Bzy

Last night, I was at one of my local bars, having a post-game (hockey) (Sharks won, btw) (and yeah, I was shocked, too) drink with some friends from work, when the guy next to me started talking to me, asking me to help him get a glass of water from the too-busy-to-be-attentive bartends. I thought he was flirting with me, and my friends thought he was flirting with me, and he was kind of cute, and I didn't mind so much the interruption. So I figure whatever and we converse for a bit, and then suddenly he throws out the curve ball: his friend actually is the one who thinks I'm cute, and wants flirting guy to introduce me to him.

Guys, this is how to be a bad wingman. Instead of smoothly saying something that gets your friend interested in the conversation, then introducing, and then slowly slipping back as the two winged people engage in chat, you've suddenly turned it all into a scene straight out of high school. "Do U Like My Friend? Circle 1: Y or N"

By the way, does this tactic ever work? Me, I like my guys a little cocky and aggressive, which means if they're not going to chat me up themselves, then I'm likely not going to be interested. I mean, I know what it's like to be shy, and afraid of rejection, but that's what alcohol was invented for in the first place, right?

(Also, whenever my friends did this for me in high school, it never got me anything other than more ridicule and shame and feelings of being a failure at life. Maybe my friends were clumsy wingwomen, too. Maybe we all just needed a straight drink.)

Perhaps I'm just picky.

I got the latest Legend of Zelda game for my birthday, which means I've spent most nights of the last week fighting giant spiders and red monsters, and collecting fairies and bugs. I'd say it was time well spent, though my flabbifying muscles might claim otherwise. (So yeah, I may have skipped Krav in order to play a video game ...)

Speaking of: why am I here talking with all of you, when I have a princess to find and a Hyrule to save?

Two to the Fifth

When I was a little girl, as my mother likes to remind me, I had a love-hate relationship with birthdays. I loved getting all the presents, but I hated having people over and having to deal with them and most of all I hated not being able to win any of the party games because I was the hostess and it would be rude to do that.

Inevitably, so Mom tells me, I would end up hiding in my bedroom, and there would probably be crying.

Fast forward 25 years or so later, and I no longer balk at inviting a bunch of friends (though notice that they aren't invited over to my actual house, just to meet at a public spot). I no longer expect presents. But the crying remains. Just a little bit, this year, I swear! But it seems like something of a tradition that I just gotta keep up. (Crying rule exception: my birthday in 2007. Thank you, Spyder.)

As readers of this blog may suspect, I had been planning a trip to Disneyland for this weekend just past. It was in honor of my 32nd birthday, and honestly probably ended up being the best birthday ever. Of my 30s, at least. Call me a consumer whore if you will, but sometimes it's just worth it to sell out your soul.

Especially when it gets you a chance to do breakfast with Eeyore.

Through the Looking Glass, this is.


Just about to hop on Star Tours.

There is just something about Disneyland that makes it special. I was trying to explain it to Michelle and Tamica tonight, and Michelle had to comment that she was amazed at how my monologue about the experience had absolutely no trace of my usual sarcasm or cynicism. That's how amazing it is. (And perhaps a peek into my secret self that still, sort of, wants to grow up to be a princess. But shh! That's just between us, right?) Something about the idealization of reality, and the strict adherence to a code of conduct that is likely beaten into the park's employees, just makes it a perfect bubble. It's almost — almost — enough to give me a reason to move to Southern California so I can have access to it any time I want.


Perhaps I'm the only one who thought this was an odd juxtaposition of signage.

So yeah, I regressed to being a seven-year-old. A seven-year-old with a 30-something's income and cash flow. And credit cards.



I might have spent a lot of money. I'm not saying, and neither are my new plushie Eeyore, my R2D2 plastic drinkstein, nor my Disneyland Castle Throw.

Ahem.

Emily and I drove back into town late last night, and today after mooching around the apartment and then throwing her out, I got dolled up for the SF celebration at House of Prime Rib.


These people did a really great job of convincing me that they liked me. So either they are good actors ... or I'm really pulling the wool over their eyes. Thanks, everyone. You really made me feel amazingly special, even though you all are the special ones.

I love being a meat eater. Sorry, my veggie friends.



Could I have had a better birthday extravaganza? Perhaps, if, as Laura had suggested, I'd been able to get myself a 19-year-old cabana boy to take care of me for the evening. Or had won the lottery. Or something. But those are dreams. And being realistic, I couldn't have asked for anything more awesome.

Best. Birthday. Ever. With or without the crying, I still win.

Waiting for Magic

Daffodils are my favorite flowers, which is kind of saddening when you realize they are only available at this time of year. The rest of the year I have to make do with other, lesser blooms. I'm waiting for this batch to Pop open.

I had a friend over tonight for crockpot-carnitas tacos. (And yes: they were amazingly delicious. I make a good spice rub.) The best part about having a guest over — aside from the whole "I have friends!" joy, and the conversation, and the sharing of food, and all the other things — is that it really is the only thing that actually motivates me to clean the apartment. Never can do it just for myself.

I leave for my Disneyland vacation in less than 36 hours, and only just now did I bother to rustle through my papers to find the Disney Rewards card I'd gotten from Chase. I've had a "Mickey Mouse" card for years now, and the big rewards was Disney dollars. (Not that I was thinking about the rewards at the time I signed up for the card: I was thinking about the 0% APR on transferred balances, and the crazy-at-the-time 17% APR I had on my Discover card. Disney dollars were bonus, even if I never used 'em.) This is now $170 I wouldn't really be able to spend anywhere else — The Disney Stores don't have movies anymore, it seems, which is a bummer — meaning that my living paycheck-to-paycheck habit just got me a free Disneyland lunch. And maybe one of those mouse ear hats. Huzzah.

Shy Camera, Lifeless Night

March is supposed to come in like a lion and go out like a lamb. Not true in San Francisco, apparently. Well, I guess it did rain on the 1st. Just a little. Hardly even worth mentioning. Today was in the high 60s or low 70s, and the natives were out in tank tops, shorts, skirts. I left Krav wishing I'd brought a skirt to change into for my walk through the city, wishing that I didn't have to lug my suddenly-unnecessary leather jacket around town.

Meanwhile, of course, there are tornadoes ravaging the Midwest. I know SF will get its comeuppance soon enough, the depression that comes with a sunless summer, but for now here is paradise. Tomorrow is expected to be much the same. I'm looking forward to soaking up as much of it as possible.

Right now, I had fully intended to be at the Red Devil Lounge to see some live music, have a drink, maybe even be social with some strangers. But then I got home from my walk around the city to find that season six of Doctor Who had been added to Netflix. And I looked at the new sweater I had started to cast on for, and thought about the money I could save by staying in and drinking some of the wine I already have, and then I realized that the washing machine was actually free and I had laundry to do ... and so here I am, in a pair of pajama pants, one load in the wash and one in the dryer, eating leftovers for dinner. Hooray my exciting weekend.

But that's okay, I have more to look forward to: Emily called this afternoon to discuss our impending trip to Disneyland, and pointed out that it is taking place in a week. Seven days. I had hardly realized it — I can scare believe that March has already begun, seriously, much less that it actually involves my going someplace further away than San Jose — and now the excitement is bubbling up.