Vacation Countdown

In two days (give or take an hour) I'll be in my way to meet my sister at the airport, to start our week-long No. California adventure. I'm super excited. I also really need a vacation. My co-workers are starting to annoy me. My friends are starting to get on my nerves. I'm tired and bored and generally dissatisfied with everything in the way that suggests that I need a break.

I just hope I make it until Friday. Only two days, two meetings, one going away party, three loads of laundry, a trip to the gym and a stop at the grocery store stand in my way.

Can somebody please tell me how...

I managed to get ketchup on the BACK of the t-shirt and INSIDE of the fleece I wore to yesterday's baseball game, when I ate the hot dog while WEARING THE FLEECE OVER THE T-SHIRT.

Bueller? Bueller? Anybody?

Shame

This pretty much says it all.

Priorities

Last night, due to the generosity of a friend, I was able to go to the first of the three-game series the Yankees played against the Giants. I had to wear my Giants cap - in order to both preserve the friendship and avoid being beaten up - and I had to vow not to cheer for the Yankees.

It was really hard, and I spent a lot of time sitting on my hands, but the game was AWESOME, and I am so thankful to the friend who thought of me when her fiance had to cancel on her.

Now, as I sit in my living room watching game two, and preparing for my trip to game three tomorrow (in full Yankees gear) I have a minute to process some of the things I learned from the crowd last night.

The girls sitting next to me were native San Franciscans and fans whose blood, they told us, ran black and orange. In fact, said one of them, she'd marry outside of her faith before she'd marry a Dodgers fan. She's Catholic.

I pondered this statement for awhile, before turning to my friend.

"You know, she's right," I said. "I'd marry outside my faith before I'd marry a Red Sox fan."

"Clair," she replied, "It's good to have your priorities in order.

Because Brian was unfamiliar with this song

Copacabana, by Barry Manilow

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there. She would merengue and do the cha-cha, and while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar. Across the crowded floor, they worked from 8 'til 4. They were young and they had each other Who could ask for more?

At the Copa, Copacabana (Copacabana) The hottest spot north of Havana (here) At the Copa, Copacabana Music and passion were always in fashion At the Copa....they fell in love. (Copacabana)

His name was Rico. He wore a diamond. He was escorted to his chair, he saw Lola dancing there. And when she finished, he called her over, But Rico went a bit too far, Tony sailed across the bar And then the punches flew and chairs were smashed in two. There was blood and a single gun shot But just who shot who?

At the Copa, Copacabana (Copacabana) The hottest spot north of Havana (here) At the Copa, Copacabana Music and passion were always in fashion At the Copa.... (aaahhh!) She lost her love.

Copa... Copacabana... Copa... Copacabana... Copacabana...

Her name is Lola, she was a showgirl, But that was 30 years ago, when they used to have a show. Now it's a disco, but not for Lola, Still in the dress she used to wear, faded feathers in her hair. She sits there so refined, and drinks herself half-blind. She lost her youth and she lost her Tony, Now she's lost her mind!

At the Copa, Copacabana, the hottest spot north of Havana. (here) At the Copa, Copacabana. Music and passion were always in fashion At the Copa....don't fall in love... don't fall in love.

The Fr. Francis occasional electronic quote board

In reference to today's gospel:

"I mean, when you invite Jesus to dinner, you never know who you're going to get."

And later:

"I mean, who was this woman (cleaning Jesus' feet and drying them with her her hair)? Some say she may have been Mary Magdalen, but I always thought her name was Lola. And she was a show girl."

And finally, while talking about his Irish great-grandmother.

"And people would ask her, what was she doing. She had a really thick Kerry brogue, and she'd say 'I'm prayin' the Rosary.' And they'd ask who she was praying for, and she'd say 'the British,' and they'd ask her why she was praying for the British, and she'd say 'Because I hate them.'"

Panhandling taken to a higher level

As seen on Geary St. today: a pretty, fluffy little black and white cat, sitting in a pristine blue cat bed, with a white plastic cup in front of her, panhandling in front of Macy's.

It looked like she'd made a few bucks before noon.

Not coming soon to a city near you

I talked to an east coast friend earlier this week, somebody with whom I'm very close, but because of work schedules and the time difference and the strange course of life it's really hard to talk to on the phone.

I was pretty happy she called, but thrilled when she said some travel plans would take her to my city this weekend. Except that I'm committed this weekend - all weekend - to a retreat. That's a story for another day, but it's safe to say that there was briefly lots of screaming and jumping up and down on my end.

Until she said she meant New York City.

Perhaps it's time to clarify, though since she doesn't read the 'nation maybe this is preaching to the choir: New York isn't my city. At least, it's not the city in which I live. And it's not the place I plan to make my home.

So while I'm thrilled if your travels will take you to the Big Apple, and while I do have lots of emotional attachment to NYC, I live in San Francisco. If you visited, you'd understand why.

Poor customer service

I walked into a shop that's going out of business, looking for the jeans. I walked toward the back of the store, where the jeans display has been, but since they're closing, all the left-over merchandise is in the front of the store.

Me (to salesclerks): "Do you have any jeans left?"

Salesclerk #1: "Anything we have is over on the rack."

Three minutes later, as I'm browsing the jeans rack:

Salesclerk #2: "What size dresses do you wear?"

Me, after looking around to see who he might be talking to, perhaps somebody browsing dresses: "Excuse me?"

S #2: "What size dresses do you wear?"

Me: "Uh, I'm not looking for a dress, thanks."

Nope, I wasn't on vacation; alternately title: Irony, thy name is Clair

I didn't go anywhere, I've just witnessed the craziest, most hectic week in a really long time. While lots of good came out of my crazy week, most of it's work related, so you can be there'll be no extensive post. I will say that professional development is awesome. I went to a conference last week and I'm still trying to process all that I learned. It was a terrific week.

In professional respects, at least. Personally, I can hear God laughing at me. And, really, it's not funny.

I finally got over the fact that, while I'm really interested in a guy I work with, I could never pursue him. It would just be really bad news, for dozens of reasons. I won't get into all the particulars, but suffice to say I'm pretty bummed, but getting over it.

Until last weekend, when I discovered he's dating a co-worker. Yes, they're sneaking around. Yes, they're lying to everyone. Yes, if it ends while they're still working together it'll be really ugly. And yes, he's in a management position. It's just bad news, and illustrates all the reasons I didn't ask him out.

This is one of those things that would be really funny, if it weren't happening to me.

When the sun shines briefly through the shroud of fog

The weather is making me blue. It's June 3, I've seen about two hours worth of sun in the past week, it's cold and blustery, and while the sound from the fog horn in the Marina is my favorite sound in the world, I'm getting sick of it.

Today, just as I was convinced the city was sinking into the summer state of permanent fog, the clouds parted, blue sky emerged, and the sun came out. For two whole hours. It was glorious. Still cold and windy, but glorious. But mother nature was just taunting me. The fog rolled back in, the sun disappeared, and we're left with dusk that looks like dawn.

I'm desperate for a sunshine fix this week, but with no time to travel east, I think I may be forced to buy a full spectrum light bulb. I'm planning a trip to Seattle this summer, but the chances of a weekend in the sun there are slim. I've been thinking about a trip to the Central Valley in the fall - where it's guaranteed to be really hot and sunny. Perhaps, instead of holding off on that trip until September, I should go soon. A few days in the sun with an good friend might be just the fix for my summertime blues.

Can somebody please explain

the man walking down Haight St. this afternoon, wearing shorts, a flannel shirt, and a big, orange, Department of Public Works cone on his head?

As seen at the Union St. Fair

The waiters at Johnny Rockets on Chestnut St. line dancing when Donna Summers' came on the juke box.

A large sign in the window of a small shop: come in for some jello treats and browse. Yes, those treats were in shot glasses.

Most of the cops from Northern Station on patrol.

Hundreds of red, plastic to-go cups.

Overheard around noon: "I'm glad we came and drank so early. The lines are way too long to wait for beer."

Cookies and hot chocolate - because the bar's too far away

I should have known I was in for a rough day when the fire alarm evacuated my physical therapy office shortly before 8 am. It only got worse from there. The direct deposit of my MONTHLY paycheck got screwed up, and my money is floating around somewhere, hopefully to be returned to my checking account on Tuesday. Maybe even before the rent check and my dentist's payment clear.

We determined that my check went to the right account, but with the wrong routing number, and is probably floating around in the same place with all those missing socks. But I should get it back soon. I hope.

In retaliation for that and some other things that went wrong, I left around 2:30, and returned about 15 minutes later with a large cookie and cup of hot chocolate. Only because the cookie place is significantly closer than the nearest bar. If I could have found the booze that I'm pretty sure is hidden in a colleague's office, I'd have doctored the hot cocoa.

The cookie was good, but I felt sort of gross afterward. I pushed on through the rest of the afternoon, and returned home, where I sorted my mail and talked to my grandmother before going swimming. While reading my mail, I came across a letter from my employer, regarding the identity theft incident from earlier this year. The event that led me to open a new checking account, which resulted in the mistake by which I haven't yet gotten paid this month.

Guess what? NO PERSONAL INFORMATION WAS STOLEN FROM EMPLOYEES. I've spent months transferring everything to a new checking account. My direct deposit has been screwed up twice in the last two months, AND IT WAS ALL FOR NO REASON. NOBODY'S STOLEN MY DIRECT DEPOSIT INFORMATION. Maybe I'll go get that drink after all.