That's It, California - I'm Gone

Dateline: SALT LAKE CITY

Not to disparage Nevada, but as I crested that final hill just before the Utah border, and saw the flooded salt flats spread out below me, shining blue and white, I almost cried at the beauty that alleviated the previous too-many hours of ugly boring landscape.

I'm glad now that I did the drive straight through on my first day. Long but worth it.

Random mental notes I took during my day's drive:

-- Stopped at Harrah's in Reno and ate at Hash House a Go Go, at Jeremy's recommendation. The name was, obviously, questionable, the decor not exactly what I expected (though it should have been what I expected of a casino restaurant), the food worth the stopover and the getting momentarily lost in the streets of Reno. I had the sage fried chicken, it surprised me. In a good way. 

-- Lost three dollars in the slots, and had absolutely no urge to continue in the hopes of contributing to the trip fund. I'm glad I'm not the addictive-gambling type. Maybe I'd have blown a bigger wad if I'd played the  blackjack tables, which might have triggered my competitive streak.

-- Nevada's rest stops had the most disgusting toilets of the three states I've visited so far on this trip. I actually squatted to pee for the first time ever, it was that gross. And the toilet had no seat, really, anyway. Ugh.

-- The girl working the drive-through window at the Elko Starbucks (exit 301 .. or 302? I forget) is very chatty. About herself. In the five minutes I had to wait at the window for my mocha frapp to be finished, I found out that she was born and raised in Houston, came to Elko to live with her mom (because why else would an 18-year-old move to Elko?) and was really, really excited about snow. Good for her.

-- About 20 percent of Nevada's stretch of I-80 seems to be going through a re-paving. I had to drive 55 mph through miles of orange "work areas" about a million times.

-- Something about Nevada made it really easy to drive 90 mph and still feel slow (when I wasn't in the work zone, of course - double fines!). (I accidentally hit 100 at one point when I wasn't looking.)  Utah, on the other hand, I cruised through at 75 (the legal speed limit) and felt like I was speeding. I often caught myself dropping down to 70.

-- This is the most landlocked I've ever been in my life.

It wasn't really until I drove into Utah that this felt like a true adventure. Maybe that's because I've been through that part of California, and have visited Nevada before -- though certainly I haven't been further east than Black Rock City.  But suddenly in Utah I felt that excitement that comes from being someplace new, from venturing into the unknown and feeling brave about it.

I pulled over at the first rest stop in Utah that I could, both because I needed to pee and also because I needed to give myself a chance to walk out on those salt flats. This was one of those few situations where I wish I had a companion with me on this road trip, but I made do as you can see in the attached photo. Note that, as I commented on Facebook, the picture doesn't do the flats justice as far as demonstrating their beauty or fullness of awe.

It was weird to drive away from that and watch the sunset in my rearview mirror instead of in my face. Weird, and liberating.

Tomorrow I explore SLC, and hopefully get down to the Lake, if possible, before heading to Jackson Hole and the Grand Tetons. It's probably about time for me to pass out, especially if I want to try to hit the pool in the morning for a quick swim - I'm feeling lumpy, need some exercise. I'll try to post again in the next 24 hours if I can find some Wi-fi to steal.

This Is Why I'm Getting the ReloCube

I spent about an hour and a half tonight pulling all my yarn and knitting stuff out of the closet, ziplock bagging it (stop the spread of moths, if any eggs are in a skein or two), and stuffing it into tubs.

This is the result of tonight's efforts:



The four plastic tubs (one 18-gallon, one 22-gallon, and two 4-gallon) are crammed to almost bursting with yarn. The basket on top has knitting magazines and my three pattern binders.
 
I've added a bottle of wine to the picture for scale. Because wine and knitting go together pretty well.

Please note that this is not enough.  I still have at least a large tub's worth of yarn, and will need a cardboard moving box for all my knitting books.  And you all just laughed when I told you I had over 36 miles of yarn in my closet. That was when none of you had an idea what it actually looked like.

Is this when I admit I have a problem, or just revel in it?

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.

ValentWine

Elements for a good Valentine's Day, when you are single:

1. Texts from male friends wishing me a Happy one (even if they are gay and/or bi).
   
2. Date with my favorite Jeremy.
   
3. Good ramen.
   
4. Wine: three glasses full.
   
5. Greek drama.
   
6. Free creme brulée from my Creme Brulée Cart "boyfriend". (Courtesy of frequent-buyer card — boyfriend does not know of our "relationship" ... yet?)
   
7. Coming home to a package from a good friend living 3,000 miles away.

I hope everyone had a V-Day at least half as happy as mine. Now let's move on and get on with our single lives, dammit.

Orange Crusher

So yes, I did buy a new car on Friday. It's fancy and somewhat sexy (as much as a Ford Focus can be) and has butt warmers and yes, I did cry my eyes out giving up the keys to my old Baby.

(Wiping more tears away thinking about the old car.)

More details forthcoming, once I get a chance to take a few pictures and upload them to my Flickr account.

However, I did want to say I discovered The Guild on Netflix Instant this weekend, and have been watching it. And now I want to know why no one ever told me Wil Wheaton was on this show. I mean, oh my god. I can feel my old crush bubbling back up from 19 years ago.

That's all. Excuse me now while I go heart-bubble in front of the TV some more before bed.

PS: You're right. I probably will stay up late Friday night just reading his blog, now that I remember it exists. Don't judge, pilgrim.

Vacationitis

It's like senioritis, but for adults with real jobs. And I have it.

The last two or three days, I've been busy — oh, have I ever been busy — and that's a really good thing, because if I didn't have actual real work being shoved into my face every two minutes (or, at least, someone coming up to me to ask a question), I don't know how I would keep my mind actually tethered into my body. Instead of Wikipedia reading and extra-long coffee breaks, the vacationitis manifests itself currently by ignoring the perfectly good leftovers brought for lunch and insisting I take myself out to eat every day. I'll have to stick the poor curry I have in the work fridge right now into the freezer, so it will still be good when I get home.

Woe is me.

My flight to New York leaves tomorrow night, and since I plan on heading to the airport direct from work, I'm trying to force myself to tidy things up around the apartment, finish up with packing, and scouring all surfaces to rid them of every scrap of food that Unwanted Roommate Jim might try to survive on in my absence.

It's only going slightly successfully. At least the kitchen is clean.

What it really boils down to is how much I really want to come home to a clean apartment. I'm pretty darned sure that when I walk in the door next week, at about midnight, I will be ecstatic to find nothing to trip me up on the path from front door to bed.

Unfortunately, I have to get my mind on board with this concept, and my mind is currently 3,000 miles away. Give or take. Window shopping for apartments.

So it's a little problematic.

And I suppose writing on here isn't helping matters, either.

Tomorrow's going to be a long day. Time to go at least finish that packing, so I don't do something foolish like forget my Penny Press puzzle books. See (err, you know what I mean) you all when I get back to town next week.

If I come back.

Over the Moon and Under the Influence

Dear Friends Ken and Elsie, if you read this:



You totally missed out on awesome.

I woke up this morning with a terrible hangover. Had gone out to an art gallery opening last night with the Ceramics Crew, and then joined Leonie and Gabe for drinks at 83 Proof. I blame Leonie: she kept encouraging refills on my bourbon, and before I knew it I was three sheets to the wind and four drinks down in a two-hour period. (I also thank Leonie, since she was nice enough to foot the bill on my drunkenness. I owe you a few, girl — and it's good to see you again.) Cabbed it home and could barely see straight when I walked in the door.

The rainy gray day I (eventually) woke up to was perfect; I ended up just staying in bed until past noon, emerging every once in a while to down another glass of water. By the time I rolled out of my apartment, say around 5:30 or so, the rain had reduced down to a heavy mist, and the Giants-Phillies game was well under way. Stopped at the local Toast Eatery, watched a few innings over a BLTA and almost felt like a real San Franciscan (in a good way, Geof ... not in a douche way). It was a good night for Bay Area sports.

The Trashcan Sinatras played tonight at Cafe du Nord's upstairs venue, the Swedish American Hall. I'd never been there, didn't know what to expect, but it was a nice experience. No drinks, but it's a quaint interior, and the sound was fantastic from my second-row-back seat. Was chatting with a few of the TCS-regulars (the band has a small, but fairly rabid following ... so you go to enough shows, you start to see the same people over and over again, which is awesome), and realized that I'd been a fan of these guys full on half my life. I suppose that's not such a big achievement, except for the fact that they're still around, still making music, and I'm still able to see them live. Also, they are still fucking awesome; every time I go see them in concert, it reminds me once more why they are my favorite band of all time.





Pure bliss.

Making Up for Missed Opportunities

It's time to bust out the Trashcan Sinatras CDs again. The email announcing the band's June U.S. mini-tour came just as I got home tonight, and within 15 minutes I'd bought tickets for myself and coworker/friend Elsie.

Their last San Fran show, back in the end of July, I missed by being practically on my deathbed. They're my favorite band — I've been a fan since I was frickin' sixteen years old, almost half my life — and since they have a tendency to pop up and then fade back into obscurity, I wasn't sure if I'd get an opportunity to see them again short of a trip to Glasgow. At the time I seriously was considering drugging myself up so I could make it, but since I could hardly sit upright for more than ten minutes, it's probably best I didn't try. And lo, here they are again, touring on their latest and with promises of a return to the States later this fall.

The those unfamiliar, here's a link to a page with some songs to sample. A few links for the lazy:

The Genius I Was
The Main Attraction
Freetime

Happy, happy day.