Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Resolution Check-In

How are we all doing on those New Years resolutions we made 3 months ago? We're just about at the quarter mark so I thought I'd ask. I'm guessing if ten people read this the break down goes something like this: 4 of you are groaning (or cursing me, I dunno maybe a comb of the 2). 3 of you are putting that bag of potato chips down. Relax, I didn't say you rolled it up and put the oversized Chip Clip back on, I'm just saying you put the bag down. 1 of you is trying to remember what the hell your resolution was. 1 of you "doesn't believe in resolutions (code for "too lazy") and 1 of you is jumping up and down with your hand raised, ready to tell me how much weight you've lost, money you've saved and how many old ladies you've helped cross the street. Hey asshole, put your hand down. Nobody likes a bragger. For your entertainment I've listed my own resolutions and their status 90 days in. Feel free to judge/scrutinize/mock as you see fit.

  • Get smaller: "Bloggle" cafes are great but they're not helping my waistline. Thus, I checked out a gym last night. Elderly asian men Zumba-ing, feel free to process that visual
  • Write more: Given my average of one post a month, it's pretty obvious this one's not being met. I'm working on that... obviously.
  • Volunteer: I went to a food pantry in San Jose, ONCE. I spent the morning muttering about kids these days and shaking my head in disapproval. Hey, where I come from teenage boys are volunteering gold mines, eager to do heavy lifting and throw things. Where these scrawny hoodlums came from I have no idea but my grandmother would've been more useful. She would have moved faster too.
  • Read more: I've actually managed to read several books. Want me to recommend one? Too bad. I hate it when people do that and then months later you ask "hey how was that book I recommended?" and no matter what it's an awkward response. Here are all of the possible responses: 1. awkward moment "Ya, ya know I never got around to reading it." 2. "Meh, it was ok" awkward moment comes at the tail end this time. 3. "I did and you know what, it changed my life!" Guess how often number 3 happens. I suppose there could be a 4th option "Yes I did read it and good God was it awful. What is wrong in your psychotic head that you thought I would like that?"
  • Get to know my neighborhood: There's a park 2 blocks away that allows alcohol in the "picnic areas", a Jazzercise studio behind Target, and giant ceramic fruit sculptures next to Caltrain. What more do I need to know?
Hope your New Years Resolutions are more successful than mine have been! (here's where you all comment and tell me it's ok, you're not doing any better)

Monday, March 28, 2011

Shit You Buy When You Have a Car

Let me first say I've noticed that "shit" seems to be appearing in posts fairly frequently, often in the title. Here's the thing, I LOVE the word. There's something about it that makes it so versatile. It's a noun, it's a verb, it can be used to describe a multitude of things. It's succinct and precise and I like to add a distinct stoccato when I say it. I spend a minimum of forty hours a week sidestepping with "stink" "shoot" and "dangit", the Splendas of the curse world. I don't care if it did "come from sugar" it is NOT sugar... and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

M'kay, back to the topic, shit you buy when you have a car. When you live in the city and you take the big metal germ boxes everywhere, it's a lot easier to talk yourself out of buying a LOT of shit. I don't need a dresser, I've got these lovely Rubbermaid bins. You know what's easy to carry home? PLASTIC! You know what's not? OAK! Art? Umm, frames are not only heavy but awkward to carry and easy to break. It's glass and it has pointy corners. No way that's making it 10 blocks home. Candles, lamps and bookshelves also fall under the "not a snowball's chance in hell is that worth lugging home" category. As a result, my apartments in Boston more or less always looked like I was 1. Just moving in; 2. Just moving out; or 3. Newly adopted to the freegan lifestyle (see if you don't get that reference. It's some crazy hippie shit, but I kind of like that someone's using the shit people throw out for no good reason).

Out here in sunny California walking isn't an option. If you're a die hard cyclist dedicated to keeping your carbon footprint neutral, (common term being "overachiever") than you bike to work. You also wear exceptionally tight shorts. Please stop doing that. The rest of us drive our automobiles all through the town. The magical thing about my car is that it transports not only myself but all of the shit I manage to find while I'm out and about. Suddenly end tables, wine racks, blanket chests, abstract prints and glass serving bowls are making their way into my trunk at an alarming rate. I now have more canned goods, back-stocked conditioner and oversized shelving than any sane single woman should own. Frozen fruit, paper towels and Grey Goose vodka are welcome in Costco size.

Naturally, I look around and wonder "how the hell did all this shit get here?". Six months ago I had 3 mugs, a portable dvd player and a fold-up papasan chair. How did I manage to fill 600 square feet? Don't go staging an intervention, I'm not turning into a hoarder (though apparently I have been watching a little too much cable). The shit that comes through the door is waning and I do take a certain satisfaction in the furnished home that I've created. Friends/family: Come visit me sometime and see for yourself. But, leave your shit at home, I've got enough already.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

I'm Not Too Old For This

Things on the west coast have been, we'll say, less than earth shattering, world rocking wild as of late. I like to think the "work hard, play hard" motto is what keeps us all from burning down cubicle walls and shoving our hands in the paper shredder, and yet lately I'm only seeing the "work hard" segment. You can see how this is cause for concern. I'm not entirely sure how I've allowed my social life to fall into such a state of disrepair but I've heard some dirty rumors that it has something to do with getting "older". I don't know a whole lot about this "older" but I don't think I like it. Suddenly my peers are talking about how they "can't go out" because it's a "work night". I'm sorry folks but, much like the sentence "I don't like pizza" I'm unable to understand those words when you string them together in that order. Nor do I understand how "older" applies to anyone with a 2 as the first digit of their age. People in their fifties say they'd kill to be in their twenties again. If this is what they'd commit a class A felony for, I'm pretty sure they'd be pissed. Seriously, when did we get serious?

You know what, I've got an idea, please stop asking what I do for a living. Reserve that for my thirties or, better yet, my eighties. I'd like for people to go back to asking me what I want to be when I grow up. That's a far more interesting question. Furthermore, I don't recall a retirement age from beer pong or an expiration date at the bottom of the Kings rules. And I'm pretty sure there's no maximum age for staying til closing time either. Let's get back to these time honored tried and true traditions. Why would we stray from them? When did Friday night turn into 2 glasses of wine, some appetizers, and everyone turning in at 9 o'clock? What happened to tequila shots and Journey at 2am, cramming in that last swig of whatever's on tap before the bouncer kicks you out? Don't stop belieeeeeeevin!!!!!!!

College graduation wasn't the retirement of stupid fun. Kids aren't either (though they are admittedly a speed bump). Life is short, the road ahead is long, you can sleep when you're dead. Raise a glass for a toast; til our livers give out or we keel over, we're not too old for this!