Not quite so much waiting anymore

I've heard from my carpool leader, and I'm all set. We're leaving from Berkeley at 4 pm tomorrow, and hopefully we'll arrive in Yosemite before 9. I'm so excited for this trip!

I'll have lots of photos upon my return, and probably a couple of funny stories too. Stay tuned.

The agony of waiting

I was not a patient child. I can remember with clarity when, in a moment of frustration, my mother would snap at me to wait, and then usually follow that up with the phrase "patience is a virtue."

I've become much more patient as an adult, but the simple fact is that I hate to wait. I'm working on getting over it, but I can still feel my blood pressure rise if I have to wait in a particularly long line or wait an interminable amount of time (more than half an hour) for the bus.

And here I am, playing the waiting game on two issues this week. It's kind of starting to drive me crazy.

I'm waiting to hear from my former landlord on the status of the tenant in my former apartment. When I talked to Breda (the landlady) last week, she said I wouldn't hear from them until sometime around Oct. 1. So now I've been waiting almost two weeks, knowing that the phone's not going to ring if I keep staring at it, but hoping that it will, just to cut the suspense of finding out if the girl in #5 is actually moving out on Nov. 1.

I actually had a dream about all this last night. In my dream she moved out, I moved in, and we had happy endings all around. Oddly, I dreamed about this apartment just before I got the call that I could sign the lease. In that dream, too, I got to move in and everything ended well. Maybe it's a sign.

But I'm still waiting for the phone call. And on top of this agony, I'm also waiting to figure out how I'm getting to Yosemite. I've made tentative carpool plans with friends, but haven't heard back yet to confirm them. And we leave tomorrow. I also made plans to travel with acquaintances not leaving until 7 pm tomorrow, so I have a backup plan, but I need to hear from the friends before I can cancel on the others, and I hate that all of this is out of my control.

And I'm still sitting here, waiting for the phone to ring. And waiting. And waiting.

Things I will pack but probably not use in Yosemite

Three rolls of film - I will definitely use some of these (as I can see Meg going bezerk while she reads this) but I don't forsee using all three, in addition to the one already in my film camera. I'm also bringing the digital that takes mostly blurry pictures.

My bathing suit

The fourth pair of wool socks

My first aid kit

Shorts

My wool hat with the ear flaps (this is mostly wishful thinking, as it could get down into the low 40s. But I hope to be comfortable just in my baseball cap)

My ipod. I'll only have this item with me because I'm leaving straight from work, and I refuse to commute without it.

Gloves

For purposes of clarification

I realized recently, as the readership of the 'nation has grown to include some people who aren't local, that some confusion could arise between my sister Stephanie and my San Francisco friend of the same name.

So, let's make some virtual introductions:

My sister signs in as Steph, with the little photo that if you study it very carefully is actually her riding a mechanical bull. We have a brother too, but he doesn't read. It's unfortunate, really, because I've dispensed important fashion advice and other wise tidbits, and he's missing out.

My friend Steph signs in as Stephanie, or occasionally Steph in SF (it's clever, and it rhymes). Her blog's not on blogger, but you should check it out anyway. It's Bella Cantare (which she is) and the link is to the left.

On the rare occasions that Brian graces us with his presense, he signs in as Tater36 (the name of his blog, see the link to the left), also with a little photo.

My mom is pretty much self explanatory, unless someone else's mom is reading, in which case please introduce yourself and explain how we're acquainted.

My cousins Jim and Tam are usually pretty obvious, except when Tam signs in anonomously. But I think that's just 'cause she works with the federal government. I wish their three sisters read also, but maybe they can work on that for me.

Lucinda, aka Shoeless Lou, lives down the street from me, and we used to work together. She's really witty enough to have her own blog, so we're pretty lucky she checks in as often as she does.

Sherry reads when things are slow at work, so she won't be around much in October. And did you hear she's seeing Brian?

Meg lives in NY, in case that wasn't obvious, and we've known each other for over a decade. She's pretty busy, and we're lucky when she can take a minute to share her wisdom with us.

Angel the Pig (and can we please have a moment of silence for her recently departed blog of the same name) is an occasional guest contributor, because she's busy finishing grad school. But I count on her being back regularly once school ends and she's got free time again.

Now we're all friends. And if I missed somebody, please check in to say hello.

Not homeless, just visiting

Last Friday evening I noticed an older Chevy van parked in front of my building. It was blue, and had CA plates, and seemed to have a couple sleeping in it.

Ah, I thought, summer has returned to San Francisco, and with it the beach dwellers -people who move in, such as you can without a place to physically occupy - and live on the beach for a few months.

The next morning, as I travelled in and out of my apartment to do the laundry, I observed this couple, with their dog, eating breakfast, walking the dog, and talking on a cell phone. Oddly, they didn't look quite homeless, but since they seemed to be living in their van, in front of my home, I decided I'd give them a day to leave before I called the police. I just felt threatened by their hovering outside the entrance to my house.

While changing loads of laundry I ran into my neighbor, Deb. She's a little odd. We chatted for a minute, and she asked if I'd seen the blue van in front of the building.

"Don't worry about them, their friends up for the weekend. They're not homeless, they're just visiting."

"Oh, are they on a road trip or something?"

"No, they just came up from LA to visit me and Merle (her occasional live-in man). I offered them the air mattress and floor space, but they said no. The van's got a bed and they were happy to stay in it for the weekend."

In the event of an emergency

I definitely don't want to be in my office building. That pearl of knowledge is about all I learned from this morning's safety briefing. I know we're rated a class A building, but I still think it's foolish to assume that the fire-protection doors and walls will work to keep us safe. The building policy is that only the floors directly surrounding a fire will be evacuated, and we'll only be evacuated to four floor below where we work (I work on 22, and will evacuate to 18).

Really, I'd rather just leave the building, thanks. Even if I have to run down 22 flights of stairs.

Oh, and in the event of an earthquake, management wasn't sure how strong the quake would have to be before we'd lose power.

Really, in the event of an emergency, can I be at home? At least at my current residence I KNOW the building will fall down during an earthquake. I really can't do much to prepare for that, but at least I won't have to run through several scenarios as I worry about being stuck in the elevator.

Found!

Shout out to Angel and John (or maybe it was Russell?) for finding my cell phone charger tangled up in their air mattress!

I borrowed the air mattress when I stayed with Steph in July. I left the east coast minus a cell phone charger, at first convinced that it was lost in the bottom of my bag, and then certain that it had been stolen by the evil, luggage-destroying folks at the TSA. I repeatedly asked Steph to search her room for it, but to no avail.

I spent $30 on a new charger, but Cingular only sells travel chargers for my phone model, and the new charger is cheap and doesn't work well, and sparks always emit from the socket when I plug it in.

But I no longer have to use the spark-inducing one. Angel and John took out their air mattress, for the second time since I'd used it, and found the charger.

Steph mailed it home last week, and it arrived, in one piece, last night. Thanks guys!

Nana's boyfriend

My cousins' grandmother (not the one we shared, as she's deceased), Nana, is well into her 80s. In a conversation with one of my cousins this weekend, I learned that Nana is sad over the recent death of her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend. Nana lives with her son and daughter-in-law, and she can still get a date. I only live with a crazy roommate (though that's temporary) and I can't get a date. Nana lives in Jersey. Do you think I'd have any luck with the under-80 crowd if I lived in Jersey?

Maybe I should talk to her about techniques for meeting men.

But wait, perhaps all is not lost

I talked to my former landlord's wife again this afternoon, and it looks very likely that my former apartment will be vacant sometime this fall.

It would be really nice to go home. Everyone, keep your fingers crossed that the current tenant's relationship doesn't end!

The last straw; or reasons to be proactive in my apartment search

I've had it with a nasty roommate, crazy neighbors, an unstable landlord, and a myriad of structural and other apartment problems that will never be fixed (have I mentioned how the electricity's not up to code, and all the lights flicker?). I'm disgusted with my commute and frustrated at the impossible task of finding a new apartment.

But the last straw came Saturday night, with the discovery of a mold colony growing under my bed. Well, not under my whole bed, just under part of it. On my camping pack. All over the pack. The pack I've taking on every camping trip for the past 9 years. The pack that I carried with me all through Europe. The pack that is now in the trash, because it was infested beyond salvation.

I'm so grossed out that I actually feel nauseous, two days after the original discovery. And I'm really angry too, because in addition to the pack I've had to toss some other stuff that was stored in its vicinity, and since my room is so small there's really no place to put the rest of the stuff, and now it's scattered all over my room - which has really become a tripping hazard.

So, early this morning I called my former landlord. I chatted for some time with his wife, and though they have no current vacancies, I'm first on their list when one comes up. I heard from a former neighbor that the unit in which I used to live might be vacated in a few months. The girl who replaced me might move to Italy to get married. I'm really hoping her relationship works out. This unit may not be in the most ideal location to lessen the hassles of commuting, but I adore the landlord (and he's completely trustworthy), I love the neighbors, the building is in pristine condition, the neighborhood is really safe, and the apartments DON'T HARBOR MOLD COLONIES!

Coming soon!

Just five weeks away!

Seriously the biggest shithole apartment I've ever seen

The unit: 133 Hugo St. in the Inner Sunset.

The time: 3:45 pm

The day: Saturday

The occasion: an open house for a studio apartment in a decent looking building on my favorite street in the Sunset. The landlord promised a walk-in closet, clawfoot tub, steam heat, hardwood floors, and an eat-in-kitchen.

The reality: a small studio with two closets; one of which had housed a Murphy Bed, and neither of which had a rod on which to hang your clothes. The bathroom had all it's original fixtures, probably from the 1920s, with a half-sized bath that had a shower head hooked up through a small, plastic tube. The kitchen had all the original cabinets and fixtures, including a double sink - each with its own faucet - but one half was covered up by a large piece of plywood, presumably to create counter space, as the kitchen had none.

And did I mention that one of the windows was painted shut? And that the whole unit smelled of gas? And that the floors were old and scarred? And that there was significant water damage to the wall under the windows in the kitchen?

Yes, I'm a little pissed off, but not just because I was hoping this place had potential. How can anybody have the conscience to try to rent that rat hole of an apartment at all, nevermind for $1050 a month??

I give up. I'm stopping my search until such time as rents go down and the quality of apartments improves. I guess I'll be at the beach for awhile. I should thrown a beach party.

Nobody Blogs

It's a very quiet, rather boring world out there right now. Nobody's blogging except for me, and I really don't feel like I have much to say these days. I kind of miss the heyday of crazy jobs, bad interviews, and random street encounters that used to fill these pages. Who knew stability could be so un-funny?

So, while I try to come up with new ways to amuse my ever-dwindling audience, please, send me your ideas. Or, if you're game, email me your funny stories or strange San Francisco anecdotes, and we can have guest bloggers on the 'nation.

Divided Loyalties

"You know," said my sister not too long ago, "I'm beginning to get a little concerned about your devotion to the Giants."

She then went on to question my loyalty to my guys in pinstripes. Perhaps it was a fair question, as the Giants, well, they're local. They're also (sometimes) playing some pretty good baseball this season, and games are easy to get to. And did I mention that AT&T Park is by far the most beautiful stadium in the nation? And all the games I've been to this season have been lots of fun (mostly 'cause the people I've gone with are a blast), and it's way better to be a fan of the home team.

That said, this seems like a good venue, and the perfect time, to clarify, for Steph and anyone else who's concerned: I may have become a Giants fan this year, but I will always be a rabid New York Yankees fan. Just a fan in exile, in a part of the country where games are hard to watch and fans aren't treated with the same respect as they are, say, in Boston (seriously being facetious, if anyone's paying attention).



I hope this clears up any questions anyone might have had. I can certainly root for two teams in separate leagues, on opposite sides of the country. And when postseason opportunities arise, I'd be the first person in line to see the Yankees play in Oakland. Anybody want to join me?

San Diego: where old New Yorkers go to retire

The Giants are home this weekend, playing a series against the San Diego Padres that so far has gone in the Giants favor. But the game on Saturday held a few surprises for this New York transplant: David Wells, Mike Piazza, and Mike Stanton. All in the same game.

Wells, traded from the Boston (where my brother maintains he was their only decent pitcher), is now a pitcher for San Diego. He seems to be getting old, and it showed in inconsistent pitching. But Barry Bonds' two-run homer (731) kept me from complaining about that much.

Then Mike Stanton, who's done time for both New York teams, came in as a reliever for the Giants. He's pitching pretty well here, and we certainly need it, since our closer can't pitch and routinely loses games that enter the 9th with big leads.

Then, in the bottom of the 10th, Mike Piazza, former Met and Dodger, came in to pinch hit. I hate Mike Piazza, and was thrilled to go to this game (thanks, Sherry) for the sole purpose of heckling him. And then he didn't catch. But, this was a good opportunity, and I took it. He got a base hit and then was pulled out because he's one of the slowest runners in the MLB.

So, in this one 11-inning game I got to see three former New Yorkers, and two former Yankees. Nice. And I can pick up my Barry Bonds commemorative home run pin after 10 am today. Oh, and the Giants won 5-4 after San Diego, in a tied game, loaded the bases on walks with one out. Stupid San Diego.

Through the night!

For the past eight weeks or so, I have been unable to get a full night's sleep. Between the sub-zero temperatures in my bedroom, which routinely wake me up searching for the blankets, and my roommate's 5:30 am coffee making, I have been seriously sleep deprived. And I'm starting to get really cranky!

Last night, however, I jacked up the heat (though I'll regret this when the PG&E bill comes), put in my ear plugs, and slept until my alarm went off. And I couldn't be more excited. No waking shivering at 3 am. No waking when Shari makes coffee at 5:30. Or when she washes the coffee pot at 6. Or when she crashes all the dishes around as she's making lunch before she goes to work.

One solid night's sleep. I feel fantastic. Still slightly sleep deprived, but fantastic! If I can keep this up for a week or two, I might feel normal again.

Sorry to have wasted your time, this unit's already been rented

The angst of apartment hunting hit a new low yesterday. After a somewhat discouraging visit to a big unit at Sacramento and Arguello, with the smallest closet I've ever seen, three very steep flights of stairs, and no easily-accessible washing machines, I was a little discouraged. The apartment had a lot of what I've been looking for, and the biggest kitchen I've ever seen in a studio. But the stairs, lack of laundry, three-foot wide closet, and absence of bike storage added up to more negatives than positives.

But, I kept my chin up and traveled to the next place on my list: a studio with laundry in the building, at Bush and Gough. Good location, really nice building, decent-sized living space, huge closet, and an elevator, so I wouldn't have to maneuver my bike down the stairs. And the building manager was really nice. But not nice enough to call me before I traveled all the way to the building (after the first building I was halfway home) to tell me that it had already been rented.

Why???? Why couldn't she have picked up the phone and said, "sorry, the unit's no longer available, so we can cancel?" She apparently didn't understand the way things work here. Why should I visit a unit I can't rent? Why should I get my hopes up? And why should she spend the time? She had two other appointments after mine, and that was just dumb!

So the search continues. But right now I'm so frustrated I may just give up and live on the beach.

I see green people

Several of them, actually, standing on the street corners in the Financial District. They have white messenger bags, and from those bags they are pulling wads of free Excedrin samples. Extra strength. Seriously.

I now have at least half-a-dozen Excedrin in my desk. So bring on that headache!

The Fairies turned Clair into flowers

I was felled by a miserable cold this weekend (my apologies to those of you who may have gotten sick as a result) and on Friday I had to call in sick. I was seriously heartbroken at this, both because I really like my job and because I had lots of things I wanted to do this weekend, and instead I spent it all in bed, brooding over my bad fortune and blowing my nose.

On Friday morning, in celebration of my concert (which she was unable to attend) a co-worker left a bouquet of flowers on my chair. Before discovering that I wasn't in, another co-worker walked by and commented that I seem to have disappeared, or been turned into flowers.

Yes, responded the flower-bearing employee, the fairies have come by, and turned Clair into flowers.

Sadly not the case, as flowers would have been a good alternative to my sniffling and aching.

When I failed to appear, and everyone got the message about my sick day, my co-worker was now in a quandary: what to do with flowers that will undoubtedly die if left over the weekend?

Well, the guy in the office at the end of the hall just had a birthday. So she gave them to him. My loss, but a really nice gesture on several fronts.

Just watch out for those office fairies.