Why Is Being Normal So Hard?

It seems I have been negligent in my journaling. I apologize. A lot's been going on, and I didn't really have the words to say it. (I still mightn't, but here's to trying.)

In lieu of taking my planned trip to Portland — good thing I didn't, because I'm broker than broke these days — I ended up spending the Fourth of July doing something I've never done before: sail on a boat around San Francisco Bay, and seeing the fireworks from the backside. It was pretty neat — my friends piloting the boat, a couple that met while they were serving in the U.S. Coast Guard (so they should be somewhat trusted on "open" waters), even let me "drive" the boat for a little bit just to get a feel for it. A couple pics below, but the rest, as always, can be found on my Flickr account:







On top of getting to do something awesome and new, the not-taking of the trip also gave me a 5-day weekend to relax and prepare for my new big adventure: working days. It's official: I've permanently dropped my vampiric ways, and have become a complete Daywalker. A perfectly reasonable, 9 to 5:30, Monday through Friday job the likes of which I never imagined I'd have again while still in my 20s. With a new job title to boot — not so much a promotion as a side-motion, but still. It's movement, and it's actually the job I've been hungering after for months. It's perfect for me, and gives me some room to grow (I hope).

It hasn't been easy. I never imagined that joining the ranks of the "normal" (as my family likes to call it) would completely throw my body out of whack. I'm waking up now around the time I used to get off work, and sleeping when I used to be working. In fact, I should probably be in bed right now, but ... well, old habits are hard to break.

We'll see how long I last like this. I keep getting told that in a few months, I won't even know how I used to be able to do Graveyard. But right now, I miss my old crew, I miss feeling like a hub of everything, and I'm still trying to figure out my niche in the daylight hours.

It's Official — These Things Come in Threes

The king of pop is dead at 50.

Farrah Fawcett is dead at 62.

My trip to Portland is dead, not even born. Sorry, y'all — too many indicators (car breaking down, cell phone dying, other things) that kind of told me the universe didn't want me taking a road trip at this time. Sucks, too, because I was really excited.

On the other hand, I get to mooch around and eat and read and watch TV a lot. So that's something positive.

So ...

If I canceled my Portland trip, would you all hate me?

Happy Happy

The official announcement: I'm taking my annual road trip to Portland and the Pacific Northwest this year. I should be up there July 1 through 5, leaving on the 6th. So be prepared. Who will be around?

I did a quick calculation of my remaining paid time off for the year in preparation for another trip (NYC this fall ... hopefully that pans out) and realized that, if I took my 4th of July vacation exactly as I had planned/scheduled, I'd be left with only one or two days for the entire rest of the year. This includes vacation and sick leave, since my company combines them both into PTO. So I lopped off a couple of the planned days for this trip, to try and save them for the fall vacation.

Interestingly enough, I think the restricted vacation opened my mind up to greater possibilities. My first night off is now Tuesday night, July 1. Since I work that morning until 6:30, if I wanted to do a straight 12-hour drive to Portland from SF, I'd have to waste that entire day resting up and sleeping, leaving the next morning, Wednesday. Which might still happen. But I was looking at the route and playing with Yahoo! maps, and realized that Crater Lake — a place I've always wanted to get back to — is only a 7-hour drive from SF ... still a distance, but I think one I could pull off. If I sleep right up until I have to go to work that night, and leave right after my shift.

So here's the plan, for those of you who need to know:

Tuesday, June 30: get off work, drive up to Crater Lake, get a camp site. Set up my tent and take a nap for a couple hours, leaving me with enough time (thank heavens for summer light late nights up north!) to do a little hiking and exploring before I have to retreat back to my site and hunker down for the evening. I just need a tent and sleeping bag -- I already even have a grill. Huzzah!

Wednesday, July 1: Wake up somewhat early, pack my stuff back into the car, go do some more hiking and exploring around the lake. Once I'm done, start heading out towards Portland, with the aim to be at Critter Cove sometime in the late afternoon/evening ... which is what I would have been doing, anyway, if I'd rested up and left SF Wednesday morning instead of Tuesday.

Thursday, July 2 - Sunday, July 5: Muck around Portland. I want to try to do some wine tasting in the Willamette Valley and/or Columbia Gorge areas. Relax. Enjoy my time with my friends. Maybe pop up to Seattle to hang with the peeps from my company's office up there. Celebrate the 4th. Cook dinner for y'all. Get drunk on beer and Goldschlager (do I have to bring my own, or will there be a supply waiting for me?)

Monday, July 6: Leave early, drive down in time for work, or even my ceramics class. Who knows? I'll be braindead, but I'll be vacationed.

Consider yourself warned. This is all Happy Happy for me.

Happy Sad

It's been a whirlwind month. Mostly good — May was a good month, made up for the crappiness of March and April. June I'm still not sure of; I'm being hit from all sides with all sorts of changes in the Way Things Are. And if you know me, you know I don't like change. Much.

Geof is tying up the loose ends before he leaves for NY, and so it was bittersweet chance to get to hang out with him pretty much this entire weekend. I'm happy for the time we got to spend together (and the TV and stereo system ... yes, I have a TV now. And a turntable — I can play vinyl!), but the fact that now I know just how limited this time left is, in reflection of time wasted on stubbornness and hurt feelings ... I'm not sure I can put it into words precisely how I feel. I'm going to miss the doofus. I'm going to miss the late nights where I'm at his place while we get drunk and he starts throwing all sorts of things off YouTube and his music and DVD collection at me. I'm going to miss the late-night phone calls that go to 5 in the morning, even though we started saying goodbye at 2. I'm going to miss the lunch breaks after the weekly supes meeting, where we vent at each other about what's been bothering us. I'm also so happy for him — I think the move is finally becoming real for him, and he's getting so excited, and I can't help being excited with him. True, he took the transfer that I always secretly wanted, he's doing the dream I always had in the back of my mind, so I'm jealous as all heck, but I'm thrilled that one of my best friends is shifting his life back into some sort of gear, in the best place on earth.

Just, why does he have to leave to do it? So not fair.

So that's the happy sad thing that's been weighing heavily on my mind of late. Next entry: Happy Happy.

Big Dream, Small Plates

I was at a dim sum place in Milpitas for a friend's birthday this Saturday and, in the middle of scarfing down a bunch of lobster bits, I was struck with a flash of genius.

Kosher dim sum.

An idea that will revolutionize Jewish cuisine. Imagine, if you will: a big open space, dotted with circular family-sized tables surrounded by cozy dilapidated chairs. Between the rows, bubbes in various stages of senility pushing carts laden with small plates of food, trying to coax you into having "just one more bite, you look so skinny, yingela."

You heard it here first, folks. Now to get cracking on recipes. So far I have matzo balls with various dipping sauces, matzah with chopped liver, lox, mini bagels and — the chickens' feet of Kosher cooking — gefilte fish.

Any other ideas?

On the other side of the calorie scale (and keeping with the Jewish theme, I guess), tomorrow evening I'm taking my first Krav Maga class. I'm scared and excited and can't wait to be sore all over. What the heck has become of me?! I must be going nuts.

Of Course He Ducks, He's a Quack ...

I think I'm finally over the trip. It didn't work the way it was supposed to, but I think I'm almost ready to look at the photos again. They will be on Flickr soon, Emily, don't you worry.

By the way, for those of you in or near San Francisco this Friday evening, the JCCSF is having another Open House thingy. A few of my new ceramic monsters are in it, there will be wine and nibblies, and some actually good stuff to look at. Here's a link to the event on Facebook for those of you who can see it. Otherwise, shoot me an email if you want details.

In other news, what is it about hot weather that brings out the weird in people?

It's been a while since I've gone to a bar alone to watch a game. But I was up early-ish yesterday (thank you, jerk of an upstairs neighbor ... thank you and your damn loud vacuum on my ceiling), the weather was pleasant, and it was game 3 of the first round of the NHL playoffs. I'd already missed the first two, and the Sharks had lost both, so I figured maybe it was my fault that they were playing so poorly — I was being a bad fan by not watching the games.

Still not sure if that was a good idea.

Oh, the Sharks won (apparently, the losses were my fault), so I suppose it was worth it in that sense. But a girl, alone in a bar, watching hockey, wearing a skirt on a nice evening? Apparently that screams "I am bored so please hit on me and buy me a drink".

No one ever randomly buys me a drink. Well, okay, once or twice it's happened. But two in a two-hour period? I'm not trying to boast here or anything — I know that, while not hideous, I'm never the prettiest girl in the room (even when I'm the only girl) — and in fact it was kind of creepy the second time around. The first guy was amusing, in a drunken loser sort of way. The second guy, though, barely spoke English enough to understand I was being honest when I said, No, I am going to work in a couple minutes so I can't have another drink. He bought me one, anyway. (I didn't drink it.)