Covetous

Clearly Heavenly

Pot Of Gold

Mirror, Mirror

Hot Tamale

Zipperific

Sweet Dreams

The Queen

Bad Romance

Yudu Work

Scent-Sational

Worth A Thousand Words

Enough with the boo-hooing! I’m starting to bring myself down. It’s freezing outside (for Bay Area standards) and no one has extra cash, but there are plenty of things to celebrate and be happy about.

I’ll save my photo montage for the end of the year and will instead post some pics that make me laugh and that will me get into trouble. Dude, I’m so gonna get it.

Halloween: After weeks of planning our costumes, one night via iChat my sister and I were struck with inspiration and decided we MUST be Jem & The Holograms. A true Misfit at heart, she was the green-haired arch nemesis Pizzazz and I just played along. Yeah right! I jumped at the chance to be Jem and even made a hot pink ensemble to match my neon hair. Now that image, we’ll save for another rainy day.

Truly, Truly, Truly Outrageous!!! If you don't know who these awesome late-80s rival band leaders are, you are dead to me.

Moving Day: I thought leaving the city after 14 years would be more heartbreaking, but I am so much happier now and cannot wait to come home after work. I walk a lot more too and am excited to report my waistline is a lot slimmer now than in the picture so envision me as the svelte vixen I am.

If you want to know how AMAZING my family and friends are check this: Dad & Geri helped me load up everything so we could do it in one trip and Mom and Thea set up my kitchen, Sis and Ann arranged my living room and even emptied most of the boxes at my new digs.

Given the pic above, I spared my sis in this one. Rockin’, right?

Bust a Move! A fuzzy picture but what do you expect after a 12-hour day?

Dollar Daze: These days I am exploring new places like the dollar store and it really is a one-stop shop for household items, large-print word search books, gift wrap, decorations and anything else you may or may not be looking for.

Miss Croco. If You're Nasty.

Ally-gator. I couldn't resist.

Stocking Stuffers? Look closely.

Chocolate Love: Amid all the craziness I invested in myself this year and took a three-month Professional Chocolatier’s Course. I learned why chocolates differ in taste, developed signature chocolates, practiced new techniques for molding, dipping, shaving and filling chocolate, recipes for creating other candies as well as how to write a successful business and operation plan. I’m proud of myself for coming in at the top of my class. A+, baby!

Dark Chocolate Whiskey Truffle.

Honey Nougat. Shut your mouth!

Yum and Yum.

**Tasty goodies for sale soon! Ooh la la.**

It’s time to retire, finally. My cozy bed is beckoning, the train is whistling in the far distance and the rain is falling in melody.

Hope you enjoyed my kooky photos and even laughed a little, too.

At least the candy won’t be too annoyed with me. xo

Ms. UnMerry

It is December and I’m grumpy.

Instead of feeling warm and fuzzy, this jovial missus cannot wait to be done with the holidays and for all the decorations to disappear for another year. The next couple of weeks cannot come quickly enough. In my mind I’ve already moved on to not having a Valentine.

This year was not easy. Nearly everyone I know experienced a salary reduction of some sort, if not completely. Sadly the pattern is continuing and although I am reminded of what really matters in life (love, compassion, family and friends) I am also faced with emotions I would rather ignore. I’m not proud to admit it, but having money makes a difference. This mega-root of all evil is a necessary object and the divider of classism. Money matters – especially when you find yourself without.

At the end of last year I made the difficult decision to take a break from working to take care of my health. I was not healing properly from an accident involving me, my coat, the pavement and a taxicab. My mind was jumbled and each day my body made it clear via intense muscle spasms and pain that it was not happy. It was stressful to take care of myself and maintain a 50+ hour work schedule every week and give 100%. When the doctor reminded me how lucky I was to be alive and said “You only have one YOU,” I put myself in check.

Although I do not regret making the decision, the timing could have been better. Soon after, the economy began to crumble and kerplunk! there I was in the toilet. Months passed. Once I was ready to rejoin the workforce and my head was on straight it was too late. I became one of thousands vying for any type of position.

Like many people my experience wasn’t an issue but there were plenty of good reasons not to employ me:
“You’re really overqualified.”
“We think you are too senior for this position.”
“We’re looking for someone who needs training.”
“Are you sure you want to work in a position like this? You might be bored.”
“Your salary is out of range.” (Really? I wasn’t making THAT much)
“With your experience it’s difficult. What will happen when the economy gets better?” She should have said IF it gets better.
Every comment was like a stake through the heart. I was upset. I was re-evaluating my life. I was depressed. I was ineligible for unemployment.

So here I am, living the glorious life of a temp. Every day I get up and work for less than I did right out of college. It kills me, but I also feel lucky and grateful. Grateful that I am employed. Grateful for not having children to feed in times like this. Grateful for not having the expense of a car or house payment. Grateful for Planned Parenthood because I do not have insurance. Grateful for the Dollar store. Grateful to defer my student loans. Grateful my savings were there to cash out. Grateful I’m not high-maintenance. Grateful to survive.

All of my hard work in high school and college does not matter anymore. Years of paying dues, gaining experience and working through holidays and vacations is obsolete. That cute sweater, bottle of champagne, foie gras, and adorable earrings do not pay the rent now. The cushion is gone! Gone! Gone! I kick myself for spending money on materialistic possessions in my past and not dumping everything into my bills. Suze Orman, why didn’t I listen to you?

With little extra to spend on anything beyond necessities and bills I am on a budget. At first it was painful. Why can’t I get this? What can’t I buy that? (all internal conversations) I stopped whining and made changes. I nickel and dime my spending, clip more coupons than ever and love my excel expense workbook. With every purchase I ask aloud: Want vs. Need? Then do the math. A cheap dinner out with tip can cost up to an hour’s work! I’m not that hungry.

If it isn’t in the workbook, it doesn’t exist and that is final. No extra this or that. No dining out. No new clothes. No spa treatments. No designer bags (sob). No vacations or getaways. No taking cabs. No alcohol. No concerts. No movies. No cute bra’s from Victoria’s Secret. No shoes. No treats; not even for the sweet children I love to spoil.

During these tough times I am tremendously thankful for the love of my family and friends that constantly keeps my head above water, but my independence and esteem are bruised and a battered as of late which is probably adding to the holiday humbuggery. It is crushing to feel like a failure for taking care of myself and even worse to pretend to be so excited about the holidays when I cannot give more. I cannot donate to charity or splurge on anyone and it makes me nauseated to see the retail push on TV for crap when there are so many families in need of food or shelter.

Money is too tight to mention, but looking at the bright side helps a lot. I found a perfect and affordable apartment and moved out of the city  closer to friends and family (and happier!). I spend more time at home now and love to cook which saves on the pocketbook. Not exactly great for dating, but having a place where people feel comfortable visiting and enjoy relaxing is well worth it. If I want dinner, ice cream, cookies, or candy I make them instead of buying them. It’s cheaper and a great way to support my passion. My work hours now are structured so I do not work more than 40 hours a week AND I can take an hour lunch. The last time that happened was 1999 – for real. Now I can get home before it gets dark, workout, shower and make dinner all before 8pm. My body definitely thanks me for that.

So ask me to look at the cute snowmen on your desk, go to happy hour or attend a holiday event that costs money and my response will be NO, but my hugs are free, my house is clean and my heart is open so get in line. Oh and if you bring some nog from the liquor store, we’ll do it up FANCY!

‘Tis the season!

Underwater Memories

“You need to update your blog,” my sister said as we schlepped our baggage along the people-mover at SFO.

I shrugged. “I know, I’m lame. What can I do?”

“Update it,” she said and then smiled.

“Smartass.” I hate when she is right.

Hours later we were enjoying $2 Mai-Tai’s, the Pacific Ocean and the warm sands of Oahu.

Months later I’m enjoying my woolly grandpa sweater, my living room and Law & Order repeats. Let’s sort of make up for lost time.

Waikiki, Hawaii

In between working at a temporary job that pays 1/3 of my old salary, getting myself together and finding a new apartment, it was Hawaii time! The old me would have droned on about missing a meager paycheck and feeling guilty, but the new me booked a shark adventure instead. You only live once, right?

You read right – Shark Adventure. AMAZING is the only word that can explain my time in a cage in the middle of the ocean surrounded by Galapagos Sharks. AMAZING! http://www.hawaiisharkencounters.com/

After a trip to North Shore in a cozy van filled with fellow adventurers and a quick stop at the loo, I chucked my flip-flops into a basket and climbed aboard the fishing boat. My sister waved from shore and headed out to find a spot on the beach. (The parents insisted she come with on the boat “just in case” but given her shark-intimidation we decided getting up at dawn to make the trip was enough.)  I thought I was going to burst from the anticipation alone. Thank goodness for Dramamine.

This is a good point to let you know a few things about me: 1) I am not spontaneous or adventurous 2) I am not a strong swimmer 3) I’ve never been IN the ocean away from a beach 4) I do not know how to snorkel

The crew of cute locals ate their breakfast sandwiches as they drove us out into the ocean. Waves crashed alongside the boat, passengers got sick to their stomach and we learned how to breathe with a snorkel. I asked two petite girls from Los Angeles to take a picture of me on the boat and then took video of the sharks swimming around the first group in the water. I couldn’t wait for my turn. Armed with two underwater cameras (the click-click kind) I hopped into the cage like I was jumping onto my bed, held on to the bars and hoped I could figure out how to breathe. After 5 minutes it didn’t matter because I was breathless. There they were.

Just like an aquarium, right?

Eight gorgeous male Galapagos Sharks circled the cage. Through my snorkel I was shrieking, “Here, Sharkie! Sharkie!” and hoping my camera worked. After my 30 minutes in the water it was time to get out and I was the last one on the boat. Note: they did not chum the waters so the sharks were not in a feeding frenzy or anything. It was in a spot where they frequent and they were treated to frozen fish – no blood.

As soon as I was on board I wanted to go right back in. Oh and I gave my boat a free show when my swimsuit malfunctioned, but such is life.

Objects may be closer than they appear

The rest of our days were spent enjoying the warm weather, counting how many hookers drunken frat boys attracted, lounging in the water, flashing peeps accidentally while snorkeling near coral reefs, oogling beautiful men, enjoying how nice people were and going to a luau. Another awesome experience because “Cousin Trina” recognized we were cool chicks and upgraded our seats for the show, comped drinks and gave us prime seating at the front of the bus next to her. That’s how we do.

Can I go back now?

Ocean Flip-Flops

Hanauma Bay

Soapbox Moment: I am completely in awe of sharks and passionate about their survival. Sadly shark-fin soup encourages Finning and hundreds of thousands of these ‘predators’ are slaughtered every year to satisfy this ridiculous delicacy in all parts of the world. This menu item requires nothing BUT the fin of the shark. They are fished out of the ocean, separated from their fin and thrown back for a bowl of soup. Disgusting. Please do not eat at a restaurant that serves this soup. Believe it or not,  it is on a lot of Chinese Menu’s in the Bay Area.

On my adventure I learned over 3 billion sharks will have died in less than a 50-year period and more than a few populations are now extinct at the hands of humans.

They’ve survived 450 million years in the oceans only to be annihilated by man. Who is the real predator, now?

http://www.sharks.org/index.htm

http://www.worldwildlife.org/ogc/species_SKU.cfm?gid=14&sc=AWY0900WC000

http://www.savingsharks.com/

http://www.greenpeace.org/usa/news/sharkfins-discovered-on-taiwan

Ahem… Ahem… Ahem

In light of all the annoying instances that happen on a daily basis, today I am happy to report two that peeved me through and through.

One.

There is a woman who works near me who clears her throat incessantly. ALL DAY, EVERYDAY.

I feel awful because we’ve all been there, but this is non-stop for over a month now. It’s not a polite or gentle purring as if there is a slight tickle in her uvula either. It is full-on AHHHEEEMMM AHHHUUUMMM CAACCCAAAA AHEEEEMM AHHHUUUUMMM every 30 seconds at 100dB. (And yes I timed it. I work for a state agency and am easily distracted.) She’s done it multiple times since I began this entry. I am not alone and hear my colleagues chuckling once it begins. It’s truly remarkable how she will churn out camel noises all day, but never excuses herself from her desk. She just sits there like nothing is happening. Believe me, nothing would please me more than to have her sit outside of the office all day. (Before you think I’m a totally inconsiderate lump understand that there is more to this person than the motorcycle lodged in her esophagus. She speaks louder and more condescending than anyone I’ve ever encountered in an office environment, constantly takes personal calls and never fails to have a snide or snarky comment about anything. I know how many hours she’s “forced” to work, what a “fabulous” nursemaid she is to her injured friend, all the “deets” on why she cannot eat dairy, her obsession with “fantasy” and that she is teaching herself Photoshop “on her own time”. NEWSFLASH: You are not that important! I digress.

The best thing about working in a large office building is the communal restroom. YAY! Um, why is this relevant? It’s not really, but I needed a segway because Peeve Numero Uno NEVER washes her hands. Bleck! So gross, I can’t even talk about it. Well I can, a little. She has fake nails. Ok. I’ll stop there. She is at the top of my mental list of un-handwashers.

This is me - ANNOYED.

Two.

The second joy of my day comes when unwinding at my friendly neighborhood coffee shop. In these economically stressed times once in a while I treat myself to a magazine and a very inexpensive café au lait. Today I settled in with my tasty beverage, made a few calls, smirked at the intense engineering discussion two ancient men were having and flipped through the latest Real Simple. About average on the excitement meter and exactly what I was hoping for in a lunch break. And then it happened.

A woman whizzed into the perfectly calm café nearly knocking over everything in her path including women and small children, chooses to sit directly in front of me (of course) and begins clanging cups and saucers loudly to clear her very small bistro table. With total disregard for the several clean tables, she picks up any trace of trash on the floor while humming along to the blaring music in her headphones. I was just learning that a group of jellyfish is called a “smack” when she began moving around the chairs and creating large circles with her arms. Is it Tai-Chi O’ Clock? No. Is there a large plane landing? No.

She tossed her backpack on one chair and a grocery bag on the other and loudly assembled a picnic for one. The organic potato chip bag crinkled, the plastic container holding some form of cold salad crackled, the soda can cracked open and even the butcher paper on her sandwich managed to annoy me as it was ripped to shreds. Then her iced-coffee was ready. She hopped up, ignored the barista wishing her a good day, shook the cup, walked over to the trash and removed the ice cubes. After her fishing expedition and another good shake she returned to her seat for a seated booty dance accompanied by sneaker squeaking footwork. My jaw clenched and nose wrinkled when she stood up to adjust her underwear and the fit of her bra completely ignoring those of us behind her. I decided to preserve my remaining sanity and cut my lunch short. Thankfully the café was full of equally annoyed patrons and the Mona Lisa smile directed at me from an older woman was all the validation I needed. I was not alone.

Believe me, I am not a total lunatic and am typically fun-loving and flexible but if you don’t wash your hands and storm around larger than your footprint I am deducting points.

Fair Warning.

Ms. Cellophane

Today I am wearing my invisible skin.

I got up like any other day, ignored my alarm clock and hit snooze until I liked the song on the radio and got out of bed. Today it was “Baby Love”. (Diana Ross can make me do anything.) Washed my face, semi-combed my hair before putting it in a loose bun, lathered on moisturizer, swirled and tapped my way to a natural looking face, spent too much time putting on mascara, washed my hands, put together an outfit, put it on, looked for shoes, lost and found my keys, threw on my scarf and cardigan and headed out.

But by the time I walked down the hill to the train it was evident that I was transparent.

A woman jogging opposite of me nearly ran me over, the security guard at the complex next door almost hit me with the cart he was wheeling to the curb, a driver looking straight at me did not stop while I was crossing the street and a couple standing directly in from of the train doors did not move to let me until I shouted ‘EXCUSE ME!’ and still they stood there dumbfounded with fluff in their head. UGH. From the moment I stepped on the train I stopped internalizing any personal emotions stirred up by the obvious disregard for my being and blamed it on lack of courtesy. Perhaps they were not lucky enough to be raised with class. Yes, that’s it.

 My stop arrives soon after and I ride the slow moving escalators (because my shoes are cute), scoot past the SFPD who were crawling around the plaza looking for someone or something, cross paths with the resident homeless community beside the museum, bounce through the Italian tour group taking photos of City Hall and could see building less than 2 blocks away. Almost there.

The man washing the soot from city streets stopped what he was doing when a leggy blonde in a suit and heels walked by him, but did not halt on my behalf. Really? Thanks guy, that’s awesome! He waved his high pressure hose from left to right on the sidewalk like a serpent coming closer to me without even a glance. I stopped and let him finish then scooted around him to cross the street. At the corner a woman pulling her suitcase stood so close to me that I thought I was pulling it for her then dashed in front of me when the light turned green. I hurried up the steps of my building only to be cut off by a man in a tailored suit who let the door slam in my face. That’s right, close your eyes tight and walk right by me. Better yet, look right through me.

Internalized Emotions- ACTIVATE!!

I opened the door for myself and said “Thanks so much for holding the door!” when I got inside. He barely acknowledged me and looked away. “Have a great day!” I said sarcastically before whizzing past him in security. Maybe a clown-nose and neon shirt will encourage some respect next time.

There’s always tomorrow.

Love For Sale

Say no more, Mr. Crooner. Say no more.

TO: All you lonely hearts out there

FROM: The  matchmaking service of your dreams

SUBJECT: “Find love for as low as $11.99 a month”.

Really?

a) It’s that easy?

b) I’ve been paying too much.

Nothing beats a kick in the gut like a friendly electronic reminder that I should be looking for love. Seriously? I thought my inbox was a safe place where I could hide from society’s pressures. Dang. With a background merchandising and marketing online stores I totally understand business is business and the economy is grim – apparently especially for the lonely. Common business practice implies sending out an email to announce a sale is the way to go and will most likely always illicit the response you are looking for – a repeat customer, plus a forward to friends and so on.

Call me old-fashioned if you must, but doesn’t a sale on last season’s coveted Marc Jacobs bag or the softest black cashmere sweater with pearl buttons (I’ve been stalking) differ slightly from um, let’s say a potential mate? I do love a bargain and I am a sucker for a 60% discount, but “Act now and save!” might be a bit much even for me when it comes to a fire-sale on love. Let’s dissect, shall we? The thought of signing up for a service which may or may not help me in the love department ignites commitment issues. It didn’t work the first time I tried it, so why should I come back. Oh, it’s on sale now? SCORE! A total freak, right? Here is love in my face, for mere dollars a month and I’m still afraid to take the plunge (more on that later).

Apparently you can buy love.

xoxo (the first time is free!)

Silly Spinster

Old Maid In-Training

I am 32 years-old, unmarried and unattached. Gasp! (I’ll give you a second to marinate and review the photo.)

Ok. Tragic as it is, after years of practice it does not usually cause me concern. When I was 25 and unattached it was ok because I was “still young” but now – not so much.

Sidebar: Sharing a) I am 32 and b) I am single just made me feel a bit queasy. A concrete statement salted with an admission of guilt. It’s no secret though so what the hell, right? Right!?

Finding a companion who is right for me and there to help me with the groceries, share the rent and to love tirelessly is definitely romantic, but after 14 years in San Francisco I’ll admit I’m as jaded as the jewelry stores in Chinatown. There are people, but none that I like that much or enough to explain their circumstances.

I’m definitely sarcastic when I see exact opposites making out in public or overhear high-maintenance women stomp their feet and nag their man because she didn’t get the Louis Vuitton bag she wanted, but what else am I supposed to do? I’m through with lamenting and comparing myself. I buy my own bag. This Peanut Butter gots No Jelly at the moment and is ok with it, so there.

However, my family, friends and even new acquaintances with very little invested in me want me to ‘be  happy’ and to not continue a “life of loneliness.” (Thanks, Mom.) I guess I never really stopped to think about all of that.

New acquaintances are always the best in breaching the subject, hence this post.

It usually goes a little something like this and stems from some story about their smart/sexy/witty counterpart:

“What about YOU? Is there anyone special in YOUR life?”

See Also: “Do YOU live with YOUR boyfriend/husband”, “Who brings YOU flowers?”, “YOU seeing anyone?” and the delicate “Are YOU dating?”

 “Nope.” But thanks for the reminder!

“Really?” I am lying to you about my personal life.

“Yep. That’s the truth.” Who are you again?

“Why not?” Maybe my secret life as a dominatrix call-girl has something to do with it?

“I don’t know.” Sigh.

“But you seem like such a nice person.” You are right.

I shrug and roll my eyes and then brace myself.

“That’s too bad.” Wah-Wah.

As soon as those words come out of their mouth I imagine a typewriter in their mind clacking out a message in dark black ink on a scrap of bright-white paper:

“SOMETHING must be wrong with her. I wonder what it is.”

It’s quickly followed by a smile or smirk, head-tilt to size me up, sharing a personal account that being married/engaged/with someone forever/finding new love/honeymooning is not all it’s cracked up to be and wraps with:

 “You don’t need them anyway .” Right.

 Or the infamous

 “Sometimes I wish I was still single.” Keyword: SOMETIMES.  I just listened to you gush and coo about your partner for an hour- You are so lying.

“Yeah. It’s ok. Somebody has to be.” Good job stopping the heartache train before Martyr-ville.

“Grass is always Greener I guess!” I hate that cliché and we’re not going to be friends.

Typically this is when I excuse myself from this downward spiral and head to the sanctity of the restroom where I can sigh deeply and reapply lip gloss. I do love the lip gloss.

By the time my lips are smacked together all is forgotten, but I know that when I rejoin the group I’m freshly minted as the Single Girl, Poor Thing, Third Wheel or Old Maid in-training. It would really be much easier to come out with toilet paper stuffed into the back of my pants, but that is me. Another experience added to the layers of life’s lasagna.

“Silly Spinster, Couples are Fun!” Sigh.

Lovely Goodness

Au Lait and The Temptress

This evening I went swimming in the warm froth of a Cafe Au Lait. Brimming in a bowl large enough to hold a Saturday-Morning-Sized bowl of cereal and gently sweetened with natural brown sugar, it was perfectly delicious and swirled brown and white.

But the temptation of my favorite French dessert – the lovely Tropezienne – mocked me from the nearby case. This final piece of what I imagined was a large crème patisserie lounged in its glory practically wearing a tight “Take Me!” t-shirt and looking so good I wanted to write a dirty novel about it. I waved my white flag and gave in to total gluttony. Sidebar: Totally worth the additional 20 minutes to my workout.

I fell in love with this morsel of tastiness in the French Riviera in the tiniest Patisserie off a cobblestone street in Antibes.

As large as a big-mouth burger, filled with the most decadent Grand Marnier cream and every bite scented with vanilla it was absolutely gorgeous.

Although my French is limited to menu items I understood the aromas floating in the tiny space and greedily inhaled filling my lungs to the max, but without looking like a freak. The shop owner and baker smiled at me, said something Frenchie and packaged the treat up in a pastry box fashionably tied with white string. The 10-minute walk to the hotel was worth the wait.

Tasting the delicately flavored brioche, the sweet cream and the powder-dusted top specked with crystallized sugar for the first time is embedded in my taste buds for life. Seriously, how could this thing taste as good as it looks?

The Cote d’Azur is breathtaking and every moment is picturesque and exactly like any photo you’ve seen with the Mediterranean glistening in the background. It is full of beautiful people from all over the world wearing white linen outfits and nothing on the beach, but that Tropezienne inspired me the most to relax, live life and enjoy a slice of heaven every now and then.

A pointless post – perhaps, but sharing the lovely goodness is scandalously delicious.

Lovely Goodness Herself - The O.G. Tropezienne