What to write about today

There's been a lot going on lately, and I'm not quite sure what to write about. Do I give a rundown of last night's awesome concert? A play-by-play of my diswasher disassembly yesterday morning? A mournful commentary on the Giants slide back to thrid place after a really nice winning streak? A shout out to Sherry and Shoeless Lou for staying out until 1 am?

Or maybe I should just go get lunch.

Possibly the best email I've gotten in months

There are a few Specialty’s cookies and some Starbuck’s coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself!

Evening came, and morning followed: the first bad dream

I vividly remember the days leading up to high school chorus performances. You could almost feel the buzz of anxiety once you entered the chorus room. But, with almost-daily rehearsals, I'm not sure if it was true anxiety we felt, or rather if a few people were stressed out and others absorbed it in all the time we spent together.

I'm reminiscing for one reason: on Sunday night, for the first time in years, I had a bad music dream. I jolted out of bed before 4 am, my heart racing and my mind a little fuzzy. Here's what I remember:

I'd lost my music. Well, not really, but I'd left it somewhere in between our final rehearsal and the concert, and I didn't have time to get it before the show started. And I could envision exactly where I'd left it, but the girl standing next to me (Erin from a newspaper job I had five years ago - very odd!) wouldn't cover for me so I could retrieve my binder, a la Sarah Jessica Parker in "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," when she ducked out of rehearsal by crawling under the feet of the other girls.

So, music-less, I had to share with Erin, who despite being a pretty nice person when I worked with her, was in this dream really quite mean.

The whole dream was really odd, but in my half-awake stupor, I surveyed my small room, saw that my very-full binder was right where I'd left it, and went back to sleep, assured that if I did lose my music, Erin wouldn't be around to be mean to me, and a few other people would let me share with them.

Desperately seeking a haircut

When I first moved to San Francisco, I found a tremendously talented beautician at, of all places, the salon in the mall. She cut my hair really well, the cuts retained their shape for months, and, since she'd only recently gotten her license, the haircuts were pretty cheap.

And then she got engaged. And then they had a baby. And then she decided not to return to the salon. While she may be working out of her home in the Bayview, her great-for-her-family decision has left me looking a little shaggy.

I tried the small salon near my apartment, and while the cut seemed great at first, as it started to grow out I realized that it was completely uneven. I can strike that place off of my list.

I tried other stylists in the mall salon. The experiences were so bad I can't even talk about them.

I wanted to try this other place in the Sunset after I met the owner, but the phone numbers listed in the phone book are no longer for his salon. Hmmmm. That's not a good sign.

So now I'm getting desperate. And I'm shedding all over the place. And my ends looks lousy. Can anybody out there help me? Quickly, because it's damp and wet lately, and my hair is poised to take over the city!

Random bits of overheard telephone conversation

This is why I love cubicleville:

"Well, are you putting the whole can in your mouth?"

Yay vacation days!

I haven't had a job with paid vacation and sick time since 2002. I now accrue vacation days at the rate of 10 hours a month. And on Wednesday I'm taking my first vacation day. I couldn't be more excited!

Why, you may ask, am I taking a day off in the middle of the week before a long weekend? Well, I'm tired and not feeling too well, and a day to rest would be great. And I'd like to try to get a haircut and have had trouble tracking down the guy in the new place I'd like to try. And with a choir concert on Wednesday night, and probably a long rehearsal on Tuesday night, Wednesday seemed like a good day to take off. I can sleep in, make cookies for the dessert reception, and go for a swim. And not be frazzled by the end of the day.

And, in case I can't get a haircut appointment between now and then, I'll have the time to process my hair into submission. Today it looks like it exploded, and left to its own devices, by Wednesday it might be able to overtake the church.

Only if you go to Mass

I ran into the crazy lady in the kitchen again. Thankfully, we only overlapped for a few minutes, but the conversation in that time was a little odd.

She walked in and asked if there was anyplace she could hear me sing. Now I wasn't fully paying attention, but I also didn't quite understand what she said - her phrasing was weird. I was also confused because I've never had a conversation with her about my choir.

I must have looked puzzled, because I asked her to repeat herself and she looked at me like I had three heads.

"As a singer who sings, is there anyplace I can hear you sing?" Because if I were a singer who dances, we'd have a problem.

"Only if you go to Mass."

"Catholic Mass? Oh, well, I used to be Catholic. Well, I am Catholic, but my friends call me recovering."

Turns out she takes her mom to St. Dominic's when she's in town for the architecture and the music, though probably not my music.

"I sometimes go to St. Ignatius," the crazy lady continued. "The times I've been there, I've felt like they were talking directly to me."

I'm still not sure if she meant the priest, or somebody else entirely.

Perhaps the best sentence ever written

It was a highly-anticipated performance that flopped harder than a 300-pound man in a speedo.

That's courtesy of my sister. Check out the rest of this literary masterpiece here.

Idiot coworkers

This conversation took place at the end of the day on Monday.

"Hey, Clair."

"Hey, Gabe."

"I don't think you should go to any more Giants games."

"Huh?"

"You're going to the game tonight, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you went on Saturday, and they lost."

"Yeah."

"And the last couple times you went they lost too, right?"

"Um, no. Actually, they lost on Saturday, but won the time before that, lost the game before that, but won big the first two games I went to this season."

"Oh. Well, I'm just saying that maybe you're bad luck or something, and maybe you shouldn't go to the games anymore."

Totally starting a rumor

I've never started a rumor before, at least not that I can remember, so we'll see how this goes. My hope is that this rumor will be carried from one blog to another, and will eventually explode over the western United States.

Did you hear about Sherry and Brian? They're totally seeing each other.

Photos are forthcoming......

All Hail the Boston Massacre

The Yankees beat the pants (or socks?) off of the Boston Red Sox over the weekend, winning five games at Fenway in a repeat of the five-game sweep of the Sox in Boston 63 years ago.

They outscored Boston 49-26. The last time the Yankees completed a massacre of the Red Sox, they won the World Series.

Shag the Dodgers

It's rivalry weekend on both coasts - the Yankees are playing the last of their 20 or so games against the Boston Red Sox this weekend, and the Giants are facing the division-leading Dodgers in San Francisco.

Saturday night was rivalry cap night - and I am now the proud owner of a Bank of America-sponsored "Beat LA" cap. If only the caps helped the Giants rally.

I arrived at the ballpark about 45 minutes before game time, to scope out my seats (in the bleachers overlooking the Bay), get a hotdog, and watch batting practice. It's good that I did see the end of the Dodgers warmup, because I could tell they were aiming all their hits towards the hole in right field. Unfortunately, the Giants weren't paying attention.

This game was also exciting because it was an outing with a bunch of girls I work with. One girl I know pretty well, but the others I'd only recently met. Turns out, my new friends knew nothing about baseball, and the one who came with her husband was especially clueless.

"Why are the booing so loudly?" she asked when Jeff Kent, a former Giant and now a Dodger, was announced in the starting lineup.

"Because not only did he leave, but he went to L.A."

"Oh, the rivalry thing. Like Matt Damon, right?"

"Right."

I just didn't have the heart to tell her it was Johnny Damon - a former Red Sox who now plays for NY. It was her first game. And she spent most of it shivering and huddled into her husband, an ass hole who kept making inappropriate drug references, because it turns out he hates Barry Bonds and was rooting for L.A. He's also a Mets fan, so we had a hard time getting along.

He was also very obviously stoned, and spent nine innings talking about food and being beligerent to everyone. How ironic.

And did I mention how cold it was? I was the only one who came with a hat and gloves, and a blanket (which I ended up lending to a girl from Emeryville, who thought it was so nice out she woudln't need more than a sweatshirt, and she almost didn't bring that).

And did I mention that the Dodgers were ahead by 10 in the second inning and the Giants had to pull their first pitcher after two?

Despite a nice hustle we just couldn't pull it out. Final score: 14-7. But maybe I made a new friend, and I got the free hat. And a free blanket, because by the fourth inning I was so cold I applied for a credit card, just to take advantage of the free blanket offer. It should come in handy on Monday. The tickets for that game are in the third tier. It'll be pretty windy.

You know the best way to meet men, right?

This is another gem to come out of a conversation I had at a young adults meeting. Several people not involved in the group, and over 50, came for Fr. Anselem's talk on Saint Edith Stein. Unfortunately, I got there early enough to meet one of these folks - an interesting woman in her mid-50s who seems to be making the rounds of young adult groups as a "filler" when they can't get a turnout from the under 40 crowd.

She was asking all sorts of questions about the group, and how large our membership was, and talking about a recent event at another parish. She said she thought these groups were a really great idea from a socializing point of view. I concurred, saying that I'd lived here for five years, and it's difficult to make friends.

"You know the best place to meet men, right? The hunting club dinners. The population is almost 90 percent male, and the barbecue chicken is always really good. Of course, that's outside of the city. Within the city, they all hang out at the yacht club."

Right. Where in my part of this conversation did I mention meeting guys. I said MAKING FRIENDS. And hunting clubs? How scary is that? She said she also enjoyed the live auctions.

So, in an effort to make this an interactive forum, anybody have better ideas than a hunting club? Or witty retorts that I couldn't come up with at the time, but that would equip me should I meet somebody with this suggestion again?

I hate the dentist, part II

So I went to my dentist appointment this afternoon, and due to some miscommunication among the staff, I was only scheduled for X-rays today, and not an actual cleaning and exam. But you'll remember from last week that they'd wasted several phone calls trying to track down my last set of X-Rays. And postponed my appointment a week to wait for the old X-Rays to come in the mail.

And then they did them anyway. Digital ones, too, so they had to take a dozen different images - all with my head oddly contorted and a large, rectangular spacer-thingie in my mouth. Good times. But the images were immediately displayed on the computer monitor, so the X-Ray tech could see each time she messed up and needed to take another one.

On the bright side, the building's on Montgomery St., on the 24th floor, overlooking the Bay with a partial view of Alcatraz. And today's a clear day, so the view was beautiful.

On the not-so-bright side, there's no cavity where my tooth occasionally hurts, but there's a spot on the X-Ray that's questionable, and might mean a root canal. I have to see a root canal guy next week. And I didn't even get a free toothbrush for being a good patient and not biting the X-Ray tech. I really hate the dentist!

Dude, Mara's, like, leaving. Bummer*

My friend Mara and her fiance Arthur are getting married tomorrow. After the party ends and the out-of-town guests depart, they will pack up Mara's studio apartment and head to Ohio. They'll be gone by the end of the month. Sigh. I hate saying goodbye.

When I first met Mara last year at some St. Dominic's related function, I briefly thought, “oh, no, another scary young adult,” not because of anything having to do with Mara, but rather because I’d met a bunch of kind of odd young adults, and I was starting to become skeptical of all of them.

Turns out, however, that Mara was totally normal, also kind of scared of some of the young adults, and a choir groupie, so we had lots to talk about.

And then she joined, and left, and then rejoined the choir, and would occasionally provide me with cookies so that I wouldn't die of hunger on my long ride home from church. Really, after the cookies, how could I not be her friend?

She's probably to busy to do much blog reading right now, but in the event that I don’t get to tell her amid the chaos of her wedding, and packing, and moving, I wanted to say good luck. I'll miss you!

*Thanks to Father Steve for inspiring this title. It's what we expected him to say during his special blessing for Mara last Sunday. But what he actually said was pretty good too.

Trust Jim, he's a doctor

Sarah and Jim came to San Francisco last night as part of their whirlwind Northern CA tour and stopover at Stanford, where Jim finally finished his PhD. He is now Dr. Jim Metcalf, and we should all toast his accomplishment. Repeatedly, actually, as he did (with very small drinks) after finishing his defense on Wednesday.

Jim and Sarah are off to Syracuse. I'll miss them, but great new adventures are in store.

CONGRATULATIONS!

That's it, I've had enough

I don't mind security personnel who comb through my carry-on bags at the airport and comment on the food I bring on board. I don't mind checks of my person or inspection of my sneakers. I've even gladly relinquished my Birkenstock sandals to security checkpoints, all for the very simple reason that Amy O'Dougherty was 23 years old in 2001 and had her whole life ahead of her. And because Joe Leavey was a great guy who deserved to see his kids graduate from high school. And because a little inconvenience to me the few times a year I get on an airplane is nothing in comparison to the lasting devastation to New York on Sept. 11

But this is going way too far, and I've had enough!

"Heightened security measures quickly produced long lines and delays at airport checkpoints as the government banned passengers from carrying nearly all liquids and gels aboard flights. The ban extended to toothpaste, makeup and suntan lotion. Baby formula and medicines were exempted."

This is from this morning's San Francisco Chronicle. I drink at least a gallon of water a day, and prohibiting my ability to bring water aboard my next flight might really be the encouragement I need to stay in San Francisco this Christmas.

On my past few flights, Jetblue has cut its beverage service and substituted the large bottles of water they used to provide with tiny six or eight ounce ones. They can't provide me with enough water to stay hydrated through a six-hour flight. And now I can't bring my own.

Flying is now no longer worth the hassle and restrictions. I'm staying home.

Totally random phone call

So I'd been thinking about this friend for awhile, somebody I was close with a few years ago but have fallen out of all but Christmas-card contact with in the past few years after he moved and switched jobs, and I did the same. He's still very involved in music ministry in San Francisco, which is how we met.

I visited his current church this weekend, and thought I should give him a call to say hi, and let him know I'd be on his turf, but I couldn't find his phone number.

Then last night somebody told me he may have left that church. That intensified my desire to reach him. What if he's ill, or has been fired? What if he's leaving the city?

A call to the church calmed most of my fears. The receptionist told me he'd given notice, but she wasn't sure if he was still working there. I declined to leave a message, because I found another number for him on the church website.

I just left him a message, but I'm not certain it was the right number. The guy had the same name as my friend, but his voice sounded very different. Then again, I haven't seen him in close to two years. And everyone sounds different on a recording. In any event, somebody's going to get a random message from me today, mentioning how I'd sung at his church on Saturday and inviting him to my choir concert at the end of the month. I really hope it's the right guy!

Field trip!

It's been kind of a slow day, but I've been able to accomplish one very important task. I've scheduled a field trip for half the department to get employee IDs. We'll have to travel to Parnassus campus, so we're making a lunch date out of it. And it'll be fun, 'cause I work with some really great people.

It's also one more day that I won't risk eating with the crazy lady in the lunchroom. And all those lunch dates I've tried to make keep falling through. Today, at least, I ate alone. And I'm meeting Jade tomorrow. And Lucinda (and perhaps Ferd?) next week, and Steph some day, once she's unchained from her desk. And I realized I have two other friends working downtown and I'll soon hit them up too.

Then there's the three people I'm avoiding joining for lunch. I keep running into former co-workers from a miserable job who now all work in my building. One of them keeps talking about having lunch, but I really would rather eat tree bark while sitting on the freeway. Perhaps I can invent a standing lunchtime appointment. Acupuncture, perhaps? Or the allergist, maybe.

Germs. Yuck!

There's a nastly little bug going around my office, and I'm trying desperately to avoid it. There's a bunch of people with hoarse voices, loud coughs, and nasty bronchial infections. And today I seem to have run into every one of them.

It's time to pull out the Airborne and find the antibacterial hand sanitizer. I'm putting myself at enough risk by going to the dentist. I don't need to combat icky office germs too!

I hate the dentist

Just in case you were wondering, I really hate going to the dentist. Aside from the ridiculousness of having to try to talk to the dentist with my mouth propped open and unable to move it, cleanings always make my gums bleed and my teeth sore, and I always get a cold after a dentist's visit.

Without insurance the past few years, my dentist visits weren't consistent. Now, I feel I have no choice, and last week I called a glowingly-referred dentist to make an appointment. Simple, right?

No. They needed information from my previous dentists, and they wanted copies of my most recent X-rays. From four years ago. I don't have the contact information from that dentist anymore, but would they like the ones from the oral surgeon who removed my wisdom teeth last year?

They would, but it took them two days to track down the right office. And then they called this morning to postpone my appointment because the X-rays, which the office manager said weren't really the kind of view of my teeth they wanted, might not arrive in time.

So now I have to prolong the agony another week. And they might still have to take X-rays. Honestly, I don't see what the big deal is. Delta Dental will cover my X-rays, I don't mind having them done (except the gag factor when they stick the spacers in my mouth) and then they'd have the pretty pictures they want.

At least when I was a kid, the dentist would give me a little plastic ring for completing an office visit. And after each visit to the orthodontist, I'd have cool colored rubber bands or some other gizmo for my braces. Now, I don't even think I'll get a free toothbrush.

No, I won't rent an apartment without a kitchen, thanks

Or without a full bathroom
Or without a closet
Or without heat
Or with gross carpeting
Or with a gas leak
Or with crazy neighbors
Or with a lunatic landlord
Or above a restaurant or hair salon
Or with bright pink walls

There seems to be a glut of substandard, ridiculously expensive apartments on the market right now. Please tell me why an identically designed studio that rents for $950 in the Sunset rents for $1400 everywhere else.

Despite my failure to find a new home in the past six weeks, I think I'm making progress. I've put in two declined applications in the past week (both declined because I won't move in immediately) and I really think I can find something larger than a bread box and cheaper than a year's college tuition before Columbus Day. That's my definitive, I'll no longer be a resident of 48th Avenue, it'll no longer take me hours to get home at the end of the day, deadline. Please, if you hear of anything, let me know.

Do I look malnourished, cause I'm starting to get a complex

I ran into my friend Louise on my lunch break today. I haven't seen her in awhile, but she works on California St., and we occasionally run into each other.

We had a nice chat, she congratulated me on my new job, I asked after her kids, and we talked about choir (we used to sing together). Then she commented that I looked to thin and asked if I was well. Now, this happens every time I see her or some others from that group, and it's really starting to make me mad.

So, just to set the record straight: no, I haven't lost any weight (at least not in the last 18 months), yes, I eat very well, and four times a day, and yes, I'm just fine thanks. Great, actually.

This made mad. So mad, in fact, that I did what I'm sure any undernourished person would do. I bought a really big chocolate chip cookie. It's really good, too! And I'm going to eat the whole thing.

The week I dreamed in church music

The year after I graduated from college, while living in New Mexico, I briefly belonged to two choirs, one at my parish, and an all-female a cappella group. My a cappella stint, though quite enjoyable, only lasted a few months, because my work hours changed and I could no longer make the evening rehearsals. And since most of their performances were midday, and I was working more than 40 hours a week, I wouldn't have been able to join them on stage anyway.

Since then, barring the occasional special event, I've been a one-choir musician. Until last month, when I foolishly committed to joining a choir that's scheduled to sing at a conference this weekend. I say this was a foolish choice because I made the commitment before asking about the rehearsal schedule. It turns out, the organizer scheduled five rehearsals. To practice for one Mass. Each rehearsal is two hours long. So that's a lot of time spent singing mediocre church music. And this week, we have two rehearsals in a row, the one last night, and another tonight.

It's no wonder I've been waking up in the middle of the night this week with random verses of choir songs running through my head. And I'm pretty sure I had a dream the other night tot he sound track of some music I'd sung over the weekend. Does anybody else out there dream in song?

And then there was an earthquake

Not a particularly big one (a 4.4), but all of us in the choir room at St. Dominic's felt a pretty strong jolt. And the church is stone, so there's always the fear that it'll fall down, leaving those of us in the basement stuck in the rubble.

But this day ended on a nice, if odd, note. I was chatting about the earthquake with this woman after rehearsal. We'd never met before, and as we left the parking lot, she turned to me and said "You know, you're really beautiful. I don't know what it is about your face, but it's great."

Must be my cheek bones.

I've given up on this day, and I'm going to bed.

And it's not over yet

Because the Twin Peaks Tunnel has been closed to repair the problem, trains between downtown and my apartment will either not be running or will be massively delayed through this evening. Great! So when I leave rehearsal at 9 pm, I'll have to take two buses to get home, which will undoubtedly involve waiting at least 25 minutes for the 18 bus, because it doesn't run on a schedule.

Municide. It's the wave of the future.

But wait, it gets better

Apparently, BART also experienced massive delays this morning. Is anyone in San Francisco a happy commuter this morning?

Transportation is yet another reason why I'm apartment hunting. I'm going to see another place tonight, after a marathon Saturday session during which I applied for one place, but didn't get it. This apartment is near four bus lines. And close enough to downtown that I could walk if I really had to, except for that big hill.

Massive MUNI Meltdown

Time I left for work this morning: 7:20 am
Time I got on the L streetcar: 7:25 am
Time we arrived at Forest Hill Station: 7:55 am
Time we were told to exit the train because it was going out of service: 8:06 am
Time I got on the 43 bus: 8:15 am
Time I got off the bus and on the N streetcar: 8:25 am
Time I got to work: 9:10 am

That's right. It took just shy of TWO HOURS to travel SEVEN MILES. Thankfully, I arrived at my destination before the whole system shut down. All because of a train power outtage at Castro Station. I expect to hear stories of MUNI riots and police actions this morning. Stay tuned.

But the trash can is only five feet away

"Hey Clair, I saw that you left your mayonnaise out."
"Huh?"
"Your mayonnaise. I saw that you left it out on the counter this morning."
"Oh."
"I thought I'd put it back in the fridge for you, but then I thought you wouldn't realize it was bad, and might try to eat it. So I left it on the counter."