Mmm... brownies...

I forgot just how delicious chocolatey chewy warm walnut fudge brownies are. And I made some Sunday, from a box, no less, and they. Were. Awesome. I took them out of the oven and NOM NOM NOM!!! I had one. And got up to have another one NOM NOM NOM!!! And then I couldn't find the brownie I had just picked up so I had to go get another one NOM NOM NOM!!! I thought to myself is THIS why I went to the gym, so I could eat more brownies and not because I already have a big enough butt and my inner voice said YES MORE BROWNIES NOM NOM NOM!!!

Off to Denver tomorrow to babysit the office out there while their paralegal goes on vacation. My cantankerous project is well under way and I don't have to stay on site to manage it, and I am really looking forward to not being in my office for a while. This was a rough month. February is always a rough month. But now I'm at least willing to enterain the thought that maybe it has been a dark tunnel, and not a cave, so there could still be a light at the end. Maybe. Don't go calling me optimistic or anything just yet.

Six Crackers in a Minute

No one can eat six Saltine crackers in a minute. Or cry listening to "Lean Like a Cholo".

The New Fierce

The Other KM may not have coined this concept, but she introduced me to it around the time of last year's American Idol - "Loud is the new good." I went to a TKB class (that would be Turbo Kickboxing at 24 HR Fitness for the uninitiated) after work and there was a substitute instructor, who apparently thinks "Fast is the new challenging." She told us at the beginning, "If you want it slower let me know, and if you want it faster... well, we can't because I have it as fast as it will go." I thought - crap. And sure enough - at one point, and I am not kidding, it sounded like one of the songs was by The Chipmunks. I am familiar enough with TKB choreography that I could keep up with the patterns, but there's not much room to work on form and I find that aggravating. That, and when you have a class full of people, some of who are NOT all that familiar with this type of class, KICKING??? It is just sort of dangerous. Because y'all, some of these folks need SERIOUS work on form. There are women who just sort of flail their puny little fists in general directions, and their knee strikes end with their pointy little knees up under their chin and their toes pointed daintily, and I think - damn. Lady, you would get your ass kicked if you ever had to defend yourself.

Refresh

I am once again looking to rasa my tabula and get a new outlook on life. A few weeks ago I was in Japantown with the other KM and came across a temporary tattoo that I may make permanent. (I will add that when I mentioned this to Dr. P, she insisted I bring her along when I do - so she can make sure I get the ink that can be wiped out in one laser removal treatment.)

I've been toying with the idea of getting a queen bee for years, and am also toying with the idea of a thin bracelet of dizzy birds. But a phoenix? Is perfect. Through both no fault and plenty of fault of my own, I've restarted my life many times. Often driven by location, sometimes by career - and I'm not really looking to move OR quit at the moment. But I still feel SOMETHING has to change, because my external circumstances? Aren't. So at the moment I'm teetering between not wanting anything at all, and wanting to find something I can want with some actual hope of attaining. Like - a tattoo.

All Hail the Chiefs

I called several friends I don't get to touch base with often enough to wish them Happy President's Day, and was able to catch up with JN, who took a break from making stovepipe hats and plaster of paris molds of Mt. Rushmore with her boys M&M to chat with me. I believe they were going to counterfeit some pictures of presidents on green tissue paper afterwards.

Dr. P.'s doctor sisters and their spouses flew in from Boston, and with the little P.K. as my plus one we made a splendid octet at dining establishments from San Francisco to Saratoga and back. Sunday night we gorged ourselves on 3 courses of fondue, which ended with a milk chocolate-caramel-turtle-FLAMBE fondue, and you know I LOVES me some flambe. You set anything on the menu flambe, andI am likely to order it. The decor was really strange, though, and two of the men went so far as to say it just pissed them off. Remember the episode of Friends where the pages in Rachel's cookbook get stuck together and she makes a trifle with custard, ground beef, and peas? I think the decorator's copy of Domino magazine got left out in the rain.

I put together the two drawer-inserts for my storage console (which is what I'm calling the bookcase I turned on its side), and I believe I must have some Swedish blood after all because I had a great time assembling them. I want to put an index card on the laundry room bulletin board and offer my IKEA assemblage skills to my neighbors at reasonable prices.

To round out my own Rushmore of events, I went to see Step-Up 2: The Streets with a cool work buddy. I invited the other KM to come with, and present our text message exchange:

Other KM: And you said no to 27 Dresses!

Me: Uh yeah... because step up 2 kix 27 dresses ass!!!

Other KM: omg

The 13th

I was all set to write a sad and bitter little epistle today - I've been having intense depressive panic attacks, and then stretches of feeling strangely fine. Let me advise you, don't plan to leave therapy and re-enter the internet dating quagmire at the same time.

But then. I watched something that finally caught up to me on my Netflix queue. The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill. Not only was it a love letter to San Francisco - a picture postcard of the city that still fills me with a lightness and awe at its stunning beauty - but in the end, it was also a love story. And even mean old cynical me thought it was sweet.

Things I Haven't Done By 36

Haven't been arrested
Haven't smoked meth. OR crack.
Haven't filed for bankruptcy.
Haven't missed a rent payment.
Haven't killed anyone.
Haven't appeared on Girls Gone Wild.
Haven't had an affair.
Haven't been fired.
Haven't been kicked out of a bar.
Haven't totalled a car.

This list sounds so much more positive than the usual list of recitations I offer myself when I ponder what I can't claim to have done. I would be thrilled to have this same list in 5 years, 10 years, every year.

Um... thanks?

My dear friend KDK is looking out for me. Like me, she doesn't understand why I'm perpetually single in this large city, and would be happy to help me find a nice guy. Or... A guy. When she finds out someone she knows has a friend in San Francisco she asks about him. Recently, a co-worker told her she had a friend who'd recently moved to San Francisco, and described him as "kind of cranky". Kathy said, "Really? I have a girl for him..." To which the response was - and this should not come as a surprise to anyone familiar with the dating scene here, let ALONE my consistently outstanding relationship with fate - "Oh, he's already seeing someone."

Which lead me to envision other new scenarios.

"Yes, he moved to San Francisco because America's extradition laws are much less stringent than Belgium's. Oh, he's dating someone pretty seriously."

"Well, once he found out that the police can't forcibly hospitalize anyone found living on the streets he rolled his shopping cart right down the Golden Gate Bridge. Oh, he's getting married next month."

"He found a spot to park the trailer in the East Bay so he didn't have to give up his meth lab when he took that job in San Francisco. Oh, he just broke up with his girlfriend and started dating her roommate."

It isn't just the fact that I have been so spectacularly unsuccessful in the dating arena. It's the fact that so many losers, parolees, dullards, and assholes seem to pair up so quickly and easily.