Back to black[out]

So basically ever since I recovered from my major illnesses I've been on a rampage of fun with a little bit of work thrown in. The week went a little like this:

Sunday: I finally celebrated my Bday in a fun and fabulous way with about 99% of my SF besties. I whipped together an already owned (after a busted ass shopping trip the previous night) outfit of a hot pink dress and rose blossom cardi that made me look like a sweet, slutty cupcake in heels and headed to Bisou. Scene one of the crime. Bisou is a cute, fun little Castro restaurant that serves French cuisine but more importantly bottomless MIMOSAS!


 My gays, gal pals, the boyfriend and two other special VIP straight men got dowwwwwn to business! We kept the waiters on their toes keeping those pitchers filled. The brunch started at an early 11 AM, with a fair share of my guests being on C.P.T. (for those of you who aren't familiar with this abbreviated term it's Colored People Time...hey! Don't get mad at ME, I didn't invent it. I'm not a racist asshole. Anyways I surround myself with people of color and run on the same clock). Before we knew it 2 something o'clock crept up on us in a hazy, buzzed sort of fashion. All the giggling and bullshitting seemed to crank us through the afternoon and so we ventured to Crime Scene #2: Dolores Park.



For those of you who aren't SF dwellers Dolores Park is a giant, lush green hill where hipsters, regulars and gays flock on any decent day to lay out, chill, cruise, jam out, get high, get drunk, play Frisbee (if you're one of those people), let their dogs run wild, etc. Its a beautiful, wonderful oasis and the perfect place to continue getting fucked up. I stumbled my way to the park arm in arm with the BF and friends and as though I weren't already riding my buzz nice and high I was presented with a handle of vodka. To those who know me this is a very dangerous offering because it makes me assume that not only are you bequeathing me a generous gift but are also vowing to take full responsibility of me. Me and all my crazy black out girl antics. Lola is to Vodka handle as Schizophrenic is to lack of medication. At one point I was captured on film frowning and being a baby over the fact that there was no water to drink, but I believe I got over it after they filled up my cup again. After fucking around with friends from the brunch and newly acquired friends from the bathroom line and friends of friends I fell slightly down hill and uphill, tried to wander across MUNI tracks and with a little help from my friends rode home like a bobble head to my apartment aka Crime Scene #3. I have absolutely no recollection of slightly undressing myself and falling into bed face first. I woke up at 11 at night wondering where I was basically.

This was filmed at the actual park an is basically the best visual explanation of what Dolores Park is like/ what I was like (but messier).

Although there were plenty of glaze eyed, awkwardly posed pics thrown up on FB I feel extremely fortunate there were no accidental crotch shots or videos posted. Gays with iphones and facebook is basically a recipe for character defamation.

 I heard the Grammy's were on but clearly I wasn't one of the tuned in viewers although I will have to touch on the subject of that madness another time.

Monday: Valentine's Day...the day that causes single people to cry into a large glass of Chardonnay and take their resentment out on a heart shaped box of chocolates. Single people should realize this isn't necessary. For all the woes of being single there is an equal amount for being in a partnership. Its also a day for awkward romantics in relationships or even worse obsessive creepers that want to force others into relationships to go buck wild at Hallmark and other related gift shops. Spending their paycheck on stupid stuffed animals holding sentimental messages on heart shaped pillows, disgusting tasting flavored lubes, toxic tasting candy and crappy lifeless bouquets of flowers or WORSE balloons.

But I'm not gonna lie the boo and I got cheesy with it. For example the cards we exchanged:

Mine to him. It says: "You make me
melt into one big cuddle". How
precious am I?

His to me...its filled with
romantic fluff. He's really too
adorable. From anyone else
this would make me gag.

But all in all we had a mildly romantic evening watching "Just go with it" which I wouldn't say starred J. Aniston or Adam Sandler (hey Big Daddy used to be a personal fave!) but more so Nick Swarsdon. You don't know the name but he's an amazing actor. For example: He played Terry the gay rollerblading prostitute on Reno 911 and was in Grandma's boy, plus he's from MPLS so he gets extra bonus points in my book.

 

"Dude your bed is a car..."
"Yea but it's a sweet car!"                                                                              

Tuesday: I went ape shit in my apartment cleaning because Estrella followed through with her plan and was due to arrive in SF late afternoon. My version of cleaning is pretty much picking up the many pounds of clothing throughout my little shit shack and shoving them in to less noticeable places, cleaning up surfaces (legitimate housework), throwing soap on dishes and shifting them around under the water and lighting incense. On this particular day I did laundry so my house guest would have clean sheets to slumber on. I thought I had planned things out and timed it to have all 4 of the washers to myself but alas no, some other jerk had to come down and wash at the same time. I was willing to share but one of the washers was sitting open with a dry blanket inside of it, not being claimed by any other tenant. I was annoyed so I went to take it out and use the washer for myself but as soon as I grabbed an edge of the blanket a pair of SHIT STAINED briefs fell out, I mean the most extreme skid mark you've ever seen. I almost fucking puked. Instead I kept my gag reflexes in check and enlisted the help of the poor building manager (he had rubber gloves...). His solution to the problem was to remove it from the washer and set it on a nearby table where people put things they want to donate on. God bless the poor people who thought they might get a nice new throw blanket.

Eventually Estrella showed up with her cute little red suitcases in tow at my lovely Tenderloin abode. We spent the afternoon doing super San Francisco things that you can't do anywhere else in the U.S. aka went to H&M and Chipotle. We went buck wild buying cheaply made trend items and topped off our joyful gallivanting with burrito bowls. We were having a lovely time catching up, giggling like school girls until we were rudely interrupted by the angriest woman Chipotle had ever seen...this old white bitch got extremely frustrated with the poor dear putting together her burrito and pounded on the glass in fury because she didn't listen to what kind of salsa she wanted!!! Yes I said pounded on the glass and then stormed out burritoless. Now I can get serious about my Chipotle being prepared but you will never find me pounding on the partition because they didn't give me enough corn salsa. It was truly an outrageous moment. That bitch either needs to take Spanish classes or anger management or a combination of both so she can learn to order fast food in a more rational way.

The evening was topped off at home with Estrella working her magic on my dull strands, turning them into a blonde bombshell, vixen do. I really wish I could get her to wash and style my hair every day. It would definitely increase my attraciveness by at least 5% (and I'll take any increase I can get).

Wednesday:  I attended a final Spanish class and with much scholarly shame decided to throw in the towel. There was no fucking way I was going to pass that crazy old coot's class....simply nada (a word I know from being a white person who picks up simple Spanish words and throws them randomly into English conversations for kicks). It really didn't feel worth my time or money for that matter to sit in a classroom for 4 hours a week and attempt to translate complex sentences written in cursive, in a foreign language off a middle school classroom board. So I said fuck it and went home to ease my troubles with two good friends: Estrella and Carlo Rossi.

Thursday: Shmursday.

Friday: Estrella's boyfriend had made it into town and it was my first time inspecting her new love interest. I have a lesbian warrior like loyalty and love of my gal pals and expect their mates to be top notch. He's a bro without knowing what a bro is...although I'm not sure how he's unfamiliar with this terminology because he lives in Denver. But he's the kind of bro you can laugh at for not knowing what it means and laugh with because he just has a childlike enthusiasm for life, brew, true religion jeans, kickin back and having fun. He's not a douche, he's actually a sweetheart. He ended up getting the stamp of approval. Especially because he didn't reveal any Ed Hardy or Affliction. The BFs and us gals headed up to Polk St for the night and got a little wonky at Vertigo. The after party was back at home where the BF's engaged in a spontaneous flow sesh which caused Estrella such embarrassment she took it upon herself to finish off the jug of Rossi. My boyfriend is black so I didn't have anything to blush about. I think that qualified him to win by default (and probably some skill).

Saturday: I spent the evening at work where my department's floor had been rented out to corporate sponsors of the Chinese New Year parade. The sponsors basically get to get trashed off an open bar, have asian delicacies catered to their tables and watch some little Chinese children light off fire crackers around giant McDonalds, Wells Fargo and Verizon floats that have some vague cultural decor on them. It was our job to stand around patiently and wait for the women to get trashed and want to shop. I'd say about 60% + got trashed and about 10% shopped. Of course my micro-manager had to be there, trotting around the floor making sure we weren't eating anything off the cater waiter's trays (and god forbid we drink anything), BUT they offered it and we obliged (when she wasn't hovering). We couldn't be rude! Nor could we resist steak skewers and goat cheese filled won tons.

Some of the floats are truly magical.
Happy New Year to all the rabbits!
(If you don't know where you are
go check out a Chinese restaurant
menu)

I'm a dragon FYI. Fierce.

After a ridiculously long day it was girls and gays play time in the Castro! Estrella had to see the joys of dancing your ass off amongst sweaty men who have real moves and getting drinks paid for without someone expecting you to suck their dick in gratitude. Gay bars are fantasy play lands for straight girls. We tossed back the Vodka tonics and gave it our best Lady Gaga, Beyonce moves. I am friends with some very expressive, dramatic dancers. It was a fabulous night that came to a close with me taking a pee out on the street, balancing against someones Hummer in my stripper heels. 

And so my week of re-emerging into the world with a healthy, rejuvenated spirit like Gaga from her egg is coming to a close with Part one. I can ramble, but I'll divide it into two posts so the chaos is a little more collected.

The Best Day to go Buckwild at Hallmark

 Valentine's Day...the day that causes single people to cry into a large glass of Chardonnay and take their resentment out on a heart shaped box of chocolates. Single people should realize this isn't necessary. For all the woes of being single there is an equal amount for being in a partnership. Its also a day for awkward romantics in relationships or even worse obsessive creepers that want to force others into relationships to go buck wild at Hallmark and other related gift shops. Spending their paycheck on stupid stuffed animals holding sentimental messages on heart shaped pillows, disgusting tasting flavored lubes, toxic tasting candy and crappy lifeless bouquets of flowers or WORSE balloons.

But I'm not gonna lie the boo and I got cheesy with it. For example the cards we exchanged:

Mine to him. It says: "You make me

melt into one big cuddle". How

precious am I?

His to me...its filled with

romantic fluff. He's really too

adorable. From anyone else

this would make me gag.

But all in all we had a mildly romantic evening watching "Just go with it" which I wouldn't say starred J. Aniston or Adam Sandler (hey Big Daddy used to be a personal fave!) but more so Nick Swarsdon. You don't know the name but he's an amazing actor. For example: He played Terry the gay rollerblading prostitute on Reno 911 and was in Grandma's boy, plus he's from MPLS so he gets extra bonus points in my book.

 

"Dude your bed is a car..."

       "Yea but it's a sweet car!"                                                                              

Not trying to be a sad sick shit stain

The past 24 hours have felt like one of those long blurred never ending days...that's what happens when you wake up and do the same shit day in and day out in a lack luster pattern. The one fun little joy to break up the bore has been the kitten sittin', Saddie is a delightful little ball of fluff (no I haven't gone cat crazy...they're still usually bitches who live too long. But she is adorbs).

She's super intreuged with the Leaky Faucet...
I was super entertained by the preciousness of this!

 She's more enduring by the day, this morning as I tossed and turned trying to ignore my impending alarm and keep snoozing I could feel her hopping around playing with my feet through the blankets. When I did finally wake up (after a really random semi-conscious dream in which I felt I was missing school, high school that is...weird) she was sleeping curled up by my knees. Awww.


So as usual I got up and got dressed in my (practically) everyday somber but sexy all black and grabbed my fairly regular "OH SHIT I HAVE 5 MINUTES TO GET TO WORK AND ITS 7 BLOCKS!!" cab for $5 and arrived just within the grace period for my closing shift. Again there was the silver lining of no manager which means that all us associates go into Animal House mode and bullshit around at our own leisure [this is an overexaggeration for practically everyone but myself, I do go into that mode. Pretty much everyone else keeps it professional]. I allotted myself about twenty 45 minute breaks throughout the day.


The first one was a trip to Starbuck's, not the one on the corner right outside my work but instead the one on the corner about two blocks down to meet the boyfriend, who had to pass the other two closest to his work to meet at the half way point. If there is anything this city is NOT lacking it's Starbucks and Walgreen's. Apparently we thrive off of over priced cups of coffee and easily accessible toiletries. And although both of these stores offer practically the exact same product at all of their locations there are of course subtle differences depending on their respective locations. For example the Starbuck's we met at today does not have the weird old man who does flight simulations on his lap top all day or the secret gay porn star barista like my regular corner starbuck's does. 


Nevertheless they had the same decent croissants and tea and hot chocolate to sit down and enjoy. Over our mid morning eats I had to share the mind opening information I had learned via a documentary in my English class the previous night...we are going to die slow, terrible deaths if we don't get college degrees and start making lots of money. Yes this is what I had learned the previous evening! The documentary had focused on the correlation of health and wealth in the United States. Basically if you are the CEO of a company you're going to have access to vacation time, medical leave for recuperation, better health care, less stress about finances and there's nobody to boss you around and make your life a living hell because that's YOUR job...and if you're the janitor of this company you're shit out of luck. You're going to clean up shit stains, be treated like a shit stain, feel like a shit stain and then die of a heart attack. This was a wake up call that the boyfriend and I need to get on our grind because we ARE the shit stains and we don't want to die 10  years prematurely because of that, we need to be our own bosses and make enough money so that when our hearts fail us because we had one too many cheeseburgers or didn't leave the couch for 3 years we can pay some surgeon to put a robot heart in us and keep on kickin'. We ended the Starbuck's date in agreement that we would stay on top of our shit as much as possible over the next few years while devising a plan to become these elusive CEO's of an unknown business/ wait to win the lottery (not sure how we will since we never buy tickets but that's a minor detail).


...If you want it to be explained in a more intelligent way here is the website for the actual docu. UNNATURAL CAUSES


Later in the day I took my actually legal lunch break and went to Chipotle with a whole crew of gal pals (and one male pal). I had the pleasure of consuming thousands of calories while chit chatting with Elah, mr. black comedy and my two lovely gal pals Ms. Atlanta and Ms. Nickanna Hilson-West (she's basically a gorgeous looking should be hip hop music video vixen look alike thus her inspired mix up name). The conversation veered from pets, to Megan's law and why pedophiles should be castrated to how drunk we are going to get off bottomless champagne at my upcoming birthday brunch party on Sunday. Overall a satisfactory meal physically and spiritually.


When I got back to the sales floor to see the same negative amount of customer traffic I allotted myself about 10 more breaks to make personal calls and read news stories on my phone (thank fucking god for Internet on the cell phone) as well as incessantly check facebook to see whatever dumb shit people posted throughout the day. I talked to two of my best friends from back home...one who is always concocting crazy plans that have a 50% follow through and the other who keeps it a little bit more real with what she's planning to do and what she's actually going to do. Both of them are lovely and wonderful women I couldn't live without. BFF numero uno Miss Estrella is apparently going to be here for a week starting next tuesday. She just wrapped up her training at the Aveda school and is an incredible hair stylist. She can take chunky,skunky high lights and have you walk away looking like the next Pantene Pro-V ad model with flowing, radiant locks. She's truly gifted. She's coming out to scout SF for potential jobs and apts. But more so just to fuck around and have fun (is my guess...if she comes).

This hair is a #1 pet peeve of mine...it looks like
a BRATZ doll and screams desperation at
last call.

Besides talking to them I learned from the news that there is a bank robber in the San Diego/LA area who is known as the "old geezer" and apparently has a cult following of facebook fans and supporters. I think its pretty clear that this is not a legitimate old man but a young man wearing a very detailed mask but either way he's robbed 13 banks and doesn't seem like he's trying to quit. I also learned that some shit is going down in Egypt...and that a 4 year old climbed out her mother's flipped over truck after an accident, in the snow, hopped a fence and walked half a mile to get help. Amazing ass 4 year old.

Here's the old fuck gettin away with all the $$
pretty sure it's just a frat boy in a hollywood
worthy mask though. 

It's been a long friday night of watching tv and bullshitting with pals, the kitten and the BF (last day of not drinking cuz of antibiotics). So off to bed I go.

Spanglish/ lost in translation

After my 72 hours of on and off napping I was able to wake up with some vigor at about 7:40 this morning…this is a personal best, lets put that on the record. I got up at this unnecessary hour to greet little Sadie the kitty and reassure her cat parents that I would look after her diligently. I think I proved this minus almost shutting her into the refrigerator (she’s curious and quick). She’s not 100% excited about us yet and doesn’t want to be held or cuddled too much but is having a grand ole time using our apartment as a jungle gym. She pops out from under furniture covered in dust bunnies with some odd thing that has been stuck in a crevice since probably the first week of moving in. She’s made toys out of pen caps, random beads and linty socks so far.

Also after waking up at the crack of dawn I was actually able to make it out of bed for over three hours and attend work. I was thrown back into things full on with a Wed morning meeting hosted by the Big Mama boss. These meetings are basically a time to get free coffee, sit around and listen to customer compliments but more so disgruntled customer’s disses. That and to pound the company standards into our brains in the form of an annoying acronym as if we’re kindergartners learning the alphabet. Usually I like acronyms but its really getting old. Its always a good day though when my department manager isn’t running around checking our sales totals, credit card numbers, number of times we’ve gone to the bathroom throughout the day, etc. There’s just this air of relaxation without her trotting around the floor like a high heeled deer telling us to spread out, quit chatting and get crazy greeting and selling! She actually has a book sitting on her desk titled “Hug your customers” I’m not looking forward to the day she has us sit down for a power point presentation on her findings from that book.

See!! Its real!

So the day passed on in its dragging post-Christmas fashion with a little uplift during lunch at “Honey Honey” with Elah, my little dark cloud side kick and the boyfriend who had recovered from his 24 hour flu but still took a sick day. Its always a kick to sit outdoors in San Francisco and watch who passes by while enjoying a savory crepe.

After running around the store on behalf of my client who likes v-necks and “Mandarin collars” but not capped sleeves or ruffles or the colors red, yellow, orange or green I made my way on the China town bus to my “Elementary” Spanish class. This is  through my College held after hours at a middle school…because there’s nothing more inspiring to an adult student than going back to a Jr. High classroom. Now remember how I just mentioned that this is supposed to be an “Elemnetary” class, as in figuring out the basics…you know maybe learning how to pronounce all the letters, some basic words, throw together some sentences and start a conversation…well apparently the Professor is not aware of what he’s teaching. This old man has literally got to be 85 and he’s like a frustrating and challenging grandfather. It’s like I’m the only fucking idiot in the class who didn’t take several prior years of Spanish. Today for example he read aloud his own personal short essay about Valentine’s day and how it is originally a holiday celebrated for the Saint, as well as some other scholarly bullshit on the celebration of Saints throughout the world. He read this aloud to us en espangol and expected us to listen to this and translate it back to him…how the fuck was everyone able to do this? Later he was disappointed in me for not correctly writing down some other shit he rambled out. He looked over my paper of primarily blank spaces and told me I needed to open my ears and mind and listen better. I wanted to fucking trip the old fart I was so infuriated.

 I signed up to take Spanish at the level of a 6^th grader, I signed up to do this the AMERICAN way…tell me how to order an alcoholic beverage, where is the beach and how much will it cost to have the drug cartels release me and my family? I have been to Mexico before they don't really give a fuck what language you speak as long as you're willing to get your hair braided, go parasailing over potentially shark infested waters, attend a foam party and tip in American dollars. I mean jokes aside…Spanish is a beautiful language spoken by lovely, passionate people and it will certainly be useful since people haven’t stopped hopping the border and America is moving towards being a Spanglish speaking nation. But weather or not I have a love for Chipotle and would like to order it in the native tongue of the oh so skilled burrito maker does not change the fact that this teacher has outrageous expectations of what our prior knowledge should be. Its as if we were supposed to study abroad before enrolling in the class. Towards the end of the night he spoke numbers in multiple digits and had us write them down, I have difficulty with numbers in English. It was not fun to compute in a different language, while counting on my fingers while trying to write it down (and look at my neighbor's paper, her parents are Cuban she has an unfair advantage). Plus I just kept thinking of Daddy Yankee counting to three over and over in that song that you take tequila shots and dance on bar tops to. 

Or I wish the Professor would just stare at me, make whistle and clicking noises of approval at me like most Mexican men do. Then we could both walk away from the situation awkwardly validated. 

Its highly likely that I’m going to have to drop this class since I’m not a walking talking Rosetta Stone like everyone else seems to be. I truly love Spanish, I’ve enjoyed saying “Uno mas” on spring break booze cruises as much as the next guy…Anyways I feel like my eyes have glazed over and I’m ready to hit the hay.Buenos Noches.

Here are some people I'd rather be learning Spanish from

How about this luscious lispy lady

Or Mr.Sex...

Or Salma...She's such an incredible fucking woman...
she nursed a dying orphan with those
voluptuous breasts.

Or this Amazing artist, political activist, bi-sexual
beauty. She's tacked up on the inspiration board
#1
(She kept it real with the uni and all)

Super Sandwich. Super sucky. Super bowl Sunday.

So I'm feeling like death...I have snot in my nose, my throat, my lungs. My throat is raw. My head is hazy. Cold sweats, chills, aches, pains. I just feel like a huge piece of shit. I went to work for about 6 hours yesterday but with all my hacking I pretty much just scared customers away. I was relinquished of my duties after an expected lecture from my manager. She acts as though I’m purposefully doing something to be sick and believes that people should only miss work if they’re in need of being hospitalized.

I always know when I’m truly under the weather because my appetite disappears…that is a true rarity. Yesterday I had a bagel and lots of beverages and every form of Theraflu sold at Walgreen's.  The boyfriend helped make a nice little nest out of pillows, stuffed animals and blankets and supplied it with the essentials: eye mask, cough drops, water bottle and a toilet paper roll so I could hack and sneeze to the maximum without having to leave my nook. And I didn’t from 4:430 yesterday evening till about 1 o’clock this afternoon….I willed myself to get out of of my slumber cave since the BF was having people over to our abode for SuperBowl fun. I had to be a good housewife and be present, even if I was a hot mess in my pajamas, with my toilet paper roll by my side curled up on the couch. I took a bath so I could have a presentable presence and not be a snarl haired mess, ghost/monster freak.

I might have blown this guy out in a Kleenex today

The BF whipped together his own specialty bacon chili and a delightful antipasto sandwich loaf. The sandwich was definitely worth getting out of bed for and made my chicken noodle soup more acceptable.  The football game I semi paid attention to through my delirious state which isn’t really that much different from the way I normally watch football. When I was a kid I would try to watch games with my dad (before my brother was born I felt like it was an obligation even though I was probably more annoying to him than enduring). I would sit around and watch for about 5 minutes, ask 10,000 questions, cheer when everyone else did and then whip out my coloring book. Not much has changed besides the fact that I don’t whip out the coloring book (as often). Because I acted as a junior fan to my dad’s real super fan I had an obligation to root for the Packers in this game. My dad’s family is from Wiscansin and football is a very serious thing to my family. We have cheesehead gear to prove it. Bret Favre going to the Vikings will always be a sore subject. My Grandpa takes people to Lambeau field otherwise known as the “Frozen Tundra” and presents it as though it is one of the 7 wonders of the world.

Possibly a family friend

Luckily the teams in this game don’t really get the BF going too hard, if it involves the great MN Vikings he seems to think that he’s actually physically a part of the team and talks to the TV as though he’s an assistant coach on the sidelines. It gets very loud and borderlines on violent. A game can set the tone for how the rest of the day will go. It was a nice change of pace to have him watch a televised sporting event like a normal human being. We had blunts and beers consistently going around and two of our guests were shrooming (why you ask, I guess why not? We’re in San Francisco…who the fuck knows). I wonder if they thought the commercials were funnier than the rest of us because of that, overall I wasn’t that impressed. That is my primary focus during the superbowl…how clever are the commercials? This year not very.

And then there was the half time show…holy hot fucking mess. It seems as though Fergie was planning on lip syncing (I think this was made quite apparent by the fact that she didn’t start singing when she was supposed to) and I only wish that she would have been able to follow through on that plan. Her voice was absolutely horrid, like a bad American Idol audition. It was excruciating. She’s got a hot bod (when she's not pissing her pants) but sometimes (always) she just looks like a crazed meth head. The long haired pale guy was creepy as usual, Will.i.am. wore plastic hair and the other dude just did his thing.

The one person who gets credit of course is URSHER…I mean that motherfucker just flew down from the ceiling, danced his ass off (with that blonde slick back haired tranny next to him) and did an incredible flip jump in true Usher style.

Eating and watching several hours of TV (while enjoying the gorgeous sunny day by having the windows open) is about all I can handle today. I’m just pooped. Gonna tuck myself right back into the bed I barely left and try not to have nightmares about creepy white box headed dancers.

So the lust for life has worn off.

I'm officially not on vacation any more, this reality set in deep when I arrived at work 6 minutes past my scheduled time and my manager made a "tick tock" sound at me as a way to chide me (she doesn't understand yet that I am a firm believer in being fashionably late). I was able too woo her back into being nice to me by giving her my little bag of gifts from Dylan's. She thought the tin of mints with her name on it was adorable and this makes sense because she is the target customer and sole purpose for the existence of name oriented gifts. I'm sure if she went down to Pier 39 she would want her name on a grain of rice. 

I work in a commission based environment in a women's contemporary department...meaning we sell things that look like this:

Twisted Heart...the bejeweled
track suit. Women tend to prefer to wear
them with extreme bronze tans, zipped down
and showing their boob jobs off.

Nanette Lepore and current personal favorite

It requires a Mai Thai and a lounge chair

A sexy hip little Marc by Marc Jacobs look

DVF

is usually a winner

but this sort of looks like a child went to town with a scissors when you get up close.

I work with quite the cast of characters such as:

The French man: He is as old as my parents, has an extremely thick accent accompanied by an extremely loud voice. He likes to show all of his bulges such as his arms but also his junk by not wearing underwear and wearing extremely fitted neon colored skinny jeans or leather pants. He has a tattoo of a naked woman branded with the name of his ex-wife (one of three). He is the ultimate shark grabbing the customers by the dozen, ignores them for the more attractive and newer customers, then holds them hostage during the check out time by forcing them into non work friendly conversations about politics, romance, his personal hobbies, etc. He appears to be the most fagy looking man on the floor and oddly (or creepily) enough he is straight.

The quiet force: I’m glad to have befriended this man…another trick to the eye of the beholder he is in his 30’s but is an islander and therefore doesn’t appear to be over 21 (If “black don’t crack” then the “asian age better than the caucasion” ?? …I know that was stupid) He uses his dead pan, monotone, accented voice to his advantage by being extremely sarcastic and mocking those is he is talking to in a way that is hilarious to observe. He’s obsessed with Lady Gaga and will only dance to hip hop music at clubs (he’s the straightest gay I know and the hottest Asian).

The Cali girl: She will close the sale with an overly enthusiastic and automatic compliment, specifically “You rock the house” and will turn right around and make a face that says “I hated every minute of helping that crazy bitch”. A super organized, type A (one of her favorite pastimes is organizing and editing her resume) with a sense of humor she is my favorite Starbucks date.

Vegas hipster hottie: My little Filipino gal pal who is the only female I respect wearing incredibly high waisted jeans, loafers and a tweed jacket (because underneath she’ll wear a white tee with a black bra to show off the sex appeal). Even though we’re the same height I consider her my own personal partying polly pocket.

Mr. Black Comedy: My dear friend who wears fabulous intricate accessories and has an Elizabethan, hip, unique, original style of dark and mysterious clothing. He’s an up and coming designer of gorgeous shoes and accessories as well as some fabulous gowns and other wearables. His sharp tongue and his equal desire to talk as much shit about everyone around us as much is a true glue to our bond. Often my lunchtime companion (I get fought over because I’m so popular and fun ;) )

 ADD boy: The poor dear you can’t help but like because he needs to be liked by everyone. It is my personal proclamation that nice is overrated, but sometimes it counts.In this case it does because he really is a sweetheart. At work he overwhelms himself with the gilas [* gila- an Indonesian word for crazy person, a very annoying and challenging crazy person. It is a great code word that we use to refer to our most difficult, irritating and infuriating customers. The chronic returners, the time wasters, the needys, the wishy washys, the desperate, the truly medically insane, etc.] but still gives enthusiastic and thorough customer service. A fresh 21 he is often coming to work hungover (at an old age of almost 23 that’s practically the past for me) and runs on coffee as fuel.

The Memory bank: A truly unique individual who can give you the run down on every client that walks through the door. He likes to harass all new employees by being extremely cantankerous and rude with them but will also be the first one in tears when drama ensues. You would never peg this individual for being a knowledgeable fashion resource but somehow he gets the job done. He’s the quiet loner of the floor who sometimes shows his repressed need for social interaction. One can imagine that his apartment is filled with cats.

There is also the foreign girl (pretty, quiet, present), an annoying hipster, some other non-memorables

Today there were thirteen associates on the floor and a scattering of customers. The intention of having this many workers present on one lone floor is that we will provide them with exceptional customer service…what really happens is that we stalk them, harass the shit out of them, force them into taking our help and sell them things they may or may not have wanted. The customer base today was primarily made up of gilas. I don’t have the energy to circle my prey while warding off the other cannibals…I want them to come to me and then I am more than willing to give them my most sincere, devoted attention and cater to their every need. From stuffing them into a Spanx slip, running the floor to find an item that is made up of non-synthetic materials (if you know clothing you know that this is nearly impossible no matter how elegant the designer) and bring them mini bottles of water while bowing.

The best part of my day is always my break. Today it was spent with Mr. Black Comedy and Elah [who unfortunately works with a bunch of post-menopausal women one floor below and of course Mr. Williams our loudest, hilarious and most queeny friend. He balances out having to put up with the old hags] at “The Working Girl Café”. This lunch destination also happens to pass by the boyfriends work, he enforces the safety of art school students (they may be dramatic but tend to be violent towards themselves and not others. He has it easy). Seeing as that he is a security guard you would think he would notice me standing in front of the GIANT window directly next to his desk pretending to cause a scene, but I practically had to pound on the glass.

This evening even though it’s a Friday wasn’t anything exciting. I did get to enjoy the company of my dear friend and former associate Mr. Meredith. Mr. Meredith is an extremely intelligent, well spoken and delightful individual (minus his dislike of sunshine, animals and his quickness to get bored with people drinking and acting foolishly). He is a friend I can find myself chatting away with for hours and usually do. So with the company of Mr. Meredith I was able to enjoy my evening as the boyfriend and his video game playing, herb smoking, comic book reading, alternative male significant other entertained themselves.

Now I’m preparing to tuck myself into bed…I have a barking cough brewing in the depths of my chest... I have the immune system of a premature born child during the plague…in fact if I would have been born in a time before vaccinations or modern medicine I surely would have died. I have had pneumonia on more than one occasion, scarlet fever, constantly get strep throat.  I’m just a fucking mess. So I’m guzzling thera flu, drinking codene based cough syrup by the glass and praying to not let this get the best of me.

Artsy Fartsy. Obscura. Slapstick Action Comedy.

Another adventurous day in the Big Apple. This city requires a lot of walking and although I wouldn't quite say I've been feeling the burn (although I'm wishfully thinking my thighs are firming a bit) I have noticed myself breathing a little heavily after exiting those subway stations that require you to climb out of the depths of the earth. If that is not indication that I need to get going a little harder on my fitness than I don't know what it. At the very least I need to turn on my PlayStation moves that has been sitting in my living room since Christmas. I started the day off tired and groggy, which is typical, but was easily awoken by the bitch slap of mother nature via the cold winds of winter. San Franciscans really don't have shit to complain about...yes it gets cold and pelts down relentless rain once in a while and the city can get lost in fog...but still there is NOTHING like  a gust of wind down a sunless row of skyscrapers to shrink your balls (if you happen to have them) or turn your nipples into lethal weapons (even through a cashmere sweater and wool coat). So with the intensity of the cold winter morning and the raring to go attitude of my father we were off to the MoMa...

We went specifically to see the exhibit "Andy Warhol: Motion Pictures" a collection of films done by the artist in his hay day. My dad seems to have this unending interest in Mr. Warhol, I'm not sure what it stems from. Perhaps the artists relationship with the "Velvet Underground" or the fact that he became famous primarily for his duplication skills and use of neon color or maybe simply because he's a wacky character. As a child my dad got me a painting of four mickey mouses done by the artist for my bedroom in our first house. I felt hip and cool being included in this interest of my father's. As an adult I've grown somewhat weary of his art (I hope my art school friends don't throw paint on me like a house wife in fur outside ASPCA headquarters for that one) and more intrigued by his drug induced disco ways with his pals at the Silver Factory. I did pose the question to my dad "Do you think Warhol was gay, straight, bi or A-sexual?" his response was "Probably a combination of all of that" Touche.

And so the exhibit was as advertised. Primarily it was a giant room featuring multiple videos of his friends and socialite obsessions in b&w, silently doing nothing and of course he had to slow the film down as well for dramatic effect. One girl did get to brush her teeth, she was the most active and therefore captured my attention. She had an inappropriate white foam ring around her mouth but oddly no foam in her mouth which lead me to believe that this was faux toothbrushing. If it was real she would have had to spit somewhere in that 8 min and 30 sec (I know I always do ;) ). Besides this there was a film of multiple couples being shown in succession in the midst of a makeout fest. It was awkward. I prefer my kisses in the Hollywood style of things. Exciting and passionate but in 45 seconds or less, that or porno kisses which are a lot more sloppy and vulgar but still less awkward. The one that bothered me the most was this effeminate man who would pull away from his partner and then go back into his "O" face and sort of hover near her lips until he would disgustingly take them back into his mouth. I let my dad go and watch this by himself. It just didn't seem natural for us to sit next to each other in a dark, silent room and watch this nonsense together.

 After this underwhelming experience we continued to wander around the museum and ended up going through the abstract but amusing "On line: Drawing through the 20th Century" which took me out of my again tired brain and brought me into the more museum appropriate thoughtful, musing mindset that is the purpose of being a museum patron. "How do you define a line?" I again asked my father, he responded in some dictionary appropriate way. I decided it's better to leave the concept undefined because if you have a conscience thought of what a line is you are usually held more accountable for not crossing it (anyone of decent intelligence knows that when someone yells at you that YOU CROSSED THE LINE, there really isn't any more serious retort that you can come back with) and as a person who is known to be prone to belligerent and sloppy black out drunk behavior, I cannot risk that. We continued our wandering and saw some other notable art of which I have pictures I'll have to post so you readers can feel more included in the abstract experience of my afternoon. The fun came to a close at the gift shop, where all good adventures should end. It's a great place to indulge yourself in whimsical, non-budget friendly trinkets I of course pawned this off on my father (I needed a physical token to remind me of our bonding experience together) and he obliged. So now I have some fun artsy fartsy paper mobile like things that I'll toss around my apartment to the dismay of my boyfriend (he lives in a lady lair, not a man cave. But its cute and cozy, he can't disagree with that). 

Back on the subway we went to go retrieve my tween brother from his science and math based middle school (proof that we are only half genetically related). He is of the age where you only want to be left toObscura Antiques & Oddities" the shop that is featured in the Discovery Channel show "Oddities". A show that is saved on my DVR amongst hoarders, paranormal activity, Pawn Stars, etc. it fits the bill. They sell things like bloodletting kits, tools to ward off vampires, human skulls, creepily taxidermied freak animals, etc. The shop is a lot smaller than it appears on TV and it seems like they probably sell the really good stuff to the freaky fetished patrons that have big bucks. I overheard the sales person on the phone say the shop owners were out on location, however one of their clients who was featured on the show was present. I know this because A. I recognized him and B. I said hey were you the guy who was on the show looking for a sloth? He was and seemed pleased by my recognition. They had tracked down this taxidermy rarity for him (rare because its not very kind to shoot down the slowest moving and probably calmest creature of the jungle and stuff it just for fun). Oddly (sine it was so rare) they had another sloth in the shop. After my "brush with fame" I subtly asked my dad (while winking) "Did you find what you were looking for?" To which he replied in the captain obvious way "What thing...? What're you talking about?" I had to rush him out of the store, I was trying to not look like one of the many jackasses that I'm sure now go into the store to snoop around. But I acted like a jackass taking pictures out front anyways. 

After that we continued on our way to STRAND bookstore, another gem of this city. They have a basement filled with half priced books. Half of which are great literary works, half of which are crap. I play the DO judge a book by its cover game. This time regardless of what the cover looked like every time I opened the flap to read a summary of the story it was about strong female leads in dramatic, comical and spiritual adventures that bonded them to other females. I'm such a lesbian. It was either that or female authors on the subject of sex or erotica. Not something I could stick in the basket while shopping with my dad unless I want to be psycho-analyzed by a Freud theorist. Not to say I didn't make some mental notes on titles. I thought I had found a real good read when I came upon a memoir by a female comic but when I started to read about her life as a Mormon I thought no...the only Mormon author I'm willing to read is the "Twilight" novelist. We also made a pitstop in a neighboring comic book shop to pick up something for the little emo at home. It was filled to the brim with comics of course but also had a wide array of large, collectible pornographic anime figurines. I did not stick around to see the customers asking to open those cases although I know some of my boyfriends pals would be glued to the glass.


 On the way out I stopped at a street vendor's table to pick up a souvenir for the boyfriend which I told the seller. He replied by saying "If this is for your boyfriend...I'm not even gonna ask who this guy is that you're with". I told him it was my dad and heard his laughter follow me all the way down into the subway station. My dad was a young guy when I was born so he doesn't look to old, last winter while walking around Times Square I held onto his arm to avoid eating shit on the icy sidewalks and constantly heard offers to have a caricature done for the "cute couple". Perhaps I do need some therapy, Freudian or not for this among other things. 

 We topped off our evening with some family fun at "China Fun" a great place to stuff your face with fried rice and super delish sesame chicken and if you're like us play hangman on the paper table cloths. When we returned home for the evening we exchanged some belated Christmas presents. The boyfriend and I had gotten some funky, collectible toys at Kidrobot on Haight St. back in SF (they also have them in MPLS and NYC). They sell fun stuff for the young at heart. We've become collectors of the "Breakfast Yummy" keychain collections. Example:

For the kids we picked out toys from "The Heroes of Burgertown" collection. The little bro got a character named Doofus, the sis got a goofy one named Zoomboo. The joy of these little toys is that they come in mystery boxes so you're surprised with what you get.

 I got some goodies such as a couple fashion pieces I picked up at the GILT city warehouse sale (www.gilt.com) as well as a large plastic circle ring filled with tiny rainbow beads picked out by my lil sis. I find it simply precious that this little tomboy knowing that I like things of a very girlie nature picked this trinket out with me in mind. I'll be sure to save it for that special occasion that I decide to dress up like Katy Perry (so basically any night of the week I feel like cutting a rug in the Castro). 

you know for the times I dress up like this

To show my appreciation I tucked in the little love muffin with a goodnight story. 

And lastly I went to see the "Green Hornet" 3D again with the pops. I have such an affection for Seth Rogen he just has that retarded sense of humor and the dopey cute look that just makes me want to show him my tits (don't get mad boyfriend, you know every couple can talk freely about their attraction to celebrities).

 Although he sounded a lot like Grover from Sesame Street he still had his charm and could throw some decent punches. Plus in the ending credits it said he was a co-writer of the film. Pretty impressive. All in all a worthwhile watch. Movies in NYC, especially 3D cost about as much as it does to see a theatre production at a suburban playhouse in another state. But still worth it. 

Now I'm gonna go get in this bottom bunk action to slumber. Even though my little brother is in his emo phase of maturing into adulthood he sleeps like a precious baby and probably unbeknownst to his bros at school, he cuddles stuffed animals. I can rest easily down below knowing that he still has some sweet baby brother qualities left.