Friday, August 29, 2008

Proof I live in California

One of the reasons I knew that Dallas was not the town for me was its "farmers' market". Their market that had nothing to do with farmers, or organic farming or the slow food movement and everything to with two of the most revered local attributes: plentiful parking and air conditioning.

I sound pissy. But I just never figured why their strawberries came in a pack stamped by Driscolls.

And fine if you want to argue that strawberries don't grow in North Texas. They could have sold me some peaches, pecans or freakin' locally smoked catfish. Something that was produced in the central time zone. Please.

Alameda rocks a twice weekly traditional farmers' market. And the SF market is the bar to which all others aspire. I can't wait to check out Berkeley's.

But lest you think I've got it so good. Having an abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables comes at a cost.

Behold my friend - the fruit fly. That's my handy dandy fruit fly trap. Death by cheap wine. Albeit locally produced, organically grown cheap wine.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Live from the Apple Store

So the attempts to wait 24 hrs to restart did NOT restore the computer back to full working order. I made an appointment at the nearest store and prepped for attempting to be vague and demand expedited repair.

Except, we arrived a few minutes late.

And we'd never been to this outdoor retail space.

And just the day before, my new freelance gig had casually mentioned that I would need to BYOL - Bring Your Own Laptop.

So when we walked out of the store with a new appointment scheduled. And then Erik decided to mumble something along the lines of:


and then my brain exploded and I contemplated divorce.

And then I marched back into the Apple store and secured a stand by appointment and when MARIA "The BEST Apple employee ever" called my name and I came 100% clean. Threw my cards all out on the table and slid all my chips into her hands. It's damaged. Needs repair. Orange Juice. Divorce.

It's been about half an hour. And she replaced the battery and it is working and maybe, just maybe we'll all live happily ever after.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

And then orange juice was spilt on the new MacBook

Yeah. So.

It's been fun. I'm writing this on a borrowed machine.

Thanks for reading. I'm not sure if there will be a resurrection or just another example of how I am not meant to have nice things.

It's really my fault for not being the responsible parent. Or for pouring the OJ in the first place. But, of course, it was Lula who knocked it over.

Oh, wait. If you google "liquid spills on laptops" you get all sorts of advice. The last of which is to enter the Apple store in a huff, exclaim that your laptop doesn't work and never mention the spill.

Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

But if it does, it's par with how I like to handle problems.

Pretend they never happened.

In other news, Universe - if you're listening, I want to go to the Outside Lands festival Saturday.

I really need this computer thing to work out too. For the sake of the blog. And the children. And the marriage. And the Free Weeds episodes I can occasionally find online. Amen

Monday, August 18, 2008

You say PTO. I say PMS.

Hey - headhunter lady, you're getting on my nerves.

Remember when you wanted to "get together" for a meet-and-greet right in the middle of the first morning session of BlogHer? And how I offered to meet you at a different time and then you wrote back and said "we could reschedule, because you wouldn't want me to miss my class".

I would say it was at that moment that we got off on the wrong foot.

I didn't really let it get to me when you suggested that I meet you 15 minutes before the interview you had arranged, I just showed up earlier to ensure that I'd make it to the interview on time.

HIndsight, should have been a flag.

Then last week, you rubbed me the wrong way with your email correspondence. It seemed to be dripping with tone. You used the phrase: like I mentioned to you previously which I translated directly to I told you this already you halfwitted nimrod .

So today, the aforementioned day that you said you would have more information. More information for the position that they needed to fill immediately. The man who answered the phone said you would be out of the office ALL WEEK.

Uh. So not only do I NOT remember what you like mentioned to me previously, I also do NOT remember you telling me that you had no intention of working the day that the big news was due.

But we're all good, 'cause you sent me that email alerting me to the fact that you'd be out all week on PTO.

Yeah, you used the acronym. Our relationship has come to this? Using single letters to represent a simple words?
OMG. It's cool. Just let me know ASAP. Until then I'll STFU.


Your BFF -V

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

I've got your real silly

Oh, boy! It's the day I force my kids to pose as famous bloggers. And today, it is the turn of Ms. Bossy.

Remember how I told you that Bossy and Lula have the SAME MIDDLE NAME!?


Hazel is named after a song and it is a color. So I was looking for a song/color combo. And there was Led Zeppelin.

*tangerine, tangerine,
Living reflection from a dream;
I was her love, she was my queen,
And now a thousand years between.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Thirty minutes or less

Yesterday Slouching Mom hit the nail on the head.

This week, I've been parenting full time while also attempting to look for work and settle into our new home. While an hour hour of solitude to write would be nice. A few moments to find my sanity is needed.

In the span of less than five minutes today Lula managed to spill a Diet Coke™ down my pants, stick a feather in my ear, clear a shelf to house her new yet to be purchased fish and start making blueberry muffins. She makes my head spin.

Hazel on the other hand. Cleaned her room, did four loads of laundry, finished her dissertation and mailed out handmade change of address cards to all of our friends and family.

Monday, August 11, 2008

I live on an Island

Se we're getting settled in Alameda.

It's an island. We choose to settle here because it seemed more manageable than the city and we'd heard good things about the schools. And Erik came here ONCE and there were kids swimming in the ocean and real live kite boarders and sunshine and that pretty much sealed his deal.

People often ask how the girls are handling the transition and truthfully, it really wasn't that hard to convince them to move once we mentioned the proximity to the Pacific Ocean. They wanted a house where they could see the waves out of their window. (Don't we all.) We settled with a 2 bedroom apartment across the street from the beach with tennis courts out our back door. We've secured racquets. There is a dog park within walking distance. A state park. Shopping is a mile away. School is close.

The locals call it the Island. Which I think adds an air of mystique mixed with hint of sass. I'll use it a sentance: There are a few (private schools, auto part stores, dive bars) on the island. Oh, see mysterious with just a bit of attitude.

We're figuring it all out. I like the fact that if I get lost, I'll eventually hit water.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Joel Osteen's Wife Gave Me Hemorrhoids

I'm not going to lie to you, it was a tough day.

Before I walked out the door at 6 am, I used Erik's cell to call mine to make sure I had my phone before I left the house. Smart, huh? I dialed "Mom Cell" two times. (Yeah, Erik and I do that OBNOXIOUS thing where we call each other Mom and Dad.) And I wondered why it wasn't ringing or vibrating or - Oh, there it is. And I didn't even connect the dots when my cell aka "Mom Cell" called Erik back. I thought that I was accidentally pushing buttons not that I'd called Erik's mom twice before 6 am. Daughter-in-law of the year.

Took a cab from the bus station to Fort Mason. It was 5x what I had estimated the cost to be. Somehow I think my "dollar a mile" algorithm might be flawed.

Conference was cool. Wish I could have stayed for more. Especially the more that included the beer.

Drove 40 miles (80 miles roundtrip) to a job interview all afternoon. Hate freeways. Hate traffic. Would never see the girls. Still feel pressure to consider the offer in this economy.

Erik had Stress in The City. We're both adjusting to the sights of San Francisco. Our girls have a grasp on homelessness not so much on transexuals. It's just going to take some time to adjust. If we were fish, we'd still be swimming inside the plastic bag.

I'm tired. Lula brought her rug into the living room and is begging me to roll her up like a burrito. Would I be terrible if I leave her rolled up like that?

Oh, the Joel Osteen wifey nod. Wowzer. I'm mesmerized.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

That's My MIGHTYGirl

Here's Lula doing her best Maggie Mason.

FYI, Hazel is boycotting this series thus far. The series where I force my children to pose as famous bloggers. Scroll back to last Wednesday to see Lula as the Bloggess. For what it's worth, Hazel is considering a Bossy but is not fully committed.

Tomorrow I am volunteering at the The START Conference. Maggie's husband is the co-founder.

I volunteered hoping to meet people and learn something. Now I have to split in the afternoon to go to an interview for a job that would require me to drive too far and pays to little. Brilliant. And my alarm is set for 5 am.

Friday, August 1, 2008

35mm pictures are a bunch of ho-bag sluts

Hazel was born before digital cameras. And because she was the firstborn we took thousands of pictures of her. And because when you dropped off your film for developing there was often that little box or special offer where you could get doubles and even triples for 99¢, we now have boxes and boxes and boxes of pictures. Add that to the albums and albums and the photo boxes and the framed photos. I'm drowning in a sea of high quality glossy paper.

And I swear they get together and procreate. I've run across the exact same photo in four different boxes and two different albums. Whores - all of 'em.

Then there is the boxes and albums of pre-baby pictures. Those wild NY nights where it seemed like a perfectly sane idea to snap candids of office mates at the happy hour turned late night turned ugly. I've already thrown away almost every picture of people who have once again become strangers to me.

I keep going through boxes and culling them down but seriously there are so many it is making my head spin.

Oh, and I have a bag (a whole bag) of those disposable cameras that I have never gotten developed.

I wish someone would have taught that Kodak to keep her shutter closed.