits about me when it was time for the polenta. Best I remember having, and I have a good memory. I waffled on getting a crepe, and by the time I decided to go big, it was time for the crepiere to go home. It was time for us to get our Saturday started as well. To the beach!

New Zealand Chronicles | 21 + 10 = Angie

2011-12-21T11:42:00.001-08:00

2 December 2011

As the clock struck the last possible moment to both go shopping and be on time for the party, it occurred to me that there had been a shift. I can't even call it a "role reversal," because it was just something that had never been. I was insisting Ang & I go shopping. I was insisting Ang & I go dress shopping. I told myself it was less about the shopping and more about the birthday. And most of that was true. Birthdays bring temporary spotlights. The subject of which (I feel) ought to be presented in their best light. It's part of my birthday belief system. But I digress.

Angie hates shopping the way I used to; the way I thought I still did. We went from store to store and while time stayed constant for me, I could see it dragging for my little friend. Don't get me wrong, we found a dress. It was the hunt for accessories (and lack of Diet Coke) that was killing her. Angela is a trooper. She would have kept trudging had I insisted. But she was not having fun. So I did not insist. Naturally everything worked out perfectly anyway.

We went home to get ready, and in walks The Squash Player. Now, when I say "in walks," I literally (pronounced "LIT tra lee" by Kiwis) mean he just walked into the house. As it was explained to me, it's perfectly okay to leave your door unlocked. Angie (ever the extremist) left her front door wide open. I work in news. I tried to explain home invasions (They HAPPEN!) to my friend. But she's gone native. So. In walks The Squash Player.

Watching Cricket.

Ang asked me how I would describe The Squash Player. I didn't know then and I don't know now. I let my fingers do the story telling. I've known of The Squash Player for quite some time. Quite. Some. Time. I've known him through Angie's experiences, which have been many of late. The question begs to be asked; what's going on there? The good news for you, inquiring minds, is that I am not afraid to ask such tough questions. The bad news, I have to ask Angie. If there is one person who cannot articulate Angie's inner workings, it's Angie. I've got nothing other than what I observed. We'll get to that.

What passes for a backyard apparently.

In walks The Squash Player. There were smooches (I listened for them), but that doesn't mean anything, because smooches in New Zealand are as common as RTDs, which are quite common. We all got ready, and then it was party time. We went to Chapel Bar + Bistro. It's dangerously close to where Angie lives; I went home once to get our sunglasses, and again to drop them off. We stood outside at first, though Angie had reserved two tables out front. She was 5 feet of fire when the tables weren't ready, but it didn't really matter. While we were waiting, I saw a familiar face. It was a surfer who had been in the security line at LAX behind Negative Nelly. I stopped him as he walked by the bar.

"Hey it's Good Attitude Girl," which I guess would be my super hero name.


The Process.

Angie had her birthday at Chapel. She was in her element. It was the perfect way for me to put names to faces, and connect some dots. I also got to roam and observe. I asked the bartender to make me what he makes best. He got really excited. I single-handedly slowed bar service for all while limes were squeezed and a jalapeno(?) was retrieved. The end result was a fancy margarita with a hint of vanilla and just enough heat to make you take notice. Swoon.

Love a lady on the 1's & 2's.

The end result. Also, the garlic flat bread is highly recommended.

Good Attitude Girl.

The craftsman. And some shots.

Swoon.

From Left: Nigel, Elanor, Angie, Me, Jason (The Squash Player!)

Add caption

And so passed my first night in New Zealand. I drank a lot. I ate a lot - chips come by the bucket you know. I met a lot of people. There was a lot of smooching. I stopped to commit all the little things to memory. Acknowledging them made me realize I was a Grinch; my heart had become ten sizes too small. There's a happiness that comes from simply being in a place with happy people. I couldn't complain about work or gossip about anyone. I couldn't run errands or read or go to the gym. I was left alone to be just me, in that place. I was content. Welcome to New Zealand.

New Zealand Chronicles | Land of Opposites

2011-12-21T10:39:00.000-08:00

2 December 2011

Angie drove us home. Sure, that's a logical occurrence and should be of no great import. But in the 20+ years I've known her, Ang has not driven. She didn't get her license until after high school. I didn't have mine either, but I was 16. She was 17, and obviously slacking. By the time Angie did get her license, we had already started that "let's live as far apart as possible" thing that we do. I heard tell of driving, but never actually witnessed it. And then all of a sudden, I was standing outside a car door on a gloomy morning in Auckland, New Zealand.

"You have to get in on the other side."

The Kiwis drive on the opposite side of the road from we here in the States. That was unnerving. Angie behind the wheel was unnerving. The propensity for roundabouts was unnerving. It was all quite stressful. Of course Angie did fine. She's a giddy little driver, singing and signaling. It was still weird - I didn't even get a decent picture - but it was really. Angie drives.

I gushed over her flat. It's quite nice and at some point I'll tell you why. But when we got there, we were in a mad rush to tell the world we were together. It doesn't happen that often you know. We created a place that was her flat and checked in on Facebook. It was really the most important thing at that time. I promptly told the the world I was taking a shower. Again, it was the most important thing at that time. Then finally, after what had been nearly an entire year, my friend and I set out to eat delicious food.

We went to a place within walking distance. I had a soy latte, carrot cake, and a chicken - Gorgonzola pannini with pesto sauce. I was pleased. Full disclosure: there will be a lot of pictures of food this trip. Not that any of the food was overly exotic. But it was pretty. And I'll want to remember. I was happy to get soy milk, which I could not get on the East Coast when I went back in October. And the carrot cake had more pistachios that I'm used to seeing. I said to myself, "self, that has to be delicious." And I was right. It should also be noted that Angie would not eat any of the foods pictured below. She doesn't drink coffee. She doesn't like sweets, or carrots, or pistachios. She does not eat Gorgonzola. I'm not really sure why, it's delectable. But I don't judge. That's more cheese for me. And despite what my doctor says, that's a good thing.

Soy Latte & Carrot Cake

Chicken Gorgonzola Paninni w/ Pesto

We're the same. But different.

After brunch, we hit the road. The sun had started to shine, and we went to the beach at Mission Bay. We didn't walk the promenade or visit any shops mentioned in that link. I just wanted to show you the options. No, Ang and I sat. We tried to take in the moment. The "we two girls who grew up in the 'Burg are now in New Zealand together on a beach in December" moment. I think it was a little too large for us. Ang pointed out "her" Brown Island, which is just a chocolate chip of land with nothing on it. Maybe one day. I mean stranger things have happened.

Happy Faces.

We talked about the real reason for the season, Angie's birthday party. It's why I had to arrive when I did and therefore why I had to fly through LA. Angie had reserved tables at her neighborhood bar. People were coming. I thought everything was set. We were hours from go time when Angie mentioned (casually, no less!) she didn't know what she was going to wear. This seemed to me an egregious oversight. In the name of birthdays and parties and special attention and really all that I hold sacred, she needed a dress. I insisted. I strongly insisted. I ~~forced~~ pushed Angie to take us to a mall. She agreed. But first (in this land where Angie drives and Danie shops) we had more sights to see.

We stopped at a lovely overlook dedicated to a politician. We stopped on the $6 million street. We stood atop a volcano, where I found Angie's first gray hair. That gave me the giggles. It was decidedly much more traumatizing for my friend. It would have been nice if I could have shown compassion. But alas, I did not have any. Only giggles. Oodles of giggles.

View from Paritai Drive.

View from Mt. Eden

Moments before the gray hair was spotted.

New Zealand Chronicles | Arrival

2011-12-20T13:25:00.000-08:00

2 December 2011

The plane touched down. It was kind of surreal actually. I mean I take lots of flights -- seeing any of my close friends or relatives requires it. But this was somewhat different. First of all, I couldn't text anyone. My phone (Mr. Incredible) was not built for use outside the U.S. So, though I had wanted to buy an international plan, I could not. I had to rely on WiFi, which is just foreign to me. I recognize that -- In the grand scheme of things -- is not worth a mention. But hey, we're here to talk about me.

New Zealand is wet.

I stepped out of the pressurized cabin and into a warm blanket. It was icky. I was icky. It had technically been two days since I had showered. In actuality it had been at least 21. Nearly a full day of rushing and waiting and angst-ing. I wanted to ~~bathe~~ see my friend and officially be done traveling.I grabbed my bags and followed the signs to baggage claim.

Auckland International Airport is duplicitous.

To have the signs tell it (and that's their function isn't it?), baggage claim is over there. It's that way, right there. No the signs didn't use those phrases, but their cheery little arrows certainly belied the actual distance to Kiwi ground. The airport kept us imports segregated in a glass hallway (my second such enclosure of the trip), where we could be watched and (I imagine) decontaminated if there were deemed a need. The glass hallway was pretty, and allowed us to be watched. But I didn't mind all that much, baggage claim was over there. Something about being there, but not quite there definitely made my bags heavier. Angie was on the premises. I was close. I was sure it once I went across the moving sidewalk, I would be... passing through a duty free shop, with the smells and false smiles. No worries, baggage claim was right over there. A large poster featuring at least one of Angie's preferred All Blacks player welcomed me. I was reminded to toss my fruit and plant life. The were Maori sayings left, right and center. The customs agent asked me if I had Angie's address. I explained the business of not having my phone. My carry on bags no longer seemed less for carrying and more for dragging. I didn't fret though. Baggage claim was this way. And it actually was.

I grabbed my lady luggage, explained the "banana residual" in my bag was not a threat to the New Zealand ecosystem, had my luggage x-rayed, and went out to actually mingle with the Kiwis.

I did not see Angela.

To be fair, she is pretty short. And I did not look that hard. I thought she would have a sign or a... something. So I stopped. I looked. I walked in (what Angie calls) the exact opposite direction. And then there she was. Hooray! Ang likened it to something out of Love, Actually. Angie thought I had seen Love, Actually. Clearly we had been apart too long. She was an instant pick me up though, my bags weren't so heavy. New Zealand was still wet, But it was pleasant? No. It was just humid. But I didn't mind. It was adventure time.

New Zealand Chronicles | Anticipation

2011-12-15T03:25:00.000-08:00

The actual flight was remarkable in its unremarkableness, which is exactly what I needed.

Air New Zealand boards (once the rich people are in place) from the back of the plane. I swoon in the face of efficiency. No zone numbers or group assignments. The people in the back of the plane get on first, so as to not block the aisles. Brilliant.

Scoff-inducing.

I snuggled into my window seat, arranged my in flight gadgets and scoffed at the provided headphones. I've become an aural snob thanks to a Christmas / birthday present from my mom and stepmom. You know those people who have their own two prong airplane adapters? If you know me, the answer is yes, yes you do.

All that was left was meeting my row buddies. A small, girly part of me hoped for some Kiwi eye candy. My larger, practical side recognized the potential for disaster. I was dressed ~~like a slob~~ on the comfortable side. I was also bound to sleep with my mouth open at some point. Thirteen hours is a long time to try and stay cute. And at that point in the day, it was an impossibility.

The middle seat went to a Texan. I knew he was Texan before I asked. He was on a 13 hour flight with his (teal) shirt buttoned & tucked. He was wearing jeans, boots, and a belt with stars on it. If he'd had a cowboy hat, I'd have guessed Oklahoma or Arizona. The Texan (from Houston, specifically) was (say it with me now) in the oil industry. He was being sent to work on rigs for three weeks. He was hoping to be done in two. I didn't realize companies still had travel budgets. Then again, do oil companies have budgets at all?

The aisle seat went to a Japanese guy (I think) who lives in the states. He travels a lot for work, but was heading to New Zealand to go hiking. He said his wife prefers cities and shopping. So when he wants to have an outdoor trip, he meets a buddy and goes hiking in New Zealand. Single serving friends are fascinating.

Together, we were a row of solidarity. We chatted, but not too much. We got up to stretch at the same times. We didn't kick or have any personal space conflicts. It was really the best I could hope to get. And there was even more.

Breakfast.

There were movies / shows / games / music. There were pillows and blankets. There were meals. There was wine. And it was all free. I know. Free is not exactly accurate, since the flight was expensive. But let's remember I can't even get a short stack of Pringles for free on a $500 flight across the country. I paid more than thrice that for this trip and got two, delicious, low sodium meals, plus beverages and entertainment. I'm also positive there was more storage and suspect more leg room than on any flight in recent memory. Did I mention my checked bag was free? Because it was. It's as if Air New Zealand doesn't know what air travel has become. I have no plans to tell.

I'm sure you, as a reader, are ready for me to just get there. You want to read about the beaches and the people and the experience. You may even be ~~frustrated~~ a little bored with the minutia that has essentially been packing and boarding a plane. I sincerely hope you are. The journey was tedious. Just as, at this moment, you assume I have amazing stories to tell, I (pressed up against my window), knew adventures were waiting. I could force them to happen no more than you can force me to divulge. Dues had to be paid. I watched a movie and still had ten hours to go when it was finished. This is anticipation. And I think it's an essential part to appreciation.

The New Zealand Chronicles | Preface

2011-12-13T12:42:00.000-08:00

[To the tune of the Gilligan's Island theme song, minus a verse or two]

[Minus exactly two]

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of a fateful trip,
That started toward a pair of isles,
Aboard a flying ship.

Our mate, a stressed out TV girl,
Our heroine, ready for shores,
As a passenger set sail one day,
For an eleven day tour.

An eleven day tour.

The voyage started getting rough,
The trip through L.A. sucked.
If not for the Ang at the other end,
The fun mood would be lost.
The fun mood would be lost.

The ship set down on the tarmac of a South Pacific isle,

With Angela,
And Danie too.
The squash player,
And his mates.
One movie star.
No professor but
One Sharron,

There on Auckland's Isle!

Heaps of lights & boats & caravans,
There were all the luxuries.

Nothing like the hobbits showed,
There was WiFi and TV.

So join us here each day my friend,
You're sure to get a smile,

From the cast of characters,

There on Auckland's Isle!

Just Getting to Being On My Way | NZ iv

2011-12-04T14:50:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, 30 November, 2011

It's amazing, at least to me, what can transpire in a single day. I don't think there was one aspect of my life that did not get consideration on what should forever be known as Interminable Wednesday. With the lights on and my priorities realigned, I made my way through security (no squishing required), and to the gate 25 minutes before take off. All I really wanted was a shower, a change of clothes and a window up against which I could sleep for the next 12 hours. As you can imagine, I got none of that. The flight was delayed, because having power is not the same as having systems. Departure was rescheduled for "as soon as possible." Eight and a half hours after the airport shuttle arrived at my door, I was a mere six hour drive from home. I had been stressed, vexed, annoyed, disgusted, dirtied and refocused. And then I was nearly pushed over the edge, by going to the duty free shop.

If any part of you thinks I would visit a duty free shop for any part of me, slap yourself. Do it. I went for Ang. She needed perfume and I had the time to get it. I sifted through creams and blemish removers. I skipped over the wrinkle fighting serums and the collagen blabbity blahs. I gave serious thought to the booze. I shook my head at women and at the society that wants them to be "better" by not being as they are. My eyes watered. My sinuses ached. I found my holy grail (Beautiful by Estee Lauder) and lined up to pay. The woman at the counter made a move as if to ignore me. It was one of those "now what's to be done with this stack of papers under this stapler" things. I held up my box and shook it ~~at her~~.

"Do you want to know how much it is?"
"No. I want to BUY it."

I threw my words at her. I laced them with poison and hurled them with the catapults I keep hidden in my eyes. How dare she? I was weary. I was hungry. I was trying to keep the scents from further blurring my vision. I was in the international terminal of the airport, beyond the "ticketed passengers only" sign. I was literate enough to find the duty free shop, which meant I could read the $65 sticker on the box. She was one word, one sigh, from a... a something that would not have been very pleasant. I was tempted to walk out backwards, to stare her down and make a point. But there are just some things you do not do in airports. And I could not get out of there fast enough.

I nested near another outlet / garbage can and waited. I did some deep breathing. I remembered my lessons from Nelly. I counted blessings and re-regrouped. And then they called my name to the podium.

Lord in heaven, just let me get there already.

They just wanted to reprint my boarding pass. And they said boarding would begin in 15 minutes.

"You board in 15 minutes?" Me
"Yes." Ticket Agent
"So I don't have time to get a cocktail?"
"Yeah you do."
"Well then I'm going. Don't leave me."
"We won't."

And they didn't. I had two cocktails in those 15 minutes. I'm okay with that. I boarded. I buckled my seat belt. I arranged my in flight entertainment. I made nice with my aisle-mates. FINALLY. I was on my way to New Zealand.

Just Getting to Being On My Way | NZ iii

2011-12-03T09:00:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, 30 November 2011 (still)

The same winds that made our flight to LA only 45 minutes made for the scariest landing I can remember. There was the choppiness we were told to expect on the descent. But I felt relaxed as the runway appeared beneath us. I looked absent-mindedly at all the other planes waiting to come down. We were literally feet from the ground when my stomach told me we were actually not on an aircraft, but rather on a roller coaster. We were up higher, then suddenly down. We landed with a plop and some skidding and my half the plane felt a little fishtailish. There was no yelling or screaming, just a stunned silence while we passengers waited to stop. We exhaled in unison. And I officially gave up thinking I had any idea what was to come in my attempt to get to New Zealand. Turns out that was the first time all day I'd made the right decision. For example, I had 2+ hours to make my Air New Zealand connection. I arrived at the gate 20 minutes before scheduled departure. Allow me to guide you through the process.

The first bit of irksome info was that I would have to change terminals. I would have to do so by bus. I would have to do so by leaving the terminal, going out to the passenger pick up area and waiting for a bus as if I had not already been a TSA Approved (and TSA Touched!) passenger. It very much must be noted that not all buses stop at all bus stops at the Los Angeles International Airport. One is left to discern the color coded system, because that's totally considerate to travelers.

So there I was, fresh off a terrifying landing, outside in the middle of a wind storm (with LA dirt blowing into my mouth, my MOUTH), accepting I was going to have to re-assemble my 3-1-1 baggie, and looking for the bus going to the proper terminal. No, not the toughest thing in the world, but still more than I wanted to have to do on my way (to being on my way) to taking a vacation. Yes the bus stop was located. The bus was a supposed three minutes away when the power went out.

The power went out.

The power at one of the busiest airports in the country went out.

The power at one of the busiest airports in the country went out because of wind.

In his younger, more hostile, (yet somehow more accepting) days, my brother Derek would have said "kill yourself LAX, just kill yourself." While I do not condone suicide, I cannot deny that was one of the first thoughts I had whilst standing in that loading area, waiting for a lighted blue chariot to just get me to the flight that would get me to my friend.

My chariot arrived. I was ~~whisked~~ taken to the proper terminal, where there was still too little electricity to actually get us to the gate. We passengers waited to go through security. On the other side of the stretchy rope, TSA agents waited, probably dreading the back up that was sure to mess up their typically smooth Wednesday night. You, dear reader, might think this the moment when I allowed myself grumpiness, when I gave in and became pessimistic, despite being on my way to the start of summer in the southern hemisphere. That might have indeed been the case, if not for the absolutely miserable cuss of a woman in line behind me.

You have to first understand my position. Not my philosophical stance, my physical position. I was behind a wedding party. This party had boarded in San Francisco with me. The group had about ten people. The dad was in charge of carrying the dress. The bride was in New Zealand and the party was en route to meet her. The wedding party had been before me at every turn, even in getting on the blue chariot. No one in the wedding party had any interest in being friendly co-passengers. I was just there to them, not at all worth their time. Behind me was an older couple who had been on our flight as well. This couple had two daughters. One lives in New Zealand with her Kiwi boyfriend. He doesn't believe in marriage. The mother of the non-bride was heading to Wellington to sew curtains for the home currently draped only in sin. Between these two sets of people I learned a lot about myself. Mainly that I really am more optimistic than life has conditioned me to be.

Negative Nelly behind me was sure we would be spending the night at the airport, missing our flight and not getting to New Zealand for another day. The parents of the NZ bride to be made the mistake of having a conversation with her (so intent were they on ignoring the existence of a Danie planted firmly between them) and I watched that implode. Nelly told them they would never see their daughter again, that instead of coming home as promised, their daughter would try to get residency and health care for them (which is a bad thing) and herself become a full Kiwi. Nelly herself had already vowed this was to be her last trip to New Zealand, where the politicians are not lying scum like they are in the United States. Nelly was a Godsend.

I might have dismissed her had it not been for her complaining about going to New Zealand so many times. In visiting her daughter, she found gripes. In being able to afford taking the trip repeatedly, she was unhappy. She was the begrudged mother of an American who chose to live abroad and keep ties to family. Nelly was perplexing in a way that had me asking how to not end up like her. She was a hateful bag of bones, outraged that her services were ~~forced upon~~ requested by her own daughter living out of wedlock with a man who loves her in a country where they have jobs and health care. I furrowed my brow and used Twitter to document my observations.

"Whack em. All little kids need to be whacked."
"Did you see the size of the guy with the baby? And did you see the size of the heads of the two little boys? Holy!"

No, I did not exactly learn her ways, but I took a realistic look at my life at that moment. I was on my way to see my oldest friend, in a country amazing enough to woo her from all that she knew and loved. I was taking my first, adult vacation sans XBFJ and I was excited where a year prior I would have been terrified. I was taking an adventure and learning lessons along the way. I could have listed complaints, but the enormity of their insignificance was blatant. I was super close to being on my way to New Zealand.

Just Getting to Being On My Way | NZ ii

2011-12-02T09:00:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, 30 November 2011

I arrived at the airport maybe three hours before my flight. That was down to two hours by the time I actually got to the gate. First I had the wrong terminal. The first leg of my trip was domestic. So I went to the United Airlines counter in the international terminal. My mistake. I'm sure if I'd taken some time to think about it, I would have realized I knew better. But I was just so excited.

Once inside the proper terminal, I hoisted my luggage onto the scale. I typed in my info. I scanned my passport. I waited for an attendant to verify my bag would be checked through to my final destination. This is where I started to lose that spring in my Auckland-bound step. I (and the other luggage hoisters) must have waited for 15 minutes, with attendants watching and not helping. Those people on the other side of the counter knew what we hoisters were hoping to get from the kiosk tapping. They knew we had bags for their conveyor belts, zipping by just beyond our collective reach. They knew guaranteed safe passage for our suitcases was the only thing standing in the way of an awkward trip through security and the start of vacation. They knew. Of course they knew. And they just stood there, one by one meeting my eyes and looking away. The lot of them, vacation-stalling cowards. Eventually a guy in a tie told us to hoist elsewhere. And so we went.

The next area had two agents, though one was only there as a translator for the family with six overweight bags bound for Mexico. Once ensuring la familia understood weight distribution, she left the rest of us in the care of another, who was in no rush to actually do her job. I was saved by a lovely (and efficient) fella fresh off his break. He was quick, and restored a bit of faith that there are people at that airline willing to do what they're paid to do. I promptly went through security, where my carry on items backed up the conveyor belt.

You may recall I did a deep condition that morning. That meant my hair was covered. It actually meant my hair was wet, though soft and tangle-free. But the "covered" part is what started the stall. At first I thought I was being selected for additional screening. This made me smile, because I had no pockets, no belt, no rivets, not even an underwire in my bra that could have caused a metal-detecting disturbance. In my mind, I was in for a quick delay. Also, the "you've been selected" area at SFO is a fascinating glass enclosure between security lines. There are doors on either side. But once you're in, you're boxed in, and very clearly away from the rest of society. Another woman came in after me, and then a third. The box was getting crowded. It then occurred to me were all women. And we were all brown. There is a difference between feeling selected and feeling profiled. Can you imagine the letter I started writing in my head? At minimum, there was going to sensitivity training. I could only hope to get a voucher of some sort. Fortunately (for Mr. TSA Agent) I had it partially wrong. They had to touch my head. We were women. We were brown. We also had our heads covered (though I was just wearing a bandana). We (therefore) had to have our heads squished. Ms. TSA Agent was very delicate in the squishing, and I was back on my way just in time to get the conveyor belt moving again. I was going to New Zealand!

I bought some money. I ate lunch. I called my parents and settled near a window. I later relocated to a garbage can that had been covering an outlet. Eventually we boarded what was to be a quick flight to Los Angeles. There was an empty seat next to me. The guy on the other end of the row was the right amount of chatty. I felt it was time for all the fortuitous events of my trip to show themselves. Once again, I was wrong.

Just Getting to Being On My Way | NZ i

2011-12-01T08:00:00.000-08:00

Way back in the winterof ’10, when our heroine was feigning a post BU self-confidence that was on itsway to becoming delightfully real, an idea was hatched. A 2011 trip to NewZealand that would reunite two friends previously separated by a country, nowstationed on either side of an ocean. Our heroine told her family there would be noholiday visits. She resigned herself to working all year and hoarding vacationtime. Now, 11 months and 3 weeks after the hatching of said idea, the time todepart has arrived. Danie is going to New Zealand.

As the year wore on, this vacation became a necessity. Ifound I needed to see my friend, to stare at her fingers and to tell her tostop biting her nails. I needed to see her big eyeballs in person and watch herscrunch her face and say “No Danielle, that’s just wrong” for one reason oranother. And as I got closer to seeing her, I got the feeling she needed to seeme too. We needed to be friends together, in person. Feeling that – that thiswas an important and indispensible life occurrence – made the whole voyagenearly Sans-Souci . I knew nothing would go wrong.I was meant to see Ang.

Wednesday 30 November 2011

It’s logical to think I would have been packed well beforeit was time to go. Even I thought I would be. I was so sure I’d be ready beforethe airport shuttle arrived; I scheduled an hour of pampering that morning. Ithought myself so clever! And that may have been my problem, thinking when Ishould have been packing.

Technically I started packing Tuesday. I gathered the thingsI knew I was going to bring. I organized them by category. I bundled then inbaggies. There was a “shower baggie,” a “dental baggie,” a “hair care baggie,”an “electronics baggie,” – you get the idea. I took my baggies and lined themup near (near, not actually in) the larger bags in which they wouldgo. I considered that to be an accomplishment. I’m pretty sure I gave myself aself-satisfactory smile. It should also be noted I did not involve any clothesthat “early” in the process. I thought that would just kind of fall into place.I assure you, I have actually traveled before. Promise.

Wednesday came. I deposited checks. I got cash. I mailed thingsthat needed to be mailed. I stopped at the pharmacy for a prescription thatwon’t be needed until January. I went to the bank to try and buy New ZealandDollars. I wasted as much time the morning before I left as possible. Thisoccurred to me as I was chatting with Kate, less than two hours before thescheduled pampering, with nary a baggie in a bag.

And then I got down to business. I packed my “in case mysuitcase is lost” carry on items. I pulled out what I wanted to wear and what Imight want to wear. I made an enormous mess. I took a break. It was pamperingtime. As I sat awaiting my pedicure, I thought I was well on my way. Sure I hadmissed my original deadline, but I was pretty close. I could still accomplisheverything in 1:45, without smudging a toe. I let the pamper-providers do theirjob and I did mine. I relaxed. With brows freshly waxed and toes freshlypainted, I went back home and (daintily) got back to getting down to business.Then, as they say, things got real.

The shuttle company called to say the shuttle would be 15minutes early. I realized my suitcase was incapable of closing. I began pullingpieces out at random; indifferent to whether they had been integral parts of masterfullycrafted outfits. I had to rinse the conditioner from my hair. My mom called. I keptfinding things that had to come, eventhough all three bags were full. My apartment needed to be tidied. One toe was smudged. Plantsneeded to be watered. Garbage had to be removed.Accessories needed to baggied. Windows has to be cracked (in case of a slow gas leak), but not by too much (incase of horizontal torrential rains). The shuttle driver was 15 minutes early forbeing 15 minutes early. I found a baggiethat had been hidden under discarded clothes. I needed an umbrella. I had topray for the safety of my home. There was no way my travel blankie was going tofit. I locked the door and didn’t dare look back. I boarded the shuttle asif someone were chasing me. We pulled away. I realized I forgot hair clips.

Alas, I was on my way to New Zealand.

Or so I allowed myself to believe.

The Best Time I Did Not Want To Have | Halloween ii

2011-11-04T13:27:00.000-07:00

When last we met, our heroine (me) was intoxicated at a level still unbeknownst to her and to the members of her party. The result, is two stories. There is the story I remember, and the story of what I'm told happened. The only real difference is time. I feel like the following happened in a matter of minutes. The reality, is that it was a matter of hours. So I take you back to my apartment, on that fateful Saturday night.

Ready!

We were festive and we were ready. We took two cabs, because there were 5 of us and chances of us getting a van were slim. Jason the Pirate & Jess the Biker Chick / Rockstar took the first cab. I waited with Prince William & Kate Middleton, aka Dave & Kristen. It didn't take us long to get a taxi and hit the road. I'm getting car sick. I'll open the window. We got to the W and stood in line at the door. I don't feel well. This is going to pass. No. No this most definitely will not pass. Where's the classiest place to vomit? The curb. Go back to the curb.

I left William and Kate and (as daintily as possible) crouched down next to a tree on the curb. I did my business and I popped back up as if nothing happened. I remember Prince William looking at me from the line and mouthing "are you okay?" I nodded, said I was fine and got back in place. Jason & Jess were right on the other side of the door waiting. Someone checked my ID and gave me a bracelet. I realized I was not in the best shape. I don't remember conveying that to Jess, but she did bring me right to the restroom. Apparently there were stairs involved, and I was able to navigate them.

Jess & I spent some time in our stall. I'm ruining the party. We haven't even gone into the party. When did I get so drunk? I can pull it together. We can wash me up and get to dancing. I just need to rest a little. Meanwhile I continued to hurl in a most unladylike manner. I remember Jess got sick too, but who can stand to be around vomit without joining the party? Hotel security came after an hour, and Jess convinced him we were fine.

No I don't want water Jess. I want to stay here and take a nap. That french manicure is really close to my face. That's not Jess. Why is she putting her hand in my mouth? Her nails are scratching the soft part of the roof of my mouth. They hurt. I'm going to throw up all over again.

Apparently that was the point. A self-described EMT dressed as an 80's jogger heard my plight, washed her hands, got some water and crawled under stall door to help. She told Jess I had to keep vomiting. She then forced me to do as much. Now. You may ask yourself why my dear pal would allow a stranger with a acrylics to shove her hand down my throat. Jess would later say she looked liked she knew what she was doing. And at this point, I'm pretty sure she did.

The head of security returned, positive that we were very much not okay. An astute observation if ever one was made. He said if I couldn't walk, they would have to call an ambulance. So call an ambulance. I have insurance. I don't feel like walking. Fortunately I did not actually say such nonsense. Jess and someone (?) got me out of the restroom. The EMT / 80's jogger's EMT boyfriend also appeared. He checked some stuff and declared me fine, and as just needing a lot of water. I felt emotionally awful, physically sleepy. We just got here and now I'm making everyone leave. I'm so sorry. I'm a bad friend. I would later feel worse, realizing hours had passed, not minutes.

The head of security (Robert, who Jason says was really pleasant) said we were not going to get a cab with me looking the way I looked. My head is just so heavy, otherwise I would totes lift it. And he was right. We opened the door to one cab and as Jess started pushing me inside, the driver started driving away. And then there was a much nicer option. An Escalade that I am told was very nice. Why is this door so high? This is the biggest step I've ever taken to get inside a car. I'm going to have to jump to get out. Once again, we were on our way. I'm getting car sick. I can't handle this. I started heaving. Jess whispered "do not throw up. Do NOT throw up. You can do it." Jess is right. I can hold it. The truth is I probably couldn't have if not for the EMT / 80's jogger emptying my tummy. There was nothing left. The heaves were deep and painful. Magically, I was home. Though my head was still so incredibly heavy, I took out my keys and told Jess which one to use. I do try to be as helpful as possible. She and Jason walked me up the stairs and I saw my bed. It was awesome.

Post brunch. Glad to be alive.

They worked like elves, getting me covered, hydrated and less blue. I woke up Sunday at 7, cozy and not feeling that bad. Jess was there next to me, like an angel. She filled in some blanks. I ate tortilla chips. We took a nap, then went to brunch with eight other people. I would have bailed, if I had not organized it. And I'm glad I didn't. I would have just sat home and wallowed in embarrassment. I mean yes, I am an adult. I didn't do anything illegal. I was well within the societal standards, considering it was Halloween. But I felt / feel bad. It was shameful. I don't know the last time I was involved with security removing me from a hotel. I suppose it's easy enough to block out. It's just tacky. It's not very Danie of me. But it happened. I can't take it back. I can only clean up the smudges of blue face paint that keep appearing in randon places. It gave me a tale to tell. AND it earned Jess & Jason vouchers for one free night of Danie-care, no questions asked, because friends are totes awesome.

The Best Time I Did Not Want To Have | Halloween 2011

2011-11-01T13:10:00.000-07:00

Clueless. Halloween '08

Sometime in my adult life, I developed a love of Halloween. It may have something to do with my love of cartoons and other fun things. It may not. It probably does. This year, for the first time since arriving here in 2008, I decided not to got to Vegas for Halloween. I suppose it was because time inevitably changes things. People stop having parties. People stop being friends. Airfare triples. And still, the party must go on. This year I was intent on bringing said party to the Bay. It was not going to be an easy task. I work with a lot of people who pride themselves on keeping friendships strictly within the confines of the building. It's a social hindrance at best; realistically a sociological anomaly fit for a study. Still as October came to a close, I decided there was time to do something awesome. And like magic, two people appeared out of the long, drab, hallway. They brought ideas and enthusiasm for days. We came up with themed, group costume. We started recruiting group members and looking for parties. I would say we had a solid week of planning and discussions. And then I (yes I) tried to pull the plug.

For reasons you either know or you don't, I was bummed. I was beyond bummed. I was stay-in-bed-all-morning, life-lamentingly depressed. Not even my mom could cheer me up, which is serious business. I did not want to go out for Halloween. I might have agreed to dress up for a dive bar with a medium-sized crowd where I could go unnoticed for most of the night. The Halloween committee was leaning toward a big party with a DJ and fog machines and flashing lights. The week before Halloween involved a lot of messages, first with me saying I didn't care where we went, then with me saying I would rather not go to a party at all. I know the messages were delivered. They were just not heeded.

Friday:

I received a text notification my ticket to a party at the W Hotel had been purchased. I offered to pay for it, but not actually go. I was told I actually would be going, and that flaking was not an option. I scoffed at the committee attempts to bully me. I mean I'm Danie. I don't get bullied. Usually.

Committee Member Jess (5 feet of intimidation) told me she and Committee Member Jason would be at my apartment Saturday at 6. There was a definite "you are hosting the pre-party" tone. I use every polite rejection I could muster. I told her I was not fun, that I did not want to go out. I told her I was just not in the mood. It was as if I hadn't said anything at all. She said she was bringing the booze and to make sure I had food. Halloween was happening, whether I liked it or not.

Saturday:

Committee Member Jason asked if two other people could come. And just like that, I was having a party. I did my part. I made my snacks. Jason et al did their part, arriving at 6. The trouble (and you could really hinge the night on this) came from Jess & the booze. They were late. And we just had to start drinking.

Jason & Jess

You know what they say about liquor and beer. You know what they say about beer and liquor. You know what you don't know? Where wine fits on that scale. In waiting for Jess, we started going through what we had in my apartment. Prince William & Kate Middleton brought a bottle of wine. The pirate brought juice. I had vodka and bourbon. Seeing it typed out, there's no way the night was going to end well. But, well, you know what they say about hindsight.

What? You don't have shot glasses that light up? Lame.

Food! We ate, like responsible adults.

We went through the wine first. That made sense. Right? We ate nachos. As the only bourbon drinker, I drank (a half bottle of) that, while the pirate, the prince, and the princess drank (a half bottle of) vodka. We ate chicken. We ate spinach and cheese pillows. We laughed. Jess arrived, with a fresh bottle of the same (delicious) vodka. We took shots. Did I say we laughed? Because we did. We had fun. I told Jess she was right to bully me, and that I did need a good time. I relaxed. The night got away from us. To be clear, by "night," I mean 3 hours. From 6 to 9, we (we five, bold souls) went through a bottle of wine, a half bottle of Bulleit, and 1.5 bottles of Absolut SF. We were ready for outside, we thought. We were too smart to pay for overpriced drinks. We were going to dance the night away for the price of admission and nothing more. We went out to hail taxis. And here is where things start to get blurry. And queasy.

I've Turned Off The Television

2011-10-08T17:41:00.000-07:00

Well. Most of the most awesome television shows have finally ended their seasons. I did not mean to get caught up. But I did. And I am not ashamed. Clever writing is alive and well friends, though mostly on SyFy. I mean I knew Warehouse 13. But that led me to Alphas, which led me to Haven. Somehow Being Human joined the party and I suddenly had something to fill those hours when I was supposed to be sleeping. Every time I tried to ween myself off, I would catch a commercial or a repeat. Then, the finales came. With them came some of the best plot twisting cliff hangers I can ever remember seeing. So, dear Syfy, my DVR and I will be back.

But allow me to be clear. I do not want to paint myself as a shut in / couch potato. I haven't been this active since college. And for those of you who weren't there, I assure you, I was an enthusiastic worker bee in a hive of productivity. Nope. No laziness here. Instead I've been having (glorious) exploits. And (in case you think as little of me as my parents) "exploits" neither connotes nor infers sex. Exploits are just fun. They also make great for stories. It is here, remaining readers, where I failed you. I did not tell you about The Artist, The Barista, The Engineer, The Ex-Navy Etch A Sketch Guy, or The Solar Guy. I did not share the insightful debacle involving the The Director. And you won't read about The Musician, unless he gives me the okay. But there are stories folks. Great ones that show what I imagine to be the eternal struggle between men and women on the relationship front. It's been highly entertaining.

I've spent more time considering friendships, abandoning those that require me to put forth any more than 50% of the total effort. It's liberating. It's allowed me to really appreciate the friends I do have, who are truly an amazing sort. I've set a laser-like focus on my 30th birthday. It's the deadline for the loose ends that need tying and the goals that need reaching. It's a few months away and I have supreme confidence in myself to start 30 resting on my feats. Don't you?

I am a proud student of the University of Self-Awareness. I've discovered my own wiles and I have enjoyed testing them, to a point; one should never use their powers for evil. It's lovely for a construction worker to want to buy my coffee, but altogether unnecessary if the barista doesn't charge me anyway. That happened. Once.

My vodka and rum preferences have been replaced by those for gimlets (The Bartender!) and bourbon. I have conceded to the societal dictates that have me wearing two or three pairs of shoes in a day. I recognize the actual value of paying that much for a shirt. I am quieter, more ~~demure~~ observant. It's less about showing the world I can, and more about seeing what happens if I let you. I've changed and the world around me has reacted favorably. I feel this is something you should know. I'm not here to make lofty promises about sharing more exploits. As mentioned I have a lot going on. And I'm not here to simply allude to the fun you've missed. I hope there is a place in the middle, though at this point I can't imagine what that is.

Now please excuse me. I have The Amazing Race waiting on my DVR.

Vegas in June

2011-07-25T10:26:00.000-07:00

You know what brings me to Vegas in June. Kate! Well, let's be honest, Kate's birthday makes me consider Vegas in June. The firefighter auction is what actually gets me to book a flight. This was my first time going to auction sans-partner. Ladies and gents -- there was availability to brazenly flirt with firefighters. I will not say I was "determined." I will say I was "open to the possibilities." And I will giggle. Though, in all seriousness, it was going to be great to see Kate. Yes, we talk several times a day. No, you might not think that healthy. But it does keep us sharp. We're in the same business, doing the same job. We trust each others' opinions and rationale. It's great to be able to exchange ideas and outrages. It's even better to do that in person. Besides, San Francisco was full of rain & clouds anyway.

It ought to be noted, so much has changed in the "Danie going to Vegas" process. On my end, I over pack and don't care if that means I have to check a bag. I choose the most convenient flight, not the earliest and not always the cheapest. Kate & I don't schedule every minute of our time with lunches and dinners. I can tell the world where I'll be, and few will care. It's all very grown up now. That was bound to happen. It just happened sooner than I thought it would.

I bought the most adorable luggage. It was a limited edition and that particular piece had to be cut out of a store display.

Kate was late picking me up from the airport. I had to laugh at that, because that's Kate. She just will not get there on time. She makes me seem early. And I appreciate that. Kate & I met Melissa for lunch, and with the doctor's visit from the day before still fresh in my mind, we ordered cheese, which I followed up with more cheese. And wine.

Brie.

Chicken Gorgonzola

We sat outside and gabbed. We talked dresses and stared at boys. It was just as nauseatingly girly as it sounds. Kate and I had to tell Melissa why women's don't like her. Answer? She's beautiful. Somehow she doesn't see it. I mean I'm sure she thinks she's pretty, but she really is beautiful. I'm talking people-stop-when-I-have-her-picture-up-to-remind-me beautiful. Although I guess I'm glad she doesn't see it. Her beauty is in her humility. And in her eyes. And in her dimples.

After we ate, we went to Melissa's new place for the grand tour. We then all went to Retro Bakery, which became the thing to do after I left town. Not to worry, I have since made up for lost time. I encourage you (if you like delicious cookies, cupcakes and other confections) to follow Retro on Twitter, and to go there when you're in Vegas. Tell Kari @danie_d sent you. I doubt that will get you anything special, but I like reminding people how connected we all are.

With food in our bellies, friendship in our hearts and cupcakes in the fridge, we set out to watch Melissa & Dayna auction off firefighters. You know, for the children.

Taking Responsibility & All That

2011-07-24T22:21:00.000-07:00

"You're so secretive."

That's what the Bitter Longhorn said to me after dinner last night. My first response was to be defensive. I told him I share -- I actually over-share on a regular basis. He said "yeah, but not until asked."

Naturally, he was right. Somewhere along the way of (over) sharing, I started keeping secrets. I really don't think it was intentional. Most people at work are too busy to care. I was too busy to blog. I was too busy to send e-mail. I was too busy doing things that only some people know I do. There are people who know x, and people who know y. But these days there are only seven people who know xy. That is neither an exaggeration nor an extrapolated figure. There are seven people who know all, and I admit I've wrapped myself up in keeping them up to date. But that's not really me. It's not how I best function. Everyone should know about me and what I'm doing. It's (at minimum) the best way to keep me from repeating stories. Fortunately, for ye followers on the Internet, I have stories to tell.

Let's take it back to the beginning of June, yes June!

3 June 2011

I had another doctor's appointment that should have changed my life. Actually, I should have changed my life well before the appointment. I didn't lose the weight I was supposed to lose. In fact, I gained. For even more of a frown, my blood pressure was still high. Let me rephrase that; my medically regulated blood pressure was still high. My doctor was very concerned about that. She took her time in explaining all the ways hypertension could kill me. I swear she pulled new tricks out of the bag, such as "renal failure." As per usual after a visit with a medical professional, I was depressed.

No, I was not exercising as often as I should have been. No, I had not eliminated cheese from my diet as I probably should have. Yes, I was eating processed foods at some point during the week. But no more than everyone else around me. I'm healthier than some and not as healthy as others. I went along with the gang, ordering turkey burgers (with apple chutney & sweet potato fries) on a few Friday nights. I saw no reason why my health should be more adversely affected than that of my co-orderers. It was unfair. I tried to rally against it. But there was no one to hear my grievance. So I had to take a less pleasurable route. I had to take responsibility.

My body, as traitorous as it has been, is my body. It's the only one I've got and it's my responsibility. I have to listen to it. I can't eat soups or cheeses just because I should be able to eat them. I have to sweat often. I have to eat bananas. I have to take the measures that will keep the phrases "renal failure" and "irreversible damage" out of my doctor visits. I really have to do what must be done in order to live. It is that serious and I know that. I knew then, after my appointment back in June. And I promised to take of it, to take care of me.

The next morning I went to Vegas.

A Step Toward Enlightenment

2011-06-03T11:05:00.000-07:00

I received a phone call this week telling me my Fairtex membership is about to expire. At first I was shocked, because I thought my contract was a year long. Secondly, I was disappointed. I haven't come close to getting my membership dues' worth out of it. I had grand plans, but allowed myself to be diverted by legitimate responsibilities. It's another fitness failure, like losing these last 15 - 20 pounds. I put it out of my mind for most of the day, but it crept back in as I headed home. I asked myself what it would take to get me up and packed and to the gym. I asked myself why I didn't push myself harder. I gave myself a long list of excuses, but it really boils down to convenience. It's not convenient for me to get up, get dressed, pack for the day and take the bus to the gym. It takes too much forethought, and keeps me from packing a lunch. It occurred to me the only logical recourse was to turn in my Muay Thai card. The idea was unsettling. But I think it put me on the right track.

I've been looking at myself lately, and at relationships in general. I've started talking to the people around me. They've been there all along, but I've just recently started getting to know them. The results are fascinating. I spend my work day with other newly singles. Aside from where we work and what makes us laugh, we are united in each being one half of a failed relationship. The coincidence can not be ignored. Who are we? And what is it that makes us relationship kryptonite? Yes, that's a slight exaggeration, but in talking to one coworker friend, there were a lot of similarities in what her ex told her to what XBFJ told me. She and I realized our most significant common factor was our shared environment. What happens in our workplace is atypical to what happens in other offices. There is a lot of yelling, a fair amount of overreacting and a healthy heaping of cussing. I'm not saying it's good. Nor am I saying it's good. I am saying it's easy to come to believe the way in which we interact is an acceptable way to treat outsiders. And it's not. And that's why I'm okay giving up Muay Thai.

I don't need more aggression. I do need a longer attention span. I don't need to unleash more power. I need to learn to control it. I need inner calm. I need yoga. I joined a Bikram studio. Yes, that's the hot one. It's just a few blocks from my apartment, meaning I'm very much more likely to actually go. The classes are at the same time, 7 days a week. Mentally, I need to work on my discipline and flexibility. Physically, I need to do the same. I tell people one of the perks of what I do is being able to leave work, at work. But it appears I wasn't doing that. Judging by my surroundings, it's time to start.

Well. I'm Doing It Anyway...

2011-05-27T01:35:00.000-07:00

I'm growing up. Rather, I am becoming a grown up.

We're rapidly approaching that time when, instead of asking "what do you want to be when you grow up," people will simply ask "what do you do?" You may think they already do that, and you'd be half right.

Lately it's a mixture of "what do you do?" and "where do you work?" See the difference? It could be I don't seem grown up enough to have decided what I want to be. But I am getting older. I'm growing into adulthood and I think that means it's about time to decide what I'm going to be. Fortunately for my own deep-seated sense of obligation, I think I'm just about there. I've finally found the combination of things that make me happy every time. Don't get me wrong. I love producing. I've just realized I loved it more the way I used to do it. There are probably dozens of interpretations for that and you can apply whichever one makes you feel the way you want to feel. The reality is varying amounts of time, different techniques, and evolving technology have dulled my game. And I was born to be sharp.

No I'm not saying I'm working to abandon producing. I would actually say the opposite is true in that I want to do more producing. However I've had two significant epiphanies. There are other things I love to do. I have the ability to do them. They're not glamorous and probably won't save the world or be remembered as my greatest contributions to society, but they'll leave me with a sense of pride and satisfaction. And at this stage in my life, I think that's all I want. Get ready to be underwhelmed.

I want to organize. I love organizing. I love bringing some kind of order to some sort of chaos. There are some, like Mr. Man (he's another story) who think it beneath me. No, he hasn't said that, but I sense it whenever we talk about it. He wants to know why I would spend time creating a clearing that is only temporary. I tried to tell him it was about more than that. He did not get it. My dad also does not understand. "So you're going to clean people's closets for money?" My dad will actually only accept it if I'm organizing the homes of celebrities on a reality TV show, which he sees is California's only export.

I want to help people embrace and understand the power of social media. It's been good to me, and I think it could be the same for everyone. I've communicated with strangers and received responses from companies and truly had my voice heard. Social media has made the world a significantly smaller place. It just doesn't make any sense for anyone to be left out. I want to take all the techno-wallflowers and show them the cyber dance floor is welcoming. I recently sat down with a former coworker and showed him Twitter. I watched as he understood and became comfortable with it. I gave him confidence. That gave me smiles.

So these are things I see myself doing, in the not too distant future of adulthood. I'm excited in a way I haven't been in a long time. I think it has a lot to do with offering something to others. There's the idea I have skills or knowledge that others a) don't possess but that b) they want. It makes me feel good. So I'm going to explore that.

Antecedent Adventure

And Then There Were Two

I Want My Blog Back!

2011-05-17T12:12:00.000-07:00

I'm taking my blog back... from myself. I can't take it anymore. There are so many stories I started to tell, so many stories I have told and saved as drafts. I was bound by time, specifically by telling stories in chronological order. It's a self imposed edict that has crippled me and kept me away from what I really like doing -- documenting.

I want to write about now more than I want to write about then. There are fun and exciting things happening, provocative thoughts being born and whatnot. For some reason, I felt like you readers wouldn't be able to appreciate the new and good without first reading about the old and not so good. But I can't return to my depressed former self to do justice to the sad, winter tales. It's a physical and mental impossibility. Ive grown. I've surrounded myself with so much positivity and opportunity, I barely remember those days when I didn't know why I was getting out of bed. So to force myself to go back and pretend to tap into those emotions would be to do a disservice to what was truly a deep and consuming misery. And we wouldn't want that, now would we?

Plus, it's May. We're a few months from repeats of the events I still haven't discussed. If my stories were cheese, they would have longed molded and liquified. It's time to cut losses and commit to moving forward. For someone with obsessive compulsive tendencies such as my own, this is a tough step to take. But it feels so good to see this page and these formatting tools and to type as the thoughts develop. And it's not that the old stories will all be forgotten. I'll post them in some sort of "Antecedent Adventure" mention at the bottom of my new posts. Yes they'll be out of order and at first it won't at all make sense. But years and years from now, when some brave soul wants to document the life and times of Danie D, all the tools will be in place.

Antecedent Adventure:
Back on The Mat

And Then There Were Two

2011-01-30T12:41:00.001-08:00

30 January 2011

I take Zumba, and I love it. One day whilst singing and squatting, I asked myself "why do I only dance for this one hour? Why don't I go dancing?" Of course there was no logical answer. There's no reason I can't go dancing every night of the week. I like to dance. It's not that I'm especially good at it, I just like the way music makes me feel. And so an idea was born. I decided to have a girls' night, when we women could get dressed up, put on painful shoes, spend too much money and have a blast. And since it was a Zumba inspired idea, I decided we would go Salsa dancing.

I did my due diligence. I consulted Yelp and found the best Salsa club in the city. I invited every woman I talk to, and I told them to invite whoever they wanted. We were to be a gaggle of women out painting the dance floor. When I first presented the idea, we were a group of 16 or 17. When we arrived at Cafe Cocomo, we were a party of two. No, I never expected everyone would make it. And no, I didn't put forth very much effort in organizing it, other than sending e-mails. But I would be lying if I didn't say I was disappointed. It was like my birthday all over again. It's like the adage says: you can bring the invite to the people, but you can't make them show up. That's real. Go with it. In the end (or I should say "at the beginning"), Trisha and I had quite the adventure. And it started right away.

29 January 2010
As I no longer have a car(link), we decided to meet and take a cab. As we stood at the corner of two busy San Francisco streets, it occurred to me I had never actually hailed a cab before. It's been my experience that men do that. Of course it could be as easy as sticking your arm out, but after 5 minutes and no cab, we switched to Plan B. We went to a hotel. Hotels always have cabs. Actually they always have men who can get taxis. But the result is the same. A town car pulled up as we waited and we dismissed it. We did not need to arrive at a club in a town car. It just seemed unnecessary. But after at least three more minutes of waiting, the hotel guy and the town car driver came to a different conclusion. Trisha & I were whisked away in a fancy car. It might have been a blessing. Or it might have caused extra problems. It's still too difficult to tell.

Our driver did not know where we were going. I gave cross streets. I looked at the map. We drove in circles. If we had been paying a meter, we would have been screwed. Then again, a taxi with a meter would likely have had GPS. Our driver was really nice though. He would not let us out until he found where we were going. We were literally under the highway. Eventually he stopped a jogger who told us we had to go a little further under the highway to get to where we were going. We turned down a few dark streets and voila, Cafe Cocomo. Once we saw it, it was almost surprising we had missed it. Then we remembered it was in fact hiding under an overpass.

The place is huge and there is a lot going on inside. There is all you can eat pizza from 7 - 9. There are $2 cocktails from 7 - 9. And there is Salsa by Jake from 8 - 9. We got drinks, because that was a priority. We got pizza, because it was free with admission. We got a table, because we knew they were going to disappear quickly. We tried to envision what the place was about to become. We had no idea. The band was just starting to set up. The lights were kind of high for a club and people were coming in groups. It seemed a little early for that much action on a Saturday night. I could tell we were on the precipice of something spectacular. First though, an awkward trip to middle school.

Salsa by Jake (I will not just call him" Jake") had them raise the lights even more. We then lined up, women on one side, facing the men on the other. The mood was just this side of uncomfortable. Salsa by Jake taught the men how to lead. He taught the women how to be led. And then he told us to partner up, which pushed the mood deep into the heart of "uncomfortable" territory. I didn't want to "be picked." But I didn't want to not be picked either. I didn't want some lady standing by while her boyfriend was holding me. I didn't want a really good dancer and I didn't want a really bad dancer and I did want to know how to tell them apart.

Suddenly I was paired. His name was John. He had bright blue eyes, a bright blue sweater, and sneakers that almost got him turned away at the door. I don't know how often you have your face eight inches from a stranger's, or how often that stranger is holding you in a commanding embrace, but it is beyond awkward. There was no music either, just bright lights and counting.

"1,2,3...5,6,7..."

The "4" and the "8" aren't actual steps, so you don't count them. John asked me about my day. I had nothing to report. I asked about his. He said it was crazy. I was intrigued. Just as I was starting to ask him about it, the leads (read: men) had to rotate. I was in the arms of another, making more small talk, judging his ability to lead by the strength of his hold. This went on for an hour. We would practice a move, add on that move, and swap partners before we could attempt the added step. It was very... brilliant. It got easier to talk to strangers. It got easier to tell a good leader from a weak one. It was very social and built a camaraderie amongst us. By the time the lights went down and the music started, I both a) felt confident in my steps and b) knew I would never go speed dating. It was all just so bizarre. But stranger things did happen.

Officially Back On The Mat

2011-01-14T08:44:00.000-08:00

13 January 2011

I admit sometimes I set ridiculous goals. While I was home for Christmas, I was sure I was going to join two additional gyms, and work out consistently at all three. I even drew a schedule that seemed totally feasible, assuming I was able to actually carry everything I needed for Zumba, Muay Thai and Bikram. On paper it looked doable, as long as I ate out for every meal and had no other errands to run.

But (as with most things) as it got close to time to actually spend the money, the plan started to fall apart. I did not want to eat out all the time, especially considering what I would already be paying for gym memberships. I also did not want to carry a heavy, stinking gym bag from place to place. In fact I didn't even want to show up to a gym already sweaty. So yes, I thought long and hard and decided to keep Zumba (with optional spin and yoga) and Muay Thai. Bikram Yoga had to go by the wayside. I do really like it and I think it would be a good compliment to Muay Thai. But it wouldn't give me the stamina or confidence I would get from Muay Thai. And that's become an addiction.

I want to be able to jump rope for three minutes without stopping. I want to be able to spar for an entire round and still form a sentence afterward. I want to know I have a chance against some random attacker who dares to cross me in the street. I want to do what I once couldn't. I want to be at least as tough as my rhetoric, because some have accused me of occasional sass. So I bit the (expensive) bullet and I signed up for Muay Thai. I'll be training at Fairtex for at least the next year. And just as it was at Master Toddy's, the price is enough to make sure I actually go. I'm hoping to train six days a week. I also plan to Zumba three days a week. Yes, there will be overlap. But it's actually not bad. So let's be excited. The Pugilist Laureate has returned.

Christmas 2010 (ii)

2011-01-01T06:55:00.000-08:00

22 December 2010

I couldn't stay entirely idle at my mom's house. There were things that needed doing, and my mind needed occupying. We made a few trips to Target, Home Depot and Toys R Us. I bought the nephew a snowsuit, because kids' things are tiny and tend to be cheap. Dayana and I made gingerbread cookies. Even now, thinking about them makes me a little sick. It was a mix that requires butter and milk. Once it was mixed... know what? Let's not even talk about it. We made gingerbread men and Dayana ate a few bites of hers. I will likely never eat gumdrops again.

"Pretend it's not that good."

23 December 2010

I went to see Derek & Toyya's house. They had just moved in, and had not unpacked. Still, I could tell it was a great place for them. They live within walking distance of the grocery store and near the harbor, which will be lovely in the summertime. Derek made breakfast and I noticed this tiny guy in the fridge. I giggled.

Later, as my mom and I were in line to pick up Dayana from school (which is its own weird subculture), we talked about Derek and Toyya, and how he had written her love letters from the cruise ship back in July. It was a few weeks after he had broken up with my nephew's mother. I told my mom that, in my experience, men forget relationships and the people in them with the rising of the sun. And we laughed, at their fickle ways.

24 December 2010

And then it was Christmas Eve. Kids, skip to the pictures. Adults, you know. Presents had to be pulled out of places and wrapped. My nephew was none the wiser. He was around for some of the wrapping and just wanted to play in the paper. Dayana has that pre - Christmas excitement and I admit it was contagious. I too got excited to see what Santa would bring.

Two kids wearing headbands.

Derek, showing Donnell it's okay for boys to wear headbands. He's also having a serious conversation about gender messages whilst holding a magnadoodle.

Spreading oats & glitter. You know, so the reindeer can find the house AND get a snack.

"Cheese."

"Donnell go get a spoon for your peaches."

Who doesn't love a kid who does a downward dog?

The setup.

25 December 2010

I slept in later than I thought - I guess the peals of laughter didn't quite reach me during hibernation. It went as I'm sure it went in millions of households across the country. We ate breakfast. Presents were opened, but couldn't be enjoyed because there were too many. Dayana would have ignored everything for her dollhouse and Donnell did ignore everything that was not his motorbike. Derek liked all the presents he had said he would be returning, you know, because he didn't want to "do Christmas." I absorbed it all and realized family is strange. I mean my family is strange, but the concept of family is also bizarre. There are people you will deal with for the rest of your life. You will not like them, but you will love them. Their happiness (or lack thereof) will affect you. These people will be your family. And mine is extra special.

Part of my "modern family"

In blue, you have Sianneh mother of Donnell, ex-girlfriend of Derek. You have Donnell hovering over his motorbike. Then you have Derek, and current girlfriend Toyya. Dayana is standing in front of my mom and in the orange, you have Vicki, my mom's wife.

The straw that stirs this cocktail is my mom. I sometimes ask myself how I should "explain" my mom to my friends. I sometimes think I don't have to explain anything to anyone. But I know people have questions they're not comfortable asking and there really is a simple explanation. My mom is transgendered. To the rest of the world, she is a he. That goes for Vicki and Dayana and lots of other people who knew my mom in the past. I'm all for being who you are, and I fully support my mom in this manifestation. Still, I only have one mother. It's possible -- if my mom had not been my best friend -- I would have been willing to forfeit that. If my mother had not been such a mother, I wouldn't have cared to see her go. But I had (and still have) a great mom and we have a great relationship. So my dad and some others can have Adrean. The world can have Dre. Derek and I have our mom.

Christmas 2010

2010-12-31T16:21:00.000-08:00

18 December 2010

As predicted, I could not wait to get home and cry to my mother. In my mind, I was going to unload as soon as I walked out of baggage claim. And my mom was going to make it all better. Only (like so many other things) it did not go as planned. My mommy was not there to pick me up at the airport, my brother was.

Derek came with Toyya the lady friend, not to be confused with Sianneh, mother of my nephew. Derek drove Toyya and I in a direction he thought would lead us to a road that would get us toward my mom's house. Yes, all three of us had GPS-enabled smart phones, capable of navigation. But it took me a while to realize he honestly had no idea where he was going. Once I fully remembered the anomaly that is my oldest, younger brother, we were both on the road and heading in the right direction.

My mother's house is not home, in that I didn't grow up there. Still, it's a place that houses people who love me. And in that respect, on that day, it felt phenomenal to be home. I suppose it's just the feeling of feeling loved. I mean I always know it, but seeing my little sister too excited to figure out how to unlock the door was (dare I type it) precious.

Dayana was super happy to see me, and her reaction was contagious. Donnell, the nephew who could not be bothered on the cruise, was at least friendly. I know he's my nephew, but I may make him my nemesis. He's a little too spoiled for my liking. Anyway, that first night home, I ate, I laughed, and I took pictures. I told my mom the latest in my life, and I think she was visibly disturbed, which made me sad. If my mom was upset, who was going to tell me it was going to be alright? We sat and we looked at each other with tears in our eyes, surrounded by family and cartoons and laughing children. And we shook it off. It was just about Christmas. And we had everything, and everyone, we needed.

I don't know why kids do this, but it's hilarious.

Father & Son.

Toyya.

19 December 2010

I got a taste of life for my mom. It's chaotic. Honestly, it seems too chaotic. But I think it's probably easier than when I was little. I mean there is just one Dayana to get ready for school, as opposed to a Danie and a Derek. Although there is a Donnell, who plays a great mini-Derek. So it's probably 1987 with Wi-Fi. Kids are scary business, and certainly not AM apropos. Once the kid was off to learn, my mom and I went to Dunkin Donuts. It's an East Coast treat for me, and we can walk there from the house. Doubly awesome.

When I'm at home, I enjoy just being there. People ask "what did you do," and I say "nothing." Mine has never been a family of explorers. My parents both drove hours to get to work. And they both had jobs that required driving. When we were home, we were home. We watched TV, sang songs, played games and all kinds of regular things. But we didn't take driving trips to places for no reason, which (for some reason) I feel other families did. When I was home with my mom in late 2010, we didn't do much. And then Abby came to visit.

Abigail lives in Virginia, which is close enough for a jaunt. We see each other once a year if we're lucky, and even then, Tab has to get married to make it happen. Abby is a rare friend, one who crosses worlds. She was with me in Minneapolis in the pre-blog days when my first car (Epe) was totaled by a senior citizen with an itchy trigger foot (though no fault was ever determined). Abby also helped me surprise my mom a few years ago in Baltimore. Abby knew Dayana when she was a small, noisy one year old, and she saw her again, as a garrulous five year old. Abby is family and I love it.

Abby & Dayana, 2006

As usual, Abby was a big hit with the kids. Dayana wanted to tell her stories. Donnell wanted to go through her purse. And in true Abby form, she did not mind. We sat on my mom's couch. We ordered food and ate too much of it. We talked about the future and how life had changed. I imagine it's what's implied by "we had a nice visit." Then Abby was gone.

"Open it?"

The End of The End

2010-12-30T16:45:00.000-08:00

And now we come to it, the last transgression.

I take pride in being fair when I write, in presenting the arguments and in not writing from anger. Still, I cannot deny there is hostility in my heart. I carry a rage against XBFJ that stands in direct conflict with all of my well wishes. I want him to be happy. I want him to find something he loves to do and I want him to be successful at it. The ugly truth is I also want to inflict pain upon him. I would stand beside him against most others, because I am fiercely loyal. But once all foes were vanquished, he would still have me to fear. It's as honest as I can be. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me bring you to where my feelings reside.

17 December 2010

XBFJ came over to get the last of his stuff. He rented a car and I sat in it as he went up to my place, took the liberty of looking around, took further liberty with my snacks, and loaded. We went to his place, where he unloaded. All the while we talked about life and how different it was and how we might interact in the future and how it was going to be odd, but manageable. As he was bringing me back to work, he (as delicately as he could) told me about his new girlfriend.

It was a kick to the gut. I wanted to vomit. He asked why I was angry. The truth was, I wasn't. I wasn't crying out of anger. I was hurt. We were together nearly eight years. Four months later he has a girlfriend. Excuse me, one month after he's out of my apartment, he has a new girlfriend. Obviously our relationship was not as remarkable for him as it was for me. And that had always been an insecurity of mine, that I loved him more than he loved me. My fear had been that he was using me. On that night, it was realized. I saw everything differently. I felt the fool. And as punishment, I let the feeling come.

I replayed everything through a different filter. Remember how I'd felt sad for him, making this decision? Remember how I'd worried about him. Remember how I tried to explain his reasoning for dumping me? Remember how I told people not to wish him harm or actually harm him?

Mister "I need to stand on my own two" was already horizontal with (and admittedly inside of) someone else.

I felt insignificant. He told me he didn't like hiding things from me, that as friends he wanted to be honest. To his credit, his timing was proper, since I was about to go home for Christmas. He knew I would want to cry to mom and he was right. It's unfair that he knows me like I thought I knew him.

He maintains he never used me. Kate doesn't think he did either. But the evidence suggests otherwise.

Exhibit A
He says he didn't want to be with me for the last year. First of all, is there a reason to tell me that? Really? I mean if he'd already decided to be a deceptive secret keeper, it seems like that's something he could keep to himself. He didn't want me before Joel came to live with us. Seems like he made that decision right when he got a job. Read: I was adequate until he had his own income.

Exhibit B
He knew what he didn't like about us and he did not make a serious effort to fix it. To him, we were not worth saving. He didn't let on to me what was bothering him. He says he thought he would be able to deal with it. Forever. I have a role in this. It takes two for a relationship to fail. I don't blame him entirely for the problems we had. But if I had known how he felt, I would have done things differently.

Exhibit C
He moved on really fast. Adam and Amber met the new girlfriend. Six weeks after the initial dumping and three weeks after he said "we're broken up," he introduced his best friend to his new gal. He says (when I bring this up to him, because I do) that I don't know the circumstances. I don't see how they're relevant, though I would be all ears if he wanted to share. He does not.

The Anger Arrives

When you really think about it, while we were sharing an apartment, there was already someone else. When he refused to give me back his keys, there was already someone else. When he came over and expected me to help him pack, there was already someone else.

And we mussn't forget the lies. The "I need to work on me." and the "I have to learn to be a grown up." It's worse because I fell for it. I felt sad that he was so confused, that he had to be alone to sort things out. I felt sad that I couldn't help him.

You should know after all was said and done, he would tell me it was actually all my fault. That he started drinking because of me, that I was a miserable person and that, try as he might, his angelic attempts to make everything right weren't enough for the monster that is me. (Adjectives added but the idea is the same.)

In processing this, I found myself embittered. I found he was a stranger. He was a man who had come into my life. He was someone who used me and discarded me. It is a horrible feeling to know you really tried and that someone could forget you so easily. It's a wretched, wretched realization that for a year, you were the only one invested. I was a fool. He made a fool of me. And though I have forgiven, there is no forgetting that.

So I write with venom because it is deserved. For half truths and full lies, for disrespect and blame that is heaped when it should be shared, I am venomous.

What bothers me most is that it's not fair. I wanted to be in love. I wanted to have someone. I wanted to be touched in a familiar way and held as special. And he gets that. He gets to be loved not once, but twice over to my zero. Because now I don't know if he really loved me. He who wanted to "stand on his own two" gets what I tried to have. And of all the things that I have to come accept, this is the hardest. It's not because he doesn't deserve it; everyone deserves to be loved. It's that he said he didn't want it. And I did. I do. And I'll have it. I know that. My time with Jesse is over. I'm more than okay with that.

Based on my new list of criteria, he wouldn't make the cut anyway.

XBFJ to The Rescue. Seriously.

2010-12-29T15:03:00.000-08:00

8 December 2010

Angie is a busy, busy woman. One minute she's here, and the next, she's on her way to New Zealand. Two nights and one day after she arrived, she was off again. We said goodbye after her pedicure and I went to work. I gave her a set of keys in case she wanted to go wandering San Francisco in the rain. A few hours later, her cab came. I met her in front of my apartment building to say goodbye and get the keys. We had already decided I would be visiting her next, so there wasn't a whole lot of sadness. We're professionals. I then went back to work and enjoyed an uneventful day. I came home, checked the mail, smiled at a new Real Simple magazine, put my key in the apartment door, turned the lock, twisted the doorknob and froze.

It was less that I froze and more that the knob was not turning. I started begging.

"No, Ang. No."

Little known fact, we never got keys to the doorknob of this apartment. For two years we avoided that by not pushing the button. I never told Angie about the button. It never occurred to me because I live my life as if that button were invisible. But it is visible. And it is pushable. And it is logical that someone would push it for the sake of safety. There was no reason to be mad. And I wasn't. But I was locked out of my apartment at 11 at night. I notified the proper entities: Angie, Facebook, XBFJ.

The reality was XBFJ was the only person I knew in this town. He was the only person who knew me, what I could & couldn't and would & wouldn't do. I had to notify him of the situation in case I needed him later. Once that was out of the way, I considered, and executed my options.

Option One: Picking the lock

It's a stupid button. There is obviously some sort of tumbler mechanism involved, or at least some sort of spring that will release it. I tried every key I had. I tried to force a few too. I took out the tweezers and toothpick on my Swiss Army key chain and tried to get them in some kind of key formation. I searched my purse for any kind of gadget and came up short. I was not getting in through that door.

Option Two: Fire Escape
Two of my windows open to the fire escape. I thought I could possibly get one open. I packed up my purse (no idea why) and went up to the roof. There -- whilst wearing off-white pants and carrying a purse -- I proceeded to improperly climb down the ladder. Now you will say "Danie, you went to college. How can you improperly climb down a ladder?" I will tell you. The ladder is not flush with the building. It's about a foot or so away. In my mind, that design was perfect for keeping people safe. Clearly the intent was for people to climb down with their backs against the building, so they felt secure, in case they were afraid of heights. That made perfect sense to me, as I slithered myself (and my purse) between the ladder and the building. My opinion changed when I could not move my knees. I would have had to just slide to the next floor. That could not have been right. So I pulled myself back to the roof. I positioned myself on the outside of the ladder and was immediately aware of the gravity of my situation.

It was still drizzling, and everything was wet. I was wearing rain boots, great for puddles, not known for traction. I was about to climb down a wet ladder in the dark with the weight of a (heavy) purse on one side. I would likely die if I fell and it would be a long time before anyone would think to look for me behind my building. But I didn't see another option. So I proceeded. No one called the police to report the black person in white pants scaling down the back of a building carrying a purse. And I lived. But I could not get either window to budge. So I climbed back to the roof to alert XBFJ of my progress. It was beginning to sink in that I was going to need help.

Option Three: Hallway Window

I have a small window that's high in my hallway. It's accessible from the outside, but only the outside that's accessible from inside the building. It doesn't really make sense om your screen, but only tenants would have access to this window. This window gave me hope. It was open. I got the screen out. I could feel my apartment's air. But I could get to it. It was too high. I tried (in my rain boots, but sans purse) to stand on the railing and boost myself into the window. No dice. I tried standing on two stacked paint cans, but I was still too short. I remembered the abandoned, rain-soaked kitchen chair in the random area behind my building. I went and I carried it upstairs as quietly as I could. It was heavy. My pants were close to ruined. The chair was only an inch higher than the two stacked paint cans. I wanted to cry.

I stacked the paint cans on top of the chair.

I stood on the railing to boost myself.

I stepped off the railing, onto the paints cans and I pushed.

I got an arm, my head, and a boob into the window.

Everything collapsed.

That chair had apparently been soaking up rain for years. Its metal was rusted and its everything else was ready for disintegration. Two paint cans + one Danie did the trick. And there I was, dangling as quietly as possible, trying to find the strength to walk myself up the wall and into this window. I had almost forgotten the coat hooks waiting there like teeth to devour intruders. They would not get to gobble me though. I couldn't get myself into the window. And for a while, I couldn't get myself out either. Panic set in briefly, but I'm too practical for hysterics. In fact that practicality is what pushed me to ask XBFJ to help me.

I told him that I figured it all out, and that I would just need to hold him while he climbed inside. He asked if I should be the one climbing inside. I reminded him who was who, in terms of risky physical adventures. I asked him to come help me break into my apartment.

He hesitated.

I told him to forget it. I could hear he was at a bar seven hours before having to be at work and I got the impression he did not want to leave. I remembered that he'd said he'd help me whenever I needed it. Apparently he did not. Just as I was mentally vowing to never offer or accept so much as a kind look for all of eternity, he said he'd be right over. I think he ran. He showed up, my bloodshot and breathless knight in dirty clothing. I held his legs, warned him of the teeth-hooks and boosted. He fell with an ugly thud. I mean I didn't throw him, it's just that he to scale down the wall.

I was home, thanks to him. I offered him water and snacks but he said no. And like a super hero, he was gone. I felt good, knowing he was out there, in the event of other mishaps. I wasn't entirely alone. And that's a great feeling.

Pants.

Sigh.

Window.

Pre-thud Prints.

Angie!

2010-12-28T14:04:00.000-08:00

7 December 2010

I did not take pictures of the rest of the remodel process because (believe it or not) it did not occur to me to do so. But there was a lot that happened. I assembled a bookshelf properly, despite what those extra pieces would lead you to believe. I changed that orange couch we found on a sidewalk in March of 2009 into a brand new white sofa. I opened that TV I bought on Black Friday. I got rid of the TV I bought in Fargo and the kitchen table XBFJ wanted to chop into firewood. I recycled and trashed anything that could be spared. I simplified and took stock of everything I had and of what I really needed. Apparently I don't need much. I assembled and tidied right up until the very first moment of life after the BU: Angie's arrival.

Adventure Time!

Though it's perfectly fitting, it's actually a coincidence my oldest friend was there at the start of whatever was about to happen. I knew she was coming, but had honestly thought I would have been over the BU by then. I thought I would have had some sort of a new life, four months after the deal wet down. But I didn't. And looking back, I see why. It took XBFJ a full 90 days to dump me and actually leave. It didn't seem like it was taking that long, because there was that month I convinced myself it wasn't really happening. And then Adam and Amber came and I don't know, I guess I just lived one day at a time. Redecorating got me excited for something fresh. I started to be ready to move forward. And that timed out perfectly with Angie's visit.

We really only had a day together. She arrived on a Monday night. I took off that Tuesday, so we could shop and talk, which is exactly what we did. Now that I think of it, it went really fast. We both dislike shopping and I think that helped. Angie & I are kindred. It's apparently apparent, as we learned in American Eagle.

We were there and I was browsing sweaters. I was still having fun buying things, as since we were in the store anyway, I saw no harm. I picked up a few and had them taken to a dressing room. When I got to the room, I obviously had to talk to the attendant. I don't know what I said to him, but in less than a minute, he said "you have good energy. I think there's somebody you should meet." And he brought me face to face with Angie. He (and I want to call him Elliott but that's not his name) said "you two have the same energy." I thought (somehow) that he was messing with me. I said "like we met the 5th grade and have been friends for 20 years energy?" He was confused. Angie & I laughed. It was a reaffirming moment that we really didn't need, but were glad to have. We're awesome. And we spent more than an hour there with the attendant and Emily, the co-attendant. Perfectly Random.

We crossed other things off the to-do list, finding Ang a pedicurist and eating at the Cheesecake Factory. We intended to go ice skating but the whole business is apparently dominated by private parties. Dinner was as good as it always it. We got to really talk about everything, hopes, fears, family, doubts -- everything. We went for a long walk and had a great night. My world was new again and I was happy Angie was there.

Kings vs Mavericks

2010-12-27T13:36:00.000-08:00

04 December 2010

I think there is a part of me that has an aversion to capitol cities. I never went to Harrisburg when I lived in Pennsylvania. I never went to Albany when I lived in New York. It took a bit of cajoling to get me to Bismarck, though I did go. I never went to Carson City when I lived in Nevada. And it took more than two years in San Francisco for me to hit the road and head to Sacramento. And I only went because Melissa the Producer had tickets to a basketball game.

It was my first drive to see her. It was my first NBA game. It was exciting. We ate the usually stadium food and had the usual, better-than-good seats. I learned that the Sacramento Kings' mascot is a lion, though I did not learn why. And if you were to secretly call them the Sacramento Kings of the Jungle, you would not be alone. Just saying.

If you've been to a basketball game, I have nothing new to tell you. There were fans. There were points. There was disappointment. There was a nice dance show put on by dozens of little kids. We sat behind a loud and unfunny heckler. We got boom sticks that didn't do much but make a mess. We took our sports-outing-of-the-month picture. We laughed.

Dancing Kids.

Us.

I really like this picture.

Basketball.

At the end of the game Tyreke Evans (I'm almost sure it was him) threw his sweaty headband into our area. I found that to be disgusting. Alas, I was alone. People were excited. Melissa (thank goodness) didn't touch it, but she took a picture. We ended up encouraging these drunk guys to take it, only to feel crappy moments later when a kid came over looking for it. I still don't see the appeal. But I know very little about basketball.

Home Improvement

2010-12-26T12:27:00.000-08:00

Late November / Early December 2010

The time came to get to work. Much like updating my blog, painting my apartment was a task I wanted to do, but couldn't bring myself to start. And then it just happened. I bought paint. I bought brushes. I bought a ladder. And if I'd had a friend, that friend would have taken a picture of me carrying that ladder home from the hardware store. I was (for some reason) dainty about it, carrying it in the crook of my arm, like a very long and heavy purse. I'm ridiculous. And I digress.

This is about painting, which I actually did. Naturally I made the process infinitely more difficult that it had to be. My apartment had white walls with a recessed ceiling and white trim. If you recall the green draft protector I bought (and here's a picture even if you don't), you can see why. There are all kinds of shades of green and brown involved. While someone with less ambition might have picked one color, I picked two. I decided to paint the walls green and make the trim brown. It was going to be so pretty, in a grown up way. I didn't start to regret my decision until after the tape was up and the paint was on the walls. By then it was too late.

It's not that anything was wrong with the plan, it's just that the green would have looked good with white trim. I had originally gone against it because I was planning for white furniture, and I didn't want the room to look too sterile. I don't know if that makes sense, but that's how my brain works. The only pictures I have are the ones I sent to Kate and my mom, charting my progress. Not pictured was the absolute mess that was my living space. I still had things to give away. I had books and no bookshelf. I had things I had found on Craigslist. Everything was disheveled because my life was disheveled. I was sleeping in a clearing on my bed, much like a hoarder. I had to step around things and on top of stuff just to navigate my estimated 600 square feet. Again, if I'd had a friend, that friend would have taken a picture of me trying to move that ladder from place to place. It was unnecessarily difficult. But I think that made the reward that much sweeter.

Bit by bit, what started as an idea for a distraction became a lovely reality. I dare say I did well. The better it looked, the more I wanted to do. So the more I did. After painting the living room, and the trim therein, painting my bedroom was a joke. It felt like it took no time at all. Once again the color choice was superb and I giggled with pride in myself. Once again, the more I saw what it would become, the more I wanted to finish it. And painting was just the tip of the iceberg.

Bedroom draft protector.

Bedroom trim.

More living room.

And a little more.

I also made a trip to Ikea. I did my research. I knew what I wanted. I knew what I was willing to spend. Yes, I thought to furnish using just Craigslist, but it's I am one person. I can't lift or transport a bookcase. I'm not even going to tell you how I got my new desk. It was not what the kids would call "a good look." I would have loved to have gotten used stuff for less money. But I had trouble finding what I had already decided I wanted. It was frustrating and it was December and I was ready to be done. So I went to Ikea. I bought more than I planned, but eventually made up for it with returns.

I also had good cause to go to the container store, where I got a close up look at the damage San Francisco has done to my car. Do you see those door dings? I am not going to say I did not inflict one for every one received, but I can't think of anywhere else where this is acceptable. It's just what's to be expected here. I even have touch up paint. I just can't think of why I would use it.

So in the span of one week, I painted and I shopped. I created a ridiculously cluttered living situation, just for the fun of having t0 clean it later. But just as I was about to put it all together and realize my vision, I had urgent business in Sacramento.

The Move That Wasn't | Thanksgiving 2010

2010-12-25T23:49:00.000-08:00

22 November 2010

I maintain moving is the worst thing people choose to do to themselves, aside from drug addiction. I've hated every move I've made for one reason or another, and after the BU, I could not bear the thought of adding a move to my list of lamentations. Still, I couldn't very well sit in our apartment, pretending his mark wasn't on everything. So I decided to convince the senses I had moved, with as little actual moving as possible. I designed the apartment I wanted. I gave myself a budget. I created a spreadsheet. I downsized.

I can't begin to explain the stuff I had. I can't begin to explain why I had the stuff I had. I had apparently gotten so wrapped up in keeping things organized and stored, I lost track of what I was storing. At the end of November, I went through every box and every folder, removing what was not necessary and questioning everything I decided to keep. I sold a few things but mostly gave things away through Craigslist. Purging felt great. I gave people good stuff to use, while creating much needed space that was all mine. And as the old vanished, the new appear.

I tried to go area by area, finishing one room before moving to the next. But it didn't quite work out that way. I was addicted to buying. As soon as I was sure I was seeing what I wanted, I bought it. I kitchen items. I bought storage benches. I bought a few clothes. And then it was Thanksgiving.

Storage bench. Worth every penny.

I tried to not make it the most depressing Thanksgiving ever. I went to work, where nearly all of coworkers spent the holiday. I took part in the traditions I had missed the past few years. Of course I would have rather been in Devils Lake, eating too much and marking Black Friday deals. Still, I really got a kick out of these turkey treats from my general manager. He passed them out as a thank-you for working on Thanksgiving. I gobbled mine before taking a picture. Fortunately someone had a little more self control.

Dinner. It was really good. I had two of three types of pie.

And then, ladies & gentlemen, I did it. I did my first, proper Black Friday shopping. I woke up at two in the morning. I drove to Target. I waited in the cold for almost two hours. My goal was to take in the experience, and to walk away with an HDTV. More than once I questioned my decision. I promised myself several times I would never do it again. It was just dumb. People were out there improperly dressed and with children. Families were devising strategies. We were all after the same TV, and there wasn't much else to say but "head to the back." It took ten minutes after the store opened for me to actually get inside. I followed the crowd to the TVs and saw the last of the biggest deal go to the woman in front of me. No, I did not need a 40" television. That was obvious in the fact that I didn't get one. I got a smaller, more expensive option and was free to shop. It turns out Target at 4 in the morning is still Target.

I bought Pyrex. I bought towels. I bought groceries. I browsed. I bought sheets and a router and everything else that had been on my list. I called my mom, so we could discuss the futility of my Black Friday adventure. All the money I saved on that TV went toward something else. The adrenaline wore off as I got warm, and I found myself getting very sleepy. I may have kept my composure, but on the inside, I was whining. When all was said and done, I had spent nearly five of my precious sleep hours driving, standing, spending, driving, parking and unloading. It would be months before I would say the ordeal was worth it.

More Friends & More Footbail

2010-12-24T00:22:00.000-08:00

20 November 2010

The last two weeks of November passed in a blur. It was time to start thinking about going east for Christmas and time to not think about not going to North Dakota for Thanksgiving. I accepted every social invitation that came my way, and there were a couple that were great. We had an overdue goodbye party for a former coworker (not pictured). I got to see a few of the people I worked with during my first year in San Francisco. We had a great time opining changes in our industry and wondering what could still be on the horizon. We ate too much. We drank too much. We all left smiling.

That was followed by watching my dear friend Melissa the Producer be horribly disappointed.

21 November 2010

I'm going to offer a recap for the sake of clarity. There are two Melissas in my life, Melissa the Producer and Melissa the Reporter. I worked with both in Vegas. Melissa the Reporter moved from Texas to Vegas, while Melissa the Producer moved from Vegas to Texas. They are two people, both brunette, both (what I would call) short, both love sports and yet still have silly, girly sides I don't quite get. But like I say, they are two people, though I have only found one picture (from 2006) that has them in the same place at the same time. Melissa the Producer is on the left, Melissa the Reporter is next to me, and that extra 85lbs I was carrying that year. I felt this clarification important enough to show this picture. So please take note.

Melissa the Producer was born in late November. And in late November 2010, we went to a 49ers game. Melissa the Producer loves the 49ers. At this point in the season, they still had playoff hopes. I mean the whole division was a joke, but the 49ers were still in it, bless their hearts. MtP (yeah I'm going to do that) has a man friend, @yowhatupt. Yes, he has a name. But in my mind he's @yowhatupt, because that's how I e-met him. There are people who see me and call me "Danie D." I take it a step further and actually say "at yo what up t," but that's because I like to be proper. Face it folks, these are the issues that will be coming up as social media continue to shape our lives. I'm just the harbinger.

Most of the above was just so I could say: "@yowhatupt bought MtP tickets to a 49ers game for her birthday," and have you understand. I hope it worked, because that took me weeks to compile. As he was unable to attend, I selflessly offered my services, as friend and co-game-watcher for the afternoon. I know the true meaning of friendship is accepting tickets to sporting events. I'm sure that was in a holiday special of some sort.

It was a beautiful day for a football game. We made our way up to the deck on an old, overworked escalator. Melissa put her bare hand on the railing, which I found to be straight icky.

"Don't touch that. I don't know how often they service these things." -me

And the escalator stopped. MtP is convinced it was because of my tempting of the fates, and I am inclined to agree with her. But it was funny. Even funnier -- for at least ten seconds -- the dozens of people on the escalator just stood there, as if waiting for it to start again. We ended up walking. But there was a moment when it seemed like we were going to wait there in silent demand of our right to be lifted to our deck.

Once inside, we got garlic fries and made our way to the. Best. Seats. Ever. Score one for @yowhatupt, which was more than the 49ers would do for themselves. We had seats with letters. I didn't even know stadiums had seats with letters. We had a great view of the field. We had a great view of the people whose seats came with a wait staff. We were in plain sight of the Gold Rush Girls. And I have to say, they are not awesome. I am not a cheerleader, but I know what they're supposed to do. It was as if the Gold Rush Girls had all practiced separately, then met up for the game. And the game was so awful, we had little choice but to watch the girls. Or to do whatever these people were doing.

Neena and Tiffany were there too and joined us in our awesome section after halftime. That improved the situation, but only temporarily. The 49ers just could not seal the deal. And on the day we were perfectly poised to see some incredible end zone action, they did not score a single point. They owe MtP an apology.

All Signs Point To A New Life

2010-12-23T12:19:00.000-08:00

When I was little, my mom used to say things like "the spirit told me." Actually it's not in the past, it still happens. My mother has always been sure the universe and the spirits within say things and send signs. I used to roll my eyes at it. But one day...

I went to work with my mom and she was bothered. The "spirit" was warning her about Derek. We drove from PA to NY and halfway through my mom's shift, she got a call. Derek had been detained for stealing a golf cart. And during the tirade that was to come my mom kept saying "the spirit told me something was up with Derek. I knew it." I became a believer.

So I look for things. I listen to feelings and find comfort in whatever may be a message from the universe. Such a message appeared on my fire escape in mid-November. Specifically, it was in the pot that housed the remains of my once glorious sunflowers. They all died right after the cruise (a sign unto itself?) and after I cut all the dead stems, I left the pot outside. Let's be honest, the fire escape was the most organized area at the time. One day I looked and lo and behold:

See it?

There they are.

I had sprouts! two teeny spots of green in that giant pot of dead and decaying flower parts. Naturally they could not stay outside. It was November. It had been cold and it had been raining. Honestly I don't even know how those delicate little leaves found their way out of the dirt. I don't even know that they're sunflowers, since I don't remember seeing or planting any seeds. That had been my intention, but bees and wasps had loved my sunflowers, and I had given them their space. I will not make that mistake again; I think those bugs infected my flowers.

My takeaway was, from the most miserable of cold and icky conditions came fresh and healthy and sprouts. A stronger metaphor could not have slapped me in the face. I received the message loud and clear. I myself was ready to sprout.

Separation Anxiety & Being The Change

2010-12-22T09:52:00.000-08:00

After those two nights of raids at the beginning of November, I had come to expect there would be gradually less stuff in my apartment until XBFJ was all gone. It's not how I would have preferred to do things. We still had not sorted a lot of stuff and I was afraid I was going to be left with things that were not mine. I know the perception was that I had tons of stuff to my bohemian counterpart's bare necessities. But that not the case. The dude liked old things. He likes old clothes, vintage gadgets and tech tidbits. It's not that I thought he would leave his police scanner behind, but he did have a spare keyboard of mine dangerously close to a pile of his stuff. Now I suppose just taking things when I wasn't looking was a genius way to avoid debate. However, after two nights of "what did he take this time," it became a moot point. He didn't come back.

There were no raids Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. By the time I went to the Raiders game with Melissa, I was worried I was going to be stuck with the things he thought he didn't want. He said he would come over that weekend and get the rest of it. But when I called him Sunday night, he nonchalantly told me he was drinking, and would get his stuff some other time. I had had enough of playing second fiddle to the bottle. I was ready to move on with my projects and I didn't want him showing up at my apartment whenever he wanted. The point was to have a place that had no association with him. I could not get that while he was still able to pop over at his leisure. I told him I was coming to his job for key forfeiture.

8 November 2010

I had a busy morning, snagging stuff from Craigslist and debating colors at the hardware store. I visited XBFJ for his lunch break and suddenly he wanted to talk to me. It could have been just seeing me. I know seeing him was like getting a fix I didn't know I needed. It calmed me down, made me feel less alone. He wanted to talk and I wanted to listen. He said he was having a tough time. It had nothing to do with the break up; he said he actually felt better without me. (He could hold seminars teaching how to hurt feelings and crush souls. It's like a super power he wields effortlessly.) No, dumping me was (apparently) uplifting for him. He was having a tough time with his move. And I felt for him, really. I mean it was all his own doing, and if he had talked to me ahead of time I could have helped him. But remember, he was his own man, standing on his own two and making dumb decisions. As a result, he refused to forfeit the keys. I tried to insist. But he was having a really bad week and somehow I felt like a bully. He agreed not to come over when I wasn't home. I took him at his word and I was satisfied.

10 November 2010

Two days later, XBFJ walked me home from work and came over to pack the rest of his stuff under my supervision. It was cute, he actually thought I was going to be what he called "helpful Danie," and pack and label as I would have, had he still been my BF. I watched him. I stood by his vehicle as he loaded and I tried not to be sad. I wanted it to be over, but I didn't want it to be happening. He was sad too, which made me feel better. He promised we would be friends and that it would get easier. And then he drove away. Upstairs, the apartment was as empty as it had been that first year when we had nothing. Everything seemed to cause an echo. It was a fresh place to start.

13 November 2010

I have to be the change I want to see in the world. In mid-November, I decided I wanted to see friendships form. The people I worked with in Vegas joined the ranks of my best and closest friends. Two years after moving and one year after changing shifts in San Francisco, I could not think of a single social outing amongst my current coworkers. So I made one. We went to the Mission Beach Cafe for Saturday brunch. Our party was large, the restaurant was packed and I should have had a banana beforehand. We stood outside for close to an hour, in typical San Francisco fashion. If you haven't been here, a lot of the best places are the smallest places. And as with Dottie's, Brenda's, Mama's and (to some degree) Tony's, there was no space to wait inside. That was okay, because the sun had come out and we enjoyed a rare, sunny morning in the city.

And then we enjoyed huge mimosas. Here you see my lavender infused french toast with bourbon syrup and side of brunch potatoes. It was promptly inhaled. Everything was delicious and everyone was pleased. I don't know if we got to know each other that much better, aside from not having elbow room but it got the ball rolling. I named myself social coordinator and promised we would have more gatherings in the future. Time may show us we don't even like each other. But we at least deserve to know.

Documentation, proving the hugeness of the mimosas.

The Election, The Animation & The Raider Nation

2010-12-21T01:43:00.000-08:00

2 November 2010

The best part about November is that it left no time for being crippled with grief. The Giants won the World Series. And then it was Election Day. If you haven't worked in news, I can't describe it. It's exciting. It's confusing. It chaotic. It's stressful. It's the best we know how to do, right after breaking news. It's all encompassing. It's about passing the time before the results come. It's wondering what we get to eat, and how many treats we convince ourselves it's okay to have. It's about working together and getting everything right. Election Day is the best and worst day to work. That's why it only comes every two years.

Dinner.

Dessert.

I didn't talk to XBFJ that day either. But when I got home, more stuff had been taken. Again, I couldn't bring myself to step into the living room. But with my clearer head I did start wondering. I had questions about where he lived and who had been in my apartment to help him move. The place was a mess and even now I shudder to think some stranger saw it that way. I wondered why he wouldn't communicate with me. I wondered that was going to be our new reality. I wondered how I was going to get the keys back.

5 November 2010

November tried to redeem itself by pouring on the fun. I got my most important purchases on Friday. These two pillows came from Scotland. I probably paid too much to get them but at that point in life, money did not matter. These pillows were to be my inspiration. I was planning to move without packing, by changing the apartment. I was going to make it mine. I was not going to be reminded he used to live there. I was not going to hear the emptiness every time I walked in the door. These pillows showed me how. Getting them was essentially the green light to start my own next chapter. And I did not waste any time.

6 November 2010

I began my redecoration project. I gave myself a budget, created a spreadsheet and start (more) shopping. I found a desk via Craigslist that would not fit in my car. I thought to take it apart, but it was just too complex for that. Fortunately the seller was a) really nice and b) had an Outback. She ended up following me home to drop it off. I got it upstairs all by myself. It wasn't pretty - for some reason I refused to put down my keys & purse first. But I made it. I had made my first solo furniture purchase. And even though there was still so much of a mess it had to sit in the hallway, I thought it was a great sign of moving forward. I had no time to marvel though, I had a date with Pixar.

I've mentioned I was shopping. But I should also mention there was no rhyme or reason to my purchases. I bought a french press, mostly because it was green. I bought clothes. I bought those pillows. And I bought a day at Pixar Animation Studios. It was a benefit for the Cartoon Art Museum. For a lot less than I would have paid to go, I went. It was another incredibly awesome occurrence I had to experience alone. But that's nothing a life sized cartoon can't cure.

The Incredibles. Giggle

The bottom floor of the studio was open for pictures. The second floor was not. I understood that, there was intellectual property strewn about the walls. Still, I asked for and received permission to take a picture of (with) The Incredibles. I wanted to capture their size. But I also wanted to stand with them. There was no way to do both.

Me & Mr. Incredible. I had to stand on my tippy-toes.

Now he's looking at the camera.

Mrs. Incredible & I. Happy times.

"There's no photography on the second floor."

And I was busted. Do you see her? She's waving a finger at me and yelling across the building. That's right. I got yelled at within 15 minutes of setting foot on the Pixar property. I suppose, when it comes to cartoons, I am a rule-breaker. Or not. I really did have permission, it was just not from her. Too bad for her and her rules I had already gotten what I'd come to get.

I can't describe how fun it was in there. Aside from the life sized characters, there were doodles and drawings and original design comments everywhere. Just the pieces they put on the walls showed how much detail goes into every single aspect of every shot. These are successful, legitimate adults who (possibly) love cartoons more than I do. Swoon. I tried to absorb it. I tried to hide in an office until Monday when someone would admire my dedication and make me an animation apprentice. But security is tight. The compost bin was my only option and that just didn't feel right.

I watched some shorts films and walked slowly through the lobby trying to make sure I didn't miss a thing. Someone offered to take my picture and the day was made. I felt awkward, and my posture shows it. The place was full of families and couples. I was thrilled to be there though, alone or not. Still, there was a part of me that couldn't shake the loneliness. Eventually I left, because there was nothing more to see. I also wanted to park before it got to be too late. I also stopped in Target (just for cash to cross the bridge) and somehow spent $100. I don't know how that happened. Okay. I do. But I had good reason.

7 November 2010

That same weekend, I got tickets to the Raiders / Chiefs game. It actually turned into a brouhaha amongst friends. I immediately thought of David, who is the biggest Raiders fan I know. But he lives in Vegas, and I got the tickets two days before the game. So I never entertained the idea of bringing him. Instead I asked Melissa, because she's my sports buddy. The thing about Melissa, she's a 49ers fan. This did not sit well with David. He was greatly offended that I would take her to the Coliseum. I really think he would have preferred I go alone rather than take a 49ers fan. His outrage ran deep, or at least as deep as the situation could seriously allow. He offered to fly up just for the game. And he was serious. But Melissa was down to go.

And when I say "down to go," I mean she agreed not to wear 49ers colors, but stopped short of wearing Raiders' gear. Her rules stated she would not cheer for the Raiders, but she would also not taunt the Raiders' fans. I recognize her courtesy was born of fear. The Raiders have the most passionate fans ever. I firmly believe that. Even if they lost, speaking ill of them could have gotten us hurt. So I respected her reverent indifference.

It was a cold and rainy afternoon, seriously meant for curling up on a couch and watching football from under a blanket. But our seats were good and our neighboring fans were respectful. Melissa got to see Raider Nation in it's full, foul mouthed, passionate glory. We heard parents chant insults laden with four letter words, with no consideration of the kids present. We saw impassioned stomping that honestly must have been exhausting. We witnessed a pass so ambitious, Melissa actually said "yeah right" as it was released. It was also completed. The Raiders tied, then won that game in overtime. The Coliseum erupted. It was amazing. And I'm so sure Melissa was glad to have been a part of it.

The Hardest, Happy Day

2010-12-20T00:20:00.000-08:00

1 November 2010

First thing on the agenda for November, get out of Vegas. I had a really early flight and my dear friend Kate got up at an unholy hour to make sure I made it. I did. I also remembered where I parked, which was a plus. I should note, three days in the SFO parking lot were cheaper than a one way cab ride between the airport and my apartment. I'm sure there is a statement there about something, but I don't know what that is.

Second order of business, a trip to Target. I mean I had my car, and I had time before work. There was no way I could not go. I don't remember if I had a list, but as I checked out it occurred to me: I may have an addiction to cleaning products. I know I have an addiction to the idea of saving money - I bought Halloween candy just because it was already on sale. I bought great big bags, just to bring to work. It might have been part of the break up retail therapy. Either way, I was riding high after a) catching my flight, b) feeling like I got half-off airport transportation and c) buying reasonably priced stuff. I even found parking right away. November was starting well. I even tried to spread the cheer, hiding Snickers bars in XBFJ's stuff. I did not dig or pry, I just dropped candy in a drawer or a box or on top of a blanket. I thought that was nice of me. And I went to work. It was Game 5 of the World Series.

The city was electric. Everyone seemed to be just as giddy as I was. I worked. I watched the game. I watched people watching the game. There was a viewing party outside city hall and while I wasn't able to get out there, I could see the larger picture. It was selectively unifying. The way America is unified against other countries during the Olympics, only on a smaller scale. We were San Franciscans and even us non-baseball people were caught up in the merriment. The Giants won and the city erupted in the nicest mobs I've ever seen. People poured into the streets, jumping and cheering... and clearing for oncoming traffic. I mean there was obviously no reason to be disruptive. In other neighborhoods, toilet paper was celebration tool of choice. Let's face it, San Francisco is as lame at rioting as Kate, Melissa & I are at raging girls' night in. I am okay with that.

I even received a gift bag. Someone out there knows I exist, though I am not on TV. That is rare. It's extremely rare. In fact, I don't think it's ever happened to me. The night was full of great feelings and excitement. My show was superb, and may even be Emmy worthy. November was off to a stellar start. I felt good things, and decided it would be okay for me wake XBFJ, if he were asleep. I wondered if he had been at city hall, or elsewhere amongst the revelers. I wanted to see if he had found all the candy I stashed and of course to show him my new hat. But opening the front door literally sucked days' worth of joy out of me. By the time I walked down the hallway I was doubled over with grief.

He was gone.

I heard it when I opened the door, the sound of an emptier apartment. My brain was caught off guard. I was not hearing the quiet of a sleeping neighbor, I was hearing the loneliness that was to be my next companion. The living room had been mostly cleared. His drawers were empty. His books were gone. I sat on the floor and I sobbed. Not so much that because he had moved out, but because it was the first time in a long, long time that I had something to share and no one with which to share it. I had come home bursting with so much excitement, I was going to wake my ex-boyfriend to tell him my about day. Meanwhile, he hadn't thought me worthy enough to even send a text saying he was leaving, or that he was gone, or if he was coming back. Nearly eight years together and he slips out, leaving behind his non essentials and Snickers' wrappers. I should have been angry. I should have called him and told him I would not store his stuff for free. I should have told him it was all about to be burned. But there was no room for hostility in my heart. I sealed off the living room and cried myself to sleep.

Halloween 2010 | Being There

2010-12-19T21:07:00.000-08:00

Our Halloween festivities were like an episode of Oprah's favorite things. Only they were our favorite things, and Oprah would probably be too cool to admit she really liked them as well. When it's time for Kate, Melissa & I to get together, there is a grill, there is asparagus, and there are potatoes. I know, we live dangerously close to the edge. But I assure you, there are a lot of potatoes. Okay, we are boring. But we have a good time. Our Halloween 2010 included some upgrades: Dayna and Retro Bakery.

Retro Bakery is near where Kate & Melissa live. When I lived in Vegas, I knew nothing about it. But as soon as I was gone, it became the greatest place I had never been. Kate meant to get me Retro cupcakes when I ran the LV Marathon, but didn't. I meant to go after the firefighters' auction, but didn't. The times had never been right for me to sample the retro wares until Halloween 2010, when everything aligned.

It's a bakery in a strip mall. As I get most of my information from Twitter, I am convinced it is wildly successful. But I realize now I can't actually be sure, although why wouldn't it be? Kate & I met Kari, whom you might know as @retrobakery. I tweeted ahead of my arrival and Kari was there, in full costume and ready to appease our whimsical taste buds. We bought too many cupcakes for our small dinner party and were promptly on our way. But the whole experience was full of giggles. Meeting Kari was like meeting a celebrity. I mean I see her on the Internet and I saw her in person. If you're not excited, you're not on Twitter.

The spoils.

Then it was back to Kate's, where she grilled the chicken, cooked the asparagus and buttered the potatoes. I could eat Kate's mashed potatoes until I was 400 lbs. And if I ate them more than twice a year, I probably would be. We ate and we laughed and it was exactly what I wanted to be doing. Dayna came and we went "built" a fire in the fire pit. I don't know what's supposed to go into building a fire, we just lit what was already there. Sure, it seemed dangerous at the time, but eventually it was under control. I wish I could share some profound revelation from our night, but (much like high school sleepovers) it really got down to "who would you rather..." Let's just say (a) I have a type and (b) Carrot Top is not it.

The fire. It's not that Melissa's scared. Promise.

We took shots of the tequila, just to taste it. For real. Kate brought back from vacation and insisted it was delicious. She was right. It was the smoothest, most delicious tequila I've ever had, you know, for being tequila. We devoured the cupcakes, even though we were full potato - booze sundaes with a tequila cherry on top. They did not disappoint.

We used a lot of glasses.

Suave.

Happy Halloween!

I went to bed in my second home - Kate's Green Room. The eating and the drinking continued on Sunday, when we met some friends for drinks at Kona Grill. We did a little browsing, but not really shopping. Yes, I did go into the Hipster Emporium. It wasn't as bad as I had feared. But I object to it on principle. I mean is there really a need for that? And then all of a sudden, it was November.

Halloween 2010 | Getting There

2010-12-18T09:14:00.000-08:00

I come with high Halloween expectations. While I understand why, I assure you it's purely accidental. We didn't observe Halloween as kids. I didn't care about it in college, and only dressed up in Fargo because I was (a) able to go to the bars and (b+) able to be Spongebob. Sometime after moving to Vegas, I started loving Halloween and it was evident. I dressed up at work and I scoffed at Kate for not doing the same. Kate will be the first tell you she does not do Halloween. But eventually people started having parties and Kate could not resist the challenge. She refuses to buy costumes. But if one can be made out of everyday clothes (and blue eyeshadow) - while still falling within an approved themes, she's totally down. The idea is counterintuitive, the more effort involved, the more cooperation, but it works. We've had some great costumes in the past. Based on that criteria, Halloween 2010 was lame to the nth degree. At the same time, it was perfect.

30 October 2010
I missed my flight.

I booked my flight months earlier, probably right after I decided driving to Vegas was the dumbest idea ever. I figured I would either see Jason & Nora, or at least get to crash a party. I booked my flight for first thing Saturday and I had every intention of making it. Kate, Melissa & I had planned a full day and I was excited. But I was apparently not meant to make it on time. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. I overslept. I had to schlep up a large hill to my car. An FYI, if you ever want to feel really lonely, have no one in your life to take you to the airport. Yes, XBFJ was still living in the apartment. But he wasn't there at 5:30 in the morning when I needed to get to the airport. He had other ~~people~~ places to do be. But that's another tale.

I couldn't find long term parking. I made one wrong turn and spent ten minutes trying to correct it. I missed the first shuttle to the terminal. I showed up at the wrong gate, because on this one day, for this one flight, things were switched. The TSA agent did not like my (empty) water bottle and shuffled to check it. I asked her to call the gate (which I could see from security) but after insisting I was at the wrong gate, she told me she didn't have a phone. I got to the gate at 7:01 AM. My flight left at 7.

I would end up going through security three times before getting a really good nap at the airport. I watched the day break and wondered why I was fated to miss my delicious breakfast. Kate & Melissa went without me, and sent a delicious picture captioned "too soon?" I countered with a reasonably priced scone. Take that.

Why is that blue plane green?

Oh.

I got to Vegas in time for lunch with Crystal at Lolita's Cantina. We had margaritas. I don't think I've ever really discussed Crystal here. But we used to work together in Vegas. She left the station first, but not the city. So she's one of those rare people who could be seen after the goodbye party. Of course the other side of that is that you have to make the effort and I don't think I was as good at that as I should have been. I like to pride myself on making an effort to stay in touch, but I have pretty low standards. Regardless, I met Crystal's son, we ate chips and drank a little tequila. And then Kate & I were off to do what we do, which is run errands.

The Calories of October 2010

2010-12-17T01:04:00.000-08:00

Based on my documentation, I can tell you the rest of October was full of delicious food and a lot of fun. I mean I was still sad most days. We were still sharing an apartment, although XBFJ didn't always sleep there. I did make it a point to ask him not to bring bed bugs from his secret location to my couch, and it appears he obliged. I still worried about his drinking and if he was safe at night. He told me he slept at hostels. But he had also become a bit of a liar so take that as you will.

But back to the proof of deliciousness. Let's examine the evidence. Here you see a plant burger I had the pleasure of eating October 18th. I got it from The Plant Cafe Organic. It's a restaurant that serves as much organic food as possible. And the menu does not suck as a result. It's a great place to go for eating out and not feeling guilty about it. I mean for what organic food costs, I can have a burger, with bread, AND fingerling potatoes without worrying about cholesterol. I dare you to tell me otherwise.

22 October
Someone left a Flounder hat type thing on a desk. My best guess tells me it was from Disney on Ice. But I suppose it could have been part of a promotional package as well. Either way, I got my hands on it. If I had seen the rightful owner, I would have asked to keep it. Flounder was sitting there being entirely unappreciated. He made me smile, even before I put him on my head and took a picture. I would wear Flounder often, despite my dislike of The Little Mermaid. That's right. A cartoon I dislike. You might not have thought it possible. It brings me no pleasure to dislike The Little Mermaid, but I am bound by my conviction.

Hello little guy!

Let us not forget I studied media. Let us not forget I studied the roles of women in said media. I studied damsels. I studied mammies. I studied how characters were drawn or cast in a way that shaped opinion. I learned why blond was always the ideal and dark was always sinister. I learned why fat was gross, big lips meant black, and Caribbean accents meant ignorant. And in many of my studies, The Little Mermaid was blasted as a great travesty. And I hear what you're saying, that it's just a cartoon. But it's really not. It's a statement, like other shows make statements. And it's worse because it targets kids who absorb associations without realizing it. It's just awful. But I digress.

We had heavy rain October 24th, which meant I got to use two of my favorite gifts ever: my rain boots and my umbrella (courtesy of XBFJ and Lucy). I wore them shopping, which had become a pastime of mine. I'm not exactly sure when, but sometime during the BU, shopping because fabulous. I bought things because I had a mild need for them, as opposed to just the necessities. I think it was the start of putting me before us. And I liked it.

The San Francisco Giants got into the World Series. The city turned orange and black and friendly. The mood was infectious. It was unifying. People were happy. People were nervous. I was under dressed. I had no Giants gear to wear, and I felt like people were judging. I thought to get something cheap in Chinatown but was lectured out of it. A coworker told me buying knock off items puts money in the pockets of terrorists. How could I argue with that?

Celebration.

27 October
I trudged down to the dugout store, where I stood in line outside for nearly an hour. I tweeted. I called some people. Knowing what I didn't want made it easy to find what I did. I ended up with a lovely zip-up hoodie. The sticker tells me (and the world) that it's authentic, and not at all associated with terrorism. It was made in Pakistan. But no one seemed to care about that.

28 October
This day was particularly delicious. While walking toward a reading spot in the Ferry Building, someone handed me free humus. A few feet further and I got a free cup of coffee. I pocketed the humus, grabbed the coffee and went to Cowgirl Creamery for a yogurt bowl containing persimmons, pomegranate seeds and walnuts. It was fantastic, and of course purchased at the suggestion of XBFJ. Having him know things I'll like before me was and is more than a little annoying. But I'm working on beating him to the punch.

"October the month" finished with more cupcakes, for no reason at all. And then it was time for "Halloween, the weekend."

My First "Genuine Laugh"

2010-12-16T09:41:00.000-08:00

As word of the BU spread, I got a lot of e-mail and Facebook messages. There Was a lot of "what happened," "it'll be okay," and "everything happens for a reason." I got a few messages from other people who were part of recently severed partnerships. No two stories were alike. None of the circumstances were like mine. None of the advice could really be applied. But one line from message stuck with me, and gave me a goal. Someone wrote:

"I genuinely laughed for the first time again about a week ago."

I wanted to reply "great! Please send a step by step guide to genuine laughter." For a few moments I considered the possibility of a laughter road map I could follow. Logic showed its face, telling me I had to find my own genuine laughs and I began my search. But I couldn't find what I didn't understand. How did a "genuine laugh" feel? Was it genuine if it kept me from thinking about the BU for an hour? A week? Would I only know it after it passed? Would it change my perspective on some things? On everything? I had a lot of expectations for the elusive genuine laugh and I hunted it as if it were camouflaged prey.

Now I have that beast stuffed above my mantle.

16 October 2010

I had my first genuine laugh. I found it in San Jose, where I had gone for what I like to call "Sporty Saturday." Melissa, Neena & I met at Gordon Biersch to watch the Giants play the Phillies in game one of the not-World-Series-but-close playoffs. At first no, it doesn't make sense that Melissa would drive from Sacramento to San Jose to watch a baseball game. It also doesn't make sens that I would leave San Francisco to watch the San Francisco Giants play. But it was also the night of the Sharks home opener, and you may recall we had tickets to that. The least stressful way to watch both games was to get to San Jose early. The garlic fries were just the icing on the cake.

I had actually suspended my hunt for that day. It's not that I didn't expect to laugh, I just refused to be on edge or distracted while with friends. It's hard enough to pretend around everyone else. I went to San Jose planning to a) not get drunk and babble and b) relax. That seemed simple enough.

We talked, and then we laughed. We didn't focus on my break up or my feelings. I didn't feel like I was on the spot. Other people have lives and those lives have ups and downs too. It's not about feeling sorry for yourself, or having people pity you. It's about what you choose to do under this particular set of circumstances. We talked about how things change, and about embracing now. Friendships dissolve and sometimes there's no going back. We talked about goals and the uncertainty of the future. It doesn't read like light, playoff conversation. And maybe it wasn't. But it came easily and felt good. Besides, there were plenty of light moments.

I shared my baseball insight, which consists of being able to tell when a ball is too far out to be hit. I called Melissa out on being a chihuahua attacking greyhounds. It seems like she's only lippy to really tall people. We played "do you still carry a tape measure in your purse?" I like to think I won that game. Melissa & I tried to describe A&E's Hoarders to Neena, telling her she should watch if for no other reason than professional development. After the Giants game, Neena went home & Melissa & I went to the Sharks game. We had missed the first period - which by all accounts was great. The Sharks were up 2 - 0 when we arrived. They were down 4 - 0 at the end. Perhaps the highlight of the game:

"How much do you think a bucket of paint costs?" - Danie
"I don't know. I would say... I'm going to say $5... $7.49 for the good stuff." - Melissa
"Melissa, a gallon of paint does not cost $5."

I laughed until I started to cry. I had been wondering if a gallon of paint was $25 - $30, or $40 - $50. I suppose I should have specified. But she was so matter-of-fact about the $5 ($7.49 for the good stuff), that I couldn't stop laughing. In between my giggles, I had two thoughts.

Kate's going to laugh, and say "Oh Melissa."
I'm really really laughing.

And there it was, the capture of the genuine laugh. It didn't come in just that moment. I had been creeping toward it all day. If I had to describe it, I'd say it was hope born of familiarity. I've laughed like that before. I then knew I could do it again. That was important.

October 2010 | Food, Flowers, Friends

2010-12-15T00:45:00.000-08:00

Food (10.09.10)

I had a visitor in early October. His name was then and is still Jonathan. I met Jonathan when we worked together in Vegas. We always got along. We always had fun. Ours is a friendship that developed easily and is comfortable. More than a lot of people, Jonathan understood me in October. And even though his trip to San Francisco was about him, it was great for me too.

I'm not going to tell you what we discussed, or how we discussed it. I will tell you talking to him made me feel less alone. I had started to feel like a visitor in my own life. I was going through the motions, laughing when I was supposed to laugh and crying when no one could see. Despite knowing better, I felt like I was experiencing heartbreak for the first time in humanity, and that no one would ever feel it as intensely as I would. Jonathan showed me otherwise. We made metaphors until we could describe the it that was draining us both. And once that was established, once we felt understood, we were free to talk about friend things, like food.

We ate at Tony's which I have decided is my go to place with guests. I think XBFJ may also try to claim it, but it's in my neighborhood and he really ought to know better. Jonathan and I talked property taxes and the future of news and the beauty that is San Francisco. Yeah, we are a rare, boring breed. But we ate really well.

His.

Mine.

I showed him what it takes to park in my neighborhood. We drove to Sausalito and toured a houseboat neighborhood. We inched our way back across the Golden Gate, spending a lot of time in traffic. We mocked strollers and studied small to mid-sized dogs. We were battle buddies, more connected than I think we had been in the past and it was exactly what I needed. His words were worth more than those who had been through it before, because he was going through it. That mattered. And then he was gone, just like my truffle-less pizza.

Flowers (10.10.10)
As part of my check out from reality, I got really wrapped up in small things, like marigold bulbs. I have a marigold plant. It was actually a seed from a package I got in the dollar section at Target. I bought the seeds because they came in a tiny pot, because I like tiny things. I kept the tiny pot and packaged seeds for years. They moved from Vegas to San Francisco with a sunflower counterpart. I planted both in early 2010 and started getting sprouts in February. Fast forward to October. The marigold was thriving inside the apartment, and the sunflowers were all dead. They never stood a chance. XBFJ would not let me keep them inside once they reached 5 feet tall. He refused to see they wre still delicate. He was and likely still is a plant hater. Once the elements got to sunflowers, it was all over. They began dying just as we did, sometime over the summer.

But the marigold thrived, teaching me its cycle. Bulbs sprout. They grow. They open. And then they die. I would prune the dead sprouts and throw them away. And then one day I didn't. I kept the dead sprouts and let them compost in the pot with the dirt. I just wanted to see what would happen. The result was mold. The dead bulbs molded like plant based materials do I guess. Can you imagine me living with mold? Exactly. I sat down one day to either bury or toss the moldy remains. And I made the most amazing discovery. Ever.

A regular healthy bulb. I'm not sure why it was even severed.

A dead bulb.

One of the dead bulbs had sprouted a whole new plant. Maybe you knew the bulbs held the seeds but I did not. And I tell you it blew my mind. I was thrilled. I sent a tweet. I sent the picture to my parents and to Kate. I am sure no one cared as much as I did, but I thought it was news worth sharing. It really does not take much to amuse me. I spent an hour or so cracking open other dead bulbs and looking at their seeds. I planted lots of them, filling every flower pot I could find. I then watered and waited.

More Friends (10.15.10)
I got to see Mariana, Ajit & LaTrisha again, which was nice. I should mention Mariana moved to Reno. She got a job there, which is the blessing and the curse of this business. I've made friends who now live around the world. At some point, we lived together, at least in the same city. And now, every two years or so, those friends move. Still. I was grateful for one night with them. It almost didn't happen. I had to work late and got to the bar just as they were leaving. It was already the go-get-food part of the night. And you know at? I like food, so I was okay with that.

We ate at Crepes A Go Go. It was delicious and I look forward to any and all circumstances that bring me back there. Imagine eating something light after drinking, something that won't give you indigestion, but that is hot and oh-so yummy. Dare I write it, Crepes A Go Go is the way to go. Go. Yeah. That just happened. We didn't talk about, they were already the point when conversations go in circles. But it was nice to be near them.

What Happened Next | September 2010

2010-12-14T00:43:00.000-08:00

So here's what happened next: I retreated. With Adam & Amber gone and nothing good to say about the state of affairs in my apartment, I retreated. I threw myself into impossible tasks, just to avoid blogging. Isn't that amazing? I, Danie D, avoided blogging. Knowing how good writing makes me feel, I chose not to do it. I mean I did try. I sat and I typed. But before too long I was under the blankets, sobbing.

I also wanted to be able to report something other than my reality. I wanted to say XBFJ had an epiphany and agreed to talk to me (or a psychiatrist) about his (our) issues. I wanted that, just as much as I didn't want it at all. I didn't want to want to get back together. I would have been ashamed to tell you. And it's like I told Kate, if you're afraid to tell your friends, it's a bad idea. Even if XBFJ had gone through a transformation, hadn't too much damage had been done? He was mean and inconsiderate and hurtful and rude. He chose alcohol over us and didn't look back. Why should I look back and try to save what he so easily tossed away? Because I loved him.

Remember when he was the "best boyfriend ever?" I do. I loved him and there had never been any conditions on that. Plus there had been a time when he was loving and we were a team. I was torn this fall, split into two people who had all the conviction and righteousness in the world. I didn't know which was right. So I hid from them both by hiding from my beloved Pique A Boo.

Instead of blogging, I tweeted. A tweet doesn't offer much, but it's enough to convince people you're moving forward. A tweet is enough to make people say "oh Danie isn't crying herself to sleep every night, she's at a game having fun." Yes, those who asked, got the truth. But few ever asked. So no stories were told and no healing was transcribed. And you know what? It happened anyway. It happened slower than I think it would have if I had written. But it happened just the same, which is what really matters. So now, without further adieu, some of the stuff I should have been sharing while I was wallowing.

25 September 2010
I had an invite for myself and a guest to go to a San Jose Sharks Preseason Game. If I had my hearts desire, I would have brought my friend Jennifer. She's the only person I know who really likes hockey. And I needed a hockey expert. Jennifer lives in Texas though. And that's cool, if you're into Texas. Instead, I brought Melissa. Melissa is my go to sports friend, among other things. But I have to admit, her hockey knowledge was lacking. I really needed a third ticket and a flight for Jennifer. Either way, Melissa & I trudged on, braving a free, catered event at the Shark Tank.

Melissa lives in Sacramento. So she stopped in San Francisco, picked me up, and continued to San Jose. As alcohol was to be served, we got a hotel room for the night. I believe in responsible preparedness you know. Our trip down was uneventful. It was our first time seeing each other in a long time. So we chatted. She drove and I navigated. We checked in to our hotel where we then sat and chatted more, just to kill time. Among the highlights in our room, the toilet and the power. Please, allow me to explain.

The toilet, clearly sealed to tell us we were the first to ever touch this commode.

A socket, which we used, because it was just so handy.

Eventually we headed to the game. Yes, I verified with Jennifer hockey events are indeed called "games." We walked there, finding real Sharks fans, and kind of hiding behind them. I don't know if you've ever been "invited" to an event. It's a behavior I learned when I lived in Vegas. Events to which you are "invited" tend to have free food and free alcohol. These are not the only reasons for attending, but they add a sense of urgency. You can easily spot the people who are "invited," because they show up early. Case in point, Melissa and I were the first to arrive that this event. We peered in the door, saw the wait staff, and started loading plates. In all actuality, there was no indication we had been invited at all. We could easily have been hungry passersby.

They come out of a Shark!

Me & our host.

Melissa & I.

It was a great event. I saw people I rarely get to see in a social setting. It was comfortable and fun. There was a raffle amongst us guests and Melissa won tickets to the Sharks home opener. So there was to be more hockey in our future. Awesome. Sporting events would actually become a theme for Melissa and I going forward. But I promise I'll get to that. On this September night we would eat, drink, be merry, go back to our hotel room, and fall asleep to me babbling about the failure of my relationship.

The next morning was rough. I could barely function. And I really tried. Having dominated the conversation the night before, I thought to ask Melissa more about her life and her ambitions. But it hurt to be conscious. I mean it literally hurt. No sooner had I gotten into my door than I vomited profusely. I did not vomit food. I did not vomit wine. I spewed bile. I recognized it from the last time I drank white wine. Apparently I have developed an intolerance. White wine is no longer my friend. Yes, I realize that's not normal and I did act accordingly. I gave my doctor a list of my symptoms. And that's how I had my first CT Scan.

29 September 2010
Do you remember my gallbladder? You know, the organ that's functioning at 10% when it should be at least at 35% in order to cover room and board inside the Danie? Do you remember my doctor in Vegas in 2008 said the gallbladder had to go? She was adamant. But my new doctor in my new city was less so. He said to wait and see. Well more than two years later, the GB is still living rent free in the Danie. I was convinced, in 2010, my new intolerance of white wine was a sign the time had come. On top of that, I had developed a pain that came every time I hate. On top of that, my liver was enlarged. I thought I was headed for a scalpel for sure. And this is why I am not a doctor.

I drank the barium. I took the radioactive shots. I lay in the giant doughnut. In the end the tests showed my liver was still enlarged, but that there was nothing going on inside the gallbladder. Now that is not to say the gallbladder is functioning, because it is not. But there are no stones. There are no masses. There is nothing abnormal. There is no reason my stomach should hurt when I eat peanuts or cheese or other complex foods. My doctor showed me on paper why my pain had no reason to exist. But it was there all the same. I am currently looking for a new doctor.

All As It Should Be

2010-12-13T22:54:00.000-08:00

21 September 2010

I got called in to work early and it was the best thing that could have happened. It was Adam & Amber's last night in town and XBFJ was taking them to Ocean Beach to grill and watch the sunset. I was jealous, because I like grilling and watching sunsets on the beach. That was all cured by one person's sick call. XBFJ & crew picked me up after work and we went to the beach.

It occurs to me now that my ex boyfriend picked me up in my own car, and that's odd. He also still had keys and was on my insurance policy, which is equally odd. At the time, it didn't occur to me mind. Now though, what was I thinking?

We went to Sutro Heights, overlooked Ocean Beach and wrapped up their vacation. We ate over priced organic sausages and fruit from Whole Foods and drank wine. XBFJ remembered my new favorite wine glass from the Eat Real Festival. We had blankets and gloves and a phenomenal crab dip. We talked and waited for the sun to set.

I would like to officially go on the record as saying sunset-watching is a tricky business. I waited all day for that sunset. It took hours. But it was as if once the sun could sense the horizon, it bolted. I know the sun has places to be but I really felt that last minute went too fast. I couldn't take pictures fast enough. I mean of course I got some, but there was no time to review them. No, there's no way to really mess up a picture of the setting sun over the Pacific Ocean, but that particular sunset went too fast. It was the first and last of it's kind you know. If you think you'll ever catch XBFJ & I sharing a sunset with Adam & Amber overlooking Ocean Beach, let me be the first to shatter your dreams. Our time as a foursome is over. But we had a good run. So all was as it should have been.

Without the sun, we were suddenly cold and in the dark. Funny how that happens huh? Adam smoked a cigar and we went down to the beach. Despite my fear of being sucked out to sea and drowning, I really like beaches at night. But who doesn't? Eventually the wind and cold got to us and we went to my favorite neighborhood bar, The Boardroom. I rarely go there, but I when I do go, I have a good time. And that makes it my favorite.

I want to tell you what happened at the bar that night, but I honestly don't know where it begins. We four sat, minding our business and having our drinks. Most of the crowd clear out after trivia and that was fine with us. I can't stress how ordinary it was, until Abraham bought us a round of drinks.

Yeah, we didn't know who he was either.

Apparently Abraham came in to the bar after trivia and had been watching us every since. And when I say "watching us," I mean "watching Amber." Abraham had a pocket full of cash and used some of it to buy us a round. Naturally we felt obligated to talk to him. Only his English was minimal. I want to say he was from El Salvador or Mexico, not that the two are interchangeable. I just don't remember. So I made conversation with him in Spanish, which Adam & Amber did not know I could speak.

We tried to explain North Dakota, and that we were all leaving town in the morning - I did not need him looking for me after the others had skipped the neighborhood. XBFJ bought him a shot of tequila as repayment, but he wouldn't drink it. But the girl with the vibrator did.

I told you. I don't know what happened.

The girl came in selling cigarettes and fake flowers and other crap no one ever buys. When we told her we did not want her wares, she offered up a vibrator. I don't know if those cigarette women usually have sex toys for sale, and I don't think I'll ever have the courage to ask. Regardless, we offered her the shot and she savored it like freshly squeezed juice.

We four finished our drinks, thanked Abraham and left. Adam & XBFJ started horsing around because that's what they do. XBFJ was on a mission to get Adam as payback for an incident (body slam) a few years ago that sent XBFJ to a chiropractor. I had no idea he had been holding on to that, but apparently he had. And on Adam's last night in San Francisco, XBFJ tried to... well he tried something.

But Amber was quick, stopping what could have been an embarrassing moment for one of therm.

We heard the scuffle behind us. Amber gave a mom-like "hey," as in "hey you two kids cut that out." I (having few mom-like tendencies) started taking pictures. And then I realized something was not right. There were four of them.

I need to really look at the faces in this picture. For real. What is happening?

Somehow Abraham was there, having apparently followed us out of the bar. He did not leave when we did, so he must have run and caught up when he saw the fight. We tried to explain that it was a friendly squabble, while acknowledging we did not owe this stalker any explanation at all. I stayed out of it, as good journalists should. So there you have what happened, without any real answers about what happened. It's the best I can do.

We checked for Abraham when we turned up our street, and didn't see him. So either he thought to leave us alone, or he was hiding. The next morning there was a mad dash to the airport. We were all up in plenty of time. The flight was at a reasonable hour. There was no reason they should have had to chase down the plane, but they did. I suspect they didn't want to leave. And I didn't really want them to go. I had a lot of reality waiting after their trip and it was bound to be unpleasant. But they were there at the beginning and they were there at the end. And all was as it should have been.

French Toast, The Forest & Football

2010-12-12T08:37:00.000-08:00

20 September 2010

Of all the sites seen, facts learned and food eaten, the one thing exciting Adam most about his trip to San Francisco was football. We had tickets to the 49ers season opener against the Saints. Imagine, if you will, that this blog were not horribly behind on updates. Imagine we didn't already know the 49ers are among the worst NFL teams. this season. Imagine it's still September and that fans have a reason to have hope. Remember the promises and the pontification that had the 49ers going all the way this year.

Now, if you can, imagine growing up a Jerry Rice fan in Vikings country. Imagine getting tickets to the game dedicated to Rice, accidentally buying your way into the ceremony during which his number was to be retired. Can you reader? Can you tap into the excitement that was pouring through Adam that Monday in September? Don't worry. I couldn't either. But I like football. And I had never been to a 49ers game. So I was pretty excited in my own right the night of the home opener. But there was a lot to be done before kickoff, and we got up Monday determined to make awesome things happen quickly. We started with breakfast.

Brenda's French Soul Food
Brenda's is a place you'll likely read about in a good San Francisco guide book. It's not large. It's not even medium. It's not in the safest area. And there is usually a long line of people waiting outside for a table. I brought Adam and Amber there by accident actually. I meant to go to Dottie's True Blue Cafe, which also meets the above undesirable criteria, but I couldn't remember the name. Easily the best mistake I've ever made.

The menu is simple, containing all the major breakfast food groups: syrup, eggs, and meat. Everything is cooked in such a way as to be decadent but not heavy. I ordered the butter pecan french toast, even though I was worried it would be too rich. Even I have a limit when it comes to sweets at breakfast time. I mean I was still going to eat it, but I had a moment of pause. And that was a moment wasted. The french toast was perfection. I had the right amount of everything and I honestly almost forgot about my side of hash. It was too much food and I shouldn't have eaten it all but I did. And I don't regret one moment of it. We finished, paid and left in under 45 minutes, beating the meter. Clearly everything was as it should have been. Onward we traveled.

I wish you could smell it.

The hash & the egg & bacon tartine.

As it was a car day, we drove across the Golden Gate to Muir Woods. I don't remember if it was on their list or if XBFJ & I said it was a must see, but it was on the agenda. I've been there a few times and I still get excited to go. And since I was with Adam, I learned a few things. First of all John Muir was an original conservationist, which explains why so much in the Bay Area is named for him.

We walked through the trees (staying on the path) and chose a small hike to take. We wanted the experience, but we didn't have a lot of time. It was almost like a different set of woods from when we hiked with Angie. I remember there being a lot of dust on the plants in August of 2009. But in September of 201o, everything was damp and lush - which is just how I like my forests. We saw some like, like this banana slug I named Barry. I found him fascinating. He was on his way somewhere, actually moving while people took his picture. I wondered how long he had been en route, and if it was really worth the trip. I'll never know. But I wished him all the best.

I think he was posing.

The rest of our walk through the woods was uneventful, which is good when in the wilderness. We had a good jaunt, got the blood flowing, and were ready to the tailgating party started, after just three more stops.

We had to stop near the Golden Gate Bridge, because it was the first time Adam and Amber had seen it without the fog. Their awesome tour stopped in it, and they took pictures. But, well, the results were less than desirable.

The difference a few days can make. I love living here.

We had to stop at the grocery store. We were a few burgers, buns and beer short or tailgating. By then I was starting to get excited. We saw a lot of jerseys, mostly on Saints fans, which was just disrespectful. We saw them in the woods, on the bridge, and in the grocery store. We shook our heads, grabbed our snacks and hit the road.

We had to stop back home, to get the chairs, the grill, some booze and Adam's proper 49er jersey. I wish you could have seen us. We were a little more than two hours from kickoff , but were moving as if we had missed the entire first half. Two hours just did not seem like enough time. We hit the road, and the traffic. I don't know why I always think driving will be easy once I get out of the city. It never is. We inched our way to the stadium. You could almost feel Adam's giddiness. It was precious.

Of course we arrived. We parked. Adam grilled. We ate. We drank. We relaxed. We took pictures. We went to watch football.

I had a great time. I love sporting events. First of all, hot pretzels are my favorite. And I only get them at games. Secondly, people are so united. They cheer together, they cuss together, they shoulder disappointment together. Camaraderie makes me happy. And there was a lot of that at the home opener. XBFJ met us there after he got out of work. He & I sat on opposite sides Adam & Amber and didn't really interact. I was okay with that.

The game ended with what would be the first of many loses for that poor football team. Once we got back to the car, XBFJ took over hosting. I think I meant to be part of it all, but I fell asleep as soon as I hit the seat. I have no idea how long it took to get out of the parking lot, or how long it took XBFJ to find a parking spot. I know he & Adam found an actual Delorian in North Beach. They even donated to its maintenance fund.

Danger & Delicious-ness

2010-12-11T01:55:00.000-08:00

19 September 2010

We left Yosemite and headed for Napa. It was one of XBFJ's better ideas. He got really good at finding ways to take full advantage of having the car out of the city. We stopped at a coffee shop in Groveland and hit the road. While making a three point turn after leaving the parking lot, Henry stopped running. He just stopped. But then he started right away. It's disconcerting when your car stops running, and you're blocking all lanes of traffic for reason you can't explain. And I wasn't even driving. Once the car started, honestly didn't give it a second thought. We were on the road.

Leaving Yosemite is nicer than going there. Getting there involves a lot of climbing along the edge of a mountain. Cars seem to be inches from steep drops. Leaving involves coasting between a wall and oncoming traffic, cushioned from any steep falls. Each turn on the descent brings a wider view. It was while marveling at that view (and discussing Adam's extensive knowledge of The Most Interesting Man in The World) that Henry again stopped running. So there we were, four 20-somethings careening down a mountainside at about 50 miles in a car that was not running. It was probably the scariest thing I could imagine at that moment. And I thank God XBFJ was driving. If I had been behind the wheel, we could have seriously all died. I mean that. I had no idea what to do. XBFJ put Henry in neutral and he started right away. I would not have done that, not even if someone had told me to do so. I would have slammed on the brakes, maybe brushed up against the mountainside, over corrected and sent us to our doom. I prayed. And I called my dad.

Here was another instance of an earlier folly biting our bums. Remember that cheap gas we bought to avoid getting gouged near the park? Well my dad said it was probably mixed with water. Adam had suspected the same thing. I had no idea gas stations did such a horrible thing. My dad said the car would stop running every time water got into the engine. He was right. We had four or five shut downs on our way to wine country. Each was just as scary. We were either on a hill or a highway. And the only way to tell was by the gauges. The radio would still play and the speed would stay steady. While that was all the excitement I needed for the day, we had more. Fortunately, it was the edible kind.

We had lunch at Bouchon in Yountville. Foodies be impressed. It's a Thomas Keller restaurant, where the food is phenomenal and you have to wait more than an hour on a Sunday afternoon in September. We killed time browsing. I posed with a metal chef. Some woman thought Amber & I could actually afford a 6 foot textured canvas painting. She was just silly.

Eventually we did get seated and we did order. The food was otherworldly. I obeyed XBFJ's tacit rule prohibiting flash photography of food and I shouldn't have. The pictures I have don't do the food justice, although you can see them here. We ate more than we should and we washed it all down with coffee and desserts from the bakery next door. And since nothing goes better with food than more food, we went to a garden.

This the garden for The French Laundry. If the restaurant's reputation isn't enough to make you want to eat there, the garden should be. It might have been the clouds on the horizon, or the food coma, but the garden seemed extra inviting. And the pictures I took came out pretty close to accurate. We walked through the peppers and pumpkins just because we could. It was another beautiful day, full of something you would want to share with someone. Loneliness crept into my eyes but did not spill. I took that as a sign things were getting better. Score one for the good guys.

Yosemite 2010 | Sentinel Dome & Glacier Point

2010-12-10T23:22:00.000-08:00

18 September 2010

We continued our drive through Yosemite and I am pleased to report it was not weird. I know you were worried. But it's easy to realize how insignificant you are in the face of majesty. We hit all the must-hit spots. Saluting El Capitan in Sentinel Meadow and stopping at the Tunnel Vista to see more of El Capitan before hiking up Sentinel Dome and stopping at Glacier Point. I'm not sure if that sounds like too much or not enough. Judging by my pictures, it's a lot. But when I think of the sites we didn't see and the trails we didn't take, I start itching to go back. I think I took the best pictures my little camera could handle, but I am in no way convinced they did the scenery justice. A select few of ye few readers can see the pictures on Facebook. The rest of ye few can see them here.

Sentinel Dome was our great hike of the day, though it was only a 2.2 mile walk round trip. The reward was a 360 degree view of Yosemite Valley. Panoramic pictures can't capture it, and words can't describe it. It's seems ripe, as if the world is open for us small people to just begin making our way. It's open and expansive in a way that's crushing, because being up there makes you realize there's so much that can't be captured on contained or even shared. It's breathtaking. And for me it was lonely. I (if you haven't noticed) feel the need to share. I can't share with you, reader, via your screen what it was like up there. I do not believe I have the words. And I didn't have my partner. It was a mixed bag of wonder for me up there. But I don't think I would change a thing.

I stalked a chipmunk, who let me get pretty close. Amber & I ate dried pineapples. We looked at Half Dome and enjoyed the sunshine. It was almost like our private summit. We descended and headed to Glacier Point. It's not a large space, but is supposed to be the place to be for sunsets in Yosemite. We sat there for a while, debating whether to stay for the money shot. People were pouring in with wine and sandwiches. It looked like it was going to be a good time. And here's where an earlier folly bit us in the rumps. Staying meant we risked losing our hotel room. It was a real threat, considering we had to drive out of the park, following potentially inebriated tourists on winding roads. We decided not to chance it.

Our hotel, by the way, turned out to be great. I took a fantastic shower. Jesse & Adam went to the bar next door for pizza. It was the perfect ending to the day. XBFJ & I talked that night, about how the day had gone between us. There was nothing good to report on my end,. I was in a sensitive place where everything bothered me. I felt he went out of his way to talk about other women in a way he hadn't ever done in front of me. He said he was free to do so, because he didn't have a girlfriend. There's no response when you and your time together is dismissed so easily. He went on to apologize and say he didn't mean to disrespect me. And I believed him. Not because my blinders were still on, but because by then it was getting easier to see how insignificant my feelings were to him. He didn't mean to not care, he just didn't care. The sudden appearance of it all was downright perplexing. And I thought myself to sleep.

Yosemite 2010 | Bridalveil Fall

2010-12-09T08:49:00.000-08:00

18 September 2010

We headed back to Yosemite. I hadn't been there since Chris & (a different) Amber came in August of 2008. It's a trip we were all really excited to make. Amber & I were sure it was going to be strenuous. So we took a "before" picture outside of Starbucks before we hit the road. I suppose we thought it was as close to refreshed as we were going to get.

The drive was exactly how I like my drives: scenic and smooth. The sun rose above the hills of our golden state. And (thanks to their tour guide) Adam & Amber knew exactly why it's called the Golden State. Our guidebook advised a strategic planning of our last gas stop, to best avoid getting ripped off near the park. We stopped at a 7-11 for gas and a loaf of bread and to begin our ascent.

Stop number one was a bust. We were turned away from our inn. I don't know when 3 PM check ins became the industry standard, but I would like to go on the record as saying I dislike it. I mean this wasn't particularly horrible because our room was safe until 8 at night or something. But still, it was annoying.

Back on the road, losing cell reception, smelling fresh air, we were close. And then we hit traffic. It didn't really make sense, as we had seen few cars along the way. I mean there are always people heading to Yosemite. But traffic had been typical of a Saturday in the middle of September, until we were almost right outside of the park. It was inexplicable, until one of the sharper eyed in our bunch said "are those horses?" And indeed they were.

See them?

See them now?

Told you.

I think there was some kind of pioneer days festival / chili cook off combo happening out in Groveland. It slowed us down and probably got us paced just right for the scenery. From there it was a slow, winding trip into the park. We were itching to (eat) hike. And so we did, first sanitizing and eating tuna, then walking up a waterfall that had been dry the last time we were there. It was really slick and I didn't go all the way up. I had a water bottle, a camera and no pockets, which really only left me with one hand to scurry. And if you've ever scurried, you know it takes two hands, or at least some help. Adam was helping Amber and Jesse had already relegated me to pariah status. Maybe if I were a stranger, he would have cared. But as I was just me, he left and didn't look back.

I stayed near the bottom and I was okay with that. I made friends with a geologist from LA who also decided not to climb. I learned a little about rocks. We saw the waterfall swirl in the air and cast rainbows. It was relaxing and I had no complaints. Adam, Amber & Jesse came back and we descended. Jesse offered to help me down and I told him I was alone in the world. Dramatic? Indeed. But I reserve that right. Amber remembered we went hiking back when thy visited us in Vegas. We reminisced about how things were. I got sad and a little introspective. But isn't that s what hiking is for anyway?