here i am...

we spent hurricane night at poison girl with friends and drove home at about 3 or 3:30 am (eye, what eye?) with some friends who had ridden their bikes (and you thought we were dumb/crazy) earlier in the night. after about 30 seconds in the car, i started to regret ever leaving the bar. the streets were pitch black, branches were flying everywhere, and there might have been one glass too much whiskey in a certain boyfriend. a short drive later we were home safe with our hurricane guest (and gusts), staying up almost all night just watching from the front porch. the winds and rain were mezmerizing, it was definitely an exciting eventful night. we're lucky we didn't suffer any damage, just scared kitties peeing on the stairs and two pairs of leather boots. tomorrow i go back to work downtown and we still tentatively leave town friday for san francisco. power's going to be out at home for a while, but the lucky boyfriend has a functioning office.

slight change in plans

san francisco, next weekend!
very excited.

so tell me whatcha want

...whatcha really, really want?

what about "why i left"?

saw some buzz about this lecture online. even just the title is indicative of why i came to hate that world. everyone assumes (knows?) it's all men calling the shots, that there are only a handful of successful female chefs. sure, we have alice waters, monica pope, etc but in the "real" culinary world there is always room for another dick, but hardly a woman. i thought things would change when i moved to the small-times, but then "things got weird," to borrow a line from a friend. it wasn't an entirely sexist situation, but i can't help but think it partially was. my last chef was a strong, often brash lady and i loved that. apparently the owners didn't. i loved that she didn't fuck around, she said what she wanted, she did things the way she wanted, and she did it all 100%. in a word, she was amazing. i looked up to her, she knew how to turn the charm on when a customer walked in and she knew how to chew me out for fucking something up. she took control like i'd seen all those men do before, and eventually that's why "things got weird" and why she lost her job. i looked up to her and admired not only her talent, but her personality too. what was so remarkable about everything was that she wasn't even years older than i was, we were the same age. it's one thing to see a woman far older and wiser than you so accomplished, but to see your peer like that? i just wish things could've turned out better. i'm not sure what she's up to now, but i hope it's something amazing and i hope one day i can call her up with my own amazing news.
for now? this is not what i wanted. i try to make the most of things, but it's getting tough. i need a fucking plan.

options

first
3.26-portland
3.28-seattle
4.4-chicago
4.11-ny (with superdrag??)

and foremost
2.21-24 New York, NY
2.28-29 San Francisco, CA
3.6-7 Seattle, WA
3.14-16 Chicago, IL

i guess technically magnetic fields is first, but oh well.
let's all go to nada surf and make out and fall in love! DEAL!

get me away from here I'm dying

I keep thinking there might be a sliver of hope for Houston. There's not. And I've discovered hell on earth: la strada. I've heard way too many shitty dance remixes of shitty dance songs, my waffles are soggy, everyone's a midtown asshole, and I want to shoot my face off. Why didn't we go to mi Luna? Whyyyyyy

seattle! seattle! seattle!

does it work like beetlejuice? because i really want to be back. i was walking to the bus last tuesday, the day after we got back, and i was filled with a heavy feeling of not quite unhappiness, but just not belonging, not wanting to be here anymore. it was hot and humid out, i wanted my coat and scarf back. i wanted pedestrian's right of way. i wanted free drinks.
seattle was pretty great, needless to say. the public transportation was awesome, much better than when we were in the rental car. a ten minute trip to fremont took over an hour because we were having so much fun going up all the hills. i never really realized just how flat houston is till we were as high as we could go. or maybe it hit me at the end of every night when we were walking uphill back to the hotel. regardless, it was awesome. there were people out, walking, being awesome. no cars needed, they're just occassionally helpful.
and now, here i am, days before thanksgiving, wearing shorts. what the hell houston? are you trying to break up with me?

juicy lube

the only bad thing about quitting my old, dead-end, comfortable, full of retards job and switching to my new full of wonderful things job is that for three months i'm livin on the edge, no insurance style. this of course means that unless i want a little kenticia popping out of my vaJLo (jack-in-the-box style) in nine months, i have to endure the pain that is our local planned parenthood clinic.
i would like to say that i love planned parenthood. love. it. i think it's an excellent resource and not nearly enough people use it or even know where to find them. but, as with many things in this backwards and five years too late city, ours sucks. not that i actually know what they're like in other cities, but i passed by one in new york that looked a hell of lot nicer than this one. i'd like to see a ppclinic zagat-type review service started. here is my review:

• the front desk lady was all right, i'll just leave that alone.
• the wait: unbearable! i wasn't called till about 3:20 or later for my 2:15 appointment. what is the point of calling ahead and making an appointment? i think what made it so painful was the fact that i knew once i was called i could be in and out, 10-15 minutes.
• waiting room company: there was one possibly retarded crackhead in the waiting room who was waiting on a friend that was on the Other Side, as i came to call it. she would start mumble-yelling about how she needed to get her hair did and stretch her arms out and rub her hands on the wall. also, she kept referring to someone as "mubber-fuckers."
• more waiting room company: there was an older 40s-ish man with a young early 20s, if not simply 20, girl sitting on his lap. she looked like she could be his daughter and they reminded me of that dirt episode with the cheerleaders and the pastor. i wonder if he calls her sarah when he puts his love in her. and i wonder if anyone else saw that show, otherwise that joke just doesn't work. but really, that was the best part of the whole episode.
• the first nurse: she kept calling me mija. i'm sorry dear, but only my grandmother call me that, and i don't even have to call her abuela, or worse, abuelita.
• the second wait: i got to sit with the possibly retarded crackhead's friend. apparently she was giving some nurses contradicting information. sneaky!
• the second nurse: she took me into a room with the paper covered seat o' fun that i didn't even have to sit on. she was going to walk me through how to use my new friend, birth control till i cut her off and told her this was by no means my first time, i'm a professional. i got to leave the room before i had a chance to draw on the exam chair, pasta company/ zio's-style. regrets...
• the third wait: back to where my second wait was, this time i was waiting for a cashier to call me. no, not a cashier, the only cashier. she was in the middle of some mess with a lady that barely spoke any english. there are so many people working there that speak spanish, would it really be that hard for one of them to go help out? regardless, soon enough i was called and sitting in a room with a teacher's "special helper of the week" type jar full of juicy lubes to my left and an empty jar labelled "ask about our free condoms!" in comic sans to my right. delightful! i paid and was on my way!
• the whole ordeal was only one hour and forty minutes long, and i didn't have to spread my legs once. no stirrups for me, no sir!