Enough is Enough!

I've had it with these motherf*ing snakes BABIES on this motherf*ing plane!!!

Well said, Samuel Jackson. Let me explain.

You know how people sometimes ask you what your biggest pet peeve is, and you struggle to find an answer? I always have, anyways...I try not to be annoyed by much and am pretty good at letting stuff roll off my shoulders. But I think I have finally found the answer to this simple get-to-know-you question: Babies. On planes.

I recently flew back to Atlanta from San Fran to tie up my loose ends, finish packing, and go to a Ray LaMontagne concert (awesome, btw). As I was waiting at the gate I did my usual routine of scoping out the other passengers for any potential perverts, terrorists, hotties, or babies. I sighed as I spotted a brightly decorated stroller covered in stuffed animals and drool.  The infant stared at me, cooing and chewing on its hand as I tried to convince myself that maybe this would be one time a baby wouldn't cry on a plane. Miracles do occasionally come true. Now I'm not one of those yuppie snobs who insists I'm never having children. Usually, I like babies. They are pretty cute (except newborns. they look like aliens. sorry, but its true), fun to play with, and I really like making faces at them. I prefer older kids, like from 3-11 years, because they actually have sense and reason and can communicate verbally. And while I have yet to determine if my biologic clock is indeed ticking, or if I even have one, lets just say that babies are usually cute and cuddly and all the power to you if you want to have one. 

However. Those capricious little angels can go from this:

to THIS!!

 

 in about 2 seconds flat. I respect the power of free choice in America, I really do. As I stated above, everyone has the freedom to breed if they wish. Whether or not they should...that's another story. Now I'm no history buff, but I'm pretty sure somewhere in the US Constitution it says something about freedom to do what you want, as long as you don't trample on the rights of others. Or something like that. If not, it definitely should. And I think this freedom should extend to airplanes as well. Airplanes are already like the prisons of the sky-stuffed like a sardine next to two strangers in a small confined space, few bathroom breaks allowed, stewardesses barking out orders like prison guards, no food and little water, almost zero mental stimulation or physical movement allowed (well, on the cheap flights I take anyways...). And instead of a rock hard twin bed, you get a seat that forces you to hunch over like Quasimodo and only reclines back one half of an inch. seriously whats the point of that? By the time you get off you feel like your bladder is going to rupture out of your umbilicus, your legs are tingling from several hours of non-circulation and a probable DVT, your head is throbbing from pressure changes and your eyes feel like someone scrubbed them with sandpaper.

So that is my opinion on flying. But, it is a necessary evil to go cool places and move across the country. As I settled into my window seat I was relieved to find that I was sharing a row with two thin normal appearing women and that I was about 10 rows back from the baby. I was delirious from staying up the night before, and although I never really successfully sleep on planes, I always delude myself to thinking maybe this flight I will actually be successful in catching a few Zzz's. Still hasn't happened. As I chatted with the girl on the aisle about moving to SF (she was new here too) the girl between us asked if either of us would switch seats with her fiancee behind her, so they could sit together. I glanced behind us and saw that he was sandwiched between two larger, older, and gruff appearing older men. I told her, sorry, I really liked the window seat and would consider it if it was a shorter flight...I tried to cheer her up by saying, hey, you guys have the rest of your lives to be together, so you should be grateful for a few hours of freedom! She didn't think that was very funny.

Anyways...As we reached cruising altitude and I settled in for a pseudo-nap, I swear I was almost successful at reaching stage III sleep when a piercing sound almost shattered my eardrums. 

WWWHHHHAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

The baby was apparently unhappy. As 90+ persons tried to drown out the ear-splitting sounds as best they could, whether by cranking up their ipods, escaping to the bathroom, or covering their head in a blanket, the baby just got louder. Since I was too delirious to read my novel and my iPod was dead, I thumbed through the SkyMall magazine pondering why a parent would subject themselves and others to such torture by bringing their baby on a plane.

Studies have shown that sleep deprivation is akin to drunkenness...so in my sleep-starved state I started laughing out loud at the SkyMall gift ideas, and things that may have only been slightly amusing before became hilarious. From crazy spy gadgets to downright silly "laser hair regrowth" kits, SkyMall makes claims that are sometimes false advertising, but always good for entertainment. As the kid wailed on, I started daydreaming about ways to solve this whole unhappy infant on plane situation. They could have a "baby limit" on planes like they do for pets-only 2 babies allowed per flight. Or, some flights could be "baby-free" and some "baby-friendly." Parents should have to pay an extra fee if they want to bring an infant-that might inspire some calling to the in-laws instead of dragging Jr. along after all. Or, if you want to risk bringing baby on board, then be prepared to buy the rest of the passengers those crazy expensive Bose noise-canceling headphones.

Then it hit me. Skymall has the answer to the baby problem! All they have to do is make a few tweaks to some of the products they already have....and Voila!! Problem Solved :)

Pilots and Stewardesses, is your plane out of control?? Well we have the answer to any difficult passenger problem!!! A REAL ZOMBIE! This living dead blood-thirsty savage has been trained to only attack loud and noisy passengers and is controlled specifically by YOU. Leaves little traces of blood on the seats and can be stowed safely for take-off and landing.

Especially good for LOUD BABIES and RUDE YANKEES!!

That's right! Following in the footsteps of Baby Aspirin, we now have Baby Valium! Babies can now benefit from the drug-induced coma that helps millions of Americans conquer their fear of flying. No prescription needed, just mail-order from Mexico!

(True story: I had to stitch this one year-old's face up in the ER. I was so scared I almost peed myself. Giving a kid a shot is one thing, but needles in their face? Quite another...anyways, I can personally attest to the miracle of anesthetic drugs on a child-as I sutured the child's cheek with her anxious mother watching, she cooed and laughed and even smiled at me! Now that's good medicine.)

 Ya know those ginormous Cadillac strollers with all the fancy gadgets and clip in and out carriers? Well now we've made one with an invisible soundproof shield! When you're in a public place and your child decides it's time to throw a tantrum, simply push the button and the shield will come down, covering your child and completely silencing it's screams! Do your part in protecting the eardrums of your fellow citizens....

     

Look at this little angel.....Never wake a sleeping baby, right? Well if it's not a real baby, you don't have to worry about it! If you are one of those mothers who refuses to leave home without your baby, never fear, Surrogate Baby is here! We can create a lifelike model of your own child to take with you on your travels so you can pretend your own child is with you yet spare yourself and everyone around you the headache of dealing with a crying fussy infant!

In case that lifelike little darling isn't enough to squelch your maternal instinct for a long romantic weekend in an attempt to save your marriage, you can now monitor your baby's every move from anywhere on the planet with our new satellite baby monitor! From Aruba to Azerbaijan, you can make sure Grandma or the Nanny is doing everything up to par.

Now I just need to sell my ideas to SkyMall I could put this whole Med School thing behind me and live off royalties.
 
First thing I would do with my millions? Buy my own airplane. No babies allowed.

Do it Yourself Part 2

I am naive about a lot of things. Like actually thinking my bicycle cared about me and wanted to be my urban chariot on fun adventures around the city. So I'm officially changing the name of this post to "My bicycle hates me and wants me to die." Or maybe it's homesick? 

As I left off in my last post, I had been blissfully cruising down to the ocean when-FLAT. Boo. A string of curse words and another doleful trudge up that blasted hill later-I was back at my friends place. Since it was getting dark, I brought Bike inside to inspect tire. No obvious holes, didn't seem like I ran over anything. I called my avid biker expert friends to see if they had any tools I could borrow-they did, of course. I contemplated taking my tire off that night and checking the tube, but decided I had done enough manual labor for one day and would work on it tomorrow.

Two days later....and I still hadn't touched it. I was sort of busy with things like procuring a bed and shopping. This town seriously has the best clothes. But I also have a lazy streak, and procrastinate on everything in life...so why should changing my bike tire be any different? My friends got back in town Friday and asked if I wanted to go for a ride tomorrow. I had to admit that, in fact, I had just been too busy having fun to change my tire...they laughed and said they would help me tomorrow.

Which brings up a good point-so, when you don't know how to do something, do you admit it and ask for help, or do you try to figure it out on your own? I used to think that I was never too prideful to ask for help, yet lately I've noticed that I feel like I am admitting a weakness if I need assistance from someone. Even mundane things, like a stranger holding a door for me, seem to invoke my inner five-year old, who used to declare "I can do it myself!!" about any and everything with a fierce scowl and a lower lip that could rival Bubba Gump.

So Saturday AM rolls around. Sunny. Beautiful. Perfect day for a ride. After a leisurely, perfect breakfast we set about getting our bikes in gear. Stefanie and I removed my tire and after some major maneuvering with the tire levers to pry the tire off (if you've never changed a bike tire, trust me, it's a pain in the ass!) and patching the leak in my tube...which coincidentally, was a pinch flat...probably from not filling my tires up with enough air...Oops. We pry it back on (an even bigger pain in the ass), pump that sucker up, and get ready to go. Hissssss. I glare at my tire as it again, deflates. Well, at least this time we hadn't actually left the yard. After finding the second hole we decided to replace the tube altogether and FINALLY got it back on. Two hours later.

I'm usually pretty good about picking up on signs, omens, etc. I'm not sure why it escaped me that day. I should have just hopped in the saddle and gone on a ride. But nooooo....I was elated from my "success" with "doing it myself" and decided today would be the day I would try out my clip-in bike shoes! 

If you're unfamiliar with clip-ins, they are basically special bike shoes with cleats on the bottom. As the name sounds, they clip in to special pedals so your feet are anchored to the pedal while riding. Yes, it sounds a bit like madness. However, it does improve the mechanics of your stroke, gives you more efficiency, is better for going up hills, etc. Or maybe it was just another one of those things designed to separate the amateurs from the pros, like bumpers on a bowling lane. Because clip-ins are hard to get used to. It's not really second nature when you're stopping your bike to go "Oh, guess I should unclip my foot from the pedal now so I can put it down!" No, what happens is, you go to stop, realize your foot is glued to the pedal, have a momentary freak-out, lose your balance, and topple over like a domino. At least that's what happened to me. 

So back to my personal version of how to be a Crash Test Dummy. My friend Stefanie is the most patient person ever, and offered to teach me how to ride with my clip-ins. We cruised up and down her street, with me practicing clipping in and out as I was moving. Not to brag, but I was doing pretty well for a first-timer! This wasn't so bad...well, until I fell right in front of her driveway as I was going to stop. We laughed about it and how practicing with your clip-ins is a rite of passage for all bikers, and how everyone falls, you just gotta get used to it, etc. Again, I should have paid attention to my signs, but I was not about to be a sissy and call it quits after one little fall.

So off we go, down the hill to the ocean. Doing well, until we got to our first major intersection. As I went to stop I again panicked when I couldn't get my foot out and lost my balance, falling over right in front of a busy restaurant, a lot of cars, and a couple that was crossing the street. "Are you ok?" they asked in pity, as I untangled myself from bike and pedals. "Yeah, I'm fine..." I decided to run my bike across the street to where Stef was waiting rather than risk falling down in front of a car. Her sincere, friendly eyes looked at me with concern and asked if I was okay, we really didn't have to keep going? No, I'm fine, I replied with "I can do it myself!!" echoing in my head. We took off, and this time I didn't make it another block without falling again. This one hurt. Like really hurt. I somehow twisted my body as I fell and landed right on my coccyx

 As I scraped my bruised ass and pride off the pavement, I started to cry. Yeah, I really started to cry. No, not from pain, it was like a reflex cry. Like when you're a kid, fall down and scrape your knee, knowing it doesn't really hurt, but tears well up anyway and mom comes and wipes them away? It was like that. But instead of my mom, I had Stef, and she did a pretty good job of wiping away those tears. She is going to be an awesome pediatrician :) 

We realized that perhaps I had taken it a bit too fast, and spent the rest of the afternoon with me doing stopping drills while she ran alongside me to catch me if I fell. Which I did, several more times, as perplexed pedestrians wandered by. But this time, we had moved to the sidewalk, so at least we didn't have to worry about getting run over. I finally learned to stop properly without losing my balance, and as me, my bruises, and my wonderful friend walked our bikes back up the hill we laughed about the day and how clumsy I was. I really hope someone was hiding in a bush somewhere with a camcorder, because those falls were definite YouTube material.

 We went out that night to celebrate life, and as I sipped my sangria in an impossibly loud jam-packed trendy tapas restaurant I looked at my friends and realized that as asinine as I felt that day, I was not the only one to ever experience public humiliation. For there is nothing that bruises the ego more than taking your falls out in the open, for everyone to see. But part of growing up is being able to fall and help yourself back up and dry your own tears...yet having the wisdom to ask a friend when you truly do need help. I had a lot to be grateful for that day. A good friend to pick me up, dust me off, and encourage me to keep going. The courage to try something new even if it hurt like hell and made me feel like an idiot. And for once, I was glad to have enough padding on my ass to soften the blow of my falls. Because thanks to my booty, my coccyx is only bruised instead of broken.

The Grass Isn't Always Greener

Searching for the right apartment in this city is a lot like dating. Blind dating. It's awkward, full of hurried conversations, over and under-exaggerations to make said apartment and roommates more desirable, lots of open-ended questions, and the ambiguous ending of who is supposed to call who and when.

But this dating game is a bit more high stakes than finding the perfect mate (well, in my opinion). At any given moment in this city there are hundreds of young broke singles looking for the perfect apartment in the best location possible. ASAP. The competition is fierce.

My own search started with Craigslist. In the city of its birthplace (the original office is in Sunset!), Craigslist is the modern-day equivalent of a market. Who needs to have garage sales or pay Ebay's listing fee? Not necessary on Craigslist! You can everything from no strings-attached oral sex to a car. The caveat is the time required to sift through all the junk before you find what you're looking for. I probably emailed over 50 people and was kind of bummed that I only got around 15 or so replies. I learned from seasoned CL veterans that you have to pepper your email Subject line with all caps and convey that you are the coolest, most laid-back, ready to sign a lease at any moment person in this city.

So I set up several "dates" (I think that sounds better than appointment, don't you?) over about a 5 day span to check out these places. My search took me all over the city, and actually proved to be a very good way to get to know it better.

My first date was in Seacliff, by the ocean. Sounds cool huh? however, the beach here isn't the greatest, it's like 45 mins from the center of the city, is extremely cold a lot of the year, and I would be living with a couple....Next! Onto a 4-bedroom in Inner Sunset, right by the park. Fabulous location, however, one of the dirtiest apartments I've ever seen. As in dating, if your potential roommates or suitors don't attempt to impress on your first date, then they sure as hell won't later on in the relationship...Next. A very different scene- a smoky, shabby 2-bedroom in the Mission. The Mission is predominantly populated with Hipsters and Hispanics. My roommate would be a late 30s Cuban DJ and Salsa instructor, and yes, that was a perk. He was precious, the apartment was not, but it was cheap, had a yard, and was less than a block from an ice cream shoppe. Tempted....but he smoked. And loved incense. My lungs started constricting the second I walked through the door (I have a touch of asthma). So....Next. But he promised to cook me cuban food, and go dancing anytime. Sweet.

My last two places were a tough call. I suffer from indecision with most things in life, and this was no exception. The first place, in Hayes Valley, was a beautiful large room with a bay window opening onto the back patio, cool roommates, decent rent. My last place was in Nob Hill, a very residential community, I would be living with 2 guys and 2 girls, with sweeping views of the city and a very large, very nice, and very affordable apartment. People were also really cool. Yet, something about this side of town made me not love it so much...perhaps it was the fact that I had walked about 2 miles uphill in the freezing cold wind in sandals that gave me bleeding blisters. And I was late for my date, so I didn't get to eat dinner. Try to avoid me if at all possible if I've missed a meal. I tend to be grumpy. But although I loved the place and the people, it wasn't quite urban enough for me. I love being outdoors, but if I'm going to live in the city, I want to be in the city. I've had enough suburbia for awhile. Or forever.

Part of me wanted to keep looking. There were pros and cons to each place....I wanted to find the perfect, cheap apartment, with perfect roommates who would be my best friends for life...but, like most things in life, you can't wait around forever.

In the end, I went with my gut, and location-I chose the Hayes Valley apartment. It's a little cold, no common area but the kitchen, not next door to an ice cream parlor, but I am happy with my decision.  253 Laguna is between Haight and Page st. between a hair salon and a swanky tea lounge. My building is surrounded by old Victorian homes, and is 9 blocks from Golden Gate Park, and a quick bike-ride away from my classes. Oh and there's a bar on the next block with a fabulous happy hour. I love the city!

My apartment search reiterated a lesson I had forgotten. In a world of uncertainties and second-guessing your choices in life, one thing is very clear. You may not always find the perfect man, the perfect shade of nail polish, or the perfect apartment...but, rest assured, you can always find the perfect pair of boots ;)

Do it Yourself...?

My bike got here on Tuesday. I was beyond excited. I think of my bike kind of as my kid, or a pet. A very expensive pet. I certainly don’t cuddle with it and it doesn’t wag it’s tail when I come home, but it’s beautiful and smooth to ride, and it is definitely the most expensive thing I own (because, technically, my dad owns my car). I love it as you love a cherished possession, and I think if my bike could talk it would say for sure it's fond of me too. There are few things in life I'm actually paranoid about and actually take precautions to prevent, these things being getting eaten by a shark, having a root canal, giving birth (trust me, don't do it), and getting my bike stolen. So, as you can see, my bike and I have a special relationship that will be cemented once I pay off my credit card bill.

I had been eagerly awaiting my bike’s arrival for several days. I don’t mind public transportation or walking, but I love my freedom more than anything and since I was going to be car-less for a year I was eager to get my wheels and go exploring.

So when the UPS man pulled up mid-morning I rushed to the door to greet him and my bike, which was mercifully undamaged in its cross-country journey. I quickly got dressed and called a cab to take me to the nearest bike shop in Berkeley, the Missing Links Co-op (yeah, I didn’t know bike co-ops existed either…apparently in Cali anything can be a co-op!) My bike is pretty light, but the box was super bulky, and as I learned several days ago, carrying large heavy things over long distances=not a good idea.

One quick cab ride later and I was there-I was all smiles as I came in the door to the repair shop and announced that I had my bike shipped here and would need it put together, how long would it take them?

The 3 mechanics stared at me blankly. “Well, do you have an appointment?” one asked.

“Um, no….sorry, I didn’t know I needed to…so what’s the wait time?”

“At least a week.”

I made a mental note to once again practice my poker face as my jaw fell open and my eyes widened. “A week?? Wow…um….ok, well are there any other shops around?” I stammered, embarrassed as I realized I had forgotten to take into account that this is Berkeley and there are more bikes here than people and obviously the shop would be busy

“Well, we do have our co-op space across the street with tools you can use to do yourself.”

Do it myself???

I’ve always wanted to be a “do-it-yourself” type person…when I got my first car I read the manual cover to cover and vowed I was going to be that girl who changed her own oil and tires and stuff….when I moved into my apartment in Augusta I bought all this tile and materials that I was going to make into a mosaic tray for my living room…I’ve sewn on buttons that fell off shirts…I really enjoy putting together my cheap target or Ikea furniture (as long as there is an instruction manual). But, try as I might, I never seem to have the time, patience, or common sense to do most things “myself.” Oh sure with many hours of frustration and curse words I feel that I can figure things out without assistance…but my time is precious to me, I am busy like most people, and I would way rather pay the $20 for an oil change or whatever by experienced quick professionals who won’t like accidentally put oil in the coolant container or something that my flighty self would inevitably do…besides, I like to support the economy. If we all changed our own oil, what would all the Jiffylube guys do? :-(

Ok, back to bike…as I trudged across the street to the co-op, I gave myself a pep talk. I know how to work a screwdriver. I’m sort of strong for a girl. I took physics like 5 years ago. How hard can this be?

A stern-faced gentleman pointed me to the workspace in the back of the store, told me I had one hour, and pointed at the “rules” posted on the wall, the most obvious of which said in all caps and bold: “NO ASKING FOR HELP!” What kind of co-op is this? I thought they were all full of happy hippies who liked spreading love, food, knowledge and the occasional joint. Apparently not.

As I opened my giant box I was relieved to see that my bike shop at home had left my bike mostly intact. All I had to do was put on the handlebars, front wheel, front brake, pedals and seat. Totally doable.

I started easy, with the seat post. It slid in easily. YES!! Ok, this was gonna be fine. Next-Handlebars. Took awhile to get them aligned right, but pretty easy too. SWEET!! Ok, now for the front brake. Like a glove!!! Ok, front wheel, check. Pedals, check. I was on a roll!! A very “slow” roll though, as it took me a good 2 ½ hours instead of my allotted 1. It turned out to be one of the easier things I’ve put together…My boyfriend was actually right for once, it was mostly common sense! The bike shop people checked in on me occasionally, but I pretended not to see their glares as I cheerfully made some of the final adjustments on my beautiful bike. I’m not gonna lie, I was super proud of myself. I noticed my back tire was a little low on air, I guess they had just let some out when they packed it for shipping. I hate to admit, I hardly ever checked my tire air pressure…I didn’t even own a pump yet…I had only had my bike a few months and kept meaning to buy one, but just didn’t have time. As I went to blow it up with the shop pump, I could tell I was doing like, nada. In fact I was letting air out of the tire. I checked the pump and the valve several times. Looked okay, obviously I was doing something wrong. I broke yet another rule as I went and asked one of five employees (who were like, not busy at all…so why couldn’t they help me again?) for a second opinion. He took one look at my tire and informed me that I needed to unscrew the valve. Apparently, there are 2 types of bike valves. Presta and Schrader. The Schrader is like your typical valve, like on a car tire. The kind on my bike was a presta, long and thin and you had to unscrew a piece before you could inflate it. I sheepishly shrugged and smiled at the irony of the fact that I put my whole bike together yet had difficulty inflating the tire, and hastily exited the shop before I embarrassed myself further.

I may have lost that battle, but I had won the war! I refused to let my small embarrassment ruin my DIY empowerment day. I decided to ride down to the ocean to celebrate, since it was too far of a walk from the house I was staying and my Piscean self had not seen a body of water in at least a month.

I cruised down the hill toward the water as the sun peeked through the clouds and a strong breeze whipped my hair back from my face. I had noticed how rough the roads were here compared to Georgia, so I was expecting a bit of a rough ride. But then, I sensed that something was up with my rear wheel, because this ride was way rougher than I was expecting. As I slowed down to check everything out I could hear a faint thunk thunk thunk…the telltale sound of a flat tire.

F Bomb.



To be continued. 

Craigslist Hall of Fame

Searching for apartments is almost as entertaining as meeting the people who belong to them. Following are some of my favorite quotes from my Craigslist perusing...Enjoy! :)

No pets, please. Pets are dumb. If you smoke cigarettes, you need to quit. Cigarettes are bad for you--and they probably fund a lot of Republican campaigns. God is an asshole. That said, you should know that we think that God is an asshole. Vegetarians are cool. Not really crazy about law students from the east coast moving out here for a six month sublet. We're not subletting. We're not into the law. But, hey, if you have a solid stand-up routine that will knock us off our feet, give us a reply. Jimmy Durante is cool. The Marx Brothers are fly.       Ummmm.....

The bathroom is mine from 8:15-8:45 AM.  

Looking for a great fit to join a positive, holistic, happy, busy, professional wonderful clean and modern home...relaxed living at a super high quality...
It all is set up to support high power busy lives. It isn't a party house.   But I thought you said it was relaxed?

Room with shared bathroom to let in a detached house in Upper Market. The deal is that in exchange for paying below-market rent you also commit to being home at least two evenings a week (usually a Thursday, Friday, Saturday or Sunday), agreed in advance, so there is someone here with my 11-year-old son (I'm a single Dad). He doesn't need care or attention, just an adult in the house, so you can be in your room and doing your own thing - just be in the house.   So I can live here, just not have a life?

I'd like my new roommate to work during the day, to help my dog have a more consistent schedule.  HA!

We are three of the CHLLEST people ever who have the absolute BEST pad in the whole city and we are going to bestow the honor upon one lucky individual to live in our AWESOME and ELECTRIC pad. You must, above all and anything else . . . be CHILL!!! CHILL is all that matters and god bless us because we have cornered the market on that one. CHILL to the grave!   I think Vanilla Ice is looking for a new pad...

You have the small room with no light but you pay equal rent which is killer because we rented this place and you'll be very luck if we select you from the dozens of other pathetic and desperate sots who reply to our ad. Your rent is the mere diminishing amount of $700 (we pay $600); $2500 deposit plus first and last two months. Please bring recent fingerprints and letter from your mother.  I think this is a joke, but not sure
 
There are frequently couchsurfers staying with us (we've hosted about 40 in the last year). Your friends can stay over on the couches, too. You shouldn't get freaked out by random strangers in the house, and you need to be queer-friendly.   So if a guy with a gun walk in I shouldn't be scared, b/c he might be your friend?

There are a lot of you, and we need some way to tell you apart. All of you enjoy the outdoors, half of you are software engineers and I think each response we've gotten this hiring season says something to do with music. This doesn't cut it! It tells us nothing about what it would be like to have you in our family.   I have a three-legged dog...does that make me interesting enough?  

female only, furnished room
for serious student who wants a quiet place to study
no drama sorry to burst your bubble, but I don't think its possible to have a female roommate w/o drama!
no overnight guest
above average housekeeping  Darn it. That cuts me out. And I was really looking forward to meeting this chick.

$171 Be my "SF Domestic Partner & Care Provider" & Share my SRO Hotel Room!  Where can I sign up!!??  

$850 Zombie Defense Shelter Seeks 1 More to Fight the Undead Mob!!  About you. One person only, male or female. No couples or families. No visible bite or scratch marks. No brain-lust! Any age is OK as long as you are mature and respectful of the other housemates and know how to decapitate a zombie.  Hahaha

No tobacco, hard drugs or heavy drinking. However 420 is fine.  I have learned that "420" (pot) is not the same as "drugs" (aka, heroin, crack, etc.)

Vegetarian, egg-free kitchen, quiet, clean & sober household. No alcohol, drugs, smoking or pets. aka-no fun allowed

The Room: Do you have a ludicrous amount of hot wheels tracks and thought, if I only had the room I could make the most awesome track ever? Perhaps you have always wanted to convert you room into your own private yoga studio and still have room for all your furniture! Well we got you covered. This is a gigantic bedroom with tons of natural light, closet space and a private bathroom.  This might be big enough for all my shoes...

My Favorite: 

LOOKING FOR LORINDA ...who lived with her Mom in Sacramento; siblings live in the San Jose Area. Please email me and let me know where to send your belongings that you left in my place or you can still pick them up yourself.   I hope you are well and find employment. Thank you.     I really hope this was a one-night stand

Yogurt Harmony saved my life...well, my elbows...

First surprise on arrival at San Fran airport: there are sharps containers in the bathroom. I don't think those are for insulin injections...

ANYWAYS...I needed to get from the airport in South SF to Berkeley, which is in East Bay. You would think the hard part would be figuring out which train to get on, what stop to get off, etc. Actually, that was the easy part...the real trouble started once I arrived at my destination.

Berkeley is a beautiful city. The down town features tree-lined streets, and is buzzing with the energy of a college town, with restaurants of every ethnic food you could want and shops interspersed between. Yogurt and/or coffee joints are ubiquitous, with at least one every 2 blocks or so. My directions were to get off the BART and head North on Shattuck, towards Andronico's (the high-end grocery store of Berkeley). I was staying at my friends Stef and Knut's place for the week while they were on vacation, and they had given me very detailed directions. They had told me to ask someone which way I should go towards Andronico's, since it was confusing. The first lady I asked gave me a blank stare. A kind hipster overheard my questioning, and volunteered his opinion that he "thinks" Andronico's is to the right. My gut told me to go left, because I felt that was north, but since he was a local, I figured he must know best. So right I went.

Stef had told me it was about 1 mile until I got to Cedar St., so I was expecting a hike. Although there were a few taxis waiting by the BART, and despite the fact that I had 60+ lbs of luggage, I decided I was tough, needed some exercise, and wanted to save money for important things like wine and vintage boots. So I would walk it out.

The first few blocks weren't bad. But after a while, wheeling those suitcases over rough sidewalks while dodging pedestrians was starting to wear on my arms a bit. After what I thought was a mile, and still no sign of Cedar, I decided to consult Google Maps (which I should have done in the first place). Damn it. I, in fact, should have gone left. Thanks hipster. Trying to stay positive, I told myself I was just getting to see more of the city, it was a beautiful day, and even though my back was soaked in sweat and my elbows felt like two people had grabbed me by the arms and tried to play tug-of-war with my body, I was going to make the best of it. So I did an about-face, this time crossing the street so I could see what the other side had to offer and sparing myself the embarrassment of passing people wondering why this sweaty disheveled girl was wandering the streets of Berkeley with her luggage.

But then, I saw it...YOGURT HARMONY.  ahhhhhh :) As I sat deliriously happy slowly spooning pomegranate yogurt in my mouth and watching another homeless dude with bleached hair and dark roots (since when do the homeless dye their hair?) get arrested by bike cops, I couldn't be more content.

3 miles and one helluva steep hill later, I arrived :) Now onto another adventure: apartment hunting on Craigslist. ...

BLISS IN A BOWL!!!

Cutting The Cord

Numbers scare me. Sudoku is, like, my idea of hell on a piece of paper. Maybe it's because I've always been selectively dyslexic with numbers. Especially the numbers 3 and 5. 

Example: I missed my Medical School interview because I thought it was on Friday, December 5th, when in fact it was on Wednesday December 3rd. They were super understanding about my mistake since I had the fortunate excuse of using my grandfather's recent death to explain my scatterbrained-ness. I ended up being accepted, so that worked out okay, I guess...

But the 3-5 mixup strikes again. As I went to check my Airtran reservations page for my flight to San Fran, gleaming with pride at my responsibility by actually double-checking my flight schedule two days in advance instead of the night before, I was shocked to find that, in fact, my flight had been that morning, Tuesday August 3rd. Not Thursday the 5th. Pride fadeth fast.

But, that just gives me more time to pack, right? Thank God I'm not superstitious.

So $500ish dollars later I'm procrastinating packing by starting this new blog! Who says I don't know anything about time management!?

I must admit, I'm new to this whole blogging thing...until the last few months I always thought blogs were for techie geeks and conspiracy theorists. I've kept a journal off and on the past few years, interrupted by my flares of Carpal Tunnel syndrome (Thanks post-college lab tech job!) and the slightly paranoid fear that someone will discover my secrets that I have had since my first pink ballerina diary with a lock on it. (Chase Eaton, I'm sorry, you are no longer the love of my life).

Much has changed in the last 15 years. Now I like sharing my thoughts, and I hate pink...But still love ballerinas-how do they keep spinning like that?! So I've decided to give this whole blogging thing a try. I do want to go ahead and give credit to my good friend Patty for planting the idea in my head, though. But I've seen Inception, Patty...I'm onto you, and your dream idea-planting schemes. Next time try to plant an idea of how to make a lot of money without actually doing anything, ok?

I've always day-dreamed of far-away places. I've been wanting to get out of Georgia since I was 18. Okay, 12. But when the time came to decide on a college, I couldn't justify paying out-of-state tuition when my state school was practically free. Same with medical school-couldn't justify the tuition jump to go out of state. (Told you I was scared of numbers!). But on a whim I applied for a Master's program at UCSF and got accepted. Tired of always making the safe decision, I decided to do something different. So yeah, the tuition loans are approaching the price of a house. A nice house. But education and experience trump money, right?

I sure hope so.