Slowly Back To Normal

Today I did something I haven't been able to do in eight days: I went to the gym.

If you regularly visit this space, you know I love to exercise. So today was a big day for me. Unfortunately, I was relegated to the stationary bike, my least favorite cardio machine. And I am not allowed to lift any weights for another three weeks because my surgical recovery still isn't over. But it felt really good to sweat. I also took a nice long steam afterward, which was very luxurious. Just wait until I can actually go running again. That will be a really good day.

In related news, I am taking bets on how much weight I will likely gain as a consequence of my procedure. While I haven't been exercising for the last eight days, I certainly have been eating. A lot. Plus, even though I have the green light to exercise again, it will be a little while before my workouts are as frequent or intense as they had been. So my guess is about three to five extra pounds of Sass. What do you think? I'll probably be too big a chicken to actually weigh myself, so you may not get to collect your bet.

Once I'm completely recovered, I think I'll invest in a trainer at the gym for a little while to really get back in shape. I could use a trainer anyway, and not only will professional workout assistance improve my exercise regimen, but it will be part of my New Attitude. I'm a very happy person, but some noise and clutter in my head have been leaving me a little blue lately. So I'm going to take steps to eradicate that noise while I tone and trim my post-surgery physique. Exciting stuff on the horizon for Sassy.

It all begins now with baby steps. Tomorrow I'm going to back to the gym for more cycling, and then I'm getting an eyebrow wax and a pedicure. When you don't feel up to doing much of anything for several days in a row, even the little things mean a lot.

Totally Worth It: Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 19

The Loved Ones at Bimbo's 365 Club

Given my continued surgical recovery, probably one of the last things I should have done was take my sutures and bruised abdomen to Bimbo's for live music last night. Especially since I also started back at work yesterday. But that's exactly what I did. My return to work was probably a few days premature, as well, but that's another story. I had thought I would be in better shape by the weekend, so Adam had already bought our tickets. But Bimbo's wasn't crowded; I didn't dance or drink; and in fact, I sat for most of the hour and a half we were there. Still it probably wasn't the wisest choice I've ever made.

That said, seeing the reunited, original Oakland lineup of The Loved Ones was decidedly worth it.

Their bluesey mod-rock is top rate, but you have to see the performance of frontman Bart Davenport to really get the experience. Bart also plays solo and with Persephone's Bees, but honestly, this was the finest I'd ever seen him. Add the cooler-than-the-room presence of amazingly talented guitarist Xan McCurdy, who is now a member of Cake, and the show was perfect. I pretty much instantly developed a crush on Xan, but he is a such a serious smoker, he drags on a cigarette while playing. Okay, it did look cool, but that seems to me like a one-way ticket to lung cancer.

There were actually two other acts on the bill last night, but I can't tell you too much about them. Adam and I arrived in the middle of the first band's set, and I needed to take myself home as soon as The Loved Ones were done.

This was at least the second time this year The Loved Ones have gotten together for a show. So if you happen to notice they're playing again, do yourself a favor and go see them. If I can be happy that I went four days after surgery, imagine how ecstatic you'll be if you catch them.

Of course, I am now canceling social plans I have for Monday and Tuesday nights. I still have to work, but I think I should take care of myself and put the socializing on hiatus. Again, live and learn. Hopefully I'll feel well enough to catch DeVotchka at the Independent on Thursday with Ann Marie. Missing them would be nothing short of wrong.

Lesson Learned

So yesterday I learned that even minor surgery is still surgery. And surgery is a pretty taxing event.

My little outpatient procedure was not quite the walk in the park I thought it would be. In fact, I ended up spending the night in the hospital, so it wasn't even outpatient. But it wasn't all bad. For one thing, my anesthesiologist brought his iPod into the operating room, and he let me choose the music. Yay! So what if I would be unconscious? Unfortunately, the 9000 songs in his iPod did not include any English Beat, but he did have The Beatles. So I chose what is, in my opinion, the single best pop album ever crafted: Revolver. I only got to hear two songs before they put me under, but it was comforting to know it was on.

The funniest part was when I woke up in recovery not knowing where I was. I kept trying to get out of bed to use the bathroom, and when the recovery nurse told me I was in the hospital and needed to stay put, I argued with her, saying I was, in fact, at home. What I thought some nurse was doing in my bedroom, I have no idea. But it was pretty amusing. To me, anyway. I bet the recovery nurse was less than impressed, although she probably sees it all the time.

My overnight hospital stay was actually quite lovely. I had all the cable television I could watch, and people kept coming in to check on me and make sure I was okay. And whenever I needed anything, and I mean anything, they were there for me. Except for the surgery part, it was kind of like a little vacation. And because I kept having to get up every two hours thanks to my saline drip, I learned that in the wee hours of the morning American Movie Classics shows greats like The King and I and 9 to 5. Okay, maybe 9 to 5 isn't exactly great, but it surely is a classic.

I admit there was one point last night when I got lonely and scared to be in that little room all by myself in such an infirm state. And I had to cry a little. But it passed quickly. And that tiny moment aside, my lovely sister, Fabulous Patti, took excellent care of me. She took me to the hospital yesterday, went grocery shopping for me while I was having the procedure done, stayed with me until I was told to stay overnight and came back to get me this morning. Family is a wonderful thing; I hope you appreciate yours.

And now I'm back home and ready to settle in for a couple of days of pain medication, magazines and likely more AMC. I'm sore, but otherwise just fine.

Words of Wisdom

And now, a public service announcement brought to you by my hangover.

No matter how much energy you had for socializing in your youth (see previous post), it is not a good idea, at age 36, to work an eight-hour day on five and a half hours sleep and then go to a birthday party followed by a live music show and drink throughout both. I would have been tired had I stuck to water, juice or soda, but consuming six beers over five hours, which is a lot for me, has left me a little foggy. To say the least. It made for mildly unfocused work today, as well. The moral of the story: I am not 25 anymore. I am often reminded of that fact, but somehow it just hasn't sunk in yet.

That's the bad news. The good news is that Joey's birthday party and Pat Johnson's performance were both super-duper fun. Joey's party was small, but it was the quality of guests that made the occasion. I got a chance to talk to Emily about how she and her husband met. They had both been volunteering at a homeless shelter and spent their third date making out at the now-defunct Dr. Bombay's in the Mission. Is that not the cutest? And I got a chance to laugh with Ted, whom I generally only see at work when he is pretty focused. Nice to spend time with the away-from-work version last night.

After a few hours at Joey's, I met Tom at the Hotel Utah for Pat Johnson's show. Tom had never heard any of Pat's music, and he was duly impressed. I was completely stoked because Pat played my absolute favorite song of his: "The Very Last Time." I have gushed about it on this space before, but again I'll encourage you to hit the Wally Sound website and give this ditty a listen. I promise you'll be glad you did. Once at the site, flip through the records for The Maydays; that's the band with whom Pat recorded the song a few years ago. I was so excited when he played it. It completely made my night.

So I'd say last night's socializing was worth the hazy fatigue of today. And as I also mentioned on my last post, I will have a little forced rest for the next couple of days. I anticipate being both bored and a little annoyed after my laparoscopic procedure tomorrow. I don't believe I'll be able to exercise for several days afterward, which is bound to make me surly. As for the boredom, I expect a lot of Gilmore Girls dvd marathons over the next 72 hours.

Wish me luck!

Party Girl?

Apparently I that's the role I have been playing this weekend. It has nothing to do with me, really; everything just seems to be happening at once.

On Thursday night I met Helen at Favorite Bar after hitting a little art show at Frisson with Ann Marie. It was a relatively quiet night at Favorite Bar, but I stayed a little longer than I had intended. Of course. I did learn that the bartender working that night got a day job with a new neighborhood newspaper. He seemed really excited about it, so yay, Luke! Now, I was good on Friday night and stayed in because I had to be at work at 6:00 yesterday morning.

But then.... after laundry, an all-too-brief nap and a run yesterday afternoon, I set out for Kevin's birthday bash in the Mission. DJ tunes, barbecued ribs and lots of adult beverages were featured, as well as Kevin done up in a poor man's tux. He looked positively fabulous. But I couldn't stay long because I also had an engagement across the Bay. There was a party in Alameda for Terry, and I couldn't miss it. I still wasn't tired when I crawled into bed at 2:00 this morning, but let's just say that my wake up time of 7:30 came awfully quickly. I would tell you I have a date with my couch and pajamas once I finish work today, but instead I'm scooching to Joey's birthday celebration as soon I put in my eight hours. Two birthday parties in one weekend; I guess everybody's a Leo these days. After Joey's party, Tom and I are going to Hotel Utah to see Pat Johnson, providing I haven't fallen asleep by 9:00. Then it's back to work again tomorrow morning. The more I type, the more fatigued I feel.

I haven't always been such a wimp. When I first moved to San Francisco, my weekends pretty much always looked like this. I worked at 10:00 in the morning both weekend days, but that didn't stop me from staying out with my party partners until 2:00 a.m. and 3:00 a.m. most Friday and Saturday nights. I also worked a couple of all-night shifts during the week, plus I was still an actor back then. So I also had regular rehearsals and performances. And I did it all with a seemingly never-ending supply of energy. Now, not so much. The Energizer Bunny in me must be getting old.

My partying ways are taking a respite this week, however. Even though The Editors are playing at the Fillmore tomorrow night when there is also a vintage vinyl listening party at Favorite Bar, I'll be staying in to rest up for surgery on Tuesday. Worry not, it's just a wee-little outpatient procedure, and nothing is terribly wrong with me. But I will have to lay low for a couple of days. Which means I'll likely miss Tippy Canoe and the Paddlemen at the Hemlock Tavern later this week, as well as opening night of a new one-man play about Sanford Meisner and about five other events to which I've been invited. I should be good to go for next weekend, though, when work and socializing will collide once again. To quote my old friend Maria, "I'll sleep when I'm dead." I guess, anyway.

Is There Anything More Fun...

... than the Sing Along West Side Story at the Castro Theatre?

Survey says: "no."

That's what I did last night, and I don't think anyone on the planet was having more fun than those of us in the Castro. At 6:30 I met Fabulous Patti, two of her co-workers, two of her co-worker's friends, my co-worker Emily and Emily's husband in line for the big show. Once comfortably seated with our Junior Mints and goody bags the theatre had given us, we were ready to showcase our supreme vocal talents. And people really did sing, especially me. I employed particular gusto during "Tonight," "Somewhere," "America" and "I Feel Pretty." Of course, my gusto was no match for the gentleman who did an interpretive dance directly in front of the screen during "Pretty," but then, I'd say no one was any match for him.

The absolute highlight of the evening came when Natalie Wood, as Maria, said to Tony, played by that actor whose name I don't remember, "When you come, make sure you use the back door."

That is an actual line from the film, and you can imagine what kind of response it elicited from an audience in the Castro. Here I thought West Side Story was a family film.

I don't care whether you like musicals or not, you are cheating yourself if you miss Sing Along nights at the Castro. They're screening Sing Along Grease in December. Maybe that's what I'll do for my birthday...

Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 18

Blogger is still not allowing me to post images. This is going to drive me to drink. Wait, I already do... Well, maybe it will drive me to stop.

Hot Clip and The Fabulous Entourage at The Independent

There is nothing better than curling up with music you love, but sometimes it's nice to play the field and meet new music. I had never heard of either Hot Clip or The Fabulous Entourage, but that did not stop me from accepting an invitation to go see them with Paul, Denise and Keith last night. After a quick drink at 821 Divisadero (Denise and I had champagne cocktails, and hers featured chocolate!), we wandered into the Independent to be wowed.

The Fabulous Entourage were already playing, and I fell in love with them immediately. Much like the B52's, they combine over-the-top theatrics with genuine musical talent. The two female singers have amazing voices, and the songs we heard were very fun. Unfortunately, since we had arrived late, the set ended very quickly. Ah, well. That's what record stores and the internet are for.

By the time Hot Clip took the stage, the place was packed. And boy, did the crowd dig this band. Lots of sweaty, happy dancing filled the Independent on this night. Paul very astutely compared Hot Clip to The Farm, and I'd add a little Depeche Mode to the mix as well. There's something rambunctiously fun about a little modern-Brit disco.

There was another musician between The Fabulous Entourage and Hot Clip, but he was so bad it was, frankly, embarrassing. And since this space is not intended for disparaging others, I'll keep his identity to myself. Plus, I don't actually remember his name. After the show, I saw him working the merchandise table, which made me wonder if he had traded some volunteer labor for his place on the bill. He had a good voice, but in my opinion, it wasn't performance talent that got him his slot.

After the concert, we went to a new bar/restaurant nearby for late-night snacks before heading home. I had donut holes with rum caramel sauce. Can you say yummy?

Plus, as an added bonus to my music consumption this week, I was on my way to the gym today when I strolled upon a mid-day concert at Union Square. And as it would so happen, the band performing was one of the 600 bands Pat Johnson, a musician I know, plays with. So I got to say hello to Pat, whom I haven't seen since in several months, and indulge in a little pre-workout entertainment. Unfortunately for Pat and his bandmates, the floor show of... um... audience members was as entertaining to me as the intended show. But I enjoyed it all. Gotta love a free daytime concert in San Francisco.

Now on on my way to the sing-along "West Side Story." Yes, you read that correctly.

And Back Home Again

My holiday over, it's back to the grind once again. Actually, while the East Coast Sassy Tour of '06 was much fun, I'm delightfully glad to be home.

As my vacation rolled to its end, I got hit on by two more guys in the last 12 hours I was in New England. I get chatted up regularly in San Francisco, too, but goodness, what is it with these Eastern dudes? Have they never seen women before? One of the guys was making conversation with me in the airport bar; I was watching the baseball game before my flight out, and he had just gotten in. He told me he was stopping at the bar for a quick drink on his way to baggage claim. Now that is one serious partier. Or alcoholic.

Once safely on my home coast, I met Gretchen for a late lunch at Mario's on Thursday. A little later Ann Marie and I grabbed a drink at Favorite Bar before moving on to Tunnel Top. I couldn't stay out too late, though, because my first day back at work on Friday began about two and a half hours earlier than normal. I went in early to chat with comedian Darrell Hammond. Honestly. It was an official chat, but a chat nonetheless.

I have the best job ever. Most of the time, anyway.

Then last night Ann Marie and I went to see X and The Henry Rollins Band at the Warfield. And because it's my life, we, of course, randomly ran into a couple of guys I know from high school at the show. Keep in mind that I went to high school some 350 miles away. We chatted with them for a while before they made their way into the mosh pit. Also keep in mind these two guys are about 38 years old. I guess mosh pits know no age limit. Or something. Actually, they're really nice fellows, and I hadn't seen one of them since we were in high school. So that was fun.

As for the concert itself, I'd never seen The Henry Rollins Band before. They were okay. While I respect his career, I'm not the hugest Henry Rollins fan. But it was fun to watch him bounce around the stage like a punk rock cartoon character. Literally. X was, of course, fabulous. However, Ann Marie and I are such old ladies, we wished X had performed before The Henry Rollins Band so we could have gone home early. As it stood, the whole concert was over by midnight. As I've said before on the space, relatively early shows are the beauty of seeing aging rock stars perform.

Tonight I'm staying in before embarking on a big week of socializing. I'm going out with Helen tomorrow, hitting a live music show with Denise and Paul on Tuesday, cocktailing with friends on Wednesday and then going to an art show on Thursday. Just a typical week here in the City by the Bay.

Where The Boys Are

Apparently that would be Manhattan.

Before you get any funny ideas, I am merely talking about friends of mine. I realized the other day that of all the friends I currently have in New York, only one is a woman. But the boys I know there are truly platonic friends. They are all either married, engaged or otherwise emotionally unavailable; one is my former boss; and the others I have known for anywhere from 15 to 25 years. In other words: no romance here. But on the occasion that my current East Coast tour has taken me to New York, my one female friend is out of town. So I have spent my time playing with the boys. Well, at least the three boys I could corral during the 36 hours I am here.

We begin with Omar, with whom I am staying in Soho. He is a PhD-holding assistant professor, but that doesn't stop him from also being bouncy and fun. Staying here has been like a big slumber party. He even gave me flip flops to wear while in his apartment, creating a spa-like atmosphere. He is also teaching a week-long seminar before he leaves town on a Fulbright, and we toyed with the idea of me being a guest lecturer in his class this morning. Neither one of us were certain what I'd talk about, so it probably would have been more like Show and Tell: "This is my old friend, Sassy!" But for reasons involving an unfortunate incident with a car alarm that went off in front of Omar's apartment at 3:00 this morning, I am a little too pooped to even pretend to impart wisdom upon impressionable youngsters. So in just a couple of hours I am going to hop a train back to Boston.

Next is Schleevin, whom I mentioned on this space when I saw him in Southern California a couple of months ago. Over cocktails at the Soho Grand Hotel, Schleevin regaled me with the story of how his "package" got a great review in a magazine a few years ago. The review was supposed to be of the avant-garde stage show he and some of his fellow NYU Graduate School alums had created, but apparently his anatomy dominated the reviewer's attention. The life of an actor, I suppose.

Then there is Shawn, whom I haven't seen in almost five years. He and I went to Brown together, and I learned he shares my "If I knew then what I know now..." mentality when it comes to looking back on his college years. The word he uses to describe how he invested in the opportunities Brown has to offer is "squandered." But he's certainly landed just fine. Shawn now owns this cool record store/night club/art gallery in Brooklyn. He also told me on this visit that he has realized he has some work to do on his relationship skills. He's had plenty of girlfriends in his time, but he says that if he were to place a personal ad today, he'd describe himself as a fixer-upper. Actually, while I love him to death, that sounds pretty accurate to me.

And finally, it wouldn't be my life had I not been hit on by some random, marginal dude. I was in Mid-Town yesterday on my way to the subway to meet Schleevin on the Upper West Side for lunch. At 53rd and 7th, a man on a bicycle rode up to me and told me I was beautiful and then asked me if I am "afraid of Black people." He was African-American, but.... huh? After I told him I was not afraid of him (well, not because of his ethnicity, anyway), he asked me if he could take me to lunch. I told him I was on my way to meet my boyfriend, which was technically not a lie since Shleevin is my friend and a boy.

This dude's response? "I am so glad you said 'no' because I don't have any money." And he said this with a very genuine tone of chipper relief in his voice. What if I had said yes? Would lunch have then been my treat? But I didn't say yes, and with those words, Lunch Man happily rode away, only turning back to ask me if the book I was carrying is any good. Ironically, that book is Love Monkey, a fluffy tale about a man in Manhattan who seems to be challenged when it comes to women and dating. Seems a little appropriate.

Ah, men. That's all I can say. But now I'm on my way back to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and then it's back home tomorrow. I'll see you back in the West!

... But Then We Went To A REAL School

Okay, once again Blogger is being obstinate and not allowing me to post images. But I've grown tired of waiting to publish this post, so I'll add a photo later. Grr....

That stroll around Harvard on Thursday evening was nice and all, but it paled in comparison to what I did today: visit Brown University. Or as I call it, the True Happiest Place on Earth (with all due respect to Disneyland). Those who know me are aware that I am a little... let's just say loyal... to my alma mater. Okay, the intensity of my Brown loyalty does border on insane, but I roll with it. It all started back in April 1988 when I had acceptance letters to seven colleges, including the aforementioned Harvard, thank you very much, in my little teenage hands. And there was never a doubt I would go anywhere other than Brown. My mother wasn't too fond of my collegiate decision, but if the most upsetting thing I did in my teen years was choose Brown over Harvard, I'd say she had it pretty easy.

I was not disappointed. Those were four fabulous years. So for me, revisiting the campus is much like a tiny pilgrimage.

After graduation, I lived in Rhode Island for four and a half more years, and I hated it. Hated it. Did I mention I hated it? Also, I didn't like it much. But I have found in the decade since I moved back to the West Coast that Rhode Island is a truly lovely place to visit. It doesn't hurt that my dear friend and former roommate Cindy (whom I have called Pea since the day in 1995 when my friend Randy described us as "two peas in a pod") lives in a fabulous home in a delightfully bucolic Cumberland neighborhood. I didn't even know Cumberland, Rhode Island, had such neighborhoods. It looks just as I always imagined New England would look... until I lived here myself. But this has been a wonderful stay; I almost don't want to leave. Almost.

Once Pea collected me from the train station yesterday, we immediately hit the Brown Bookstore so I could load up on propaganda clothing. That's right, if it had "Brown University" printed on it, I bought it. Our bags full of insignia-laden crap, Pea and I then went to find a bar so we could do a little afternoon cocktailing. Apparently, Providence is not like San Francisco, in that finding adult beverages before 5:00 p.m. is a little more of a challenge. But we managed. Our friend Dolby eventually joined us, and then last night, Dolby, Pea, Pea's fiancee Matt and I all went to dinner at a restaurant called Red Stripe which occupies the space in Wayland Square formerly filled by the East Side Newport Creamery. Red Stripe has that space because Newport Creamery has gone bankrupt. This may mean nothing to you, but to anyone who ever spent a significant amount of time in Rhode Island, it is a travesty. Apparently, there are still four Newport Creamery locations in operation, but only four in the entire state? Travesty, I say. I also learned that Big Alice's ice cream shop closed, but the Cable Car Cinema is still there, as are Fellini's and the Coffee Exchange. Plus, in this age of corporate sponsorship, the Providence Civic Center has been renamed the Dunkin Donuts Center, which is, in my opinion, far more laughable than that Generic Telephone Park where the Giants play baseball.

Anyway, over our Red Stripe delectables, the four of us chatted about all things Rhode Island. The talk of politics was both highly entertaining and an excellent reminder as to why I no longer live here. But the evening certainly was fun.

Then this morning, I went with Pea to the gym before we grabbed a mimosa lunch and took our alumni nostalgia tour of Brown. It was sweet. We played in the Whispering Arch. We sat on the Henry Moore statue on the Main Green. We felt old. And luckily most of the buildings stand as they have for the past 242 years because some things in life just need to remain consistent. I did have one of those "If I knew then what I know now..." moments, however. If I could go back to my college days with the self confidence, life knowledge and, honestly, figure I have now, I would do a lot of things differently. I'd be more outgoing and try to make a lot more friends. Not that the friends I had weren't wonderful, but when else in your life do you live in an insular community of your most brilliant, driven and creative peers? I'd want to know as many of them as physically possible. I'd go see more theatre on campus than I did. I take more risks and try many more activities than I did. And frankly, I'd have a lot more sex than I did. Trust me, a whole lot more.

As I said to Pea as we sipped our cabinets (that's Rhode Island for "milkshakes") on our way back to her and Matt's house, it's possible this has been my favorite day of my vacation. So far, at least. More adventures are on the horizon. Stay tuned...

We Pahked the Cah in Hah-vahd Yahd...

Greetings from The Colonies. More specifically, Boston. Because I am writing this from The Land Where Time Is Money (a.k.a. Kinkos), I must be brief. But here are a few tidbits from my holiday so far.

1. Flying Jet Blue is very nice. And because they have that whole Direct TV hookup, you can think of the duration of your flight in terms of television programs. For example, my flight from the Bay Area to Boston was a "Daily Show" episode, a "Colbert Report" episode, several 80's videos on VH1 Classic, two episodes of "Little House on the Prairie," some frustrated channel surfing and a chunk of local New York City news long.

2. I got chatted up by two guys within half an hour of my arrival. And just a few minutes ago, another guy told me I look like a fashion model. Duck, if you still read these ramblings, I'd advise you blow off Los Angeles and move to Boston because this seems to be the place of unlimited male attention.

3. My fancy gym has a Boston location allowing me a little familiarity with my workout yesterday. I think the San Francisco location is better, though. But after spending a nonetheless lovely three hours at said gym, I wandered over to Newbury Street where I had a nice outdoor lunch, complete with afternoon wine, and got myself a pedicure. After I finish writing this, I'm going to the spa to get a massage. Had I lived this way when I resided in New England ten years ago, I might have liked it a lot more.

4. Last night Jenny, my Boston hostess, and I went over to Cambridge where we walked around Harvard. While there we went into a big building called Memorial Hall only to hear scary organ music that sounded like something out of The Omen once inside. No wonder I didn't go to Harvard. After that, we went to a nearby bar/restaurant called Ohm. It was fabulous, especially since most of the patrons looked to be our age or older. Then we went to Finale for dessert, and I immediately developed a crush on the 20-year old host. He was just so cute and little.

5. I learned today that jogging in 80 degree humidity is very different than jogging in 65 degree fog. Very different.

Okay, the spa is calling. More later from the life of leisure...

Insert Catchy Go-Go's or Connie Francis Refrain Here

Guess what? I am officially on vacation.

And I'm not talking just a day or two to supplement my weekend. I mean five full should-have-been-workdays sandwiched between my regular days off for a grand total of nine luscious days to fill with fun activities of my choosing. Some of the good times I'm planning include spa visits, leisurely lunches, lots of giggling, cocktailing with old friends, revisiting old haunts, crossing state lines and perfecting my urban hispter routine.

The start of my holiday was delayed just a bit when something came up at work, and I ended up having to stay about an hour and a half late tonight. I admit I was a bit annoyed at the time, but I barely even remember that now. Why? Because I am on vacation! If I seem more than a little excited about this, it's because, as I may have mentioned before on this space, it's been almost three years since I took a lengthy vacation. So I am going to savor every minute of my time off.

I'll try to keep you abreast of my adventures as they happen over the next nine days. But if I can't, don't worry. I'll catch you up later. But for now, I have to go pack so I can get the party started.

I am so deliciously happy.

Music That's Making me Happy Today, vol 17

Tippy Canoe and the Paddlemen at the Make Out Room

This could be my new favorite band based on name alone, but as it so happens, their music is also really good. Even though they're local, I actually happened upon them in cyberspace while doing research for my little side-hobby (I'd call it a side-job, but I don't get paid for it). I heard a few of their tunes courtesy of... yes, MySpace, and I knew I had to see them.

I've said it before, and I'll sat it again: MySpace is going to take over the world one day.

Anyway, my live music buddies Ann Marie and Tom joined me at one of the Mission's most fabulous night spots, the Make Out Room, for a little country-infused pop music that made us all very happy tonight. Tippy Canoe leads the group on ukulele as she sweetly serenades the audience with an excellent singing voice. Tonight she was backed by simply a stand-up bass and violin, but apparently there is a guitarist and drummer in the band, as well. The ukulele adds a 1920's Hawaiian flavor to the group's sound, but the flavor is by no means overwhelming.

Not to be outdone, the audience was kind of entertaining, too. One rhythmically challenged gentlemen showed no fear in his attempt to snap along with one of the songs. He was undaunted by his inability to actually find the beat, and frankly, I respect him for that. And a couple of tango dancers gave the whole evening some saucy credibility. At least I know we were much cooler in their presence.

In other words: just a typical Sunday night at the Make Out Room.

And it doesn't hurt that we chatted with Miss Tippy after her set, and she's super-nice. If you like well crafted pop music, you'll be happy to climb on board with Tippy Canoe. Sadly, I don't know if they have any CD's available right now; so either you'll have to see them live or brave MySpace for a listen.

Tom has suggested we go see The Editors next, and DeVotchka is also coming back to town in August. We're fast becoming quite the music-loving trio about town.

Theatre That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 7

Restoration Comedy at the California Shakespeare Theatre

I actually saw Restoration Comedy on Saturday night, but I first had to give love to my boyfriends and World Cup champions, the Italian national soccer team. I am also a little embarrassed to admit that, prior to Saturday night, I had never been to a show at Cal Shakes. Not only is that a large oversight for any theatre devotee, but considering I used to be an actor and have about a million actor-friends... Well, it is just plain egregious that I hadn't seen one of their productions until now.

I must say I picked an excellent inaugural show. Restoration Comedy is an adaptation of two 17th century plays, and the result is tremendous fun. Fast paced and full of giggles, this show is eye and ear candy for the smart, artsy set. And here is the best part about Cal Shakes: the shows are performed in a beautiful outdoor amphitheatre where the audience is allowed to bring snacks! And libations (read: booze, if you will)! If you don't come prepared, they have a well-stocked concession stand. What, I ask, is better than watching a good play under the summer sky with a glass of red wine in your hand? Not a whole lot, in my book.

It also didn't hurt that Elijah Alexander, who plays a character named "Mr. Loveless" in Restoration Comedy, is so charming that I developed a crush on him within his first ten minutes onstage. Granted, he's no Italian soccer player, but who is? (And yes, I promise to be over my Italian soccer team fetish very soon.)

World Cup at Favorite Bar

Should it worry me that I was in a bar at 10:00 this morning?

Well, under normal circumstances, I hope you would not hesitate to answer that question with a very loud "YES!!!!". But today was the World Cup final, and Favorite Bar, which happens to be owned by an Italian-American, opened early to host viewing of the match. Helen arrived at 9:45 and was able to secure us barstools. Luckily. By the time I got there a scant fifteen minutes later, all the stools were spoken for. And a very sizeable group had gathered by the time the game started, with people spilling out the door.

We were not disappointed. Italy won in penalty kicks, much to the joy of most of the crowd. One or two people were rooting for France, but they took the defeat well and still seemed to have fun. And here's the very best part: most of the dysfunctional drunks who regularly pollute Favorite Bar were not in attendance. One or two of them came by, but they were the more innocuous of the dysfunctional regulars. I truly love Favorite Bar, but several of the people (okay, men) who frequent it work my last nerves. Frankly, they probably don't like me either. And I'm okay with that.

During the game, Helen and I had much fun selecting our favorites of the Italian soccer players. My new sports boyfriends are all so cute, honestly, we'd take any of them. Worry not, we did pay attention to the play of the game as well. But when an entire team of beautiful Italian men is running around on a tv screen mere feet away... well, a girl is going to notice. The whole experience has led us to decide we should take a flirting tour of Italy. Helen could tell people she's half Chinese and half Italian (she's actually half Chinese and half Mexican), and I could tell them I'm half Italian and half whatever else they want: African-American, Portuguese, Brazilian, whatever. People always assume about 1000 different things, anyway.

Of course, given what I've heard about Italian men, we probably wouldn't need to say anything, let alone lie about our ethnicity, to get attention.

The Magic Power of the Spa

My one 2006 New Year's resolution was to treat myself to a spa day once a month. You'd think that's a resolution I easily would have kept, but I went in January and hadn't returned since.
That is, until today.

Last week, during a rather emotionally hard few days, I decided to revive my spa tendencies. I actually used to go to the spa a lot. I wouldn't always get a specific treatment, but three years ago, I did at least hang out there once a month or so. It's really healing and balancing for me, especially since mine is a brain that never stops going. So this morning, after seven straight days of work (in my business, holiday weeks often result in more work hours, as opposed to fewer), I went all out and had what I call an Everything Job. They call it the Nirvana Treatment. My two hours of bliss and ancient healing included a botanical body mask, aromatherapy oils, an herbal wrap and herbs and oil for my hair.

Before Nirvana I took advantage of the spa's little exercise room and did 40 minutes of cardio followed by a quick visit to the steam room. And once I'd reached Nirvana, I spent more time steaming and soaked in their spa whirlpool as well. And of course there was time to enjoy the poolside lounge.

I am so happy.

My skin is soft, my eyes are big, bright and clear, and my hair feels better conditioned than it has in months. And what was it that was bothering me so much last week? Oh, who even remembers now? That's it. I may not indulge in Nirvana every time, but I will become a regular spa denizen once again.

The spa was also the perfect antidote to the horrible, terrible, awful play I saw last night. You know I love theatre, but this show is a travesty. The acting is actually really good, but it is wasted in a script filled with totally gratuitous nudity and violence and frankly, the abuse of one of the characters. If you like that sort of thing, line on up. But in my opinion, this playwright's work should never be produced again. Ever. There. I've said it, and I'm not taking it back.

But that was then, and this is now, when life is nothing less than wonderful. My sojourn at the spa over, I am about to meet Denise in the Haight for some bonding and a book reading by Beth Lisick, an incredibly talented writer and spoken-word artist I know. Then Ann Marie, Tom and I are going to see The Plimsouls at Cafe du Nord.

This just may be the best day ever.

Italia, Italia!!!

A few weeks ago at Zeitgeist, my friend Daryl leaned over to me and asked if I'd be following any of the World Cup play. I shrugged and said, "Probably not."

My, how things change. I am now obsessed.

And my boys, the Italians, just minutes ago beat Germany 2-0 in semi-final play. Throughout the tournament, I actually have been rooting for several teams: Brazil, Italy, England and Germany. So I was a bit torn with this game. On one hand, my brother Peter lives in Germany, making me feel a degree of loyalty there. But my World Cup fascination began at Steps of Rome in North Beach watching Italy play the USA, and those Italian fans are so passionate they completely won my heart.

So there was really no choice; I had to go with Italy. And in the end, my new sports boyfriends came through with a stunning overtime victory. My only regret is that I was on my couch, as opposed to in North Beach, for this game. Between working last night until 3 a.m. and fighting a cold, there was no way I could hold my own among the North Beach fans this time. But I certainly wish I had been with them. Portugal and France play tomorrow, and then the finals are Sunday.

I'm very sad to see this tournament come to an end.

But the fun of my day is really just beginning. I'm going to take a run (yes, I know I just told you I am sick, but running actually makes me feel better, and I promise to take it easy) and then meet the lovely Helen in Washington Square Park because it is her birthday! Yay!!!! And she and I met a few days before her birthday last year, so it is also our friendiversary. This is big reason to celebrate. There will be fireworks in her honor tonight, too. And because Helen is very generous, she kindly allows those fireworks to commemorate our country's Independence Day as well.

Happy 4th, my friends!

Youthful Verve or Am I Just Immature?

Should I be at all concerned that I get along so incredibly well with Christine, our 20-year old intern at work? Especially considering I, myself, saw age 20 sixteen years ago?

Christine has continued to shadow me on Saturdays, and while I don't know how much she's learning about our industry from me, we certainly have tremendous fun. She was with me when I met the uber-nerdy ham radio operators last weekend, and she was by my side yesterday when I went to a ridiculous protest in Oakland, during which some guy involved in the protest hit on me. He wasn't the least but subtle either, even though he tried to use the pretense of asking me "professional" questions. Whatever, buddy.

Christine and I have conversations about illegal immigration, the war in Iraq and even ethnicity. With her being of Indian decent and me being half African-American and half Caucasian, we had quite the time comparing the curious to downright ignorant things people have said to each of us. In between those types of discussions, we also giggle through the far more important topics of music, socializing and boys. Yesterday we got into a conversation about MySpace, which she calls "the root of all (her) problems" because there she learns things about her friends that she doesn't necessarily want to know. Between her tales and the fact that I have a few friends my own age who participate in the MySpace phenomenon, my opinion of the site wavers between judgment, fear and fascination. I certainly would not be surprised if it takes over the world one day.

I told Christine yesterday that I hope we stay friends after her internship so I can take her to Favorite Bar once she turns 21 in November. However, upon just a few hours of reflection, I realized that I would feel obligated to protect her from many of the dysfunctional drunk men who hang out there. Not to mention from one or two members of the staff.

Huh. My fear for her well-being at Favorite Bar just may be maternal enough to convince me that while I love hanging out with Christine at work, I'm probably better suited for socializing with friends my own age.

Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 16

Neko Case at Bimbo's 365 Club

I used to think I hated country music. Then, three years ago Tom, Chris and I went to the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, and I saw many artists I consider to be rock stars honored there. Once that experience opened my mind, I realized that I don't hate country music at all. I just hate bad music. Of any genre. So while I still happily disdain the likes of Tim McGraw, Faith Hill and Martina McBride, there is plenty of country music I like: Johnny Cash, Hank Williams Sr., Mary Chapin Carpenter (a fellow Brown graduate, no less), The Knitters, Blood on the Saddle. And now I add Neko Case to that list.

I was first introduced to Case's talent when I saw the New Pornographers open for Belle and Sebastian in the spring. I was intrigued, but I have learned their music is nothing like Case's solo stuff. She plays true alt-country that engaged me even though I didn't know a single song prior to last night. Before the show began, Ann Marie and I had to giggle our way through a little junior high school drama involving a former friend of hers and acquaintance of mine. We sort of dragged my co-worker and new live music buddy, Tom, into our adolescent world, but he was a good sport about it. Once the short-lived drama passed, we could relax and let Case's music wash over us.

Talk about a good time. Imagine if we lived in world where there was no music? Hmmm... I think they call that Hell.

Potlucks and Baby Showers

Those two activities sound downright domestic, don't they? Well, the way my friends do it, I'd say domesticity has become quite sassy.

First, Denise invited me to join Gourmet Group, which she was hosting on Thursday evening. I can't really say what an "ordinary" potluck is because I so rarely attend such events, but I can say Gourmet Group is anything but ordinary. For one thing, the women in Gourmet Group are all fabulous and extraordinarily nice. For another, they are amazing cooks. This month's gathering featured Mexican treats like homemade tamales, empanadas and enchiladas much tastier than the lowly enchiladas I brought. Since I don't have the greatest interest in becoming a better cook myself, I wonder how long it will take the group to notice the dishes I bring are not quite the same caliber as everything else. Maybe I'll just offer to bring the cocktails every month. In keeping with the theme, we also had a pinata, and boy did we beat the crap out of that poor thing in an effort to free the candy inside. And somewhere there is photographic evidence of our comically violent behavior.

As an added bonus, Denise and Paul have a hot tub on their roofdeck. I told Denise that if I had a roofdeck with a hot tub I'd probably never go out.

Then on Saturday, Sebastian and his wife, Mary, threw a shower for their new baby, Giuseppe, who was born a little premature a couple of months ago. If you're thinking this was an afternoon affair featuring quiche and annoying baby games, think again. After a workday that found me hanging out with ham radio operators (a.k.a. the nerdiest people on earth) in the Oakland Hills and asking passersby in downtown San Francisco what they thought about a U-C Chancellor's apparent suicide, I strolled along the Embarcadero to the Hi Dive, which Mary and Sebastian had rented out to accommodate the 100 guests. Giuseppe did leave his own party about half an hour after I arrived, but Jack, Helen, Erin, Doug, Liz and the Fabulous Patti were all there. At 10:30 or so the celebration moved to Favorite Bar and continued for as long as we could take it. I made it to about 12:30, I believe.

Giuseppe may be only two months old, but he hosts a mean bash. I almost shudder to think what this kid's 21st birthday will be like.

Absolute Perfection

What do you say when it's a sunny 85 degrees in a city that usually hovers at 65 this time of year, and it's your day off?

I, for one, say thank you.

We are in the grips of a heat wave in the Bay Area, and it is truly blissful. If you don't live here, please let me explain that in San Francisco the mercury generally peaks between 60 and 67 degrees all year. That's great in the winter when much of the country is buried in snow, but wearing a jacket all summer is kind of a drag. But sometimes it gets a little colder in the winter, and sometimes we get the benefit of a really warm summer or early fall day.

So today, on the longest day of the year and one of the few when San Francisco will actually be hot, I spent as much time as possible outside. I took my run and then met Gretchen at one of Mario's outdoor tables for lunch. We snacked and chatted while watching other sun worshippers in Washington Square Park. Then we ran into a bunch of people we know, including Clea, who is two and half years old and very charming, and Sebastian, who treated us to gelato. Yummy. After a few late afternoon errands, I considered going with my friend Greg and a few of his buddies to witness the end of the solstice daylight at the beach, but instead I opted to meet Jack at the Ferry Building. He and I drank wine outdoors and watched the 8:35 p.m. sunset from the City's opposite waterfront.

It's supposed to be even warmer tomorrow, and I have a big day ahead of me. The gym, an appointment, shopping and a pot luck where we will eat on Denise's roof and indulge in the hot tub afterward. Yeah, yeah, then it's back to work on Friday, but who can be bothered to think about that now?

I know the song is actually about hormones, but nonetheless, Martha Reeves knew her stuff when she quavered about the glory of a heat wave.

The Joys of Job Satisfaction

My job is not perfect, not even close. But here is reason number 517 why I love it.

Yesterday, my employer dispatched me to the Steps of Rome cafe in North Beach for the World Cup soccer match between the United States and Italy. Yes, it was obscenely crowded, and because I was working, I had to turn down a genuinely nice gentleman's offer to buy me a Peroni when I arrived. But I got to spend two and a half hours amongst wall to wall passionate and... well, I'll just say it... hot soccer fans. What a pleasant discovery that men who follow this sport are so easy on the eyes. Or at least the ones following it in North Beach yesterday were. And lest you think I am so superficial that I was only interested in the eye candy, the game was terrific. I'm not a huge futbol fan, but that match had me on the edge of my (metaphoric since I didn't actually have one) seat.

After the game I was supposed to take in the North Beach Festival for work as well, but something came up, and I was instead sent to Oakland City Council President Ignacio De La Fuente's house. In case you were wondering, he has a very nice backyard deck.

And to think I get paid for this stuff.

An Extra Weekend Day

Well, the universe certainly has smiled on me this week.

One of my co-workers was sick yesterday, so I was called in to work for him last night. In return, I got to take today, which is normally the "Monday" of my work week, off! I'll take this opportunity to tell you that, as much as I love my job and the decadence of having two mid-week days off, there is something a little tragic about having your work week start on Friday when everyone else in the world is gearing up for their weekends. But no tragedy for me today. Plus, since I didn't have to go work until 7:00 last night, yesterday was, for all intent and purposes, still an intact day off. So I have had three days of leisure! And what, might you ask, have I done with my bonus hours of me-time? Well, since I worked until 3:00 in the morning, I have spent a good part of today asleep. But I also took a mid-afternoon run in the sunshine and have been basking in the knowledge that the day is my own.

In a little while I'm going to meet Wendy for a cocktail at the Hemlock Tavern before we go to the Jacksnack Photo Attack (credit where credit is due: Erin came up with that name for Jack's photo show). There's a party after that, but since I really do have to go to work tomorrow, I may skip that. My partying stamina is not what it used to be, let alone my ability to bounce back and be productive at work the next day.

In other sassy happenings... In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a little bit of a music fan. So when I learned that Favorite Bar has employed the services of a disc jockey to play music from the 60's, 70's or 80's on Tuesday evenings, I was cautiously intrigued. That sort of thing could either be great or go horribly awry. Well, one night, Sebastian, the bartender who seems to be in charge of this whole shebang, told me that if I have any music requests, I should email them to him and he would pass them on to his trusty wax spinner. This past Tuesday was 70's night, and I sent Sebastian a list of about 12 songs or so. Fair enough. But next Tuesday will feature 80's music, and in an effort to protect the world from a noxious assault of Madonna, Bon Jovi, Lionel Ritchie and Def Leopard, I put together a comprehensive list of 80's music that actually matters. I'm not sure exactly how many songs I came up with, but the list I sent him Wednesday night was five and a half pages. Single spaced. Imagine Madness, The Clash, The English Beat, Marshall Crenshaw, The Housemartins, The Go-Go's, The Jam, Icicle Works, The Pixies, Elvis Costello, Fun Boy Three, Strawberry Switchblade... Oh, I could go on. And on, believe me. And I've already thought of about 15 more tunes I egregiously omitted (how could I think an 80's playlist would be complete without the Plimsouls, Julian Cope, Joe Jackson or the maestros known as Flesh For Lulu?), so Sebastian is about to get an addendum.

And I'm already thinking about my 60's requests for the following Tuesday. That's likely to be a long list, too.

Poor Sebastian, little did he know he was unleashing the beast. I bet he'll never solicit song requests from me again. People really should be careful when they talk to me about music.

The Laziest Day Ever

That's what I had today.

I started with the best of intentions this morning. I was going to the gym. I was going to shower my apartment with what it desperately needs: a thorough cleaning. I was going to take advantage of the warm, if slightly muggy, weather and take a long walk across the City.

None of that happened, but I did a very good job of polishing my napping skills. They were rusty and demanded my immediate attention.

Not that the day was a total loss. I did manage to go for a run, do a little grocery shopping and strip my couch cushions of their slip covers so I could drop said covers off at the cleaners. My couch is off-white, and a good scrub for the slip covers had become quite necessary. I also wrote my little neighborhood newspaper column, which isn't even due until Friday. But other than that, it was a day to watch time go by while relaxation ran the show. And I'd say it was worth it. The gym will still be there tomorrow, and my apartment will still need to be cleaned. I was even supposed to meet Mollena at Amnesia for a little live music tonight, but I never heard from her, so here I sit in my pajamas, sipping Chimay and watching That Thing You Do!. Amnesia with Mollena would have been fun, but I'll "settle" for one of my favorite movies paired with one of my favorite beers, thanks very much.

I also got a call today from Schleevin, who told me his apartment in New York has been overrun with bed bugs. He said he went to bed one night and awoke the next morning looking like a giant pustule. His words, not mine. He was delivering this bit of news because I am theoretically staying with him when I go to New York next month. Or perhaps not. Poor Schleevin, 2006 simply has not been his year.

I'll make up for my day of sloth later this week. Not only does my work week kick off on Friday, but I have a lot of socializing to do. I believe Helen and I are going out tomorrow night; I'm having drinks with Wendy and going to Jack's photo show Friday night; and Saturday into Sunday is Daryl's 24-hour going away party. Just thinking about all that makes me want to take another nap.

Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 15

Music for 2 Cellos and 24 Televisions at La Val's Subterranean

Even though this show was produced by the Crowded Fire Theatre Company, and Paul, Gretchen and I saw the performance at La Val's, one of my favorite places to see a play, I wouldn't exactly call it theatre. But it was definitely music. Composer and Crowded Fire company member David Rhodes created the piece which is performed both electronically and, as it would happen, by two cellists. Meantime, video images on no more and no less than 24 televisions accompany the music. The result is engaging, even a little mesmerizing at times. I'd say you should go see it, but we went on closing night, so sadly... you can't.

And we were treated to an opening act as well. Crowded Fire inspires people to sign up for their mailing list with a giveaway before every show, and this time the giveaway was orchestrated by company member Mollena, who happens to be one of the most dynamic, kick-ass people walking the face of the earth. When it came time to award the coveted package of Mentos that was the grand prize, Mollena didn't just hand them over. She pulled them from her bra strap and serenaded the winner with a word perfect, a cappella rendition of the Mentos commercial. You have to know that was some hysterical and fabulous pre-show entertainment.

Add to all that the pizza and beer at La Val's, and I'd call it a perfect night out.

After the show Paul and Gretchen offered Mollena and their other friend Bree a ride back to the City, so we all piled into Paul and Gretchie's new (to them) Golf for the trek over the bridge. The lively in-car conversation ranged from people who walk over the bridge in clown suits to a man who got locked out of his house in a bunny suit to other men who have asked Bree to make bunny suits for them. For the record, she has always said no.

By the way, I can now tell you: Gretchen is pregnant! I've been sitting on this knowledge since late March, but it's okay to talk about it now. If anything in life merits a big fat YAY, it is the imminent arrival of this little guy. I think the gene pool Gretchie and Paul create just might result in a perfect little person. Aside from Nephew Sassy, of course.

Eggs With A Side of Nudity

Today I took advantage of a rare Saturday off work and treated Terry to a glamour afternoon for her birthday. The anniversary of her birth is actually tomorrow, but I can't make the party, so the celebration of Terry begins now. We started with a delicious mimosa brunch at Bia's in the Haight. But as we were finishing our snacks and drinks, we noticed a caravan of about twenty naked bicyclists parading down Haight Street. While many of you who live elsewhere may think naked cyclists ride through San Francisco all the time, I have to say, save Bay To Breakers, I have never seen anything like this. In fact, I used to live in the Haight (okay, Cole Valley), and back then the man I dubbed the Rogue Hugger due to his drug-induced need to embrace strangers was as exciting as it got.

I will also add that what I saw today reminded me that all the penises I've seen by choice are really rather attractive. And clearly that's not always the case. Granted it was about 55 degrees this afternoon, but even so. I guess I have better taste in men than I thought.

After brunch and the freedom-from-clothing parade, Terry and I hit Lavande Nail Spa for luscious pedicures. All in all, an excellent Saturday afternoon, especially since I am usually holed up in a studio on weekends. Tonight I'm going with Gretchen and Paul to see their friend David's play at La Val's in Berkeley. I think the show is kind of an avant-garde music-theatre combination. I'll let you know how it is.

By the way, I know I haven't written about my adventures in almost a week, and for that I can offer no excuse other than laziness. So now let's back up a few days and get a little caught up. On Thursday I caught up with Daryl at Zeitgeist for his penultimate social gathering before the big move to Philly. Always fun, especially when Daryl told me he is teaching his creative writing students in Oakland the dance from "Thriller." Do you even know anyone who has learned the dance from "Thriller?" Frankly, I thought I didn't either, but where Daryl is concerned, I am never surprised. Then last night Emily, Jack and I met at Casanova for a week-ending cocktail. Luckily, I selected all my favorites from Casanova's free jukebox early because about an hour after we arrived the DJ showed up. He was doing well until he decided to spin selections from the likes of Billy Ocean and Loverboy. May I just say, ick. Casanova deserves better. But the bad soundtrack was tolerable for a while because we were delighting in the floor show being performed by the Mission-hipster mating crowd. One gentleman in particular tenaciously hit on two women despite the fact they were having none of it. We could do nothing but admire his persistence... and laugh heartily at him. It was kind of like watching a zoo exhibit: Wanna Be Player in his natural habitat. Once a bachelorette party arrived, however, we knew it was time to go. We have our limits.

Hey, guess what?!? Just seconds ago I found out that my friend Omar got engaged! He's another friend I've known for twenty-five years, and a few years ago he told me he often dated women he wasn't crazy about just to be with someone. But I know he is head over heels for his fiancee, so this is an excellent development. Yay!!!

Goodbye Gata

My friend Daryl, a.k.a. Dr. Rainbow, the Gata and a plethora of other nicknames for which I take no responsibility, is leaving town. This is not good news, as this dude, whom you see on the right of this photo, is one serious partier. Brilliant and creative, Daryl is one of the most fun people I have ever known. He's a musician, DJ and organizer of not-to-be-missed happenings like the Turkey Fry, Chili Off, 24-Hour Babagoo and Pie Off. When I first met him six years ago, I had the honor of being a Pie Off judge. I literally was recognized on the street from my participation in that event for a year afterward. That's right. I actually entered the Pie Off in 2002, but that year was marred by scandal when Daryl won the grand prize himself. An investigation was promised, but I'm not sure if the findings were conclusive.

If you have never met Daryl, you should hope he is moving to your town. Oh, and by the way, the other prince of fabulousness in the picture is my friend Victor. They are flanking me at my last birthday party.

In other news, I have settled back into city life after my trek to the wilds of the Southern California suburbs.

On Saturday I had an intern shadow me at work. It was a little odd just because about two and a half years ago, my career took a bit of a turn. So while I work in the same industry, my current job is somewhat different from the first 15 years of my professional life. But one of my managers told our intern I am fun, and honestly, I think I lived up to the hype. Plus, we got to spend most of our time in the sunshine of Crissy Field. Not bad for a workday.

That night I went with Katie, Steve, Bill and Kim to see Craig Ferguson at Cobb's Comedy Club. Because it's my life, I not only ran into four people I know in the audience, but I also knew one of the warm-up comedians. He is a friend of my friend Wendy. Unfortunately, Craig was not as funny as I wanted him to be. He was good for a few chuckles, but not much more than that. I rarely go to comedy clubs, though, so it was fun to do something a little different.

And now I am resting up before a week of big fun. Oh, and I suppose I should crack that sample ballot and decide whom and what to vote for tomorrow.

Sassy Suburban Heaven

There is no doubt about it; I am a city girl. Give me an urban skyline, a gaggle of live music venues and streets filled with hipsters, and I am a happy denizen. But I have to admit, I am having the loveliest time here in beautiful South Pasadena, residence of the handsome gentleman to the left: Nephew Sassy. As the name would suggest, South Pasadena shares its northern border with the southern border of Pasadena, the suburban paradise I called home until I left for college in the fall of 1988.

Nephew Sassy and I have had quite the time getting to know each other. He is going to be a wonderful co-conspirator when he gets a little older. In the meantime, he allowed me to hang out with him while he had his lunch yesterday afternoon, and he was a very good sport and let me hold him for a much longer time than I would let someone I just met hold me. He even posed for this photo with me without complaining about the paparazzi. My brother Mike and sister-in-law Maki are doing really well, too. They're tired, but happy.

Then at about 6:00 yesterday evening the amazing and talented Schleevin, who is in Southern California from New York, joined the party. Do you have someone in your life for whom you hold such a deep and genuine affection it's almost a little overwhelming? You really should. As I have said in previous posts, for me, that person is Schleevin. Even when we are 100 years old and drooling into cups and he no longer has a prostate, I am convinced we will still be friends. I would do anything for this lad; I love him that much. Anyway, last night Schleevin, Mike, Maki, Nephew Sassy and I took a trip to 1952 by walking down to the corner drugstore and soda fountain for milk shakes. Our dessert already ingested, Schleevin and I put on our best camera-ready faces for the above commemorative photo before taking off for dinner. We ended up at a very delicious restaurant tucked into a converted firehouse where we chowed down on salads and, of all things, meatloaf. It was fancy meatloaf, but meatloaf nonetheless. We then drove into Los Angeles proper and paid a visit to The Bounty, a bar which used to play host to the likes of Walter Winchell and Charlton Heston. We didn't see Charlton there last night, but that's his loss, because it certainly was a fabulous evening.

This morning I took a very long run in the warm San Gabriel Valley air. I headed east through South Pasadena into San Marino and was so distracted by the familiar streets and places (including a diner my friends and I used to frequent on late Friday and Saturday nights in high school) that I didn't realize how far I had gone. I think the whole route was between six and seven miles, but in all honesty, I got tired and walked the last third. After my run, I grabbed a smoothie and some snacks at the independently-owned coffee and ice cream place in Mike and Maki's neighborhood. Anyone who believes, like I know a lot of you do, that Southern California is nothing more than ugly tract houses insulating countless strip malls should take a trip to South Pasadena. Or San Marino. Or Pasadena, although as the largest of the three towns, Pasadena does have a few strip malls. But only a few.

I have several more hours here before I trek back up north to my city life. It's nice to pay a visit to suburbia every once in a while, and it's even nicer when it doesn't scare you.

Friendship Therapy

Have I mentioned lately how much I love my friends? I love them as much as music and good acting, and in my world, that is very high praise.

On Sunday I went to Tom, Chris and Nick's annual Memorial Day barbecue. I have gone to this party every year of its existence, and much like fine wine, it gets better and better with age. These fellows are very popular, so there were about a bazillion people there this year. Above is a photo of myself with Emily, Erin and Jack enjoying the festivities alongside Chris, one of our hosts, who graciously agreed to pose with us. Between the drinks, delicious snacks, Dance-Dance Revolution and seat of your pants good times, this was party not to be missed.

My friend Gry is also in town. I met Gry in an acting class back in 1998, and we have been good friends ever since. She moved to New York in 2001 and then to Denmark in 2003, but that doesn't stop her from paying a visit to her San Francisco stomping ground every once in a while. Back in the day, Gry and I had a standing Wednesday evening happy hour at Casanova, so that's where we met tonight, even though it's Tuesday. Much like many a Wednesday of yore, we fell into a pattern of good drink and even better conversation. It doesn't hurt that Casanova has a free jukebox which I loaded with The Jam, The Beau Brummels and early Who this evening. I will admit that I've been feeling a little low lately, but tonight any feelings of dejection completely melted away in the red light and vinyl couches of the fabulous Casanova. Who needs therapy when you have Gry, a good cocktail and "Beat Surrender" playing in the background?

And if a long weekend barbecue and bonding time with Gry were not enough, tomorrow I will be seeing one of my favorite friends in the whole world. Schleevin and I have known each other for almost 25 years (damn, we're old), and we are going to get together for snacks and cocktails when I jaunt down to Southern California to meet Nephew Sassy. Schleevin is wonderful and talented and super-neat, and I absolutely can't wait to see him!

Honestly, can a girl ask for any more happiness in life?

My American Idol: Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 14

John Doe and various others crooning (and screaming) Replacements tunes at 12 Galaxies

So apparently the season finale of that show was on last night, and I've heard talk that some guy named Taylor or Tyler or Tiny won. I wouldn't actually know for sure because I've never seen that insipid boob tube phenomenon, but last night I got the chance to see one of my own musical idols up close.

Ann Marie, Adam and I started the evening at the Make Out Room to see Pat Johnson, a rather talented musician I know. After Pat's set, we scooched around the corner and met Tom at 12 Galaxies for a Replacements tribute show which featured, among the many performers, none other than John Doe. The extraordinary John Doe in a Replacements tribute show. I actually interviewed Paul Westerberg about 15 years ago, and I wish I had been psychic because it would have been fabulous to ask him how it feels to have John Doe pay homage to him in a small San Francisco club

But I'm not psychic, and Paul Westerberg wasn't there last night, anyway. I can, however, tell you how it felt for me to see a rockstar mainstay of my formative years stand mere feet before me strumming his acoustic guitar. It felt a little bit like auditory heaven. Ann Marie and I were slightly disappointed that John only sang three songs, but the other performers (including the aforementioned Pat Johnson, who also played this show in addition to his Make Out Room gig) were all good, too.

All in all, not a bad way to spend a Wednesday evening.

Best Friends and A Really Good Mood

I had not intended to post today, figuring I would wait to report on the adventures of my work weekend, which begins tonight but won't really get going until tomorrow and Thursday.

But then something glorious happened. I have made a new best friend: my co-worker Patti. I've always liked Patti a lot, but at work today, I had occasion to offer that I am 36 years old. Patti looked right at me with an expression of genuine shock and said, "You're 36? I didn't even think you were 30 yet." I want you to let that sink in: she didn't even think I was 30. I was so thrilled that I hugged her with sincere vigor and proclaimed her my new best friend. I meant it, too. Not that I think 36 is old, but still. As I thought about it later, it occurred to me that maybe she thought I was so young because I bounce around our workplace everyday saying things like "Yay!" and "Yippee!" with my special brand of sassy energy. Plus, I am her go-to girl for bar recommendations (so far I have sent her to Favorite Bar, Anu on 6th Street and 15 Romolo in North Beach). So maybe I come off just a tad immature. Well, you know what? I don't care; if it makes me seem young, I'll take it.

This has put me in a good mood of colossal proportions.

In other friend news, I also found out today that my very, very good friend Jenny is coming to town tomorrow. She and I have spent endless evenings bonding over snacks and cocktails while trying to decipher the confounding behavior of ridiculous boys. But in 2003 she moved to Boston for graduate school and decided to stay. Whatever. I haven't seen her in what feels like forever, so I am very excited. She and I will be getting pedicures on Thursday and catching up on tales of the latest ridiculous boys in our lives. I can't wait!

I always say Sassyland is home to a truly good life, and everyday offers more evidence of that fact.

Books That Are Making Me Happy Today, vol 2

Goats by Mark Jude Poirier and Little Children by Tom Perrotta

I must apologize, gentle readers. While I have kept you in the loop of all the theatre and music that adds joy to my sass, I have been remiss when it comes to books. I have this terrible tendency to procure books much faster than I can read them. It's a good thing I secretly harbor the soul of a technology-phobic old lady and don't trust online shopping. Otherwise, Amazon would be the death of me. But I've made some progress in my backlog, so let's get at least a little bit caught up.

I recently finished Goats, which was recommended to me by Father Sassy when I visited him in Gig Harbor. The family at the center of Goats would make Norman Rockwell roll over in his grave, but these days, all of us recognize it. Teenage Ellis is a freshman at a tony East Coast prep school while his barely functional mother, Wendy, and her stoner boarder known as Goat Man keep the home fires burning in Arizona. Add Ellis' dad, his moronic roommate, Wendy's leech of a boyfriend and yes, some actual goats, and you've got quite the cast of characters. And Poirier's writing is breezy without being pedestrian, making this a very pleasant read. I have since moved on to Little Children, which is lots of fun so far. I'd call this one a really good beach read, even though I am tearing through it in my urban apartment. The action is stuck in a very specific time, but I am enjoying the cultural references. And this tale of thirty-something parents is perfect for anyone, with kids or not, who has woken up and found themselves suddenly and bewilderingly in the midst of adulthood. In other words, it's perfect for me and pretty much all of my friends.

Books definitely make the world happier. And after spending my college years immersed in the greatest hits of the canon, I have no problem reading books that are a little bit fluffy. Of course, the Ivy League literature major in me does have her limits. You will never catch me perusing a copy of The Da Vinci Code. I don't care how many copies it has sold. And after being burned in the late '90's by a couple particularly terrible selections, I now walk right by any contemporary novel bearing Oprah's Book Club seal (she got crafty a few years ago when she began choosing classics). I love that Oprah is getting so many people to read, but in my opinion, Jonathan Franzen was wise to reject membership... or at least that seal.

In other news, several of my co-workers are getting sick, and that fact has me concerned both for their health and, honestly, my own. Viruses rip through my workplace like tornadoes, so once a few of us get sick, we are all susceptible. And I have no time for disease. On Wednesday night Ann Marie and I are going to not one, but two live music shows. And we have corralled Richard, Adam and possibly my co-worker Tom, providing he's not one of the infirm, to come with us. Then Terry and I are reviving our recently dormant margarita Thursday habit. This weekend is Tom, Chris and Nick's annual Memorial Day barbecue. And next week my friend Gry, whom I have not seen or talked to in almost two years, is in town, and I'm taking a small jaunt down to Southern California to meet Nephew Sassy in person. He has no immune system yet, so I can't bring along any germs.

To that end, I am indulging in lots of Airborne and zinc lozenges tonight while I watch the Giants play the Cardinals. My baseball boyfriends Mike Matheny and Omar Vizquel are so far leading the team toward victory, but as we all know, anything can happen.

Birthdays, Baseball and Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 13

A few tidbits from the Land of Sassy this evening:

Yesterday was my friend Tom's 34th birthday, so the troops gathered for cocktails and frivolity to honor the day he was born. Now, Tom is notorious for planning his birthday celebration at the very last minute, but after more than nine years of friendship, I am on to him. Knowing his big day was approaching, I specifically had reserved the evening for whatever he would put together. And wouldn't you know it, Thursday night came along and my in-box was graced with an email from Tom informing me of the plan. Regardless of the late notice, the party sure was fun. And Tom's roommates Chris and Nick (who is also Tom's brother) made him an ooey-gooey birthday cake that tasted like a strawberry milkshake. Not bad for a couple of boys who wear their lack of cooking expertise as a badge of honor.

Do you know what's a good song? "The Happening" by The Supremes. In case you don't know, it was the title track from a 1967 film of the same name. The movie is supposedly horrible, but the song certainly isn't. The songwriting team of Holland-Dozier-Holland crafted quite the perfect little 60's pop tune in this number. If I ever form a girl group, we are definitely going to cover it. You know what else is a good song? "(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher" by the great Jackie Wilson. I just downloaded that one from iTunes. This morning I listened to "The Happening" over and over for the first half of my run, and I imagine "Higher and Higher" will get similar treatment. (For the record, the only song thus far whose repeated playing has propelled me through my entire four-mile endorphin route is "Here Comes Your Man" by the Pixies. I'll let you know if/when that changes.)

Barry Bonds hit his 714th career home run this afternoon and has tied Babe Ruth's tally. I think that's neat. Mike Matheny also hit a home run today and helped the Giants beat the A's 4 to 2. But no one will ever remember that home run. Sorry, Mike.

Tonight I've been invited to Ben's birthday party, Eric's birthday party and another party my friend Wendy, whom I haven't seen in months because she has been in India, is attending. There are also two live music shows I'd like to see. How ever will a girl choose? Well, I won't have to because I have to be at work at 4:00 tomorrow morning. That's right, 4:00 a.m. Eric tried to talk me into going to his party anyway and just staying up all night. Maybe ten years ago I would have considered that, but now this girl needs her rest. So happy birthday, fellows. Wendy, I'll catch up with you another time. And I'll just have faith the bands I want to see tonight will play again soon. And tomorrow morning I'll have to miss Bay to Breakers, San Francisco's most fun street party dressed up like a foot race. But at least I'll get to talk about it a lot at work. Plus, I am greatly consoled by the fact that I am already in my pajamas, and I will soon nestle into my couch while cocooned in a fuzzy blanket.

It's a very good life, believe me.

Theatre That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 6

Moliere's The Miser at Berkeley Rep

Do you want to see some truly astounding acting? As in it-takes-your-breath-away-and-makes-you-want-to-trip-the-light-fantastic-in-a-rainstorm-just-like-Gene-Kelly-did level acting? Well, then drive, BART, swim, walk or do whatever you can to get to Berkeley Rep's Roda Theatre and see The Miser. The story could be streamlined a bit, as some of the scenes are way too long. But this adaptation of the Moliere classic features incredibly clever dialogue (two regional references notwithstanding; I always find those to be hokey) and some just plain brilliant acting. Everyone in the ensemble is absolutely terrific, and if you're anything like me, you'll want to see it just to marvel at the talent onstage before you.

In other words, this show is pretty damn good. The photo is creepy, but honestly, the show is great.

And frankly, Berkeley Rep's whole season this year has been pretty damn good. I didn't love Finn In the Underworld, and Comedy on the Bridge/Brundibar and Zorro in Hell were not perfect while enjoyable. But their productions of Our Town, Nine Parts of Desire, The Glass Menagerie and The Miser have all been top notch. No wonder Berkeley Rep won the Tony for Outstanding Regional Theatre in 1997. Really, do yourself a favor and see this play.

After the show, I ended up spending more energy than I would have ever expected ducking that 70-year old man who hit on me the last time I went to Berkeley Rep. Terry chronicles that part of the evening on her blog, so you should read about it there.

In totally unrelated news, I have discovered a new favorite place in San Francisco. It's a new boutique in North Beach featuring a host of pretty things available for purchase, and the owner, Giulia, is super-duper nice. And the very best part is you can go there with a group of friends and drink champagne and get pedicures while you shop. Champagne, pedicures and shopping all in one location! All of you have to do is give Giulia about a week's notice and agree that you and your friends will actually buy stuff while you're sipping champagne and having your feet attended to. This is my idea of heaven, and I intend to indulge as often as humanly possible.

Glamour Lunch

The glamour lunch is the close, but much more fashionable cousin of the power lunch.

The fog has returned, so this afternoon my friend Katie and I sought out some of the few San Francisco blocks soaked in sunshine and met at Market Bar for lunch. Of course we wanted to dine outside, but even we were surprised to find ourselves seated at a coveted table alongside the promenade in front of the restaurant. Even the most seasoned of socialites yearn for a table like this. There we feasted on burgers and beer (Anchor Steam for Katie, Chimay for me) while chatting and watching the parade of joggers, tourists and dogs pass by. Katie and I work for the same company, so most of our conversation was shop talk. But ours is, overall, a very good professional life, making the shop talk mighty enjoyable.

After lunch, I popped inside the Ferry Building to pick up three of those delicious French macaroons from Miette and then climbed aboard MUNI, which handily took me to the Lower Haight. Once there I perused stacks and stacks of actual vinyl at an incredibly nifty little record store. Macy's was my next destination where I purchased bath rugs and face cleanser. I have finally given in to the great dissatisfaction I have felt for the undersized, ghetto Target bath mats I bought four and a half years ago. It was tremendously liberating to realize I could just buy new ones. And to make a good day even better, while purchasing my face cleanser I got the fine surprise of a gift with purchase at the Lancome counter. The gift even includes sunglasses (!) which look disturbingly like a pair of vintage Dolce and Gabbana glasses I dropped far too much money on a few weeks ago. Had I but held out for the Lancome counter.

And now I have a short respite at home before Terry collects me for another evening of fine theatre in Berkeley. As Calvin so keenly said to Hobbes on their delineated pages more than a decade ago: "The days are just packed."

Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol. 12

Matt Nathanson at The Swedish American Hall

Have you ever been to the Swedish American Hall? It's above Cafe du Nord, and it is the strangest venue in the world. Paul, Denise and I walked in last night to behold what looked like a high school assembly. There were folding chairs set up in front of a small stage, and the snack bar offered homemade sandwiches and soda, but no alcohol. None. We drank in the ambiance, got over the shock of the scene and found a piece of wall by the staircase to lean on (we had arrived too late to secure folding chairs for ourselves).

Then the genius that is Matt Nathanson took the stage. I admit, for all that I like his music, I probably wouldn't sit at home and just listen to a Matt Nathanson cd. In fact, I have one, and I don't sit at home and just listen to it. But he is one amazing performer; I have seen him several times, and he never ceases to impress me. Do yourself a favor and get tickets to his next show. Not only does he pour passion into performing his singer-songwriter gems, but through engaging banter with the audience, he showcases his dead brilliant sense of humor. Is it a concert or a comedy show? I imagine no one... Matt included... knows for sure. {Gentlemen callers take note: funny gets me every time.}

During his hour or so onstage, Matt treated us to his vocal styling via original compositions nicely accented with slices of Psychedelic Furs, Cure and Postal Service tunes. He also did a full cover of Elvis Costello's "What's So Funny ('bout Peace, Love and Understanding)" and a campy rendition of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." And the best part about Matt is that he and his wife live just down the block! Okay, so they may not live down the block, but they do live somewhere in San Francisco. The show last night made me so happy, I didn't know what to do with myself. And Matt tours all the time, so if you don't live in San Francisco, he'll probably stop by your neighborhood soon.

Truly talented musicians make the world a better place.

We'd worn Matt out by about 10:00, so after the show Denise, Paul and I ambled down the block and paid a visit to the Lucky 13 where we discovered what has to be the city's best jukebox... perhaps aside from the one at Casanova. For reasons of luck and timing, we got to put in five free selections, which we chose very carefully. Of course, we never actually heard our songs, but we did enjoy the anticipation while we sipped our drinks. And our own banter easily rivaled that of Matt's. Paul and Denise are super neato people and always fun to hang out with. I adore and cherish all my many friends, but I don't know what I did before these two moved here.

Yes, This IS Heaven

I love city living. My urban-chic existence comes to rest nightly in a hill-top apartment building where about 23 of us share a street number, as well as hallyways and a laundry room. A new gentleman recently moved into our address of distinction. He is all of 23, at the oldest, with the most adorable English accent and very earnest demeanor. Well, upon my return home from the gym this afternoon, something much like a wail stopped me in my tracks on the stairway up to my unit. It took a second to distinguish the sound, but soon I recognized it as singing emanating from my new neighbor's apartment. Loud, off-key singing of the most brilliant of tunes.

Yes, kids, it was the Belinda Carlisle classic, "Heaven Is A Place On Earth."

I am a gargantuan Go-Go's fan, but with the exception of one or two songs (including her cover of Freda Payne's "Band of Gold"), Belinda Carlisle's solo stuff is nothing more than over-produced pop diarrhea. I suppose it's not her fault; she just needed better songwriters and producers. And okay, if she was going to be a solo artiste, as opposed to one fifth of a band who started as scrappy punk rock chicks, she needed to actually learn to sing. But today I bow down and thank Belinda for that awful hit record because hearing a freshly-scrubbed English lad pour his soul into an early afternoon rendition he thought no one else would hear was absolutely priceless. At least it was worth the amount I pay in rent every month.

I soooooo want to be this guy's friend. I like to sing.

Another one of my neighbors is an actual musician, and according to a saxophonist I met last year, he may be one of the best young jazz pianists in the City. I hear him practicing on occasion, but as impressive as his playing is, compared to Mr. Belinda, he's a little... well, ordinary. No offense, Adam. In other news from my building, someone moved out a few weeks ago and left a fishbowl on top of the mail boxes. One inspired denizen wasn't going to settle for that; he turned the empty bowl into a home for a real, live fish, and he let us all participate in naming our community pet. I suggested Sid Fish-ous.

I am never moving.

Theatre That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 5

Honestly... pretty much any play at La Val's Subterranean in Berkeley.

Now, I have seen several shows at La Val's in the past, and they all stank. Every one. But it really didn't matter because the beauty of La Val's is that it is actually a pizza place with a theatre in the basement. So you can eat pizza and drink Bass or Newcastle while you take in the live action. Who wouldn't enjoy that, regardless of the caliber of the play in front of them? That's what Paul, Denise, Ann Marie and I thought when we decided to hit La Val's on Thursday night.

But the good news is that Impact Theatre's Money and Run: Episode 4 is currently running at La Val's, and it is really fun. And I'm not just saying that because my friend Carolyn is in it; believe me, in my day, I've both been in and seen many friends in some really bad plays. I actually did a rather decent show with Impact about 100 years ago (also known as 1998), and now they're the theatre in residence at La Val's. Money and Run is a high caliber, frenzied comedy punctuated by deliciously horrible 80's music. We're talking Journey, Eddie Money, Loverboy, Heart and Bonnie Tyler. I maintain the only reason I recognized any of the songs in the show is that I had to get very cozy with all that music for a job I had in 2001. Trust me, I wasn't listening to that crap twenty years ago. Or today. But it worked for the play, and I have to admit that, thanks to an upbeat remake and another job of mine about ten years ago, I do know all the words to "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Ann Marie and I were singing along with that little ditty during intermission, much to the entertainment of a young gentleman sitting two rows ahead of us. He looked about 19, so we decided he must have been shocked to see anyone old enough to actually know the words.

As we were congratulating Carolyn on her fine performance afterward, who should walk up, but the actress who played Kim Deal in the Pixies play I saw a few weeks ago! I was so thrilled, I immediately gushed and told her how much I had loved the Pixies play (okay, it was really more about the Breeders, but I like the Pixies better). You'd have thought I was talking to the actual Kim Deal. Actress Kim Deal was very polite, but I probably scared her a little bit.

And if last night's pizza dinner wasn't delicious enough, it was a co-worker's birthday today, and we had pizza to celebrate. We put a candle in one of the pies and sang "Happy Birthday" to him, and then I proclaimed we are all really happy he'd been born. This guy embarrasses kind of easily, which made our birthday display even more fun. I'd better be careful though; between last night and today, I've eaten so much that I'm going to look like a pizza soon. Or at least my thighs will.

Given that I've gone out the last two nights in a row, and I'll be going out tomorrow after work, I've decided to stay in tonight and hide from the Cinco de Mayo amateurs. I've curled up with my tv boyfriend Peter Krause, thanks to a "Six Feet Under" double-header on cable. Much more satisfying than stepping over a bunch of drunks who have been sucking down margaritas since 3:00 this afternoon.

Wicked Hung-ovah

I cannot party like I did when I was 25. Hell, I can't even party like I did when I was 30. Oh, who am I kidding? I can't party at all anymore. I can sit quietly and have a few cocktails, but even then I have to be careful.

Since thousands of people were filling the streets all over the country yesterday, we had kind of a busy day at work. So last night I decided to unwind with exactly one drink at Favorite Bar. The end of that last sentence would be what's commonly referred to as famous last words. A friend I hadn't seen in months was also there providing entertainment from his collection of 78 rpm records (yes, 78's), and I ended up chatting extensively with him. So three hours and four beers later, I pulled myself off my barstool and went home.

Everything was fine until today. To my credit, I managed to go running before work. And for the record, I usually find exercise to be an excellent hangover antidote. Not so much this time. At about 2:00 this afternoon I succumbed to my fuzzy-headed fatigue and completely lost focus. Everything began to move in slow motion, making the last four hours of work seem like about four days. It didn't help matters that after work tonight I was committed to participate in a playwriting workshop where I read scenes aloud so the writers could hear their work. I'm sure they all loved how well my hungover self brought their characters to life.

All this because of only four beers over three hours. I become more and more of a lightweight as I get older. But now I'm back home, and all is well. I've been reunited with my couch, and I'm about to have some chocolate chip waffles. Perfect hangover food in my opinion. And since it's now my work weekend, I can sleep as late I want tomorrow. Gotta love that.