oopsie daisy

Things I DON'T Hate: My Job. (Also: "Things I'd like to keep," "Things I want to have tomorrow" & "Things I'm good at.")

Here's the thing: I get that we're destroying the Earth. Global warming, greenhouse gases, deforestation, ozone depletion, air pollution, acid rain (although, is that even still a thing anymore?)... I get it. We're totally fucked. And I do my best, more or less, not to contribute to the inevitable demise of our planet. I recycle... (or at least I put all the bottles in a bag beneath my sink; what my cleaning lady does with them, no one really knows since I've never actually shown her where the recycling goes). I rarely drive my car (mostly because parking is so expensive and I'm drunk 95% of the time, but still, that counts). I barely use any electricity (except what it takes to keep my wine cold and my TV on). I've even been seen in the same outfit more than once. I mean, I care people. I care.

But, I mean, sure I say I care, but caring has its limits. I definitely don't care about the environment enough to bring one of those reusable bag things with me everywhere I go. Yes, in theory, they're a great idea. Except, well, I've never once remembered to take mine with me when I'm shopping. I mean, it's not like I know that I am going to the wine story every single day on my way home or something... Oh. Right. Well anyway...

My point is that, for whatever reason, every single store at which I shop full expects me to have arrived with my own bags. And yes, I (accidentally) have a handbag that doubles as a grocery bag in that it carries two bottles of wine and a bag of goldfish...

[interrupts blog post to show you the bag]

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(I know, right? It IS easy being green after all!)

...but I don't think it's fair that people basically assume you'll always have your own grocery bag and look down on you if you don't. I mean, there are the rare occasions when I go to the store and buy more than just two bottles of wine and goldfish that night's dinner. For example, I was at the store the other night and I had four bottles of wine, two bags of goldfish, cookies and a piece of fruit or two. (Yes, I am lying about the fruit.) I plopped it all down on the counter and paid. The cashier returned my change and then just stood there. I put my change back in my wallet and then also just stood there. "Oh," he finally asked. "Do you need a bag?"

No, douchebag. I was planning on juggling my groceries while chewing gum and singing The Star-Spangled Banner, all the while balancing on a pair of glow-in-the-dark stilts and doing my multiplication tables. Yes, I need a bag.

And this has become par for the course. No one just puts your groceries into a paper sack anymore. You have to ask for one or be offered one. They just assume, 100% incorrectly in my case, that I'm willing to scoop everything up between my arms and walk four blocks while people judge me for eating wine and cookies for dinner. And fine, it's actually only a block from the store to my house, but that makes it sound like I should make do without a bag and pretty much ruins my entire point.

Anyway, all of this is a long way of getting to this story:

I was at Whole Foods buying my lunch. Whole Foods is only a couple of blocks away from my office so it's quite common to bump into co-workers while you're pretending to decide between a green salad or a heaping pile of fattening pasta. (I will say, one of the best things about Whole Foods is their opaque containers. It's a judgment free lunch environment. You could put 12 hard-boiled eggs and a side of refried beans in there and no one would be the wiser.) If you end up standing in the checkout line at the same time, it's also somewhat customary to wait for the person behind you to pay so that you can walk back to the office together.

On this particular day, I spooned a lemon grass chicken concoction over some white rice before hopping in the express line. I was standing there lamenting the fact that Whole Foods has the worst magazine selection ever (I don't give a shit about Yoga Life or Healthy Eating. Can you please just start stocking US Weekly, for the love of God?), when my CEO gets in line directly behind me.

We make small talk about work, sports, the weather, whatever until it's my turn to pay. The cashier rings up my purchase and I swipe my card.

"Would you like a bag?" she asks.

"Actually," I think about the lemon grass chicken sauce and imagine it leaking all over my dress. "Yes, I would like a bag."

She reaches for a paper bag, when my CEO says, eyebrows raised, "Oh. So you hate the Earth?"

That's right: "OH. SO YOU HATE THE EARTH."

In other news... guess who walked back to the office alone?

And yes I realize this post negates anything nice I was trying to do. But I can live with that.

So The Boy convinced me to go with him to Vegas in December to celebrate his sister's 30th birthday.

And yes, by "convinced," I mean, one of the things I am learning about being in a relationship (ohgod, breaking out in cold sweat and having a mild heart attack, ok... calming down, deep breaths... all better...) is that you do things you wouldn't normally do because I guess it's not just all about you anymore or so people say (though secretly, I don't believe them, but don't tell anyone). But I guess you have to, well yeah, factor in the other person's interests and desires when you make decisions... I KNOW. NO ONE TOLD ME EITHER!!!!

I guess it's called "compromise?"

(shit shit shit, cold sweats are back, heart is speeding up, might pass out, might pass out, breathe.... breathe... ok. whew. still alive. "Compromise." I can totally say that without passing out. Can I have a cookie now? Please?)

So in the interest of not being a selfish brat (and by "interest," I mean his and not mine... clearly), I agreed to spend 76 hours in a town I can usually only tolerate for 36 with a group of strangers I've never met (redundant I know, but this is my rant and there's nothing you can do about it), at a hotel that brags of both a roller coaster AND a Coyote Ugly... and to top it all off, I'll be meeting his sister, who is his favorite person on this planet, for the very first time. Nothing like doing tequila shots and dancing on a bar to convince a girl you're good enough for her brother.

All of this is a very long-winded way of getting to my point which is this:

After I booked my ticket, I sent him this email:

"I guess we're going to Vegas!"

and he responded with:

"There is a lot of desert out there, if you know what I mean."

So, um... yeah.

Anyway... VEGAS!???!

Lesson Learned: Beer First. Bathroom Second. Now I Know.

The intensity over last weekend's pre-season battle between the Niners and the Raiders started before I even got on the bus that would take me to the bus that would take me to Candlestick.

The Boy and I were in the Cole Valley liquor store mulling over which tallboys to buy for the bus ride/Candlestick parking lot, clearly a big decision that required a lot of back and forth that went something like:

Him: Kind of hard to go from mimosas at brunch to tallboys.

Me: We should just get High Life, the champagne of beers. That'll ease us right into it... OH MY GOD! Tallboys are only $1.99? That's AMAZING!

While I pondered if I wanted to get two High Lifes or mix and match with a Miller Lite, a guy wearing a Raiders' hat walked into the store, looked us up and down and said:

Douchebag Raiders' Fan: Shouldn't Niners' fans be buying wine?

I was too shocked to respond because, frankly, I didn't even think Raiders' fans knew how to find adorable little neighborhoods like Cole Valley; perhaps he got lost looking for Haight Street?

Fast foward an hour or so and The Boy and I were making our way to our gate, sipping our tallboys, when we see a group of Raiders' fans hovered over a guy who is more or less out cold on the pavement. That's right, the game hadn't even started, and the fights were already breaking out. We saw three ambulances with sirens on before we even went inside.

Come halftime, I was a few beers deep, so I made an executive decision I'd come to regret later: First stop, ladies' room. Second stop, beer. I got in the bathroom line, which extended well out into the concourse, and stood there minding my business and playing with my iPhone, when all of a sudden a girl with lots of eyeliner, way too much lipstick and head-to-toe Raiders' gear inserted herself in front of me and proceeded to get comfortable.

"Excuse me," I said. "Um... you just cut in front of me?"

The Raiders' fan turned around, looked me up and down and unleashed an attitude unlike anything I've witnessed since I escaped Mormon reform school in the early 90s (true story, only by "escape," I mean "finally got to leave after 14 months"). "Watch you talkin' about, CUT IN FRONT OF YOU? I was HERE already. You don't know whatchyou sayin'..."

This went on for, what I felt, was too long, so I just looked at her with an eerie calmness and said, "I'm sorry... but I don't speak that language."

Oh, to watch an angry Raiders' fan go from a 6 to a 10 in under two seconds.

"YOU DON'T WHAT?" she screamed and she stepped up closer to my nose and threw her hands up in a jerky motion I'm not sure I could repeat, much less explain in writing. "We ALL speak the same language, yo." Ok, maybe she didn't say "yo," but I'm having a hard time writing the dialect in which she was speaking or the slang she was using. "You need to shut the fuck up 'don't speak that language'."

It was at this point that her friend turned around (oops! looks like maybe she was there before me) and asked what was going on. (Something like "Wassup with this ho?")

"This bitch said she don't speak my language!"

"Don't speak our language?" the friend yelled... and also proceeded to get up in my face, hands flailing, booze screaming.

This went on for about a minute, all the while I kept my head down, mouth shut, eyes and fingers on the iPhone.

"Yeah, that's right you stupid bitch. Shut the fuck up. Don't talk. Don't speak our language. Fuck you."

At which point, because I have some anger management issues that I don't ever plan on dealing with, I replied, even more calmly and sing-songy than the previous time, "Again, so sorry, but I just don't understand what you're saying."

Within seconds, I had two girls inches from my face, screaming at me, guy Niners' fans who'd jumped into the argument screaming at them, and several yellow-jacketed security personel... all in the bathroom entrance vestibule.

Security Lady (arms out, back to me, facing the Raider's fans): "Ok, calm down, calm down. What's going on here?"

Raiders' Fan: "She said she DON'T SPEAK OUR LANGUAGE!"

And because that is the most ridiculous argument for anything ever... I was ushered into the ladies' room while the security officers and the Raiders' fan had a little chat.

Moments later, the entire stadium was cut off from beer due to unruly fan behavior... Just when I could have used one the most.

Luckily, The Boy made the first Douchebag Raiders' Fan's insult- and my dreams - come true by stealing a bottle of wine. I might have to keep him around.

 

Does that look like the face of a girl who'd get in a fight in the bathroom line?

UPDATE: I originally posted this picture - which showcases a boy on my right - when I had a 102 fever. Clearly, I was not in my right mind. I hope this modification remedies the situation and restores my readers' faith in everything I stand for.

Publish

Also: Thank you to Drew (and his brother Adam) for the sweet 3rd row seats. I hope the stolen wine was enough to repay you...

Why I Drink: Because it's easier than admitting that I am a complete cliché

First in a new series themed, "Why I Drink."

Last night at my apartment...

A Boy: Do you have a pair of pliers?

Me: Yeah, I think so.

I go to the closet and return with a brown and white striped Henri Bendel shopping bag that serves as my toolbox. After rifling through my collection of flimsy tools with blue plastic handles, I finally produce, with much flair, a pair of pliers. I hand them to A Boy and bat my eyelashes.

Me: Aren't you proud of me that I know what pliers are?

A Boy: Yes. Except... that's a wrench.

Vote for My SXSW Panels. Pretty Please?

My Twitter stream has been inundated today with requests from people asking me to check out their SXSW interactive panel proposals and vote for them. For those of you not familiar with SXSWi, it is a chance for geeks to get together, get wasted and have drunken sex they’ll attach too much meaning to under the pretense of learning new stuff about technology. Basically, it’s Spring Break for people who… well, weren’t cool enough to go on Spring Break when it was actually age-appropriate to get wasted and make out with four different guys in two days. 

Now, I never went to Spring Break when I was in college because, let’s be honest, I didn’t need to prance around a crowded beach in a skimpy bikini in order to rationalize getting drunk and making out with four different guys in two days. However, just because I was never lucky enough to lose a wet t-shirt contest in Cabo doesn’t mean I’ll be trying to make up for it by attending 2010’s SXSW Interactive conference. Don’t get me wrong, though…. This doesn’t mean it’s not one of my absolute favorite events… because it is. Right after Burning Man. After all, there are only two times a year in SF you can count on getting some peace, quiet and freedom from the geeks, hipsters and hippies: September (Burning Man) and March (SXSWi). The streets are free of bitter cyclists, the coffee shops are free of laptops, and you can go to Dolores Park without wanting to kill yourself (and by "yourself," I mean "everyone else")… It’s glorious. Truly glorious.

Anyway, all of these Twitter requests asking me to vote on people’s panels got me thinking about a few SXSW Interactive panels ideas of my own. With no further ado...

Hide & Seek 2.0

Do your friends need to tell the whole world where they are at all times? Did they cry tears of “now how will people know I have a life?” when Google shut down Dodgeball? Do they obsessively check in with brightkite, loopt and foursquare? Do you constantly get their annoying twitters announcing that they just ousted [enter geek’s name here] as the mayor of [enter played-out hipster coffee shop here]?  Have they “named” their house/work/car/bathroom/bed/therapist’s office so that they can check-in whenever they go there?

This panel will help you learn how to avoid getting caught up in the latest trend of broadcasting your whereabouts 24-7. I’ll discuss the merits of going on a date… and not telling anyone about it. Grabbing coffee with a friend… and actually enjoying her company! (Just kidding, I don’t "grab coffee"; I go to a bar and order vodka like a real alcoholic. You should too, but that's a whole other panel.) We’ll discuss how it’s okay to spend a night in your apartment… alone! How no one cares if you're at Target, Costco, or any store that sells cat litter, athlete's foot spray or shiny leggings and matching headbands. How you can go to the Apple store... and not tell a single soul. (Gasp!)

Please note: In order to attend this panel, you must leave all cell phones, laptops, cameras and other geeky devices at the door. Absolutely no Twittering, Blogging, Foursquare-ing, Flickr-ing, Texting etc. will be tolerated.

Dating 3.0

There are going to be a lot of panels this year about dating on the internets because, let’s face it, the internets are a tricky place for socially awkward people. I mean, how do you go out with multiple geeks who all know each other and work in the same industry and still check-in obsessively on foursquare? Should you add the new geekyfantastic boy as a friend on Flickr if you’re going to be posting lots of pictures of you and another geekyfantastic boy wearing DayGlo Ray-Ban sunglasses and “ironic” t-shirts with unicorns in Dolores Park? How many times a day can you @message your new crush on Twitter before people will start to figure out that you’re really hoping he’ll ask you out for Blue Bottle coffee and… the most important question for our generation:

When should you change your Facebook status from "single" to "in a relationship"?!!!

I can help you out with all of these questions and more and, hey! I might actually get you laid by someone who doesn’t even know what any of these things are. You’ll thank me when he leaves hours before the sun comes up and doesn’t spend the entire next day stalking you online and adding you as a "friend" on every social network across the web.

Oh, and by the way, the answer to when you should change your Facebook relationship status? I’ll give you that one now. Never, you dumbass. Never.